"Mostly," I continued, "you want them to think of you as a young woman now, and not as a little girl, right? That's why you like hanging around the older boys at the hotel, and that's why you beg cigarettes and smoke with them in the basement," I added.
Her eyes widened.
"Who told you that? Robert Garwood, I bet. He's an ogre. I don't even like him. He's lying!"
"I know you smoked cigarettes down in the basement, Fern," I repeated, "but I've never told Jimmy. You shouldn't think I want to turn him against you. I don't, but you will turn him against you if you don't take your time growing up.
"I know it might sound silly to you, but you've got to be careful about your feelings. Sometimes they run away with you, and you do things you regret later."
"Like when you got pregnant with Christie?" she asked quickly.
"Yes, but I was lucky I had Jimmy to love me. Not everyone is so lucky, Fern. Instead of relying on being lucky, you should rely on being wise. If you throw yourself at older boys, they're going to think you're not wise, and they're going to take advantage of you. I think you understand what I'm saying, don't you?"
She nodded.
"It's just a dance," she muttered.
"Older boys don't think of it that way, and I think that this older boy saw something in you that gave him reason to believe you didn't, either. Otherwise he might not have asked you," I said.
"Why? I'm just as pretty as some of the girls in the ninth and tenth grades," she asserted.
"I'm sure you are—even prettier—but that's not the point, is it? Why didn't he ask one of those girls? All we're asking is that you take your time growing up. It will all come; you will have an army of boyfriends, I'm sure, and you won't miss a thing."
"Then when can I go to a dance?" she asked.
"Soon, I'm sure. And when the time is right, we won't stop you; we'll be happy for you." I patted her on the hand and got up.
"Jimmy's really mad at me, isn't he?" she asked quickly. "No, he's not mad; he's worried. Why don't you go downstairs and talk to him?" I suggested.
"Okay," she said, sliding off the bed. Then she paused at the doorway and turned to me. I thought she was going to thank me for the little talk, but instead she asked, "Someday will you tell me how you let yourself fall in love and get pregnant at such a young age?"
"Someday," I said. She smiled and walked out quickly, leaving me struck nearly breathless by her request.
It had been a while since I had thought much about Michael Sutton. Occasionally, when Trisha would call or visit, she would bring me some tidbits about him and his career, things she had heard or read in the trade magazines. But Fern's request to tell her about my tragic love story seemed like some magical spell cast by a wicked witch, for less than a week later I received the most shocking phone call—a call from Michael himself.
"Hello, Dawn," he said, and I knew immediately that it was he. I would never forget that melodic, resonant voice, the voice that had called to me in dreams while I was living in New York and attending the Sarah Bernhardt School of Performing Arts. For a moment I couldn't respond. My heart lodged somewhere in my throat. It was as if all the time between us had been a dream. "It's Michael," he finally said.
"Michael?"
"Yes." He laughed. "I know you never expected to hear from me again, and you probably don't want to, but I couldn't stop myself from calling you. I'm in Virginia Beach."
"Virginia Beach!"
"Yes, only a few miles away. After all this time," he continued, "only a few miles away. How have you been?"
"How have I been?"
This was the man who had said he loved me and wanted me with him always, and when he found out I was pregnant he had told me he was happy about it; this was the same man who had deserted me and left me crying on a city street in a snowstorm.
"How have I been?" I repeated, as if I had to have him confirm he was actually asking such a question.
He laughed again, a nervous laugh. The great Michael Sutton, nervous? I thought. How unlike him; how especially unlike him to show it.
"I made some inquiries about you after I returned to the States and traveled to Virginia. From what I've been told, you've inherited quite a well-known resort, one frequented by well-to-do vacationers," he said.
"That's true, Michael," I replied in a voice so formal Grandmother Cutler would have been jealous. "I'm also happily married."
"I know, I know." He laughed again, a thin, weak laugh this time. "You married that soldier boy you thought was your brother, right?"