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She and I had spoken since Michael had come to Cutler's Cove, so she knew about it.
"I heard something about Michael," she told me toward the end of our conversation. "He's giving vocal lessons in Greenwich Village."
"I can't help but feel sorry for him," I said, "even though everything in me tells me not to, and even though Jimmy would be furious if he knew."
"He hasn't changed; he's still trying to have affairs with his prettier students."
I laughed.
"Nothing will change him; he's incorrigible. Have a wonderful holiday, Trish, and call me when you return. I want to know all about your upcoming dance audition."
"I will. Are you all right? Is everything all right?" she asked with concern. "I hear a note in your voice."
"I'm just feeling a little sorry for myself these days."
"Oh, give up that hotel and go back to your singing," Trisha snapped.
"I might just do that one of these days. Wouldn't you be surprised?"
"Yes."
We laughed.
When I went home I sat by the piano and tinkered with notes until Jimmy arrived with Christie, both of them soaked to the skin from sleigh riding. I bawled them both out and sent them up to take hot baths.
Afterward, while I was drying Christie's hair, I felt a terrible wave of nausea come over me. It was so bad I had to sit down. It passed, but that night it woke me out of a deep sleep, and I had to go to the bathroom and vomit. I did it again in the morning, but I kept it from Jimmy. I knew how much it disturbed him when I got sick. When the feeling didn't leave me, I made a quick appointment with the doctor.
As always, though, Jimmy found out. The hotel had a hundred different sets of eyes and ears. It wasn't a good place to keep secrets, at least not for me. After my visit with the doctor I went right home. Jimmy found me in the sitting room at the piano again. Whenever anything happened to me I felt a need to retreat to music. When Jimmy came in I had my head down and my eyes closed.
I didn't even hear him enter, but I looked up when he touched my shoulder.
"What is it, honey? What's wrong?"
"James Gary Longchamp," I said.
"Yes?"
"You're going to be a father."
Jimmy's face exploded with happiness, and he hugged and kissed me, nearly squeezing me to death with excitement. I let him swing me about.
Through the window that faced the ocean I could see the sun slip in between two clouds. They grew farther and farther apart, permitting more and more of the sunlight to caress the ocean, turning the gray into a sparkling blue.
That night we held onto each other more closely and more dearly than ever, neither of us speaking for the longest time. I wondered if Jimmy was thinking about when we were both little, when we had been left alone and something had frightened us. We clung tightly to each other until Momma and Daddy finally arrived and made us feel safe again. Then, and only then, did Jimmy say good night to me, and I to him.
"Don't be afraid, Dawn," Jimmy finally whispered,
drawing me out of my reverie. "Everything is going to be all right with the baby this time. You'll see. Be happy," he said.
"I'll try, Jimmy. And I won't be afraid, not as long as you're beside me."
"I always will be."
"Good night, Jimmy," I said, closing my eyes.
"Good night, Dawn."
I fell asleep, dreaming of our younger days. There was music; there was always music, and we were running over some beautiful green lawn, running toward the sun.
