Gates of Paradise (Casteel 4)

"But Tony, you shouldn't have any trouble finding Luke," I cried. How could he even suggest that? And yet, what if Luke was busy with . . . with some new friend? He would miss the call and the message or get it far too late. I wanted him; I needed him. "Drake found him without much trouble."

"I don't suppose there will be any problem," he said. "I'll put my secretary right on it."

"Thank you, Tony. Thank you." He continued to hold my hand even as I fell back against the pillow. I closed my eyes. Even this little excitement made me feel weak and tired. I guess they were right about protecting me, I thought. I was thinking I would rest a little more, but Mrs. Broadfield wasn't about to let me sleep.

"Time I got her up and ready for breakfast," she told Tony. He nodded and released my hand.

"I'll return early this afternoon. Have a good morning."

My morning was the same, except I forced myself to eat every morsel of the breakfast. I didn't want Mrs. Broadfield or anyone coming up with a reason why I shouldn't go to my parents' monument the next day. What if Tony contacted Luke and he was coming and then it was all canceled? His trip here would be canceled. They would certainly forbid him to see me if I couldn't even attend my own parents' memorial service. The thought of losing an

opportunity to finally set eyes on Luke put me in something of a panic. I had to calm myself down before Mrs. Broadfield took note.

After breakfast Mrs. Broadfield performed my morning therapy. I felt her fingers all over my legs, but I didn't say a word for fear that somehow she would use it against me to cancel the memorial service. Whatever pain I now had, I quickly swallowed, making my face as indifferent as possible, and then I spent the remainder of the morning lying in bed watching television. Sometime after lunch, a meal I again finished completely, Tony returned.

"Did you speak to Luke?" I asked him as he came through the doorway.

"No, but I left a message at his dorm. I'm sure he'll call later today, or perhaps he'll just show up at the service. An old friend of mine, Reverend Carter, will lead us in prayer. I've scheduled it for two o'clock."

"But Tony, you should have kept trying until you reached him! Maybe you can try again. Please, Tony!" I begged.

"I'll have someone try again, if I don't. Not to worry, my dear. Please, don't get upset over it."

"I won't," I promised.

Tony seemed surprisingly chipper, most likely because I hadn't decided to leave after his confession.

"You're probably worried about what to wear tomorrow, aren't you?" he asked, completely misreading my look of concern.

"What to wear?"

"You couldn't have a better selection from which to choose," he continued, and went to the closet. He slid open the door to reveal garment after garment.

"There is so much here; Heaven never got an opportunity to wear a lot of it. And the wonderful thing is, everything will fit you!

"Of course," he said, plucking a dress from the rack, "some things were her favorites. I remember she wore this to a funeral once." He held up a black cotton dress with long sleeves and a long skirt and then stroked it lovingly, as if he still saw her in it.

Then he turned to me, that faraway look in his eyes as he recalled a memory.

"Everyone stared at her, mesmerized, when she entered the church and walked down the aisle. Even Reverend Carter looked dazzled. I could see him wondering. Had an angel entered his church to attend the service?" Tony laughed and shook his head. "Just like her mother, black brought out her fairness." He smiled at me. "I'm sure it will do the same for you."

"I'm not worried about how I will look, Tony. I'm not doing this for other people."

"Oh, I know, but it does honor to your mother's and your grandmother's memories for you to wear something like this." He put the dress down on my bed and stepped back, his gaze hypnotically fixed on it. Then he considered me, "You know, Annie, if you died your hair silvery blond, you would be the image of your grandmother." He looked about quickly and settled on one of the pictures in the silver frames that was on the long vanity table. "Wait, show you what I mean." He got the picture and brought it to me. "See?"

It was a photograph of my grandmother Leigh when she was about my age, and I did have to admit that the resemblance was strong, and would be even stronger had I the light hair, too.

"Won't you consider doing it? Just for a diversion, perhaps, to amuse yourself while you're so confined.

I'll get the best hairdresser around to come up here for you. What do you say?"

"Dye my hair silvery blond? Tony, you're not serious?"

"Absolutely. I couldn't be more serious. Imagine everyone's surprise when they come to visit you."

"I don't know." I nearly laughed, but then I looked at my grandmother's photograph. There was something fascinating about her face . . her eyes, her nose, her chin were so much like Mother's and mine. Was this why Mommy had dyed her hair? I wondered.

"There are many pictures of your mother when she had light hair, too," Tony said, as if he knew what I was thinking. He brought me another photo in a silver frame. This one was of Mommy when she and Daddy had first arrived after their marriage. They were down at the private beach. I held the two photographs side by side.