Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

grounds workers digging a trench or sitting on a lawn tractor. It didn't pay to buy him fancy uniforms, for he would only get them stained and smeared with paints and oils and varnish. He had to have hands-on contact. When a hot-water heater broke down, he was the one ripping it apart. And when the pool filter gave us trouble, Jimmy was out there sitting in the middle of parts.
    One summer afternoon he came into my office with his cheeks smeared with grease. His hands were dirty, but he wiped them on a rag he carried in his back pocket so he could tear open a manila envelope and remove its contents in front of me.
    "What is that, Jimmy?" I asked, sitting back and smiling. Jimmy loved surprises and especially loved surprising me.
    "It's from Daddy," he said, and he pulled out the photographs, handing them to me one at a time without speaking. There was a letter, too. The photographs were pictures of Daddy's wife Edwina and their son Gavin. Some pictures were just of Gavin. They had named him after Daddy Longchamp's grandpa. "Daddy says as soon as they get a chance they're going to travel up to see us," Jimmy declared, and he handed the letter to me along with the pictures.
    "Oh, that would be wonderful. Gavin looks just like Daddy Longchamp," I said. Gavin did have Daddy Longchamp's coal-black hair and dark eyes. "And Edwina's very pretty," I added. She was a slim brunette with light brown eyes. From the way she was depicted in the photograph, I thought she was almost as tall as Daddy.
    "Yes," Jimmy said, but we looked at each other and silently agreed she wasn't as pretty as Momma had been.
    "Daddy seems very happy now," I said, gazing at the letter. "And very proud of his new son."
    "Yes. And I suppose I should be happy about having a new brother," Jimmy declared, a sad look washing over his face and dimming the light in his eyes. "Of course, Fern's got a new brother, too," he said, "although she doesn't know it and may never know it. Did you speak to Mr. Updike about what I suggested, about hiring a private detective?" he asked.
    His dark eyes held a quiet, waiting look, as if his entire life depended upon my answer. I didn't want to tell him Mr. Updike was not enthralled with the suggestion and had tried to talk us out of it.
    "Yes. He said he would look into it for us and get back to me later this week."
    "Good," Jimmy said. "Well, I'd better get back out there. I'll leave all this with you," he said, handing me the envelope and the letter.
    I sat there gazing at the photograph of Daddy Longchamp with his new family. He looked so much older to me, and a lot thinner. It was almost as if he were the ghost of the man I had once known as my father. His smile seemed forced to me; he looked like a man desperately trying to hold back gloom and doom, slamming the door on the past and clinging to the doorknob while the memories battered and pried, trying to get back at him. I was sure it would be very difficult for him to come here to see me. He carried a ton of guilt on his shoulders, and confronting me might only weigh him down. It was better he remain where he was, in a new world, in a new life, the past of beyond the horizon.
    I didn't realize I was crying until a tear dropped on the photograph. And then suddenly my sorrow began to upset my stomach. I felt a wave of nausea come over me. The blood drained from my face, and my heart began to pitter-patter so quickly, I had to gasp for breath. I got up quickly and rushed to the bathroom, where I emptied my stomach of everything I had eaten for breakfast and lunch. It brought me to my hands and knees. Finally I was able to retreat to one of the sofas and lie down. The nausea eased up enough for me to sit up and catch my breath.
    I didn't feel as though I had a fever, but the vomiting had left me weak and tired. I tried to go back to my work but found the nausea returning. I had to rush back to the bathroom. Later that afternoon I decided I had better go see the doctor. I didn't want to worry Jimmy, so I didn't tell him. I just had Julius bring the hotel car around.
    But keeping secrets at Cutler's Cove was a nearly impossible thing to do. I had to tell Mrs. Bradly at the reception counter that I was leaving the hotel. She saw I wasn't feeling well, and she told Mrs. Boston, who told Robert Garwood. The chain of gossip ran out to Jimmy rather quickly, so that when I emerged from the examination room I found him waiting in the lobby, pacing nervously about. He hadn't even