Cutler 01 - Dawn

for me.
    "Not long afterward, though, your mother had Clara, and they put that little tombstone in the cemetery to put your memory to rest forever."
    "I know; I've seen it."
    "I felt terrible about it. I went to look at it myself, and I knew God was watching me. Before long I began to get sick. I got sicker and sicker until you see me now.
    "And now you've come back and I'm glad," she said with a sudden burst of energy and strength. "You're my redemption. I can make my peace with the Lord knowing I've told you the truth. I'm sorry, too. I can't right the wrong, but I can tell you I'm sorry I was any part of it.
    "You're too young to know and appreciate what forgiveness means, child, but I sure hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive ole, sick Lila Dalton," she said, smiling softly, hopefully.
    "You're not the one who has to ask for forgiveness, Mrs. Dalton," I replied. "You thought you were doing the right thing at the time, even something that would be better for me.
    "But," I added, my eyes burning, "Ormand Longchamp shouldn't be sitting in that jail and taking all the blame."
    "No, I suppose not."
    "Would you tell the truth now, if you were asked to?" I inquired hopefully. "Or are you still afraid of what might happen?"
    "I'm too old and too sick to be afraid of anyone or anything anymore," she said. "I'd do what I had to do to make my peace with God."
    "Thank you," I said, standing. "For telling me everything. I'm sorry you're so sick, and I hope it does make you feel better."
    "That's sweet of you, child. Funny," she said, taking my hand and looking up at me, "you're the grandchild Mrs. Cutler would want the most, and you're the one she gave away."

 
    16
PRIVATE COVERSATIONS
     
    I returned to the hotel slowly, my head spinning, my whole life whirling by. Every few moments I would stop the wheel of fortune and read off something that now made sense—Momma's last words in the hospital, asking me not to hate her and Daddy, my grandmother's unhappiness at my return, my real mother's cowardice and nervous condition—all of it began to fall into place to create a picture that I didn't like, but that at least made sense.
    Lunch had just ended at the hotel. Guests were meandering about the grounds, sitting on the front porch, enjoying the beautiful day. Younger guests were at the tennis courts, and many had gone to the pool. Across the way at the docks other guests were getting into and out of boats that took them for scenic coastal rides. There were smiles and laughter all around me. I was sure I stood out because of the clouds that hovered over me and cast dark shadows over my face.
    But I couldn't help it. The bright sunshine, the warm ocean breezes, the happy peal of laughter coming from children, the excitement and energy of the tourists—all of it only pointed up my own sadness. Cutler's Cove was no place to be depressed, I thought, especially not today.
    My grandmother was sitting in the lobby smiling and talking to guests. They laughed at something she said and then listened closely as she went on, their attention glued to her as if she were some celebrity. I saw the way other guests were drawn to her, eager to listen. She didn't see that I had entered, so I was able to look at her without her knowing it.
    But suddenly she set eyes on me, and her expression frosted. I didn't turn away first. She did. Her smile returned as she continued to talk to her guests. I proceeded through the lobby. I had something to do before I would speak with her, someone else to speak with first.
    Clara Sue was behind the front desk. Some of the teenage guests were standing there and talking to her. They all laughed, and then Clara Sue turned my way, her face full of curiosity and without any remorse.
    But I didn't care about her right now. Right now she was insignificant to me. I ignored her and walked across the lobby. She made some snide remark about me, I'm sure, because a moment later she and her friends laughed even louder than they had been laughing. I didn't look back. I went to the old section and hurried through the corridor to the stairway.
    There I paused, and then I walked up slowly, my eyes fixed ahead of me, my determination building with each step. All I could hear were Momma's last words to me in the hospital; all I could see was Daddy with his head bowed in defeat when the police had arrived.
    What I was about to do I was to do for them.
    I paused again at the door of my mother's suite, and then I