Cutler 01 - Dawn

acres and acres," I said, but I looked out my window when I said it. "I remember riding on the hay wagon when I was just a little girl, sitting up front with my grandfather, who held me in his arm while he held on to the reins. Jimmy would be in the hay, looking up at the sky. My grandfather smoked a corncob pipe and played the harmonica."
    "So that's where your musical talent comes from."
    "Yes." I continued spinning the threads of my fantasy, nearly forgetting as I went on that my words were as false as false could be. "He knew all the old songs and would sing them to me, one after the other, as we went along in his wagon, and at night, too, on the porch of our big farmhouse, while he rocked and smoked and my grandmother crocheted. The chickens would run loose in the front yard, and sometimes I would try to catch one, but they were always too fast. I can still hear my grandfather laugh and laugh."
    "I don't really remember too much about my grandfather, and I've never been very close to my grandmother. Life's more formal at Cutler's Cove," he explained.
    "Turn here," I said quickly, already regretting my lies.
    "You're the first girl I've driven home," he said.
    "Really? Philip Cutler, is that the truth?"
    "Cross my heart. Don't forget, I just got my license. Besides, Dawn, I can't lie to you. For some reason, it would be like lying to myself." He reached over and stroked my cheek so softly I could barely feel the tip of his finger. My heart dipped. Here he was being so thoughtful and truthful, and I was making up stories about my imaginary family, stories that made him sad about his own life, a life I was sure had to be a thousand times more wonderful than
    "Down this street," I pointed. He turned onto our block. I saw him grimace when he saw the cluttered lots and the sloppy front yards. "That's our apartment building just ahead, the one with the toy red wagon on the sidewalk?'
    "Thank you," I said as soon as he pulled up.
    He leaned over to kiss me, and when I leaned toward him, he brought his hand up to my breast again. I didn't pull away.
    "You taste real good, Dawn. You're going to let me take you for another ride soon, right?"
    "Yes," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I gathered my books into my arms quickly.
    "Hey," he said, "what's your telephone number?"
    "Oh, we don't have a phone yet," I said. When he looked at me strangely, I added, "We just didn't get around to it yet."
    I got out of the car quickly and ran to my front door, positive he saw through my foolish lie. I was sure he never wanted to see me again.
    Daddy and Momma were sitting at the kitchen table. Jimmy, who was on the couch, peered over a comic book at me.
    "Where you been?" Daddy asked in a voice that made me start.
    I looked at him. His eyes didn't soften, and there was that darkness around his face again, a darkness that made my heart pound hard and loud. "I went for a ride. But I got home early enough to help with dinner and Fern," I added in my own defense.
    "We just don't like you riding around with boys yet, Dawn," Momma said, trying to calm the treacherous waters of Daddy's anger.
    "But why, Momma? I bet the other girls my age at Emerson Peabody go for rides with boys."
    "That don't matter none," Daddy snapped. "I don't want you riding around with this boy anymore." Daddy looked up at me and his handsome face was lit with a fiery rage—my mind raced, searching desperately for a reason for Daddy's anger.
    "Please, Dawn," Momma said. It was followed with a cough that nearly took her breath away.
    I looked toward Jimmy. He had the comic book up high, so I couldn't see his face and he couldn't see mine.
    "All right, Mommy."
    "That's a good girl, Dawn," she said. "Now we can start on dinner." Her hands were shaking, but I didn't know what caused it—her coughing or the tension in the room.
    "Aren't you home early, Daddy?" I asked. I had hoped to beat him and Jimmy home anyway.
    "I left a little early. It don't matter. I ain't as crazy about this job as I thought I was," he said to my surprise. Had he found out what the girls had done to me? Did that turn him against the school?
    "Did you have a fight with Mrs. Turnbell, Daddy?" I asked, suspecting his temper had reared its ugly head.
    "No. There's just so much to do. I don't know. We'll see." He gave me a look that said there'd be no more talk about it. Since Daddy had started working at Emerson Peabody, these looks and his temper had disappeared. Suddenly it was all returning