Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

Mr. Updike provided Mother with a list of important guests to invite. Subtly, he made the point to her and to me that the wedding would serve as my coming out, the equivalent of a debutante's ball. I was to be formally introduced to Virginia's high society. Mother didn't hesitate to use his words to stress the importance of all she had done and was doing. The Cutlers had gained some undesired infamy, and we had to show the world that we were still one of the most sophisticated and elegant families in Virginia. The hotel was and always would be a desirable resort for the wealthy and influential who made up the bulk of the wedding guests.

Jimmy and I had few names to add ourselves. I sent Trisha, my best girlfriend at the Sarah Bernhardt School, an invitation, requesting that she attend as my maid of honor. We sent an invitation to Daddy Longchamp, but he called as soon as he had received it to tell us he didn't think he would be able to travel because his new wife Edwina was pregnant again and having some serious complications.

"Pregnant again?" Jimmy replied. It was a shock for both of us to think of Daddy Longchamp as having a whole new family with a new wife. Edwina had already given birth to a boy they had named Gavin about a month or so before Christie had been born. "I was hoping you'd be my best man, Dad," he told him.

"I hate to make promises, Jimmy. If I can, I'll be there, but if Edwina doesn't improve before, I'll have to stay by her. You understand, don'tcha, son?"

"Yes, Dad," Jimmy said, but after he hung up and told me the conversation, I saw that Jimmy didn't understand. Neither of us understood a world in which we grew up thinking two people were our parents and we were brother and sister, only to learn it wasn't so. Neither of us understood a world in which we could both inherit new families practically overnight. And neither of us could put Momma Longchamp out of our minds and see a new wife and family for Daddy Longchamp. In this way I supposed we weren't much different from Randolph—clinging to the things we had loved and cherished and blocking out the changes, trying desperately to reject them. Only we couldn't drift off into a world of our own. We had to go on with our lives.

One weekend two weeks before the wedding, Philip returned from college. I was upstairs dressing Christie in one of her little sailor-girl outfits when Philip arrived.

"You look like you've been doing that for years and years," Philip said from the doorway. I hadn't heard him come down the corridor. He wore a dark blue jacket, striped tie and khaki slacks with his fraternity pin on his jacket lapel. His face was still tanned from his rowing team activities, which made his blue eyes even more beguiling.

"I've had lots of experience, Philip. Did you see Randolph?" I asked quickly.

"Actually, no. Mother told me about all the wedding plans, and I came directly here to wish you and Jimmy luck, and to see if I can be of some help."

"Some help?" I shook my head. "You should be very concerned about your father," I emphasized. "He's behaving very strangely."

"I know. Mother has told me some of it. May I come in?" he asked. He was still just outside the doorway.

"All right," I said, not hiding my displeasure and reluctance.

He stepped up beside me quickly and gazed down at Christie.

"Hi, Christie," he said.

She gazed up at him as I brushed her hair gently behind her ears and over the back of her head.

Christie had bright, inquisitive eyes and always gazed curiously and intently at people she wasn't used to seeing regularly.

"This is Philip," I said. "Can you say 'Philip'?"

"She talks?" he asked with surprise.

"Of course she talks. She's nearly two years old, and she's an incessant babbler when she wants to be. 'Philip,' " I repeated. She shook her head. "She's teasing us," I said.

"She's beautiful. A lot like her mother," he added. I glanced up at him and then carried Christie to her playpen. As soon as I placed her inside she went for her toy piano and began tapping out notes, looking up occasionally to see if Philip appreciated her recital.

"That's great," he said, clapping. She laughed at him and continued.

"Seriously, Philip," I said, "you should insist something be done about Randolph. He's lost too much weight, there are dark shadows around his eyes, and he's not taking care of himself. He's even untidy, which is quite uncharacteristic of him. He was always concerned about his appearance. Now he's pretending Grandmother Cutler is still alive. He's even mistaken me for her."

"He's in a depression," Philip said nonchalantly, and he shrugged. "He'll snap out of it soon."

"I don't think so," I said, infuriated by his attitude. "But I'm not going to nag you about it."

"Well, thank goodness for little things," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"You won't ever change, Philip. You're too much like Mother: self-centered."

He laughed. "I'm not here to argue with you, Dawn. I don't ever want to argue with you again. I don't expect you can forgive me for everything I've said and done to you in the past, but—"

"No," I said quickly, "I can't."

"But I hope to win back your . . . your friendship, at least. Earn it," he added. "I really do."

I turned to gaze at him. He wore a look of repentance, the glint gone from his eyes, his mouth firm.