Subj: The Birthday Gift
Date: 12/3/98 7:50:35 PM Central Standard Time
From: Daphne

The Birthday Gift

Prelude—April 23, 1980

"Come on Quentin! You have to make a wish before you blow out the candles! It's tradition!" Arianna folded her arms across her chest and waited for him to do as she asked, giving him the most obstinate look he'd ever seen cross the face of a six -year-old. She was a beautiful little girl, with her mother's flaxen hair and sparkling blue eyes, and her father's smile-- Carolyn and Willie couldn't have asked for a more perfect daughter, and Quentin wouldn't have loved her more if she had been his own child. He'd always related to children better than adults, and sometimes his relationship with his cousin left him wondering what sort of father he could have been if his past transgressions hadn't come to dominate his existence. He'd never been given the chance to know Lenore or Michael, and he was grateful that they had never known the suffering he had inflicted on Jenny. Then there was Beth—he hadn't even realized that he was capable of loving her until after her death, when it was too late to do anything but wallow in regret and self-pity. She had never known the complete joy that Carolyn had found in being a mother and wife, and Quentin would never forgive himself for robbing her of her right to that kind of happiness. To have a family now would mean carrying on the curse, and subjecting future generations to the pain of his sins, sins that could no longer be erased by the brushtrokes of a supernatural paintbrush. No, it was clear to him that he'd never deserved a family. He wasn't worthy of the kind of peace that he witnessed before him as Arianna and her mother and father sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by black balloons and crepe paper streamers.

"Quentin, are you all right?" Carolyn asked, gently touching his hand. "You spaced out on us there for a minute." Slightly startled, he pulled his hand away from her and sat up straighter, trying to shake off the depression that was suddenly threatening to ruin his evening.

"Sure I am," he lied, "I was just thinking of what I should wish for."

"Well ya better hurry up," Willie chimed in, "or we'll have to call the fire department. There are forty candles on that cake."

Quentin laughed in spite of himself, wondering how his family would react if they knew that he was actually 110 years old. He wasn't much in the mood for a party anymore, but the least he could do was act like he was having a good time, especially considering all the trouble that Carolyn had gone to by decorating the house and baking him a birthday cake. Closing his eyes, Quentin took a deep breath and blew out all the candles at once. His wish was a desperate and futile one, one that could never be realized, for wishes were the souls of dreams, and he'd never been allowed to claim his. After all, he'd been born a Collins--happiness was not his birthright.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.