Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

"What do you want, Philip?" I asked.

"Another chance. A chance to do something brotherly, perhaps. For starters, I'd like to be a real part of your wedding," he said.

"Part of my wedding? I don't understand. How?"

"Well, Mother told me that Ormand Longchamp can't come and be Jimmy's best man. I was wondering—that is, I was hoping I could be," he said.

"Best man?"

"I'd consider it an honor, of course," he said, his face full of sincerity. "I know Jimmy won't agree to it unless you do," he added.

"He still might not agree to it," I said.

"I just want us to have normal family relationships," he emphasized.

"Normal family relationships?" I nearly laughed. "I don't even know what that means anymore."

&n

bsp; "Nevertheless, I'd like it," he insisted.

I studied him. Was he really sincere? Perhaps he, too, had grown tired of the deceptions and the conflicts. Perhaps he, too, hungered for the kind of family life so many people simply took for granted, but which seemed beyond the Cutlers. He did look older, wiser, more settled. I was sure the revelations and the aftermath of the reading of the wills had had a traumatic effect on him as well. After all, he had learned that his grandfather had made love to his mother. That wasn't something to be proud of. The Cutlers had a long way to go to win back the respect and admiration of the world they lived in. Maybe it was now up to us, the next generation.

"All right, Philip," I said. "I'll speak to Jimmy about it." "Great. So," he said, sitting down, "you've really taken to the hotel business, I understand."

"I'm still learning, but I'm doing more and more every day, yes," I replied proudly.

"When I graduate I intend to return to help you run this place. I've got some great ideas about changing some things, making them more modern and expanding business," he said.

"We've got to remember we're an old, established and distinguished hotel, Philip, catering to a definite clientele who expect certain things to remain as they are, as they always have been," I replied. Philip's eyes widened.

"For a moment there," he said, "you sounded just like Grandmother Cutler."

"I hardly think I could ever sound like her," I snapped back, not liking his comment.

"You never know," Philip said, standing up. "Grandmother Cutler made this place into what it is today, and if you don't change anything, then it will change you," he said prophetically.

"We'll see," I said. Was Philip right? Was I still in a struggle with Grandmother Cutler, even after her death? He smiled.

"All right. I'll go see my father and see what I can do about him. May I join you and Jimmy at dinner tonight? I'm going back to college tomorrow, and I won't have all that much time to visit with you two before the wedding," he explained.

"Yes, you can join us," I said.

"Thanks." He started out. "Oh," he said. "I forgot to tell you. I've met someone at college. Her name's Betty Ann Monroe. We've sort of become an item on campus, if you know what I mean. I'm giving her my fraternity pin this week, and in college that's equivalent to becoming engaged."

"Congratulations."

"I think you'll like her very much. She's bright and very sensitive."

"I'm happy for you, Philip. I look forward to meeting her someday," I said. I was really very happy to hear that he had developed a love interest in someone else. It fueled my hope that he was really changing. Perhaps what he had suggested —normal family relationships—wasn't so out of reach after all.

"Thank you." He stepped closer to me. "Dawn, I . . . well, I hope that what happened between us can somehow be buried and . . ."

"I'll never tell anyone, Philip, if that's what you mean," I said. It was. He immediately looked relieved. "I'm too ashamed of it myself," I added, wiping the smile of his face.

"Yes, well, I'd better go see about my father. I'll see you at dinner," he added, and he left quickly.

When Jimmy came up a little while later I told him what Philip had requested. I had never told Jimmy about Philip raping me. At the time, I was afraid to tell him what Philip had done, and as time passed I'd pressed the memory of Philip's attack on me in the shower deeper and deeper into my memory, where I hoped to keep it buried forever.