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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.
"What is that, Jimmy?" I asked, sitting back and smiling. Jimmy loved surprises and especially loved surprising me.
"It's from Daddy," he said, and he pulled out the photographs, handing them to me one at a time without speaking. There was a letter, too. The photographs were pictures of Daddy's wife Edwina and their son Gavin. Some pictures were just of Gavin. They had named him after Daddy Longchamp's grandpa. "Daddy says as soon as they get a chance they're going to travel up to see us," Jimmy declared, and he handed the letter to me along with the pictures.
"Oh, that would be wonderful. Gavin looks just like Daddy Longchamp," I said. Gavin did have Daddy Longchamp's coal-black hair and dark eyes. "And Edwina's very pretty," I added. She was a slim brunette with light brown eyes. From the way she was depicted in the photograph, I thought she was almost as tall as Daddy.
"Yes," Jimmy said, but we looked at each other and silently agreed she wasn't as pretty as Momma had been.
"Daddy seems very happy now," I said, gazing at the letter. "And very proud of his new son."
"Yes. And I suppose I should be happy about having a new brother," Jimmy declared, a sad look washing over his face and dimming the light in his eyes. "Of course, Fern's got a new brother, too," he said, "although she doesn't know it and may never know it. Did you speak to Mr. Updike about what I suggested, about hiring a private detective?" he asked.
His dark eyes held a quiet, waiting look, as if his entire life depended upon my answer. I didn't want to tell him Mr. Updike was not enthralled with the suggestion and had tried to talk us out of it.
"Yes. He said he would look into it for us and get back to me later this week."
"Good," Jimmy said. "Well, I'd better get back out there. I'll leave all this with you," he said, handing me the envelope and the letter.
I sat there gazing at the photograph of Daddy Longchamp with his new family. He looked so much older to me, and a lot thinner. It was almost as if he were the ghost of the man I had once known as my father. His smile seemed forced to me; he looked like a man desperately trying to hold back gloom and doom, slamming the door on the past and clinging to the doorknob while the memories battered and pried, trying to get back at him. I was sure it would be very difficult for him to come here to see me. He carried a ton of guilt on his shoulders, and confronting me might only weigh him down. It was better he remain where he was, in a new world, in a new life, the past of beyond the horizon.
I didn't realize I was crying until a tear dropped on the photograph. And then suddenly my sorrow began to upset my stomach. I felt a wave of nausea come over me. The blood drained from my face, and my heart began to pitter-patter so quickly, I had to gasp for breath. I got up quickly and rushed to the bathroom, where I emptied my stomach of everything I had eaten for breakfast and lunch. It brought me to my hands and knees. Finally I was able to retreat to one of the sofas and lie down. The nausea eased up enough for me to sit up and catch my breath.
I didn't feel as though I had a fever, but the vomiting had left me weak and tired. I tried to go back to my work but found the nausea returning. I had to rush back to the bathroom. Later that afternoon I decided I had better go see the doctor. I didn't want to worry Jimmy, so I didn't tell him. I just had Julius bring the hotel car around.
But keeping secrets at Cutler's Cove was a nearly impossible thing to do. I had to tell Mrs. Bradly at the reception counter that I was leaving the hotel. She saw I wasn't feeling well, and she told Mrs. Boston, who told Robert Garwood. The chain of gossip ran out to Jimmy rather quickly, so that when I emerged from the examination room I found him waiting in the lobby, pacing nervously about. He hadn't even stopped to wash the grease of his forehead and cheeks.
"How did you find out where I was?" I began.
"What's wrong, doctor?" he demanded, looking quickly from me to Dr. Lester, the physician I had been using to care for Christie. He was a very gentle man who had a way of putting his patients at ease with his comforting smile and methodical manner.
"Nothing's wrong, Mr. Longchamp," he said, and then he smiled. "Unless you didn't want your wife to be pregnant."
"Pregnant!" Jimmy's look of concern transformed into a look of shock rnd happiness. He smiled with a dazed expression in his eyes and started to stutter. "But
"Congratulations," Doctor Lester said, laughing. "Is she all right? I mean—-"
"Everything's fine, Mr. Longchamp," he assured Jimmy quickly.
"Now, don't you feel foolish running down here like this, James Gary Longchamp?" I playfully chastised with my hands on my hips. Jimmy started to stutter again, so I took his hand. "Come on, Jimmy," I said. "We have lots of work to do."
"Work! You're not working as hard as you've been working. No, sir. Things are gonna change around that hotel. And don't you start arguing about it, Dawn," he warned, placing his forefinger on my lips. "I'm about to be a daddy, and I've got a say in these matters."
"Well, it's not going to happen tomorrow, Jimmy," I said, laughing. "And being pregnant isn't like being sick. I'm not going to lie around like Mother and be waited on hand and foot. So don't you start," I said firmly.
"We'll see about all that," he replied.
"Uh-oh," Doctor Lester said, "I'm stepping out of this." He retreated to his office, and Jimmy and I returned to the hotel, where we knew the news would spread and everyone would want to share in our happiness. I still couldn't believe it. I was pregnant with Jimmy's baby. At last it seemed all our dreams were coming true.
Mother found out two days later and called. Bronson had told her. Sometimes Bronson knew things about events at the hotel before I did. He had his spies, his informers who kept him aware of how we were doing. I suspected Mr. Dorfman might be his source. I didn't blame Bronson; I imagined he wanted to be up on the news at the Cutler's Cove Hotel because it was such a big investment for his bank. Maybe some of the members of his board were pressuring him to keep tabs on how the new, very young owner of the Cutler's Cove Hotel was bearing up under her responsibilities.
"I'm not surprised you hid this news from me," Mother began. She didn't even say hello or ask me how I was. She went right into her tirade. "Why you would want to make me a grandmother again, I'll never know. You just got married recently, and you're so young. You have so much to live for, so much to do, and here you go having another baby."
"Mother, getting pregnant and having children is not sentencing yourself to death," I replied quickly.
