Tired of hating and fighting, I got myself to go in to see her.
She was lying in bed, looking much like she used to look before my wedding and Randolph's passing: weak and despondent. The tray of food Mrs. Boston had brought in to her lay on the nightstand, barely touched. She had her eyes closed, her head sunk in the large pillow, her hair falling around her. I was surprised to see that she hadn't put on any makeup.
"What's wrong with you today, Mother?" I began. She let her eyelids flutter open and stared at the ceiling for a moment before responding.
"I'm just so tired of arguments," she said. "So tired of hateful words. It's made me sick. I was never a very strong person to begin with, Dawn," she added, lifting her head and sliding up slowly, "and years and years of turmoil have taken their toll. I feel like surrendering to Father Time and his despicable companion, Age. Let what will be, be," she said, and she let her head fall back on the pillow again.
Her performance brought a smile to my face, but I turned quickly to hide it.
"But Mother," I said, "what about your plans to marry Bronson and start a wonderful new life? Bronson won't want to marry a wrinkled-up, gray-haired hag, will he?" I teased.
"Bronson won't marry me if you oppose it and make it seem like another scandal," she said sadly, with funereal eyes. "He says we must all like one another or it won't work."
"I'm not opposing it," I said. "I'm not one to cast stones. If the two of you want to get married, get married," I said, and at my words she lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Oh, Dawn, do you mean that? Do you really? That's wonderful," she cried, sitting up again.
"Are you going to have a wedding here, too?" I asked, wondering how it could all be planned in a week's time.
"Oh, no, no. We're past that sort of thing. We're going to New York to be married by a supreme court judge and then see dozens and dozens of Broadway shows!" she exclaimed. She reached for the food tray and brought it to her bed table. "I've already bought an entire new wardrobe for the occasion," she continued, pecking away at her salad. "That's what I've been doing afternoons these past few weeks."
"So you knew that far back?" I asked.
"What? Oh. Well, I always thought . . . yes," she confessed, unable to think of an excuse quickly, "I did. I know it doesn't sound nice, but what was the point in deceiving ourselves and pretending something we knew would happen wouldn't? We knew what we wanted and what we were going to do eventually. I wanted to prepare and be ready."
"I see. Have you told Clara Sue anything?" I asked, wondering if that might be another reason why Clara Sue had refused to come home for the summer. Mother shifted her eyes back to the food quickly.
"Not yet."
"How much will you tell her, Mother?" I asked.
"Just that we're getting married," she said. "That's all that's necessary for now. Why complicate things any more than they already are?" she asked.
"That's for you and Bronson to decide," I said. "I can tell you that it's very painful to learn that someone you thought was your mother and someone you thought was your father are not."
"I agree," Mother said, missing my point. "Why add additional pain? Poor Clara Sue has already suffered in losing the man she thought was her father. Why . . . why, it would be like making him die again," she said. She looked up, smiling, her blue eyes shining with excitement.
"And I don't want anything unpleasant to happen when Bronson and I start anew. 1 hope you will come visit us often, Dawn," she said. "We'll have wonderful dinner parties and invite all the important people in Cutler's Cove. Bronson knows everyone who's anyone."
"We'll see," I said. "When do you intend to leave?"
"Why, I think"—she looked around as if she had forgotten—"I think Bronson will come by late today."
"Today!" I cried, astonished. If it all depended on my attitude, how did she know what I would say and think? I laughed to myself and wondered if it were possible that Bronson did not know how much of a conniver Mother was. Of course, it was possible he did but was willing to live with it, or even believed he could change her. Love makes us all into dreamers, I thought. Or in Mother's case, schemers.
"Yes. So please see if you can find Mrs. Boston for me, will you, Dawn? I want her to help me pack, and I want to tell her how to arrange my things to be moved."
"What about Philip? Have you told Philip?" I asked. Now that it was settled, I couldn't believe how quickly things were going to change.
"Philip? But Philip is still away with his girlfriend and her family," she said. "I'll have to wait to tell him. Or, if he should call while I am in New York, you can tell him," she said.
"Isn't that something you want to tell him yourself'?" I asked.
"News is news," she said, shifting the tray off her lap. "Besides," she added, "Philip never gets terribly excited about anything affecting me. He's a bit too much like his grandmother in that respect," she concluded.
"Very well, Mother," I said. "I'll see about Mrs. Boston."
"Thank you, Dawn. And Dawn," she called as I started out, "thank you. Thank you for being so understanding. You have become quite a young lady."
"I hope you will be happy, Mother," I said. "I really do." I left her scurrying about her room, revived, a resurrected corpse. I couldn't help laughing.
Late in the afternoon Bronson's car pulled up in front of the hotel. By now, because of Mrs. Boston and some of the other members of the hotel staff Mother had drafted to help her prepare for her departure, word had spread throughout the hotel. Everyone in the lobby looked up expectantly when Bronson made his entrance. There was whispering in every corner.
All of Mother's things had been carried down and were at the side of the door in a half dozen suitcases and two large black trunks. The bellhops and Bronson's driver proceeded to load them into his limousine. When I realized Bronson had arrived, I came out to greet him. Mrs. Boston had gone up immediately to tell Mother, as she had requested.
"Well," he said, a little embarrassed by the attention he was receiving, "it looks like we've made the evening news."
"Headline story," I said. "When do you two actually get married?"
"Tomorrow," he replied, shifting his weight from one leg to another and smiling nervously.
"I want to wish you luck," I said, and I offered my hand. "Thank you. I meant what I said yesterday. I hope we will all be family now," he replied.
Before I could respond we heard one of Mother's high-pitched laughs and then saw her make her entrance. Her face radiated happiness and excitement. As she crossed the lobby to join Bronson I saw the way she gazed about, drinking in the curiosity of onlookers like a flower, for the attention only made her blossom more. Bronson held out his hands, and she took them so that he could pull her to him. He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek.
"You look like a fresh spring day," he said.
"Do I?" she asked with obvious false modesty. "I thought I looked horrible from rushing about so much." She turned to me and reached for my hand. I let her take it into hers. She smiled.
"Good-bye, Dawn," Mother said in a voice barely above a whisper. Her face was flushed now and her eyes sparkling.
Gazing into her radiant face, I realized that Mother saw herself escaping. She was getting out from under the shadow of Grandmother Cutler and the weight of all those unpleasant memories. And for a moment I envied her. What had I done to myself by accepting my inheritance and sacrificing my dreams and ambitions?
She hugged me and kissed my cheek.
"Good-bye and good luck, Mother," I whispered.
"We'll call you as soon as we return," Bronson promised. I followed them out the door. Jimmy, who was supervising some work being done on the fountains in the front, came rushing over to shake Bronson's hand. Mother kissed his cheek, and he blushed with embarrassment. Then he stood by my side and watched them get into the limousine.
I saw the way Mother looked up at the hotel. I saw the strange mixture of sadness and ha
ppiness on her face. Tears began to zigzag down her cheeks. Then Bronson embraced her, and she turned into him to bury her face against his neck. Clinging to each other, they drove off . . . two lovers who had missed their moment years and years ago and had somehow found a second chance.
The limousine left the dark shadows cast by the afternoon sun and the hotel. For Mother it was truly as though she had slipped through the fingers of Grandmother Cutler's ghost. Sunlight beamed off the top of the limousine as it turned and disappeared.
"Well, that's that," Jimmy said, embracing me. "Funny," he said, looking around, "old lady Cutler's gone, and poor Randolph's followed in her footsteps. Now your mother runs off to be married and live in that great house, and Clara Sue is sure to live with them."
"Oh, she'll live with them, all right," I said. "I'll see to that."
"Then there will just be us," he said.
"And Philip," I reminded him.
"Oh, yes, and Philip."
A few days later—a day before Mother and her new husband returned from their whirlwind marriage and honeymoon in New York City—Philip arrived. He was darkly tanned and rested from his vacation in Bermuda. The first place he came to was my office. I heard him knock and looked up to see him peek around the door.
"Hello," he said.
"Philip. Did you just arrive?"
"Yes," he said, entering. "Rested and ready for duty," he said, saluting me. I sat back. His eyes scanned me quickly, and he stopped jesting.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"I don't suppose anyone's told you the news yet," I said.
"News? What news?" He held his smile, but his eyes were filled with worry. "Something's happened to Mother?" he asked.
"Something's happened, all right. She's remarried and is still on her honeymoon," I replied. He held his smile, but it drifted into incredulity.
"You're kidding," he said.
"No. She and Bronson Alcott left about six days ago to be married in New York City. Most of her things have already been moved to Beulla Woods," I added.
"Well," he said, gazing down at the floor. After a moment his smile returned, and he shifted his gaze back to me. "C'est la vie. That's Mother. No grass grows under her feet," he said. I wondered how much he had known, or if he knew anything. "Are you and Jimmy going to move into that suite now?"
"No," I said. "We're happy where we are."
"Good. Then I’ll move in there. That's where Betty Ann and I will eventually live," he added.
"Oh?"
"We've decided we will get engaged in the fall and marry a week after we graduate," he said.
"I'm very happy for you, Philip. Congratulations," I told him. He stood there staring at me, his eyes fixed so intensely on my face, I couldn't help but look down.
"Just imagine," he said, almost in a whisper, "someday soon we'll be sleeping right beside each other."
"You mean in rooms beside each other, Philip," I corrected.
"Yes," he said, widening his smile, "of course. In rooms. Well," he said, slapping his hands together, "a lot's happened and is happening. I wonder if dear Clara Sue knows. Does she?"
"If she doesn't, she will soon," I said, my eyes hard and cold now.
"Oh? What do you mean?"
"I've taken the liberty of moving all of her things to Beulla Woods," I said.
Philip stared with even more incredulity in his face than he had had before. Then he burst into laughter.
"How ruthless but decisive of you," he said. Then he shook his head and added, "You really have become Grandmother Cutler. Well, I've got to see to my things," he said before I could reply, and he started out, his laughter trailing behind him.
I stood up and went to the window to think about what he had said. I didn't care, I told myself. This is one time I don't mind being compared to her. There's got to be a little of Grandmother Cutler in us all if we are to survive, I thought.
But when I turned and looked up at my father's portrait it seemed his face had grown darker around the eyes.
8
AN ELUSIVE RAINBOW
THE MORNING AFTER MOTHER AND BRONSON RETURNED TO Beulla Woods, she called to tell me all about her wedding and honeymoon in New York. The excitement in her voice when she described the lights of Broadway, the elegantly dressed theater patrons, the crowds and traffic, and the lights and music, all of it, brought back my own memories of the theater; and of course, with that, memories of Michael.
Mother babbled on and on, describing every last detail. She barely paused for a breath before going on to describe the museums and art galleries they had also visited.
"I never realized how cultured a man Bronson is," she finally said. Then, in an almost wistful tone, she added, "Funny, you can know someone almost all your life and not really know him."
"That's very true, even about your closest relatives, Mother," I replied, finally getting a word in. "Have you spoken to Philip since you returned?" I asked quickly before she went on to describe more of her New York honeymoon trip.
"Philip? No. I called you," she said. "You can tell him I'm home, and if he wants to call, he'll call," she said. Then, after a moment's pause, she asked, "How did he react when he learned about my marriage?"
"He's not upset, if that's what you mean. He was surprised, of course," I said.
She laughed her thin, nervous laugh.
"That's Philip. That's why I don't worry," she sang.
"You saw that Clara Sue's things have been moved to Beulla Woods, I imagine," I said. I knew that must have been one of the first things Livingston had told her and Bronson when they had returned from their honeymoon.
"Yes," she said, tagging on a long "S" sound. It was almost a whistle. "Did she call and demand that be done already?"
"No," I replied in a casual tone. "I decided to do it myself."
"Clara Sue may be upset about that," she mused.
"Well, better that she be upset there then. I have no time for her immature behavior here," I stated firmly. "She belongs with you," I asserted. Mother did not disagree.
"Bronson expected she would live with us. He wanted it," she added, but I could feel her pouting. Mother expected her new marriage would restore her youth magically. She didn't want the obligations of family, of children. She wanted truly to be a newlywed and, in every sense of the word, rejuvenated.
"That's good," I said. "Well, I have to get back to work. Welcome back, Mother."
"Oh, Dawn," she cried before I could say good-bye, "when can you and James come to dinner? Philip will come, too, of course. Bronson would like you all to come this Saturday night, if you can. We've already started planning it. I'm having the Steidmans." She put on a haughty tone. I could just see her lifting her nose in the air. "Mr. Steidman is building that new complex outside of Virginia Beach. It's a multimillion-dollar construction project."
"I can't speak for Philip, Mother, but you know Saturday nights are our big nights at the hotel. We have a full house this weekend, too. For the first time in a long time we've had to turn people away," I said proudly.
"Really," she said without any interest. "Well, suit yourself, but you will be missing an important dinner."
"I'm sorry. It can't be helped," I said. "It is the resort season, you know."
"Oh, don't become a dreadful bore, Dawn. And don't let that place dictate your life," she warned, her voice becoming impatient.
"I'll let you know as soon as we can break free one night, Mother," I said, too tired to argue with her.
"Let me know soon," she demanded. "I want an invitation to Beulla Woods to mean something special. I'm going to be very selective about whom I do and don't invite. Bronson knows who really has money and who simply puts on airs, you know."
"That shouldn't be important to you, Mother. If the people are nice, don't hold their low incomes against them," I said.
"Oh, Dawn, you still don't realize the significance of your associates, do you? And you're in charge of such a famous resort," she said,
followed with one of her silly, thin laughs.
"Good friends, true friends are more valuable," I said. "It doesn't matter how important their jobs are or how big their houses are. Not to me," I emphasized.
"You'll learn," she insisted. It was just as if I had no voice and Mother had no ears for all the effect my words had. She was silent for a moment and then went on to babble for a few more minutes, describing her plans for the Saturday night dinner menu. Finally I was able to say good-bye.
Mother was true to her word. Almost immediately after she and Bronson returned to Beulla Woods we began to hear about her extravagant dinner parties. It seemed she was in a furious campaign to win back any social acceptance she had lost because of the revelations and scandals that haunted the Cutlers. Jimmy, Philip and I finally gave in and went to one of her dinners, but she continued to call to invite us again and again.
We were all very busy, however. It was turning out to be one of the hottest summers on record, the economy was good and our reservations phones were ringing off the hook. Philip did prove to be a valuable assistant and quickly picked up some of the managerial responsibilities. He took over Randolph's old office, and I began to appreciate the relief he provided because it allowed me to spend more time with Jimmy and Christie.
Jimmy had grown to love the work he did around the hotel. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty; in fact, he sought opportunities to do so, and despite the title he carried—supervisor of maintenance—it wasn't unusual to find him alongside 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.