Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

fallen back into a deep repose once more. Unfortunately, she was no one I could confide in and look to for advice and help. My parents were gone; Mrs. Boston was gone; Aunt Bet was too insensitive; Aunt Trisha was too far away and too involved in her own career; and Bronson, as loving and concerned as he was, was too distant from my immediate world and had his hands full with Grandmother Laura.
    When I stepped out to get back in the limousine and return to my house, I felt as alone and as powerless as the small cloud sliding helplessly across the light blue sky, abandoned and left behind by the bigger, thicker clouds that had already arrived at the horizon and were slipping over the world into someone else's tomorrow.
    The slow, warm days of early summer that followed seemed gray and gloomy to me no matter what the weather. Gradually, we all fell into a daily routine. Aunt Bet spent a large part of her day breaking in the new cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Stoddard, a short, stout woman in her early sixties who kept her dull pewter gray hair tied in a loose bun behind her head, strands curling every which way like broken wires. She had small brown age spots over her forehead and cheeks which were so pudgy they made her nose look sunken. Her smile was warm enough and she had a pleasant manner when she spoke to us, but for Jefferson and me no one could take the place of Mrs. Boston. During the first few days, Mrs. Stoddard trailed through the house behind Aunt Bet as if Aunt Bet had tied one end of a string around the new servant's waist and the other around her own.
    For the most part, the twins kept to themselves. They organized their days rigidly, breaking them up into periods of recreation (mainly thought-provoking parlor games like chess and Scrabble), reading, and their educational tapes. They had tapes to advance them in vocabulary and geography and they were both studying French. Despite the melancholy I continually endured, I couldn't help but laugh to myself whenever I walked past the living room and saw them sitting in a lotus position on the floor, facing each other, and practicing their French pronunciations, each mimicking the way the other's lips formed vowels and consonants.
    Although it was summer and most children their age were enjoying the sunshine and the beach, outdoor sports and the company of friends, the twins spent most of their time indoors with each other. Even I, who felt too down most of the time to do more than take walks through the tattered remains of our once-beautiful gardens and an occasional walk on the beach, had more color in my cheeks than they did. But none of that bothered them. What others did was either stupid or wasteful. I had never realized just how arrogant and snobbish they were.
    Fortunately, Jefferson was interested in the rebuilding of the hotel. Buster Morris had become his pal. Jefferson would go off with Uncle Philip after breakfast, but he would spend the day beside Buster, sometimes riding along with him on a bulldozer or in a pick-up truck. Often Aunt Bet was at the door waiting for him when he returned after the day's work. She would always make him take off his shoes, but one day, she insisted he strip off his pants and shirt as well because they were so dirty. Jefferson disliked doing it and disliked her even more, but he tolerated her and did what she asked, afraid that she would stop him from being with Buster.
    I did a great deal of reading myself and wrote my daily letter to Gavin. We spoke on the telephone a few times, too . He had taken a job as a stockboy in a grocery store to earn enough money for his plane fare to Virginia. He was planning on visiting in late August. I wanted to send him some money, but I knew only the suggestion of doing that would ruffle up his feathers. It was just that I was so anxious to see him again. He had become the only person in whom I could confide.
    Aunt Trish phoned as often as she could, but the second time she called, it was bad news. Her show had flopped on Broadway and she had decided to take a position with a traveling show. In a week they were to be off cross-country. She promised to call as often as she could, but I was so disappointed. I had hoped to go visit her in New York City very soon.
    Finally, more to fill my days than out of a deep desire to return to music, I began playing the piano again. Mr. Wittleman had phoned to see how I was doing and when I wanted to resume my lessons. I told him I would let him