Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

with embarrassment.
    "She's good, I suppose," Aunt Fern admitted reluctantly. "I told you she had the best piano teachers. No money was spared when it came to the princess."
    "It takes more than money to play like that," Morton said.
    "Well, I could have done something with my talent too," Aunt Fern whined, "if I had people care about me, really care instead of pretend." She whipped her arms up and folded them under her breasts. Then she sat back, glaring at me in a jealous sulk like a child.
    "I'd better take Jefferson upstairs and put him to sleep," I said, going to him. "Come on, Jefferson." His eyes fluttered open for a moment.
    "I'll carry him," Gavin said. He lifted him into his arms. Jefferson's head settled comfortably against Gavin's chest.
    "I'm going to sleep, too," Aunt Charlotte announced.
    "Good for you," Aunt Fern said. Then she turned to Gavin and me. "Come right back down," she ordered. "We want to play a game."
    "Game? What game?" I asked suspiciously.
    "You'll see when you return," she replied and smiled at Morton, who smiled back. "Get me another drink, Morty, and make a couple for Romeo and Juliet ."
    "We don't want any of your drinks," Gavin snapped.
    "There you go, being like your prudish brother again," she told him. Gavin ignored her and we left to put Jefferson to bed.
    As I undressed him, I came upon an ugly gash on his right thigh. The fresh scab was surrounded by an inflamed mound of flesh, apple-red.
    "How did you do this, Jefferson?" I demanded. His eyes fluttered open and closed. "Jefferson?" I turned to Gavin. "Look at this, Gavin."
    He studied the wound for a moment.
    "I don't know," he said. "He never complained about anything to me. Jefferson, wake up," he said, shaking him. This time Jefferson's eyes remained open.
    "How did you do this to yourself'?" I asked, pointing to the wound again.
    "I got stuck on a nail," he said.
    "When? Where?" I asked quickly.
    "When we first came here and I was painting the room with Aunt Charlotte," he replied.
    "I never saw it," Gavin said.
    "Why didn't you tell me, Jefferson?" I asked. He shrugged. "Did Aunt Charlotte wash it? Did you wash it?"
    "Uh huh," he said and closed his eyes. I didn't know whether to believe him or not.
    "I'll go ask Charlotte and get something to put on it," I said and went to her door. I knocked and when she didn't answer, I peered in and saw her on her knees by her bed saying her prayers like a little girl.
    "I pray the Lord my soul to keep . . ."
    She saw me and stopped.
    "I'm sorry to bother you, Aunt Charlotte, but Jefferson has a nasty cut on his leg. He said he got it when he was painting the room with you a few days ago. Do you remember that?" She shook her head. "Do you have anything for cuts and bruises?"
    "Oh yes," she said, getting up and shuffling quickly to her bathroom. She came out with a box of Band-Aids and some antiseptic.
    "Good," I said. "You don't remember washing the cut on Jefferson's leg that day?" I asked. She tilted her head and thought a moment.
    "Maybe I did," she said. "I get mixed up with the times Luther cut himself. He's always cutting him-self on something."
    I nodded.
    "Thank you, Aunt Charlotte."
    By the time I returned, Gavin had Jefferson in bed. I got a washcloth, cleaned the wound and treated it with the antiseptic. Then I covered it with the Band-Aids. He didn't open his eyes the whole time.
    "We'll have to watch this," I told Gavin, "and make sure the infection goes away. I don't think Charlotte washed it when it happened, and he was so excited about painting the room, he didn't tell us he had been cut."
    Gavin nodded.
    "What should we do now?" he asked.
    "We'd better go down and see what stupid game she wants to play," I replied, standing. "If we don't, she'll only come up here screaming and wake Jefferson and Aunt Charlotte."
    He nodded.
    When we returned to the living room, we found Aunt Fern and Morton sitting on the floor by the center table. On the table was the pack of playing cards and their gin and tonics. At her insistence, Morton had made two drinks for us.
    "Come on," Aunt Fern said, beckoning for us to sit on the floor around the table, too. Her eyelids looked half-closed and what I could see of her eyes looked bloodshot. "You're holding up progress. Here are your drinks."
    "I told you we don't want any of that," Gavin said.
    "What kind of a teenager are you?" she asked him angrily. "You act more like an old man." Then she smiled. "You're certainly not a chip off the