Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

hospital," Mr. Dorfman explained.
    "What? Why would we do that?"
    "It's the way Mrs. Cutler handled similar situations in the past," he replied. "That way . . . the impact of his death doesn't lie like a shadow over the hotel and the other guests."
    "I don't know," I said. "It seems very deceitful."
    "I can only tell you what Mrs. Cutler has done in the past. I think if she were here," Mr. Dorfman said softly, "she would tell you poor Mr. Parker wouldn't mind. You do have a house full of guests, many of them elderly.
    "Something like this can get them thinking—wrongly, of course—that they should examine every morsel of their food, where their rooms are located, what kind of ventilation they have . . . believe me, it can create a host of problems. All of a sudden every ache and pain, every skipped heartbeat will signal serious illness, and the doctors will be running in and out, not to mention Julius carting people over to the hospital for checkups.
    "I hate to put it so coldly," he concluded, "but it's not good for the hotel's image. This is a place where people relax, enjoy, have only good times and bring out only good memories." He paused and took a deep breath. "I think I'm giving you Mrs. Cutler's speech verbatim," he added, amazed himself.
    "Naturally," he continued, "I'll give Mr. Updike a call and keep him apprised of the situation. There are always legal considerations."
    He sat there staring at me, just waiting for me to give him the go-ahead. Part of me wanted to be rebellious and contrary, just because we were handling it the way Grandmother Cutler would have handled it. I wanted to order him to call the mortician and have a hearse drawn up in front of the hotel. Somehow it would be like slapping Grandmother Cutler across her arrogant face.
    But another part of me—the part that had been growing and developing—realized how immature and silly that would be. I would only hurt myself and the people I loved.
    "All right, Mr. Dorfman," I said. "Carry on with this the way we have in the past."
    He nodded and lifted the phone receiver. He had the ambulance come to the side entrance of the hotel. Some guests would see them take Mr. Parker out, of course, but it wouldn't be as big an event as it would if the ambulance was right in front and the attendants wheeled Mr. Parker through the lobby. Mr. Updike came by to make sure it all went according to plan.
    Somehow it seemed appropriate that it continued to be a gray day with intermittent downpours of rain, yet I couldn't help but feel devious and underhanded when they wheeled the old man on a gurney through the hallways with an oxygen mask over his face. I especially felt this way when guests asked me what had happened and I told them Mr. Parker wasn't feeling well and we thought it best he be taken to the hospital for examination.
    "They're only going to ask about him later on," I told Mr. Updike. "And of course, they will learn that he has died."
    "Yes," he said, "but somehow the impact of his death is lessened when it occurs at a hospital rather than right here." He patted me on the shoulder. "You did very well, my dear." I could see it was on the tip of his tongue to say, "Mrs. Cutler would be very proud of you," but he saw the glint of anger in my eyes and simply muttered, "Very well."
    The events surrounding Mr. Parker's death and removal had taken my mind off Jimmy's being gone, but when I finally returned to my office after it was all over I regretted that he wasn't at my side during the crisis. I realized how much I leaned on him, needed his strength and reassurance. I was tempted to try to reach him in Texas to tell him what had happened, but I thought it wouldn't be fair. Looking at the clock, I realized he must have just arrived and was involved with meeting his new brother. My problems could wait until later.
    By late afternoon I sat back in my chair. A feeling of exhaustion washed over me. All of the mental turmoil had taken its toll. I felt drained. I was sure I would sleep well tonight, despite myself. Christie had returned from school, taken her piano lesson and gone to be with the twins. She asked to eat her dinner with them, and I agreed. I wasn't very hungry myself and thought I would just have some tea and toast later. I began to close up my books and reports to leave the office mild return to the house so I could dress to greet the guests at dinner. Tonight, because of what had occurred, that seemed to be more important than usual to