Twilight's Child

by V. C. Andrews

  "But you are, aren't you, Philip?" I pursued.

  "You know, I'll always wish it was you and I, Dawn," he replied. His eyes were soft, limpid pools of desire.

  "Well, we both know that can't and never will be. So there's no sense talking about it, is there?"

  "No, you're right," he said. "It's only painful to do so." When the dance ended I asked him if he would go look in on Randolph.

  "See what's keeping him," I asked.

  "Your wish is my command," he replied, bowing like a dutiful servant, and he left. Before I could return to the dais the music started again, and I felt myself being turned. I looked up into Bronson Alcott's eyes.

  "May I have this next dance?" he asked. I looked toward the dais. Jimmy was talking to some of the hotel staff. "Yes," I said. He took hold of me firmly, and we began. "You know," he said, "I'm quite envious of James. He's landed the best catch at the shore."

  "It's the other way around, Mr. Alcott. I've landed the best catch."

  He laughed.

  "Please, call me Bronson," he said again. "I don't like feeling older than you."

  "No wonder you and my mother get along so well," I said petulantly. His smile widened. "She never wants to act her age either."

  He roared and swung me around. I had to admit to myself that in his arms I did feel like a princess. He was so graceful. Our dancing caught the attention of a number of the guests, many of whom stopped dancing themselves to watch us. Before long it seemed as if the entire wedding party was staring our way, especially Mother, who wore the most unusual look on her face—a mixture of jealousy and sadness. When the number ended there was some applause.

  "We're a hit," Bronson said. "Thank you."

  "Thank you," I said, and I hurried back to Jimmy, who looked overwhelmed.

  "I can't wait to get out of here," I whispered, "and be on our honeymoon."

  He brightened and kissed me softly. Then Sissy brought Christie to us, and we took her out on the dance floor and held her between us as we danced and enjoyed the music.

  Philip returned to tell me that Randolph had fallen asleep on the sofa in his office.

  "I didn't have the heart to wake him," he said.

  "Maybe it is for the best," I admitted.

  Suddenly the band stopped playing and the emcee came to the microphone.

  "Many of you know," he began, "that our beautiful bride is a very talented singer. Perhaps we can coax her into coming up here and singing at her own wedding."

  "Oh, no," I cried. But the guests all cheered. I looked helplessly at Jimmy and Trisha.

  "Go ahead," he said.

  "Yes, show them what a Sarah Bernhardt student can do," Trisha added excitedly.

  "Oh, Jimmy . . ." Reluctantly, I let myself be led to the microphone. The band waited for instructions. I remembered an old love song Momma Longchamp used to hum sometimes. To my surprise, the band knew it, too. They started playing, and I began.

  "I'm confessing that I love you . . ."

  The guests grew quite attentive. Many swayed to the melody. When I was finished there was thunderous applause. I looked at Jimmy and saw him beaming with pride. To his right Bronson Alcott sat staring at me with a wide smile. Mother fluttered about, accepting congratulations from everyone near her. I hurried back to Jimmy's side.

  Shortly afterward the wedding cake was wheeled out, and Jimmy and I had to go down to do the traditional cutting. Once again our guests applauded, and the waiters and waitresses began taking pieces of the cake around to the different tables.

  The dinner and the dancing lasted well into the early evening. I was so tired from the excitement and from getting up so early, I was frankly glad to see it coming to an end. Mother, who often cried and moaned over doing such simple things as brushing her own teeth, seemed to have endless energy. She fed on all the attention she was receiving, especially the male attention, and tried to talk people out of leaving when they came to say good-bye.

  "But it's so early!" she exclaimed.

  Gradually, though, the guests began to thin out until there were just a dozen or so remaining. Mr. Updike, Mr. Dorfman and Bronson Alcott were the last to go.

  Jimmy and I were all packed for our honeymoon. We had our plane tickets, and the hotel car was set to take us to the airport after we both changed. I helped Sissy put Christie to bed, explaining to her that Momma would be away for a while and asking her to be a good girl for Sissy. She seemed to understand, for she hugged me tighter than usual and kissed me longer.

  "Don't you worry none, Dawn," Sissy said. "I'll take good care of her."

  "I know you will, Sissy. Thank you."

  "You was a beautiful bride," she said, tears coming to her eyes.

  "You will be one, too, Sissy."

  She smiled, and we hugged. Jimmy had already gotten our bags down and was waiting in the lobby. On my way to meet him I met Mother, struggling to get herself up the stairs.

  "I'm so tired," she said. "I'm going to sleep a week."

  "Thank you, Mother," I said. "It was a wonderful wedding." Once again, I had to give the devil her due. She beamed.

  "It was, wasn't it?"

  "All except for Randolph," I said. "I do hope you will look after him now," I added. Her smile withered.

  "Please," she said. "Don't remind me." She pulled herself past me, moaning about her feet. I bounced down the rest of the stairway and rushed out to join Jimmy. Trisha, who was going to ride to the airport with us, was waiting beside him at the door.

  As I started across the lobby Philip, who was leaning against the reception counter, stepped forward.

  "Have a good time," he said.

  "Thank you."

  "I wish I were going with you," he added.

  I ignored him and ran into the waiting arms of Jimmy, the waiting arms of my husband.

  5

  HONEYMOON HEARTACHE

  EXHAUSTED, I WAS HAPPY TO LAY MY HEAD AGAINST JIMMY'S shoulder in the hotel limousine and close my eyes. I felt his fingers brush strands of my hair away from my forehead, clearing a place for him to place his warm, loving kiss. I smiled with my eyes closed.

  "You look like a young woman having a wonderful dream," Jimmy whispered.

  "I am," I replied, my smile widening.

  "As long as I'm in it, I don't mind," he said. My eyelids fluttered open, and I looked up into his soft, dark eyes. I sensed his concern. After all, I had once fallen deeply and passionately in love with someone else and borne that man's child. Jimmy had reason to wonder if my dreams included him.

  Suddenly I realized the immensity of his love for me. He had never asked me outright if I had stopped loving Michael Sutton after Michael had deserted me. He never seemed to wonder if I still thought often about Michael. He never asked. Maybe he was afraid of the answers. Maybe he knew I couldn't lie to him and deny that Michael came to my mind occasionally, especially when I held Christie in my arms.

  But Jimmy was willing to put all this aside. He believed our love for each other would grow stronger and stronger with every passing day. I meant so much to him that he was willing to risk his own heart. I did love him, I thought, and that love could only grow stronger.

  "You will always be in my dreams, Jimmy. Now and forever," I promised him. I lifted my head so our lips could touch, and we held a long kiss. Then I closed my eyes again and let my head fall against his chest. He held me snugly until we were nearly at the airport.

  Our flight took us directly to Provincetown, at the tip of Cape Cod. From there we hired a cab to our motel, which was on the beach. It was nearly midnight when we were finally settled in our honeymoon suite, and we were both quite tired, but quite excited. Our room had a patio door that opened on a small balcony. We were only two flights up, but the unobstructed beachfront provided us with a sweeping view of the ocean. It was a clear night, with the stars blazing like diamonds on black velvet. I felt as if we were at the top of the world. Jimmy came up behind me. Sensing my thoughts, he put his arm about my shoulde
r and drew me closer.

  "Happy?" he asked.

  "Oh, yes, Jimmy. I feel like Alice falling into a wonderland of rainbow dreams."

  Something boyishly wistful and sweet visited his eyes. "The stars seem so close," he said, and he kissed me on the cheek.

  "And bright. Even when I close my eyes, I still see them!" I exclaimed. Jimmy laughed and turned me around to kiss me on the lips. "Mrs. James Gary Longchamp," he whispered, and he scooped me into his arms to bring me to the bed. He hovered above me, stroking my hair, and stared down at me.

  Once before, when he had visited me at school in New York, we had gone to his hotel room and almost made love. This was before I had met Michael. Jimmy's and my memories of being brought up thinking we were brother and sister were still quite strong, and even though I had closed my eyes and had told myself over and over that we weren't blood-related and we had no reason to feel dirty wanting and loving each other, it was very hard to overcome years and years of living as siblings.

  It had been the same for Jimmy, and he had decided it was too soon. Although we had hugged and kissed and petted each other affectionately, we had held off consummating our love. I knew that once we did it, we would shatter the wall that still lingered between us, a wall comprised of mistaken guilt and confusion, a wall built out of lies and deceit, a false wall that never should have been between us in the first place.

  "Are you too tired?" Jimmy asked, once more providing a way for me to avoid the moment.

  "No," I said, and I brought my fingers to my blouse to begin undoing the buttons.

  "Let me," he said. "You can just lie there with your eyes closed, seeing those stars."

  I smiled, but the moment his fingers touched the buttons, my heart began to pound. It thumped like a tin drum, and my stomach filled with feathers. Gently he peeled my blouse away and slipped it down my arms. Just as gently, almost magically, he unfastened my bra. I didn't open my eyes. I felt him move down the bed to take off my heels and slide my skirt over my legs. When he plucked my panties away I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He was gazing down at me with such desire, I felt myself grow faint.

  "Do you remember," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "how you would catch me from time to time watching you dressing?"

  "Yes," I said, recalling the way his face would redden when I did see him looking my way.

  "I couldn't help but become fascinated with the way your body changed—how your breasts blossomed and your curves became more gentle. I didn't want to look; I told myself it wasn't right, it was dirty, but you were like a magnet, and my head was like iron."

  "And how you would jump if our bodies touched while we shared those sofa beds, remember?"

  "Yes," he said, bringing his hands to my awaiting bosom.

  He followed them with his lips. I closed my eyes and listened to the rustling of his clothing as he stripped the garments from his body. Moments later he was naked beside me, and something we had both seen in dreams, in fantasies that had made us feel guilty and evil, became real.

  Real now were his lips, moving softly but quickly over my breasts. Real now were his hands, stroking me and bringing me closer and closer to him. Real now was the touch of his manliness, hard and ready. We both hesitated one more time, as if finally closing the door on a fraudulent past, and then we became what man and wife were supposed to become, joined in an ecstatic embrace, all our love for each other rushing up from where we coupled, his love driving deeper and deeper into my soul and my love welcoming him, drawing him, demanding more and more until we were both moaning. I held onto him as if I were on a roller coaster. He took me up and down, and I felt myself falling so quickly, I became dizzy. My heart beat so fast, it became one continuous whir, sending my blood rushing through me, making my fingers tingle.

  When it was over we lay beside each other, panting, both of us surprised at the intensity of our passion. His fingers opened to entwine with mine, and we lay there, silent, holding hands, looking into the darkness, while outside our window the stars burned even more brightly, their light twinkling on the ocean surface, making it seem as if all the world was happy that Jimmy and I were finally man and wife.

  Both of us slept soundly that night. Even the morning sunshine streaming through the slit in the curtains didn't interfere with our sleep. The ocean breezes lifted the curtains and nudged us until we finally parted our eyelids and gazed into each other's faces.

  "This is your first morning waking up as Mrs. James Gary Longchamp," Jimmy said. "How do you feel?"

  "Ravenously hungry," I replied, and he laughed. We showered and dressed quickly to have breakfast. The motel restaurant had a large patio with ice-cream-parlor tables and umbrellas. We had freshly squeezed juice and coffee and bacon and eggs.

  Afterward, we took a long walk on the beach and hunted seashells, surprising each other with one colorful find after another. By the time we returned to the motel we had a sack full.

  "Christie will love them," I said.

  In the afternoon we lay on the beach and swam in the ocean. Our activity renewed our appetites, and we were both eager to sample Cape Cod's famous lobster. Jimmy had done a lot of research on the area and had planned our every move. He had made reservations in a seafood restaurant down at the harbor. Over the door there was a sign that said, "The lobster you eat today, yesterday swam in Cape Cod Bay."

  It was delicious and very romantic, for we sat at a table lit only by candlelight and looked out at the ships in the harbor, many with their lights on, and some so far out they looked like tars that had fallen. After dinner we took a nice walk through the town, window-shopping and planning some of the gifts we would buy to bring back. or lovemaking that evening was no less passionate than it had been the night before. Along with the sunshine and the swimming, the walks and the feasting, it brought us once again to the portals of restful and contented sleep. We drifted off in each other's arms and woke to the same caress of warm ocean breezes and bright sunlight the next day.

  Jimmy had planned for us to rent kayaks and paddle our way across the calm harbor, so soon after breakfast we changed and went down to the beach. The owner of the concession outfitted us with life jackets and then gave us lessons. A little while later we pushed off and began our fun filled sea journey. Jimmy was reckless a few times and spilled over. It was great fun and great exercise. We were lucky that the ocean was so calm, but we were both happy to see the shore again after we paddled our way back.

  As we drew closer and closer, however, I noticed one of the receptionists at the motel was standing with the owner of the boat concession and gazing out in our direction. He had his arms folded across his chest. As we approached the beach he stepped toward us, waving.

  "What does he want?" I wondered aloud. Jimmy hopped out of his kayak first and helped me with mine.

  "We just received an emergency phone call for you, Mrs. Longchamp," the receptionist said, "so I came right down to see if you and your husband had returned."

  Dread filled me. I looked worriedly at Jimmy and then turned back to him.

  "Do you know who the call was from?" My heart began to pound, and my nerve ends twanged.

  "A Mr. Updike," he replied, handing me the slip of paper with Mr. Updike's phone number on it. "He asked that you call him immediately."

  "Oh, no, Jimmy. Something must have happened to Christie," I cried.

  "Now, don't jump to any conclusions," Jimmy said firmly. "It could just be something to do with the hotel—some decision that has to be made immediately."

  I nodded hopefully, and we hurried up the beach to our motel room to make the call. Mr. Updike answered after only the first ring.

  "I'm sorry to have to call you on your honeymoon, Dawn," he began, "but a tragic event has occurred."

  "What is it, Mr. Updike? What's happened?" I cried. I shivered and turned icy with apprehension. Jimmy was at my side, holding my hand.

  "Randolph is dead," he replied.

  "Randolph? But how . . . w
hat?"

  "Apparently, all this was finally too much for him. He left the hotel some time early last night. No one even knew he had left. He rambled about all evening, from what we can tell. Eventually he ended up at the cemetery."

  "The cemetery?"

  "Yes, and collapsed over his mother's grave. The caretaker found him there late this morning. He called for an ambulance and all, but . . . it was too late. The doctor says he literally pined away. The official cause of death will be heart failure," he concluded.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," I said. "Poor Randolph. He suffered so much, and no one really helped him."

  "Yes," Mr. Updike said, and he cleared his throat. "Well, you can just imagine what's going on here now. Your mother—"

  "Must be carrying on to no end," I said dryly. "I imagine she has her stream of doctors pouring up and down the stairs."

  "Well, there's quite a bit of turmoil. She insisted Mr. Dorfman ask all the guests to leave and close the hotel. Naturally, he didn't want to take on all this responsibility, so he phoned me, and I told him I would phone you to confirm the next stage of action," Mr. Updike explained.

  "What do you suggest we do, Mr. Updike?" I asked.

  "Mrs. Cutler wouldn't have closed the hotel," he said plainly. "To her it was like show business—the show must go on."

  "Then close it," I insisted, not caring what that horrid old woman would have done. "The guests will understand, and it's the decent thing to do. Jimmy and I will start home immediately. When is the funeral?"

  "Your mother wanted it to be tomorrow, but the minister has talked her into waiting until the day after. A number of people will want to attend," he said. "Philip and Clara Sue are already home," he added.

  "Very well," I said. "How tragic," I repeated, and I cradled the receiver slowly. I gave Jimmy all the details.

  "I told my mother how serious it was; I warned her," I said, "but she just didn't care. His own children didn't care!"

  "You did what you could, Dawn. Don't start blaming yourself," Jimmy warned.

  "I know. How horrible," I thought aloud. "Poor Randolph." I felt the tears sting behind my eyes. "She reaches back from the grave and destroys people," I said. A worried frown drew his eyebrows together.