Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

"We'll take her up and give her a nice warm bath, Mrs. Boston," I said.

"Of course. Come to Mrs. Boston," she said, holding out her arms. Christie went to her gladly.

"We'll make sure they're heading out of town, Mrs. Longchamp," the policeman said.

"Thank you."

"Where did you find them?" Jimmy inquired. "Hoagie's Diner," the policeman said.

"I never thought to look there," Jimmy muttered. "Lucky for them I didn't," he added.

I took his arm, and we followed Mrs. Boston and Christie back into the house. Another crisis of Clara Sue's making had ended. She was like a dark cloud full of rain, always ready to spoil a nice day.

Late in the spring Betty Ann announced that she was pregnant. I was happy for her, of course, and so was Jimmy, but it had the effect of accentuating my own failure to become pregnant. At Jimmy's insistence we went for another physical examination and had another session with Dr. Lester. After all the tests had been completed we met with him in his office.

"I'm not surprised at the results," he began, sitting back in his chair and tempting his fingers under his chin. "Nothing much has changed. You're both in perfect health and both fertile."

"Then what is it?" Jimmy demanded. "It certainly isn't for lack of trying," he said, not realizing how forcefully he said it until he looked at my face. "I mean . . ."

"No, no, I understand," Dr. Lester said. He leaned forward on his desk and gazed at me intently. "Dawn, how are you feeling emotionally these days? I don't mean to pry, but are you happy?"

"Happy?" I looked at Jimmy, who was awaiting my answer almost as eagerly as the doctor. "Why, yes. Things are going very well for us. We have a new home. Christie, thank God, is a healthy, happy child. The hotel is doing very well, and we're all getting along . . I'm happy," I insisted, but I sounded angry about it. The doctor's eyebrows rose.

"Uh-huh," he said. "Emotionally you're all right . . . none of those mood swings we talked about once before . . periods of sadness coming over you for no apparent reason?"

"Well . . . hardly," I said. He nodded, contemplating. Then he sat back and shrugged.

"Nature has its ways," he said. "Medicine can do so much, but after a while it's up to forces beyond our control."

"I've heard about fertility drugs," Jimmy said. I was surprised. He had never mentioned them before.

"Oh, there are some I can give you, but that's not a concern, considering your own fertility, and there are some side effects and unexpected results, too. Why endanger yourselves and your offspring?"

"No, no, of course not," Jimmy said quickly. "I just thought—"

"I think," Dr. Lester said, nodding, "that it's going to happen in due time. When the right combination of events occurs—physical, mental, emotional—then it will happen.

"Let's not forget that Dawn has gone through a very traumatic experience with a pregnancy. The body works in mysterious ways sometimes, and it might still be—what should I say?—gun shy?" He smiled. "I think you know what I mean. Give it a little more time," he said, standing up.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," I said after we left and we were in our car. "I know it's my fault. Dr. Lester has just about come out and said that."

"Oh, no. You can't blame yourself. You didn't ask for any traumatic experiences. Hey," he said, "we'll do just what he says . . we'll keep on trying." He smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

The following January, a day after New Year's Day, Betty Ann gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, both with strands of Philip's and my golden hair, but both with Betty Ann's brown eyes, only theirs seemed brighter, with specks of bronze. They had identical diminutive features: tiny button noses and wee mouths with soft but full upper lips. Side by side in their bassinets in the maternity ward, they still seemed to share the same womb, for when one began to cry the other joined in instantly. They swung their arms and clenched their doll-like hands in synchronization, their wails in harmony.

Jimmy held Christie up to look in at her new cousins. Her eyes widened with awe as her gaze moved from one to the other.

"We've named the boy Richard, Richard Stanley Cutler, and the girl Melanie Rose," Philip announced proudly. Then he looked at Christie and asked, "Can you say Richard and Melanie?"

Christie nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak.

"Go on, then," Philip coaxed. "Say it. First Richard."

"Richard," she pronounced perfectly.

"And Melanie Rose."

"Mell . . ." Christie paused and looked at me. I nodded encouragement, but in her excitement she had forgotten the rest. "Mellon," she said, and we all laughed.