Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

"But they're twelve years old, almost thirteen and . . ."

"Oh, I see. You think there's something perverted and dirty about it." She nodded as if confirming a suspicion. "Well the twins are special. They're very bright and very devoted to each other. Neither would ever do anything to hurt or embarrass the other. It's just natural; they were formed together in my womb and lived side by side for nine months. Why, I even fed them together, one on each breast. I think there's something spiritual about it."

"But you said you wanted to move Richard into Jefferson's room so Melanie could have the privacy she needs," I reminded her. She looked furious that I had pointed up the contradiction.

"I meant so she could have the room she needs, as well as some privacy," she said sternly.

"But . . ."

"But nothing. I don't expect they'll be doing everything together like this much longer. As they grow older, they'll grow as far apart as is necessary, but until then, there's nothing wrong with their love and devotion toward each other. Actually, they're an inspiration. Yes," she said, liking the words she had found to defend them, "an inspiration." Her smile wilted quickly and she turned witch-like: her eyes small and beady, her lips thin and her cheeks drawn in, which made her nose seem longer and more pointed.

"It doesn't surprise me that you would find their actions depraved with your unfortunate background and with Fern growing up in your house and all," she said.

"What do you mean, my unfortunate background?" I demanded.

"Please, Christie. Let's not get into nasty arguments. Thank you for coming to tell me about the twins. Don't worry about it. Actually, Richard's complained to me on a number of occasions now about your- spying on them."

"Spying? That's not true."

"Everyone deserves his or her privacy at times. You like yours, don't you?" she added. "Just keep a closer eye on your little brother, dear. That, it seems to me, is going to be enough for you. For anyone," she added under her breath. "Now, I must call my friend Louise back. We were right in the middle of an important conversation."

She turned back to the phone, leaving me stuttering in shock. I turned and went back upstairs.

"What happened?" J

efferson asked, coming to his doorway.

"Nothing, Jefferson. Forget about it. Forget about them. They're freaks," I said loud enough for them to hear. I went back to my bedroom and continued to write what was becoming a small book instead of a letter to Gavin. He was the only other living person to whom I wanted to confide.

Gavin, living with Aunt Bet and Uncle Philip has caused me to miss my parents even more. Uncle Philip's family is a family without love. The only times Uncle Philip is with his family is at breakfast and dinner. Aunt Bet acts as if her children were created in a laboratory and as a result, they are perfect little creatures, who can't do anything wrong. But I have yet to see her kiss them good night or good morning or Uncle Philip kiss them good-bye whenever he leaves, the way Daddy and Mommy used to kiss Jefferson and me. I never saw four people who behave so formally toward each other.

But no matter what Aunt Bet says about the twins, to me they are nothing more than some two-headed monster. They're so weird. They would be content if there were no other people in the world but themselves, not even their parents. The only time they ever laugh or smile is when they whisper things to each other. I just know they're whispering about me and Jefferson. Truthfully, I think Uncle Philip finds his own children revolting and that's why he hates to spend time with them or have them around him when he's at the hotel.

I wonder why Uncle Philip married Aunt Bet. He is a handsome man, far too handsome for someone as homely-looking as she is. Fern told me some horrible things before she left this time. She wants me to believe that Uncle Philip and Mommy were once girlfriend and boyfriend before Mommy found out he was her half-brother. But before the fire at the hotel Mommy told me that nothing significant had ever happened between them. Still, it makes me feel funny whenever I look at Uncle Philip now and whenever I catch him staring at me.

I wouldn't tell these things to anyone else but you, Gavin. Girlfriends like Pauline are interested and considerate, but I am too embarrassed to tell them about these family troubles. I can't wait to see you again, and count the days until you are able to return.

Give my love to Granddaddy Longchamp and Edwina.

I debated how to sign off and finally wrote: All my love, Christie.

It was very late when I finally completed my letter. I seared it in an envelope and put it on my night table so I would remember to mail it first thing in the morning. But I didn't prepare for bed and go to sleep. Instead, I put on my jacket, peered out the doorway to be sure all was quiet and then softly went downstairs.

As usual, a light had been left on in the entry way and one lamp was lit in the living room. I didn't hear Mrs. Boston and imagined she had already retired for the evening. Stealthily, I went to the front door and opened it as quietly as I could. Then I stepped outside and closed it softly behind me. The three-quarter moon illuminated the front of the house like a spotlight. The porch floor creaked as I went forward.

Actually, I thought, Richard and Melanie were correct when they accused me of harboring secrets. I did have one which I kept even from Jefferson. Ever since my parents were buried, I had found a way to sneak off after dark to visit their graves to cry and complain. Tonight, especially, I wanted to go there and feel near them, but I wasn't prepared for the surprise that would follow on my heels.

7

SECRETS

IN THE MOONLIGHT THE TALL MONUMENTS AND mausoleums were as white as bones, and the air was so still that the leaves looked painted on the branches. From behind me I could hear the rhythmic roar of the sea over which the moon had spread a soft yellow glow. The scent of freshly turned earth from a newly dug grave rose to greet me as I walked under the granite stone archway of the cemetery.

Ordinarily, I would have been afraid to go wandering around a graveyard at night, especially the one in which Grandmother Cutler had been buried. As a child I had been brought here on only a few occasions, but each time I was brought, I gazed fearfully at the tombstone that loomed over her grave and spelled her name and listed her birth and death. I remember once having a nightmare about that stone. In it I found myself lost in the graveyard. I made a turn in the darkness and came upon her monument, only instead of the words and the engraved cross, I found her two cold gray eyes glaring out at me, the same cold gray eyes that glared at me from her terrifying portrait in the hotel, only these nightmare eyes were luminous and terrifying.

But just knowing Mommy and Daddy were buried here now made the graveyard less of a place of fear and nightmares and more of a place of warmth and love. They would protect me just as they'd always protected me, and not even Grandmother Cutler's ghost or evil spirit could overpower their goodness. Her stone, although bigger and thicker than most in the graveyard, was just another stone. Nevertheless, I didn't linger near it; I walked past it quickly and approached my parents' twin graves. There I knelt and shed my tears as I spoke to them.

"Mommy, I miss you and Daddy so much," I said. "And Jefferson is so heartbroken and lost. We hate living with Uncle Philip and Aunt Bet. There is no love in their family." I went on to tell them about Richard and Melanie and how weird they were and mean to us.