"You don't?" She walked toward me, her face twisted in a vicious imitation of a smile. "You don't want to hear how Dawn and Jimmy thought they were brother and sister but still slept in their underwear beside each other on pull-out sofas?"
"Stop it!" I said, putting my hands over my ears.
"You don't want to hear how your mother French-kissed with Uncle Philip, how she swooned when the most handsome boy in her high school kissed her on the neck?"
"STOP!" I ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. Then I embraced myself and crouched down on the floor, sobbing. I heard her laugh and then I heard her come up to the door.
"All right, Princess Christie, I'll leave you in y
our wonderland. I feel sorry for you. They always pampered you and favored you. It was Christie this and Christie That. You were the most wonderful and talented little girl and I was a load of trouble. Well, you're on your own now, just like I was really. See how you like it," she spat. I heard her footsteps as she pounded her way out of my room.
For a while I just lay there, crying. How ugly and hateful she could be, I thought. Daddy wanted only to make her happy and Mommy tried so hard to love her and treat her fairly. I was glad she was leaving and I hoped she would never come back.
I got up slowly and washed my face. I thought it would take hours and hours for me to fall asleep, but once I lay my head down on my pillow, emotional exhaustion washed over me like an ocean wave, and it wasn't until the dismal, gray light of early morning, a morning with bruised angry clouds traveling across the sky like a caravan of singed camels, seeped in through my curtains that I opened my eyes. I gazed straight ahead. The sight of my black dress draped over a chair reminded me painfully that what had happened and what we had done yesterday were not part of some horrid nightmare, but were events in horrid reality instead.
But before my eyes could even begin to tear again, the small sound of someone sighing spun me around, and I was shocked to discover Uncle Philip. He had pulled a chair up to the other side of my bed and was sitting there gazing at me wistfully. His hair was messed and his shirt was open. He wore no tie or jacket. I thought he looked very pale and very tired.
"Uncle Philip!" I cried, clinging to my blanket. Some of the hateful things Aunt Fern had said lingered like mold on the walls of my memory. "What are you doing here?" I had no idea how long he had been sitting there, staring at me while I slept.
He sighed again, louder and longer.
"I couldn't sleep," he said, "and I was worried about you, so I came by to see how you were doing and I guess I fell asleep in this chair. I haven't been awake much longer than you," he concluded, but I thought he looked like someone who had been awake all night.
"I'm all right, Uncle Philip," I said, still confused by the look on his face and his actions.
"No, no, I know you well. I know how fragile and sensitive you are and what you are suffering," he said and leaned forward. His eyes turned softer, meeting and locking with mine. "You need extra-tender loving care and I mean to give it to you as best as I can." He smiled softly, his eyes two pools of tenderness, and then he kissed my forehead. "Poor, poor Christie," he said, stroking my hair.
I relaxed. "It's all right, Uncle Philip. Go get some sleep yourself. I'm fine," I said. He continued to smile and stroke my hair lovingly.
"Dear, dear Christie. Lovely Christie, Dawn's Christie. I remember the day she brought you back to the hotel. I told her not to worry that your real father had deserted you. I would always be a father to you, too. And I will. I will," he promised.
"All right, Uncle Philip. Thank you," I said. I sat up quickly and leaned away from him. "I'm all right now. I'm going to get up and shower and dress and get Jefferson up. Usually, he's in here by now," I added. Uncle Philip nodded. Then he sat back and took a deep breath with his eyes closed. He pressed on his knees and stood up. With his shoulders slumped, he started to leave. He stopped at the door.
"I'll shower and dress, too," he said. "So we can all have breakfast together . . . like a family."
As soon as he left, I got out of bed and went into the bathroom. I stood under the hot shower for as long as I could. It was as if I were scrubbing the sorrow off my body as well as washing away the fatigue. I dressed as quickly as I could and went in to see if Jefferson was awake. Mrs. Boston had already gotten there and helped him get dressed. He was in the bathroom brushing his hair. He stopped to look at roe as soon as he heard me enter.
"Oh, good morning, Mrs. Boston," I said.
"Good morning, honey. I came looking in on Brother," she told me, "but he was already awake and thinking about getting up and getting dressed. He really is a big boy now," she added more for his benefit than mine.
"Yes, he is. You didn't have to do this and get breakfast for everyone, too, Mrs. Boston," I said. She wasn't family, but she couldn't have taken my parents' deaths any harder even if she was.
"That's okay, honey. Your aunt Betty, she was up bright and early this morning laying out the orders for what she wanted served. I got it set up and waiting, so I figured I'd slip up here and look in on Jefferson," she explained.
"What is it she wanted served?" I asked, curious.
"It seems she takes her eggs poached and Master Richard takes his soft-boiled, not longer than one minute precisely, as does Miss Melanie. Mr. Cutler, he just has coffee and toast. She's very particular about her toast. She likes it just lightly cooked, and the children, they want strawberry jam. Luckily, we had some in the pantry," she added. "Otherwise, I would have had to get up even earlier to get some."
"Mommy was never so particular," I commented. Mrs. Boston nodded.
"I'd better get down there. She told me they'd all be sitting down at eight this morning sharp," she said and started out.
Jefferson stepped out of the bathroom and looked at me. Neither of us wanted to go downstairs and face the first morning without our parents, but there was nothing else we could do. I reached out for his hand and he gave it to me slowly, his head down. Then we went downstairs.
Everyone was seated at the table, Uncle Philip sitting where Daddy used to sit and Aunt Bet sat where Mommy would have. Jefferson was annoyed immediately by that, but also by the fact that Richard was sitting in what was usually his place and Melanie was sitting in mine.
"Good morning, children," Aunt Bet said with a syrupy smile. "How nice and clean you both look."