"Yes," I said, looking down. "I suppose."

"Good. You have inherited very strong genes, Christie. Just think of the terrible things your mother endured and look how beautiful and successful she became. And she didn't even have a family behind her the way you will," he added. "I'll be right beside you, every step of the way. Every crisis you have will be my crisis, too; every obstacle, my obstacle." He smiled. "I hope you will accept my help. I'll always be right here, as well as Aunt Betty and your cousins."

"Where will you all sleep?" I asked, looking up quickly.

"For the time being, Richard and Melanie will share the guest room Fern uses whenever she's here.

There are twin beds in it. Whenever Fern comes, she can sleep on the couch in the den or in one of the guest bungalows untouched by the fire."

"And you and Aunt Bet?" I antic.i.p.ated the answer and it made me sick inside.

"We're going to have to use your parents' room, of course. In a day or so, when you're up to it, you can go in with Aunt Bet and tell her what things of your mother's you want to keep and what we should pack and put up in the attic. I wouldn't want to see everything stuffed away, of course. Your mother had some very pretty things, some of which might fit Betty."

The tears began streaming down my cheeks.

"Now, now, Christie, don't make me tell you all these details. It's too soon. Look at what it's doing to you," he said and leaned forward to kiss the tears away from my cheeks. But I pulled back.

"I'm all right," I said. "I've got to look in on Jefferson," I added.

"Of course. I'm in the process of making the funeral arrangements," he said, standing. I looked up quickly.

"When will it be?"

"In two days. We'll bury them in the old cemetery, of course."

"My mother wouldn't want to be too close to your grandmother," I fired back with heat in my face.

He stared at me a moment and then smiled coldly.

"Don't worry. She can't be too close. The closest spot that's left is mine. There's plenty of room in the rear. I'm sorry about all this, terribly sorry. I wouldn't bother you with any of it, but I think you're old enough now to accept responsibility and understand some adult things."

"I want to know 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. " y 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 G.o.d she was with us, I thought.

People began arriving to offer their condolences all the next day and into the evening. Aunt Bet made herself prim and proper and took over the house, greeting people and making arrangements. She made sure Richard and Melanie were dressed in their formal clothes: Richard wearing a dark blue suit and tie and Melanie wearing a dark blue dress with matching shoes. Both had their hair brushed and styled, not a lock out of place. They sat as still as statues on the sofa.

Aunt Bet came into my room to see what I would be wearing and then went to see Jefferson. I followed her because I knew he wouldn't like her telling him what to wear. As I expected, when she went to his closet and began picking things out for him, he glared defiantly.

"My mommy says I can wear that only on special occasions," he snapped at her.

"This is a special occasion, Jefferson. You can't greet people looking like a ruffian, can you? You want to look nice."

"I don't care," Jefferson retorted. His face flamed red.

"Of course you care, dear. Now you will wear this and then, let's see . . ."

"I'll pick out the proper things for him to wear, Aunt Bet," I said, coming in behind her quickly.

"Oh." She stared a moment and then smiled.

"Of course. I'm sure you'll choose the right things.

Call me if you need anything, dear," she said and pivoted to leave.

"I'm not Wearing what she wants me to wear,"

Jefferson repeated, his cheeks still crimson with anger.

"You don't have to," I said. "You can wear this outfit instead," I suggested. "If you want," I added. He glared a moment and then softened.

"Okay," he said. "But I'm not taking a bath."

"Suit yourself," I said, shrugging.

"Are you taking a bath?"

"I have to shower before I put on clothes," I said. "Mommy always liked you to be clean," I added pointedly. He thought a moment and then nodded.

"I'll take a shower too."

"Do you need any help?"

"I can do it by myself," he said sharply. I watched him begin to organize his clothes. He resembled a little old man. Tragedy and great sorrow, I thought, make us grow older very quickly.

Gavin, Edwina and Granddaddy Longchamp arrived late in the evening. Uncle Philip had them put up in one of the guest houses we used when the hotel became overbooked. One look at Granddaddy Longchamp's face was enough to tell me how much the tragedy had crushed and overwhelmed him. In one fell swoop, he had lost his son and the young woman he had always considered his daughter. He looked years older, the lines in his face sharply deeper, his eyes darker and his skin paler. He moved slowly and spoke very little. Edwina and I hugged and cried, and then Gavin and I had a chance to be alone.

"Where's Fern?" Gavin asked.

"No one seems to know," I said.

"She should have been the first one here to help you with Jefferson," Gavin said angrily.

"Maybe it's better she's not. She's never been much help to anyone but herself," I said. "Maybe she's feeling bad that she and Daddy had such a terrible argument the last time she saw him."

"Not Fern," Gavin concluded. We stared at each other. We had just naturally wandered away from everyone and found ourselves in the den. Mommy and Daddy often used it as a second. office. There was a large cherrywood desk and chair, walls of bookcases, a big grandfather's clock and a ruby leather settee.

Gavin gazed at the family pictures on the desk and shelves and at the framed letters of commendation Mommy had received for her performances at Sarah Bernhardt.

"She was so proud of those," I said. He nodded.

"I can't believe it," he said without turning to me. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up soon."

"Me too."

"She was more than a sister-in-law to me. She was a sister," he said. "And I always wanted to be like Jimmy."

"You will be, Gavin. He was very proud of you and never stopped bragging about you and how well you do in school."

"Why did this happen? Why?" he demanded.

Tears flooded my eyes and my lips began to tremble.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, quickly coming to me. "I should be thinking of what you're going through and not be so concerned about myself." He embraced me and I pressed my face against his chest.

"What are you two doing in here?" Aunt Bet demanded. She was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise. I lifted my head slowly from Gavin and wiped my eyes.

"Nothing," I said.

"You shouldn't be alone here with everyone gathered in the living room," she said, gazing from Gavin to me and then to Gavin. "It's not . . . proper,"

she added. "And besides, Jefferson's not behaving.

You had better speak to him, Christie," she said.

"What's he doing?"

"He won't sit still."

"He's only nine years old, Aunt Bet, and he's just lost his mother and father. We can't very well expect him to be as perfect as Richard," I retorted. Her face flamed red.

"Well, I'm just trying to-"

"I'll see to him," I said quickly and took Gavin's hand. "I'm sorry," I said after we had rushed past her.

"I shouldn't have been so short with her, but she's been taking over everything and bossing everyone around. I just don't have the patience."

"I understand," Gavin said. "I'll help with Jefferson. Let's find him," he offered. Gavin was wonderful with him, taking him up to his room and occupying him with his games and toys.

Aunt Fern didn't arrive until the morning of the funeral. She appeared with one of her boyfriends from college, a tall, dark-haired young man. She introduced him only as Buzz. I couldn't believe she had decided to bring a boyfriend to the funeral. She behaved as if it were just another family affair. The whole time she was at the house before we left for church, she and Buzz remained aloof from the other mourners. A number of times I caught them giggling in a corner.