Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

some of it. May I come in?" he asked. He was still just outside the doorway.
    "All right," I said, not hiding my displeasure and reluctance.
    He stepped up beside me quickly and gazed down at Christie.
    "Hi, Christie," he said.
    She gazed up at him as I brushed her hair gently behind her ears and over the back of her head.
    Christie had bright, inquisitive eyes and always gazed curiously and intently at people she wasn't used to seeing regularly.
    "This is Philip," I said. "Can you say 'Philip'?"
    "She talks?" he asked with surprise.
    "Of course she talks. She's nearly two years old, and she's an incessant babbler when she wants to be. 'Philip,' " I repeated. She shook her head. "She's teasing us," I said.
    "She's beautiful. A lot like her mother," he added. I glanced up at him and then carried Christie to her playpen. As soon as I placed her inside she went for her toy piano and began tapping out notes, looking up occasionally to see if Philip appreciated her recital.
    "That's great," he said, clapping. She laughed at him and continued.
    "Seriously, Philip," I said, "you should insist something be done about Randolph. He's lost too much weight, there are dark shadows around his eyes, and he's not taking care of himself. He's even untidy, which is quite uncharacteristic of him. He was always concerned about his appearance. Now he's pretending Grandmother Cutler is still alive. He's even mistaken me for her."
    "He's in a depression," Philip said nonchalantly, and he shrugged. "He'll snap out of it soon."
    "I don't think so," I said, infuriated by his attitude. "But I'm not going to nag you about it."
    "Well, thank goodness for little things," he said, his eyes twinkling.
    "You won't ever change, Philip. You're too much like Mother: self-centered."
    He laughed. "I'm not here to argue with you, Dawn. I don't ever want to argue with you again. I don't expect you can forgive me for everything I've said and done to you in the past, but—"
    "No," I said quickly, "I can't."
    "But I hope to win back your . . . your friendship, at least. Earn it," he added. "I really do."
    I turned to gaze at him. He wore a look of repentance, the glint gone from his eyes, his mouth firm.
    "What do you want, Philip?" I asked.
    "Another chance. A chance to do something brotherly, perhaps. For starters, I'd like to be a real part of your wedding," he said.
    "Part of my wedding? I don't understand. How?"
    "Well, Mother told me that Ormand Longchamp can't come and be Jimmy's best man. I was wondering—that is, I was hoping I could be," he said.
    "Best man?"
    "I'd consider it an honor, of course," he said, his face full of sincerity. "I know Jimmy won't agree to it unless you do," he added.
    "He still might not agree to it," I said.
    "I just want us to have normal family relationships," he emphasized.
    "Normal family relationships?" I nearly laughed. "I don't even know what that means anymore."
    "Nevertheless, I'd like it," he insisted.
    I studied him. Was he really sincere? Perhaps he, too, had grown tired of the deceptions and the conflicts. Perhaps he, too, hungered for the kind of family life so many people simply took for granted, but which seemed beyond the Cutlers. He did look older, wiser, more settled. I was sure the revelations and the aftermath of the reading of the wills had had a traumatic effect on him as well. After all, he had learned that his grandfather had made love to his mother. That wasn't something to be proud of. The Cutlers had a long way to go to win back the respect and admiration of the world they lived in. Maybe it was now up to us, the next generation.
    "All right, Philip," I said. "I'll speak to Jimmy about it." "Great. So," he said, sitting down, "you've really taken to the hotel business, I understand."
    "I'm still learning, but I'm doing more and more every day, yes," I replied proudly.
    "When I graduate I intend to return to help you run this place. I've got some great ideas about changing some things, making them more modern and expanding business," he said.
    "We've got to remember we're an old, established and distinguished hotel, Philip, catering to a definite clientele who expect certain things to remain as they are, as they always have been," I replied. Philip's eyes widened.
    "For a moment there," he said, "you sounded just like Grandmother Cutler."
    "I hardly think I could ever sound like her," I snapped back, not liking his comment.
    "You never know," Philip said, standing up. "Grandmother Cutler made