Free A Cry In the Night by Mary Higgins Clark

mounted on its original brass claw feet. As the hot water soothed the muscles in her neck and shoulders she determined to relax.
    She realized now that Erich had carefully avoided describing the house to her. What had he said? Oh, yes, things like, “Nothing much has been changed since Caroline died. I think the extent of the redecorating was to replace some curtains in the guest bedroom.”
    Was it just that nothing had worn out in these years or was Erich religiously preserving intact everything that reminded him of his mother’s presence here? The scent she loved was still lingering in the master bedroom. Her brushes and combs and nail buffer wereon the dresser. She wondered if there might not still be a few strands of Caroline’s hair caught in one of the brushes.
    His father had been desperately wrong to have allowed Erich’s childhood bedroom to be left intact, frozen in time, as though growth in this house had stopped with Caroline’s death. The thought made her uneasy and she deliberately pushed it aside. Think of Erich and yourself, she told herself. Forget the past. Remember that you belong to each other now. Her pulse quickened.
    She thought of the lovely new nightgown and peignoir inside her new suitcase. She’d bought them in Bergdorf Goodman with her last paycheck, splurging extravagantly, but wanting to truly look like a bride tonight.
    Suddenly lighthearted, she got out of the tub, released the stopper and reached for a towel. The mirror above the sink was clouded over. She started to dry herself then paused and began to wipe away the steam. She felt that in the midst of all the newness she needed to see herself, find her own image. As the glass dried, she glanced into it. But it was not her own blue-green eyes that she saw reflected back.
    It was Erich’s face, Erich’s midnight-blue eyes meeting hers in the reflection. He had opened the door so silently she hadn’t heard him. Spinning around, she instinctively clutched the towel in front of her, then deliberately let it fall.
    â€œOh, Erich, you scared me,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    His eyes never left her face. “I thought you’d want your gown, darling,” he said. “Here it is.”
    He was holding an aquamarine satin nightgown with a deep V cut in the front and back.
    â€œErich, I have a new gown. Did you just buy this one for me?”
    â€œNo,” Erich said, “it was Caroline’s.” He ran his tongue nervously over his lips. He was smiling strangely. His eyes as they rested on her were moist with love. When he spoke again his tone was pleading. “For my sake, Jenny, wear it tonight.”

8

    F or minutes Jenny stood staring at the bathroom door, not knowing what to do. I don’t want to wear a dead woman’s nightgown, she protested silently. The satin felt soft and clinging under her fingers.
    After Erich handed her the gown he’d abruptly left the room. She began to shiver as she looked at the suitcase. Should she simply put on her own gown and peignoir, simply say, “I prefer this, Erich.”
    She thought of his expression when he handed his mother’s gown to her.
    Maybe it won’t fit, she hoped. That would solve everything. But when she pulled it over her head, it might have been made for her. She was thin enough for the tapered waist, the narrowly cut hips, the straight line to the ankles. The V cut accentuated her firm breasts. She glanced in the mirror. The steam was evaporating now and tiny driblets of water were running down. That must be why she looked different. Or was it that something in the aqua tone of the gown emphasized the green in her eyes?
    She could not say the gown did not fit and certainly it was becoming. But I don’t want to wear it, she thought uneasily. I don’t feel like myself in it.
    She was about to pull it over her head when there was a soft tap on the door. She opened it.