Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

holding both our hands. "You have all this—a beautiful hotel, a handsome man who loves you and a beautiful child. And don't forget, you're still very talented. You can still do something with singing. Don't you feel lucky now?" she prodded when I remained silent. "Don't you feel that all the hardship and unhappiness is behind you?"
    "Sometimes," I said. I looked back at Jimmy, who waved. "And sometimes I feel like I've just moved into the eye of a storm. It's calm, beguiling, deceptive. For no reason I can think of, my heart begins to pound, and I feel dizzy, frightened. I wish I could freeze the moment like a camera snapping a photograph and lock us forever and ever in today."
    Trisha stared at me a moment, her eyes fixed curiously on mine. Then her smile returned.
    "That's just because you had such a hard life before. You can't believe your good luck. It's just natural," she insisted. "Is it? I hope so, Trish," I said. "I hope so."
    She hugged me for reassurance, and we went in to complete the preparations for my big day.
     
    The day before my wedding we rehearsed the ceremony. Philip returned from college that morning. He was in charge of looking after Randolph and being sure he was where he was supposed to be. Mother took command almost the moment the minister arrived. She choreographed everyone's movements: when this one would come in from there, who should hold whose hand and where and how we should all stand. Randolph fidgeted terribly the entire time and was relieved when he was finally excused and could go back to his "critical work. Mother sighed deeply to let everyone know how difficult things were for her with Randolph behaving this way. Naturally, his behavior upset her so much that she had to retreat to her bedroom to rest and prepare for the actual wedding.
    I awoke very early the next morning, even before the sun had risen, but I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Because of the significance of the day, a mixture of some of the saddest and happiest moments of my life flashed before me. I couldn't help but recall Momma Longchamp brushing my hair when I was just a little girl and describing her dreams and hopes for me. She imagined I would grow up to be a beautiful woman and would eventually win the heart of a prince.
    "You'll live in a beautiful place and have an army of servants just waitin' on your every beck and call," she said, and in the mirror I could see her tilt her head and gaze at me, her eyes twinkling with sugar.
    And then I remembered her pale and sickly face, her eyes a dull silver like old dimes, and filled with trepidation the last time I had seen her alive in the hospital. I could still feel her hand clutching mine. I could still hear and see Jimmy sobbing. Daddy Longchamp's gray face rose out of the darkness behind my closed lids, all the pain of sorrow in his dark eyes.
    I swallowed back my own sobs and felt my eyes fill with tears. Today I was getting married, and even though my real mother had done so much to prepare an elegant and fancy affair, I longed for Momma and Daddy Longchamp and wished that somehow they could be at my side. To me it was as if I were being married without my parents present. Randolph was a pathetic soul, hardly a father figure, and Mother . . . well, for Mother, this was as much her party as it was my wedding.
    Despite my reluctance to do so, I couldn't help but think about Michael and about the wonderful, romantic times we had in his apartment in New York. That was when he had made all sorts of promises to me, when we had planned our own storybook wedding, when he had filled my eyes with visions of glamour and excitement—a wedding ceremony attended by all sorts of celebrities and covered by the newspapers and magazines, a honeymoon on the French Riviera, a chalet in Switzerland, cruises, parties on yachts and a triumphant return to the stage, singing our hearts and souls out to each other in a way that would make us both superstars.
    All of that popped out of my mind like a soap bubble. If it wasn't for Christie, I would try to convince myself none of it had actually happened.
    But it had happened, as well as all the horror I endured during my pregnancy at The Meadows. I couldn't erase it from my mind like some words scribbled in pencil. The events, the pain and suffering, the tears and the laughter, the heartbreak and the relief, all mingled together to form a potpourri of memories I would drag with me forever and ever.
    These depressing thoughts