Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers by authors_sort Page B
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everything," I retorted, "every detail of what happens and what's to be done." He nodded.
"Now that's the spirit I knew you had, the spirit she had. You've inherited more than just her beauty," he added, his eyes full of satisfaction. "You'll be just like her . . . you're just the way she was when I first met her—full of fire and spirit.
"Someday when our sorrow is not as thick, I'll sit down and tell you about those days." He sighed. "Well, I better see about the moving. Call me if you want anything. I will always and forever be here for you, Christie." He shook his head. "My little princess," he added and formed a small smile before he turned and left me trembling in my bed.
The phone began ringing and didn't stop for the rest of the day and night. Before I could go in to see Jefferson, he awoke and came to me. He stood in my doorway, his small fists grinding at his eyes.
"I want Mommy," he moaned and I looked up.
"Oh Jefferson." I held my arms out to him and he came running. Now it was I who was comforting him the way a mother would. I had suddenly been thrust into both roles: sister and mother forever.
"Where's Mommy and Daddy?" he asked. "Why didn't they come out of the hotel?"
"They couldn't, Jefferson. The fire was all around them and there was too much smoke."
"But why didn't Daddy try? Why?" Jefferson demanded, his sorrow beginning to change to anger.
"I'm sure he did try, but you saw how big the fire was."
"I want to go find them," he decided. "Now. Come on, Christie." He got off the bed and tugged on my hand. "Come on."
"The firemen found them, Jefferson."
"They did? Then where are they?" he asked, lifting his small shoulders.
I knew Jefferson understood what death was. We had had a cat: Fluffy, who had been hit by a car the previous year. Jefferson had been devastated. Daddy buried her behind the house and we had a little ceremony. There was still a marker out there. Jefferson knew what had happened to Mommy and Daddy. He just didn't want to face it.
"They're gone, Jefferson. They've gone to Heaven together."
"Why? Why did they leave us?"
"They had to," I said. "They didn't want to, but they had to."
"Why?" he demanded.
"Oh Jefferson." I started to cry. I knew I shouldn't; I knew the moment I did, he would cry, too. The sight of me bawling frightened him. I sucked in my breath quickly and bit down on my lower lip. "You've got to be a big boy now. We have to help each other. You're going to have to do many of the things Daddy used to do," I told him. That idea stopped his tears, but he embraced me again and buried his face against my bosom. I lay there, rocking him until Mrs. Boston appeared.
"Oh, he's here. I went to see how he was. How's he doing?"
"He'll be all right," I said quietly. My voice was bland, lifeless, my eyes staring ahead, vacant. I felt like a mannequin, a skeleton of myself. Mrs. Boston nodded. Her eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying, too.
"Gavin said to tell you he and his parents are on their way," Mrs. Boston said.
"Gavin called? When? Why didn't anyone tell me?" I asked quickly. Mrs. Boston scrunched up her face and shook her head.
"Miss Betty answers the phone every time it rings. She told him he couldn't talk to you just now, but she gave me the message," Mrs. Boston replied.
"I would have spoken to Gavin," I moaned. "She had no right . . ."
"Well, he will be here tomorrow, honey. No sense in making more trouble, everyone's plenty upset as it is," she added wisely. She came forward and put her arm around Jefferson. He turned and buried his face in the nook between her shoulder and neck. She winked at me and then picked him up.
"Jefferson needs something to drink and something to eat," she said. "Maybe some chocolate milk, okay?" Jefferson nodded, but kept his face buried.
I tried to smile at Mrs. Boston but failed. Thank God she was with us, I thought.
People began arriving to offer their condolences all the next day and into the evening. Aunt Bet made
"Now that's the spirit I knew you had, the spirit she had. You've inherited more than just her beauty," he added, his eyes full of satisfaction. "You'll be just like her . . . you're just the way she was when I first met her—full of fire and spirit.
"Someday when our sorrow is not as thick, I'll sit down and tell you about those days." He sighed. "Well, I better see about the moving. Call me if you want anything. I will always and forever be here for you, Christie." He shook his head. "My little princess," he added and formed a small smile before he turned and left me trembling in my bed.
The phone began ringing and didn't stop for the rest of the day and night. Before I could go in to see Jefferson, he awoke and came to me. He stood in my doorway, his small fists grinding at his eyes.
"I want Mommy," he moaned and I looked up.
"Oh Jefferson." I held my arms out to him and he came running. Now it was I who was comforting him the way a mother would. I had suddenly been thrust into both roles: sister and mother forever.
"Where's Mommy and Daddy?" he asked. "Why didn't they come out of the hotel?"
"They couldn't, Jefferson. The fire was all around them and there was too much smoke."
"But why didn't Daddy try? Why?" Jefferson demanded, his sorrow beginning to change to anger.
"I'm sure he did try, but you saw how big the fire was."
"I want to go find them," he decided. "Now. Come on, Christie." He got off the bed and tugged on my hand. "Come on."
"The firemen found them, Jefferson."
"They did? Then where are they?" he asked, lifting his small shoulders.
I knew Jefferson understood what death was. We had had a cat: Fluffy, who had been hit by a car the previous year. Jefferson had been devastated. Daddy buried her behind the house and we had a little ceremony. There was still a marker out there. Jefferson knew what had happened to Mommy and Daddy. He just didn't want to face it.
"They're gone, Jefferson. They've gone to Heaven together."
"Why? Why did they leave us?"
"They had to," I said. "They didn't want to, but they had to."
"Why?" he demanded.
"Oh Jefferson." I started to cry. I knew I shouldn't; I knew the moment I did, he would cry, too. The sight of me bawling frightened him. I sucked in my breath quickly and bit down on my lower lip. "You've got to be a big boy now. We have to help each other. You're going to have to do many of the things Daddy used to do," I told him. That idea stopped his tears, but he embraced me again and buried his face against my bosom. I lay there, rocking him until Mrs. Boston appeared.
"Oh, he's here. I went to see how he was. How's he doing?"
"He'll be all right," I said quietly. My voice was bland, lifeless, my eyes staring ahead, vacant. I felt like a mannequin, a skeleton of myself. Mrs. Boston nodded. Her eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying, too.
"Gavin said to tell you he and his parents are on their way," Mrs. Boston said.
"Gavin called? When? Why didn't anyone tell me?" I asked quickly. Mrs. Boston scrunched up her face and shook her head.
"Miss Betty answers the phone every time it rings. She told him he couldn't talk to you just now, but she gave me the message," Mrs. Boston replied.
"I would have spoken to Gavin," I moaned. "She had no right . . ."
"Well, he will be here tomorrow, honey. No sense in making more trouble, everyone's plenty upset as it is," she added wisely. She came forward and put her arm around Jefferson. He turned and buried his face in the nook between her shoulder and neck. She winked at me and then picked him up.
"Jefferson needs something to drink and something to eat," she said. "Maybe some chocolate milk, okay?" Jefferson nodded, but kept his face buried.
I tried to smile at Mrs. Boston but failed. Thank God she was with us, I thought.
People began arriving to offer their condolences all the next day and into the evening. Aunt Bet made
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