Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

do.
    But just as I stood up I heard a gentle rapping at the door and called for whoever it was to enter. It was Betty Ann.
    Betty Ann had gained weight with her pregnancy, of course, but it had filled her out and, I thought, made her more attractive. She hadn't lost much since giving birth. I thought she was still quite happy living at the hotel. She often had old college friends visit and had made friends with some of the more affluent members of Cutler's Cove, mainly because of the dinners Mother staged. In any case, what with caring for her twins, the work she did at the hotel and her social life, she appeared quite occupied and content. So I was surprised when she came in, closed the door softly behind her and proceeded to burst into tears.
    This seems to be a day for sadness, I thought. It was as if the dreary sky, the rain and the gray world without had managed to seep into our lives through every crack and cranny in our walls of happiness. Every dark thought, every sorrowful and unhappy moment in our pasts was resurrected to bloom in this soil of depression. Melancholy would have its day today.
    "What's wrong, Betty Ann?" I cried, coming to her quickly. She answered with louder and harder sobs. I guided her to the sofa and helped her to sit down. She had made her face puffy with so much crying.
    "Oh, Dawn," she moaned through her sobs, "I can't stand it anymore. I've got to tell someone. I'm sorry."
    "That's all right. There's no need to apologize. We're sisters," I said. "I don't mind your telling me your troubles. What happened? Is it something to do with the twins?" I asked.
    "Oh, no, they're fine, thank goodness."
    "Something with your family?" I pursued, already understanding how her socialite mother might be giving her trouble about her life at the hotel. On more than one occasion Betty Ann had remarked to me that her mother thought it was beneath her to greet guests and work as a hostess.
    "No," she said. She took a deep breath and then blurted, "It's Philip."
    "Philip? What about him?" I sat back. He was telling her things about me, I thought fearfully.
    "Every night for the last week he's insisted on sleeping in another room. I don't know why. I haven't done anything to him. We haven't had an argument; he just . . . gets up and leaves."
    "Gets up and leaves? You mean he gets into bed with you and then—"
    "Yes," she said, wiping her eyes and breathing in deeply again, "he just gets up and disappears. At first I thought . . . he was seeing someone else . . . going someplace to meet some nasty chambermaid or someone like that. I was too frightened to move, to do anything, even to ask him where he had gone."
    "I can't see Philip going to meet any of our chambermaids," I said.
    "No, he's not doing anything like that." She brought the handkerchief she had been holding tightly in her hands to her nose and blew into it. "I got up and followed him last night. He's just . . . just going to another room."
    "Another room? What other room?" I asked.
    "Your old suite," she replied. It was as if someone had tossed a pail full of ice water over my head. I felt the chilling streaks run over my shoulders, down the back of my neck and over my spine.
    "My old suite?"
    "Yes. Oh, Dawn, does this mean he can't stand being beside me for any length of time? Is this the way a divorce begins?" she asked, wide-eyed.
    "No, I don't think . . . Didn't you ask him why he's doing this?" I inquired.
    "I did. This morning. He said he just gets restless and has to move around. He told me not to make a big deal over it and forbade me to tell anyone, but I can't get it out of my mind, and I knew you wouldn't tell him I told. But what should I do? It isn't normal, is it? Nothing like this has happened between you and Jimmy, has it?"
    I shook my head.
    "You're just going to have to tell him how much it upsets you," I said. "Discuss it quietly and make him understand."
    What else could I tell her? I wondered.
    "Should I?"
    "Of course. If you let him see how much it bothers you, he's sure to change," I promised, even though I had serious doubts deep in my heart.
    She smiled.
    "It's nice to have someone like you to speak to," she said. "I felt bad about coming to see you after all you've had to do today," she added, "but I couldn't help myself."
    "It's all right." I patted her hand, and she looked quite reassured.
    "I'll be with you to greet the guests tonight and smooth things over," she promised. "Philip hasn't returned yet and doesn't