"Well, she was very beautiful," Bronson said. "And a very easy person to love. There's nothing wrong with his saying that, Christie," Bronson added smiling.
"He says I'm getting to look more and more like her."
"You are," Bronson agreed. "I'm sure you're not upset about that, are you?"
"No, but . . ."
"But what, Christie?" We stared at each other. "Well?"
"He's . . . strange. He's always hugging me and kissing me and . . ."
"He's just trying to give you the love he thinks you need. Philip's very devoted to both you and Jefferson," Bronson said. "You're lucky to have him."
"He bought me a nightgown and gave it to me last night," I revealed.
"Oh? Did he say why?"
"He said it was a surprise to cheer me up because of some of the things that happened."
"So? That's very nice of him, isn't it?" Bronson asked.
"But a nightgown?"
Bronson shrugged.
"He probably thought it was something a young girl would want. I can't fault him for that. I'm always confused and stupid when it comes to buying gifts for your grandmother." He paused to study me a moment. "Why does this upset you so?" he asked. "What are you thinking?"
Everything I said sounded so silly. I didn't know how to explain my real feelings. Bronson would just have to see it, witness it, I thought, and even then, he might not feel what I do.
"Aunt Fern told me the romance between Mommy and Uncle Philip was more serious," I said. "She upset me very much."
"Oh," Bronson said sitting back again. "I see. Well, I'm afraid I wouldn't listen to anything your Aunt Fern had to say about anyone." He shook his head. "She's quite a problem for everyone these days."
I dropped my gaze to the floor. I wanted to tell Bronson more—how I had overheard Uncle Philip's plea for forgiveness at the gravesite and how he had come in on me while I was bathing and offered to wash my back, but I was too embarrassed and afraid that I was sounding more and more ridiculous. I sighed deeply.
"Christie, your uncle is just trying to be a father to you now. I'm sure that's it. He feels all the responsibility has fallen on his shoulders. You shouldn't be afraid of him or read anything more into it.
"Matter of fact, I spoke with him just the day before yesterday," Bronson continued. I looked up sharply.
"Oh?"
"And he told me how much your deep sorrow pained him. He pledged to do all he could to make your life as pleasant as possible and help you do the things you want to do. It has become a major goal for him. You'll see," Bronson continued, smiling and coming around his desk to me. "Everything will work itself out eventually . . . Aunt Bet, the twins."
Maybe he was right, I thought. Maybe everything was just a product of my imagination, a result of all these emotional peaks and valleys. Bronson put his arm around me when I stood up.
"I'm sorry, Christie, so sorry this tragedy has befallen you and your little brother, but your uncle and your aunt and I will always be here to do what we can."
"Thank you, Bronson," I said. Then a new thought came. "Bronson, has anyone told my real father about this?"
"Your real father? As far as I know, no. Unfortunately, he is not someone I would care to know. The only time he showed any interest in you, he was really trying to squeeze money out of your mother."
"I know. She told me. I vaguely remember him coming to see me that time."
"If he found out what's happened, he would only try to profit from the situation, I'm sure," Bronson said. "No, dear, you are with the people who love you the most now. Bear with them. Give Philip and Betty Ann a chance. I know they're not what Dawn and Jimmy were to you, but they want to try. They really do," he said.
I nodded. What he was saying was not unreasonable.
We walked out together and went to see if Grandmother Laura had woken up. She had, but she was very confused and in the same breath referred to me as Dawn and then Clara. She babbled about some new skin cream and then suddenly fixed her eyes on me and said, "But you have a long, long time to go before you have to worry about wrinkles.