Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

"I know," she said, continuing, "that your parents had so much on their minds because of the hotel. That's why this house . . ." She shook her head.

"What about this house?" I asked quickly.

"It was probably too much for them to look after it and the hotel at the same time. But that's not going to be a problem for me," she said, leaning over and smiling.

"I don't understand. What's wrong with our house?"

"It could be a great deal cleaner and neater, dear," she replied nodding.

"This house is always very clean. Mrs. Boston works very hard and Mommy never complained," I cried.

"Precisely my point, dear. Your mother didn't have time to complain or be concerned. She had so much responsibility at the hotel. But don't you let this worry you. I've decided I'll get this house into proper condition, which was another reason why I want to get our sleeping arrangements settled quickly.

"Now after breakfast, Richard and Jefferson will work out the arrangements for their room," she declared firmly.

"It's my room!" Jefferson retorted. "And I don't want him in it!"

First Aunt Bet's face paled and then her cheeks flushed crimson and her eyes tightened at the corners. She flicked a look at Uncle Philip, who had been sipping his coffee and staring ahead like a man under hypnosis. He didn't disagree with anything she said, nor did he seem at all interested in any of it.

"It's not nice to raise our voices at the table, Jefferson," Aunt Bet said slowly. "If you have something to say, say it softly. Now then," she continued, "I know it's your room, but for a while, until we find other solutions, you're going to have to share it with your cousin.

"You're both young boys," she continued, smiling. "You should be happy to have a companion like Richard. Why, it's as if you suddenly had an older brother. Won't that be nice?"

"No," Jefferson replied, threw down his fork, and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

"That's not nice behavior at the table," Aunt Bet said firmly. "After today, if you don't behave properly, you won't be able to sit and eat with the family."

"I don't care," Jefferson said defiantly.

"He's just like that in school, too," Melanie whined. "Always talking back to his teachers."

"I bet you threw away your bad report card, didn't you?" Richard added.

"Stop it!" I screamed and stood up. "All of you, stop picking on him. Don't you have any feelings for him?" I said, going around the table to his side.

"Christie," Aunt Bet said, "there is no need to get so upset and ruin our first breakfast together."

"Yes there is," I said. "There's a need to scream and shout when people are so mean, especially people who are your relatives and are supposed to love and care for you more. Come on, Jefferson." I took his hand and we started away.

"Where are you going?" Aunt Bet cried. "You haven't finished your breakfast. And you should always ask to be excused from the table."

"Christie!" Uncle Philip called as if he just realized something was happening.

I didn't reply, nor did I turn around. I led Jefferson out of the dining room and out of the house. I didn't know where I was going. I just walked. Tears streamed down my face, but I didn't sob. Jefferson was practically running to keep up with me as I charged down the stairs and sidewalk. No one came after us.

Ahead of us was the charred remains of the hotel. The sight of the blackened shell, the broken windows, the dangling sides of the building, wires exposed, furniture tossed and destroyed caused my heart to sink even further.

I took Jefferson to the rear of the hotel and we sat in the gazebo, where we watched the bulldozers and the men tear down the destroyed remains of walls. Neither of us spoke. Jefferson laid his head against me and the two of us tried to keep warm under the heavily overcast and gray sky that made the ocean breeze even more chilling. Could we ever be sadder than we were at this moment? I wondered.

6

UNCLEAN

WITH OUR PARENTS' DEATHS AND THE SUBSEQUENT UPHEAVAL of our lives, nightmares began to shadow our days and cast a film of gray over everything, even the bluest sea and sky. I could see and feel the pain in my little brother Jefferson's eyes. He often gazed about the world angrily. I understood his wrath. Someone should have warned him that the young and the beautiful and the desperately needed can die and be gone forever.

Aside from me, who would now hear or care about his complaints and sympathize? No one could ever give him the same smiles and love Mommy and Daddy had. Slowly, like a flower without any sunlight, he began to close up. First, he slept longer and later, and when he was awake, he would often lie listlessly, uninterested in his toys and games. He seldom spoke unless he was asked a question.

Two days after our horrid first breakfast with Uncle Philip's family, Aunt Bet was true to her word. She had one of the beds from what used to be Fern's room moved into Jefferson's. Richard wanted to be closer to the window, so Jefferson's bed was shoved all the way to the right and the dressers were rearranged. When Jefferson refused to cooperate and move his things, Aunt Bet assisted Richard in reorganizing the room.