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After the seventh babysitter ignores her calls, or stammers some excuse, or breaks off to ask “Wait, that Molly?” before remembering a conflict, Rosalyn hands the responsibility of ensuring they won’t have to cancel their anniversary reservations off to her husband. So it’s hard to say who’s more surprised when she opens the door at five minutes to six: her, or the spiky-haired teenager with a backpack who apparently still favors red-striped shirts. “Calvin?”
“Sadistic babysitter!” he exclaims, with an oddly reassuring grin.
Still, she can't help laughing; half-nervous, half-apologetic: “I hope you won’t have to threaten her too much to get her to sleep.” Abruptly recalling one of the other reasons she was always eager to get her charges squared away as quickly as possible, she adds, “Also, we mentioned no significant others, right?”
“Susie’s busy prepping for a Mathletes tournament tomorrow,” he tells her. “As for bedtime tactics, don’t worry.” He pulls off the backpack and rummages through it. She’s unsurprised to see a certain tiger emerge, but also catches glimpses of cardboard and markers, a cape, and a set of black masks. “Hobbes and I have a trick or two of our own.”
She smiles. “C’mon in.”