Ethan went on screaming, his volume seeming to amplify exponentially when she lifted her hand away from his back to silence Sam with his turn to eat. "Oh my God, I can't do this," she breathed, closing her eyes and returning to the circular motion of her hand on her younger son's back. "Ethan," she pleaded. "Ethan Clark...why so upset?" The latter question came out in that voice that Darcy knew was reserved for small children but that she'd always hated hearing other people use because of the patronizing nature of it. "Shhh," she tried, rewarded only with a break in the wailing long enough to accommodate a hiccup.
Darcy looked at the open door of Clark's bedroom again and knit her brow. "Ethan, please? Shhh..."
The younger of the twins kept up through Sammy's entire feeding and burping, through Darcy putting Sammy in his car seat again and giving him the pacifier — and Christ, she wished Ethan would stop spitting his out — and quieted slightly but not entirely, at least, when she lifted him back up off Clark's bed and held him close with one arm while using her free hand to lift Sammy's car seat. With that, she left the room, following the smell of food.
"Clark, can you talk, please? I don't even care what you say," she finally admitted, raising her voice just slightly to be heard over the baby as she approached the kitchen. "It's just Ethan likes your— Clark, your hand is on the burner!" she gasped, eyes wide as she stared at him.