Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

"I'm just happy to speak to Daddy," I said.

"If you're happy, why do you cry?" she asked.

"Sometimes you do. You'll see. Come on. It's time you put on your pajamas." I took her hand and led her upstairs. It was Mrs. Boston's day off, and she was with her sister in town. That morning she hadn't wanted to leave when she heard I would be alone, but I ins

isted.

"I've been alone plenty of times before, Mrs. Boston," I told her bravely. Now I wished I hadn't. If I ever needed company, I need it now, I thought.

"I want Daddy to kiss me good night," Christie complained when I tucked her in and kissed her.

"You know he's not here, Christie."

"I still want him to kiss me. I'm not going to sleep until he comes home and kisses me good night," she insisted.

"Fine. Lie there with your eyes open all night," I said.

She folded her little arms over her chest and glared up at me defiantly. I knew I should have been more understanding and sympathetic, but her unhappiness only served to underscore my own.

I left but peeked in on her every fifteen minutes. Amazingly, she kept herself awake for nearly an hour before her eyelids grew too heavy and she had to fall asleep.

After I put Christie to bed I went into my bedroom and got into my nightgown. I decided I would read and read until I got so tired I would pass out. But my eyes were just sliding over the pages, the words meaningless to me. I was about to give up and turn off the lights when the doorbell sounded.

Who would come to the house? I wondered. Anyone who needed me at the hotel would simply call. Curious but apprehensive, I slipped into my silk dressing gown and started down the stairs, belting my gown as I descended. I opened the door and found Philip gazing in at me. He swayed and smiled widely.

"Evenin'," he mumbled, and he seized the door jamb to steady himself.

"Philip Cutler, are you drunk?" I asked.

"Drunk? Noooooooo. Oh . . . maybe, just a trifle," he said, squeezing his thumb and forefinger together. "May I come in?" he asked, straightening up.

"It's late, Philip. What do you want?" I asked, not giving an inch of ground.

"Simply to . . . to . . . talk," he said, and he fell forward, stepping just in time to keep from landing on his face. I had no choice but to close the door.

"How could you do this, Philip? Don't you care what the guests will say if they see you? What's come over you?" He covered his ears with his hands.

"My God, it's as if she rose from the grave," he moaned. "How could you do this?" he mimicked. "What will the guests think if they see you?' "

"Philip!"

"I need something to drink," he muttered, and he stumbled his way into our den. He knew where Jimmy kept our whiskey and headed directly toward it.

"You've had enough to drink, Philip," I said. I cut him off in the middle of the room and grabbed his right arm, spinning him around.

"Dawn," he said, smiling, "you look lovely tonight. Just the way I always imagine you, with your hair down. You're wearing one of your sheer nightgowns under that, aren't you?" he asked, licking his lips.

"Philip, you turn yourself around and march yourself back to the hotel and your wife this moment, do you hear me?" I commanded. He nodded, but he didn't move.

"My wife," he said, and he fixed his eyes on me, his lips moving into a grotesque mockery of a smile. "You could have been my wife if that security guard hadn't recognized your father." He seized my shoulders and pressed his forehead to my hair. "We would have eloped before Grandmother could have said anything," he whispered. From the way he spoke, I knew it was a fantasy he replayed time and time again.

"Philip, that's ridiculous; it's ridiculous to think and to dream such things."

"No, it isn't," he replied. I couldn't stand the odor of his whiskey breath and started to pull myself from his embrace, but his fingers tightened, and he pressed his right hand against my back, running it up my spine. His lips brushed over my eyes. I struggled harder until I broke from his hold. He staggered, his eyes glazed.

"Wait, Dawn," he said, his voice nearly a whisper now, "it's not too late for us."

"What are you talking about, Philip? How can you even think these things?" I said, taking another step back. He shook his head vigorously.