Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

"Yes, like Christie."

"Ummm." He thought a moment.

"What's wrong?" I asked, seeing a familiar lo

ok of worry on his face. There was a depth, an intensity to his gaze, dimming the brightness in his otherwise pearl-black eyes.

"I don't know. He didn't sound proud of her. To tell you the truth," he added, looking up sharply, "he sounds like a stuffy type, speaking out of his nose." He shrugged. "Maybe he just has a cold."

"Maybe he's just in shock, Jimmy."

"Yeah. He kept asking how did we get his number, how did we get his name. I skipped over his questions and asked him questions of my own." Jimmy's eyes brightened, and he slapped his hands together. "Just think, Dawn. After nearly nine years we're going to set eyes on Fern again."

The radiance in his face set my own heart racing. What would it be like? Would she take one look at us and know, especially one look at Jimmy? By now the resemblances in her features would be clear, I thought, but wasn't there also some unseen thing, some magical feeling that would trigger her recognition? I recalled the first time I had set eyes on Philip, that feeling I had first mistaken for romance. There was something in his eyes that told me we were already very close, linked by blood, by heritage. I just didn't know it, didn't understand at the time. Perhaps, like me, Fern was too young to comprehend these feelings and would mistake them for something else. She would be confused, not enlightened, and we would move in and out of her life like ships gliding silently in the twilight, vaguely aware of each other in the semidarkness, but deaf to the inner voices that told us who we really were.

"Yes, Jimmy," I said. "I can't wait, but I won't lie. I'm a little scared, too."

He paused and looked at me in that special way that kept my love for him always alive and thriving.

"So am I, Dawn," he confessed. "So am. I."

We made arrangements for our trip immediately. Christie was very confused, even angry about Jimmy's arriving and departing in less than a day. When she heard I was going, too, she demanded to go along and then cried and finally pouted when we said she couldn't. But fortunately, Jimmy hadn't forgotten to bring her back something from Texas: a model of a Texas ranch with tiny cattle and horses and ranch hands of all sorts, some with lassos in their fists. There were women and children, the women involved in household chores, one churning butter. There was even a tiny porch with tiny furniture, including a grandmother seated and knitting in a miniature rocking chair that really rocked. The model had to be put together. However, I thought Jimmy was happy about that—it took his mind off the trip to New York. He didn't come to bed until it was all finished and set up in Christie's room.

"Well, that should keep her occupied until we get home," he said, crawling in beside me. He snuggled up. "I really missed you when I was in Texas," he said.

"I missed you, too, and I was sorry I didn't make myself go," I admitted.

"Daddy's different. It's almost as if he's a completely changed man," Jimmy said.

"How so?"

"I don't know. He's . . . a lot more settled. He doesn't ever stay out drinking, Edwina says, and he just dotes on his new son. I wish," he added wistfully, "he had been this sort of daddy with me."

My heart nearly broke when I heard him say that. Tears burned behind my eyelids. All I could do was lean over and kiss him tenderly on the cheek. He turned to me and smiled. Then he lightly brushed the back of his hand over my cheek.

"I do love you so," he said, and he held me close. "Let's never get mad at each other again," he whispered.

"Never," I promised, but never was one of those words hard to believe in. Never again to be sad or troubled or lonely seemed like an impossible dream, something too magical for the world we were in.

We lay there quietly, both of us waiting and welcoming sleep to yank us back from the sad memories of yesterday.

Early the next morning I rose and went to the hotel to see about some things that had to be done before we left. We didn't say a word to anyone about the real purpose of our trip. Philip and Betty Ann simply thought we were going on a quick shopping spree. They were surprised, but not suspicious. We made reservations at the Waldorf and arrived in the hotel early in the afternoon. A mostly overcast sky cleared so that it was bright and blue by the time we had settled in. We had a late lunch, both of us fidgety and nervous. I did do some shopping around the hotel, mostly just to keep my mind occupied. Finally Jimmy said it was time to take a cab to the Osbornes' address.

Their brownstone was located in one of those clean and neat enclaves of New York City, a section that looked immune to all the noise and trouble. No loiterers lingered; no litter lined the gutters. The sidewalks were cleanly swept, and the people who walked up and down them didn't have that same frenzied gait and look that characterized most people hurrying through the busier sections of Manhattan. Of course, I remembered the area because it was close to the Sarah Bernhardt School and Agnes Morris's residence, where I had lived while studying.

The cab brought us to the address, and we got out. Jimmy paid the driver, and then we turned and contemplated the dark oak doorway with its stained glass window. Now that we were actually here we were both so nervous that we had to hold onto each other as we went up the steps. I saw the tension in Jimmy's eyes, the way the skin around them narrowed and tightened. He straightened into his military posture and pressed the doorbell button. We heard the chimes clang, and immediately a small dog began to bark.

Moments later Clayton Osborne opened the door, chiding the gray French poodle at his feet to be still, but the dog wouldn't stop barking until Clayton lifted him into his arms. It whined and squirmed in Clayton's long, graceful fingers but didn't bark.

Clayton was still dressed in his pin-striped suit and tie. He was tall and good-looking with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He was a slim man who held himself confidently, perhaps exaggerating his stiffness because of the occasion.

"Good afternoon," he said. Jimmy had been right about his arrogant nasality. It wasn't a cold. He held his head back when he spoke and immediately tightened his jaw, as if he were anticipating an argument after each and every word.

"Good afternoon," Jimmy replied. "I'm James Longchamp, and this is my wife, Dawn."

"Pleased to meet you." He offered me his hand first, shifting the dog under his other arm. Then he shook Jimmy's hand quickly. "Come in," he said, stepping back. After he closed the door behind us he paused. "Just so we all understand clearly," he said, "Kelly knows nothing about her sordid past. As far as she is concerned, you two are friends of mine, friends I've made through business. You were in the neighborhood and stopped by," he instructed. "But you can't stay long. You're going to a Broadway show or something and have to get ready, if Kelly should ask."

I felt Jimmy stiffen beside me. I didn't like the condescending tone in Clayton Osborne's voice either. He spoke with a pompous air, as if we should be forever grateful for the favor he was doing us.