Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

looking healthier or more energetic. The fact is, I don't see her all that much these days. She's always going somewhere, and wherever she goes, she stays away for most of the day. Even most of the evenings sometimes," I added.
    "Hmmm," he said. "That's not like her. Anyway," he said, "please give her my message. send you postcards from Bermuda," he added.
    "Well, I hope you have a good time," I said.
    "Thank you. I do expect that when I return I'll pick up my share of the work," he promised.
    "There will be plenty for you to do," I advised him. He laughed.
    "Becoming the new Mrs. Cutler?" he teased.
    "Hardly," I said. "I'm my own person."
    I felt I had done much to make that happen. As I had planned, I changed the office decor considerably, replacing the dreary dark curtains with bright blue ones, tearing up the carpet and putting in a thick, beige one that gave one the feeling that he or she was walking on marshmallows. I added more light and put up some paintings that had color and brightness. The only painting I let remain was the portrait of my father on the wall behind the desk. It just didn't feel right taking that down.
    I had pictures of Christie and Jimmy in frames all over my desk, and I let Sissy leave some of Christie's toys in a corner of the office. Jimmy made sure there were fresh flowers brought in and placed in vases every few days, so that the scent of lilac—a scent that had been Grandmother Cutler's—was replaced with the scent of roses and carnations, jasmine, or whatever was in bloom, except lilacs.
    "I hesitate to ask this," I said before Philip and I ended our conversation, "but what is Clara Sue doing?"
    "She won't return my phone calls either, but she passed word through some mutual acquaintances that she intends to spend the summer with a friend whose parents have a home on the Jersey shore. I'm sure that leaves you heartbroken," he concluded, laughter in his voice.
    "Has she told Mother?" I wondered aloud. "If she has, Mother had said nothing about it to me."
    "Her only contact with Mother will be to have her send money, I assure you," Philip said.
    I wished him a good time once more, and we ended our phone conversation.
    Early in the evening, when I had gone up to shower and change for dinner, Mother came to my door and knocked. Apparently she had returned from wherever she had been and showered and changed herself for another one of her evenings out. She looked quite smart in her crimson dress with its slender waist, billowing full skirt and boned bodice. I had just come out of the shower, and I had my head wrapped in a towel and wore a robe.
    "Knock, knock," she sang, peering in.
    "Come in," I said.
    "I just bought this today. How does it look?" she asked, turning to model the dress.
    "You look very nice," I complimented.
    "Thank you." Her face bloomed as it did whenever she received praise. "I feel very nice," she added, giggling. She looked drunk on herself and whatever good times she was having. Never had a husband passed so quickly from a wife's mind, I thought.
    "Where are you going tonight?" I asked, expecting one of her vague responses.
    She pulled herself up as if to make a formal announcement.
    "Tonight I have agreed to go to dinner at one of the finest restaurants in Virginia Beach," she replied.
    "Oh. And with whom?"
    "Bronson Alcott," she confessed. And then as quickly as she did, she burst into justification. "I don't think it's horrible for me to be seen out with a proper escort. People don't expect me to pine away like Randolph did. I'm still quite young and attractive, and it wouldn't be fair.
    "Besides," she continued, barely taking a breath, "Bronson is an old friend, an old family friend. It's not like I couldn't wait to rush out and see one beau after another."
    "You're old enough to do what you want, Mother," I said. She nodded.
    "Yes, I am. Exactly." She paused to look at herself in my mirror and patted her hair where she thought some strands had rebelled.
    "Philip called today," I told her. "Did you call him back?"
    "Philip? Oh, no. What did he have to say?" she asked, her interest minimal. She continued studying herself in the mirror.
    "He wondered why you haven't returned his calls," I said. "Oh, I haven't?" She followed her statement with a short giggle. "Was he very upset?"
    "He was curious and a little worried," I said, "but I told him how you were getting out and about and not pining away in your suite," I said, unable to keep myself from sounding