Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

upstairs and pack a few things, honey," I said softly. "You don't need much. We'll buy you whatever you need later."
    "Okay," she sang, and she shot off toward the stairway. Leslie Osborne shook her head and backed herself against the sofa. She sat down hard and began to cry.
    "I'm sorry, Mrs. Osborne," I said, going to her. "But if Fern has been and continues to be abused—"
    "She's hasn't. Clayton's not that sort. He's firm with her, and he's worried about her, but he would never do anything to hurt her," she said.
    "Maybe you just never knew," Jimmy said.
    "I would know something like that," she replied. Jimmy shook his head.
    "Not if you bury yourself in your art studio and even forget to make dinner or celebrate her birthday," he said.
    "What? I never . . . Did she say that, too?" She looked toward the doorway and shook her head.
    "My sister belongs with us," Jimmy said. "It's time she came back to her real family."
    Leslie snapped her head around and stared at him. Her tears looked frozen in her eyes.
    "We are her real family. We made a good home for her here," she said slowly. "We gave her everything she could ever want or need."
    "Except real love," Jimmy replied. He was unmerciful. Even I winced for Leslie Osborne. She sat there dumbly, the tears streaming down her face.
    Moments later we heard Fern bouncing down the stairs.
    "I'm ready," she announced, a small suitcase in hand. To me it seemed as if she had already had it packed and waiting. She had returned that quickly.
    Jimmy smiled.
    "Then let's go."
    They started away.
    "Fern," I said.
    "What?"
    "Don't you want to say good-bye to Leslie, at least?" She looked back at the woman who had been her mother. A tiny smile formed at Fern's lips.
    "Sure. Good-bye, Leslie," she said, and then she turned and rushed forward to open the door.
    Leslie Osborne shook her head hard to deny what she was seeing and hearing.
    "I'm sorry, Mrs. Osborne," I said. "I really am, but this might be the best for everyone concerned."
    She sobbed silently but didn't respond.
    "Dawn," Jimmy called from the doorway.
    I took one last look at her and then joined him. Fern was already at the bottom of the stairs.
    "Jimmy," I said, "I hope we're doing the right thing."
    "We are. How can it not be the right thing? We're bringing her back to her real family. It's what Momma would want, don't you think?"
    "I guess," I said. "I hope so," I added.
    "Listen," he said quietly, "if Clayton Osborne weren't guilty, would he be so willing to let us take Fern away without a fight? Obviously he was shocked at how we simply confronted him with the truth. All that anger is merely his way of covering up."
    I nodded. What Jimmy said made sense. How could Clayton send Fern out so quickly and easily? After all, she had been his and Leslie's daughter, for better or worse, all these years.
    We walked up to the corner to hail another cab. Fern was so eager to get away, she practically ran up the sidewalk, her suitcase swinging in her hand. Now that the traumatic event was apparently ended, we all confessed to being hungry. As soon as we returned to the hotel and put Fern's things in our suite we went down to dinner. At the table she talked a mile a minute, and whenever she did pause, Jimmy fired a question. It was as if both of them wanted to catch up on all the years in minutes. All night I kept watching her and waiting for the reality of what was happening to sink in. I expected her to break into tears when she realized she was leaving the only home she could really remember and the only people she could really have thought of as parents. But she must have really been unhappy and suffered terribly under Clayton Osborne's abuse, for she hardly mentioned either of them.
    I couldn't help but be nervous. My eyes continually shifted to doorways, and every time someone new entered I expected to see either Clayton himself coming for Fern, or some police officer, but no one came. When we returned to our suite to retire I anticipated finding a message, but there wasn't any.
    The sofa in the sitting room of our suite pulled out into a bed. We had the hotel maid prepare it for Fern. I felt certain that Fern would experience anxiety and fear now that she had to go to sleep in a strange place with people she barely knew, but she didn't cry or express any reluctance. The only thing that upset her was that she had forgotten to pack her toothbrush. I sent down for one from the hotel shop.
    While Jimmy prepared for bed in