Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

"Betty Ann sent this up to you," he said and nodded toward Jefferson, who was still sleeping. "How is he?"

"He's exhausted from all that's happened," I replied coldly.

"Betty Ann is sorry," he said, putting the tray down on my desk. "She didn't mean to upset everyone. It's what I thought—her nervousness over the twins. Everything will be all right again. You'll see," he promised.

"Hardly," I said dryly. "She had no right to fire Mrs. Boston," I added.

"Let's give it some time," he pleaded. "When things calm down, we'll talk it all over in a sensible way like grown-ups, okay?" He riveted his eyes on me. "I'm sure we'll be able to work out all our problems once the twins are up and around again. None of this is easy, Christie. We've all got to learn to live together peacefully. I know it's harder for you two," he added sympathetically.

I fixed my gaze on his soft, blue eyes. Now he sounded more like a concerned uncle should sound. I wanted to tell him yes, it is harder for us. We lost our parents and Aunt Bet is a poor substitute for Mommy. She could never be a mother to us, not in our minds.

"This initial work to reconstruct the hotel has taken up most of my attention and time, but I promise, I will soon devote more of myself to you and not leave Betty Ann with all the responsibility. Just between you and me," he added in a low voice that was almost a whisper, "I think it's been a little too much for her. She's overwhelmed and with the twins getting sick and all . . . well, she's not as strong a woman as Dawn was. You're old enough now. I can talk to you and trust that you will understand," he said.

Since he was being so trusting and revealing and treating me like an adult, I wanted to burst out and ask him for what he had begged forgiveness at my mother's grave, but I was afraid to reveal I had been there and had overheard his most secret thoughts.

He stepped up to me and knelt down to take my hand. Then he beamed that charming smile on me, his eyes bright and happy.

"Can we make a pact together?"

"What sort of a pact?" I asked suspiciously.

"To promise to trust and depend on each other from this day forward; to tell each other things we wouldn't tell anyone else; to work hard at making everyone happy and safe. From this day forward," he vowed, "what makes you sad, will make me sad, and what makes you happy, will make me happy. Can we make that pact?" he repeated.

How strange he sounded, I thought. It was as if he were asking me to marry him. I shrugged. I didn't know how to react, or what to say. He was so intense, his eyes so determined and locked on mine.

"I guess so," I said.

"Good. Let's seal it with a kiss," he said and leaned forward to plant a kiss on my cheek, only his lips touched the corner of my mouth as well. He kept his eyes closed for a moment afterward and then smiled again. "Everything's going to be fine," he said. "Fine."

Fine? How could it ever again be fine? The wonderful world of sunshine and happiness I had known was gone forever. Not the bluest sky, nor the warmest day, nothing would bring back those loving, soft feelings.

He stood up. "Better wake Jefferson and have him eat his soup. I would have told you two to come down to eat, but Betty Ann just scrubbed the kitchen floor on her hands and knees.

"She's always obsessed like this when the twins get sick," he said, widening his smile. "It's the only way she can deal with her nervousness. As long as she keeps busy, she's all right. I have to go back to the hotel, but I will be home early and we'll all have a nice dinner together.

"Oh," he added at the door, "we'll have to pretend that whatever she makes tastes very good. She's not a very good cook, but until Mrs. Boston's replacement arrives . . ." He smiled. "I'm sure you're old enough to understand," he added and left.

I wasn't old enough to understand. Why did he let her fire Mrs. Boston? Why wasn't he in control?

Why did he tolerate all this unpleasantness and why did he permit these things to happen? Daddy wouldn't have, I thought mournfully. Mommy had once told me how weak Uncle Philip's father, Randolph, had been, how he had put up with Grandmother Laura's antics and temperament. Apparently, Uncle Philip wasn't much different when it came to his wife.

How I wished time would move quickly and I would finally be old enough to be in charge of my own life and Jefferson's. No matter how many promises and vows we made, and no matter how hard we all tried, it would always be difficult to live with Uncle Philip and Aunt Bet, I thought.

Jefferson woke up and we ate our lunch together in the room. His tears had stopped, but the anguish in his eyes stayed, so afterward, mostly to keep his mind off things, I played one of his games with him. Richard and Melanie remained bedridden the rest of the day and were unable to go down to supper. In my mind they were the ones who were better off. Aunt Bet had tried making a roast chicken, but she overcooked it and it came out dry and tough. She undercooked the potatoes and they seemed more like apples.

Uncle Philip tried to make the dinner pleasant by talking about the reconstruction of the hotel. He promised Jefferson he would take him over in the morning after breakfast to watch the bulldozers and wrecking machines complete the clearing of the burned-out structure. It was the first time since Mommy and Daddy's deaths that Jefferson showed any interest and excitement in anything.

During most of the meal, Aunt Bet continued to run up and down the stairs to check on how the twins were getting along. They were able to hold down their first solid food, according to her. She rattled on and on about them, how they looked, how they chewed their food, and how they each ate exactly the same amount. Uncle Philip shifted a conspiratorial gaze my way and smiled as if to say, "See what I mean? But we understand."

She never actually came out and said she was sorry for screaming and manhandling Jefferson, but she did say she hoped there would never be any such unpleasantness between us again. To make up for it, she brought out a double chocolate cake she had had Uncle Philip buy in town. She gave Jefferson a piece so large it made his eyes bulge. Even so, he nearly finished all of it.

Afterward, he and I watched some television together until he got sleepy. I took him upstairs and put him to bed in Melanie's room. Then I went into my room to read and write a new letter to Gavin. I told him all about what had occurred at the graveyard the night before and then described the day's events. I asked him not to tell Granddaddy Longchamp any of it because it would only upset him and there was little he could do. I ended by telling Gavin once again how much I looked forward to seeing him. This time, under my name I drew four X's which meant four kisses. Then, seeing his face behind my closed eyelids, I kissed the letter before sealing it.

Exhausted myself now from a most trying and emotional day, I filled my bathtub with hot water and sprinkled in Mommy's scented bubble bath powder. When I slid under the water, put my head back and closed my eyes, I felt myself relax and drift into my memories of Mommy, soft and loving, brushing my hair and telling me about all the wonderful things we were going to do at the hotel the next day. I was so lost in my reverie, I didn't hear the bedroom door open and close, nor did I hear Uncle Philip's footsteps nor realize he was there until I opened my eyes and saw him standing in the bathroom. I had no idea how long he had been there staring down at me.

I gasped and covered my breasts with my arms and slid down as far as I could under the bubbles. He laughed. He was holding a package.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, "but I wanted to give you this before you went to sleep tonight. When I went into town to buy the cake for dessert, I saw it in the department store window and couldn't resist getting it for you."