Cutler 01 - Dawn

respond. She turned to Mrs. Boston. "See that she remembers all this," she added and walked out.
    Although the door clicked softly closed, it sounded like a gunshot to me.
    Welcome to your real family and real home, Dawn, I told myself.

 
    9
MY NEW LIFE
     
    "Grab your suitcase and follow me, Eugenia," Mrs. Boston commanded in a tone of voice my grandmother had been using.
    "My name is Dawn," I declared firmly.
    "If Mrs. Cutler wants you called Eugenia, that's what you'll be called here. Cutler's Cove is her kingdom and she's the queen. Don't expect nobody to go against her wishes, not even your daddy," Mrs. Boston added and then widened her eyes and leaned toward me to whisper, "And especially not your mother."
    I turned away and quickly wiped the tears from my eyes. What sort of people were my real parents? How could they be so afraid of my grandmother? Why weren't they dying of curiosity about me and making it their business to see me right away?
    Mrs. Boston led me out the rear door and down the dimly lit corridor that ran behind the kitchen.
    "Where are we going now?" I asked. I was tired of being dragged around like some stray dog.
    "The family lives in the old section of the hotel," Mrs. Boston explained as we walked.
    When we paused at the end of the corridor, I was able to see the hotel lobby. It was lit by four large chandeliers and had a light blue carpet and pearl-white papered walls with a blue pattern. Behind the reception counter were two middle-aged women greeting guests. All were quite well dressed, the men in suits and jackets, the women in pretty dresses and bedecked with jewels. Once they entered the lobby, they milled about in small groups chatting.
    I caught sight of my grandmother standing by the dining room entrance. She glanced our way once, her eyes like ice, but as soon as some guests approached, her face brightened and softened. One woman held on to her hand as they spoke. They kissed each other, and then my grandmother followed all the guests toward the dining room, throwing a gaze like a snowball back at us before disappearing into the dining room herself.
    "Let's move along . . . quickly," Mrs. Boston said urgently, stung by my grandmother's sharp, cold look. We turned down a long corridor and finally reached what was clearly the older section of the hotel.
    We passed a sitting room that had a fieldstone fireplace and warm-looking antique furniture—soft cushion chairs in hand-carved wood frames, a dark pine rocking chair, a thick cushioned couch with pinewood end tables and a thick, eggshell-white rug. I saw that there were many paintings on the walls, and there were pictures and knickknacks on the mantel above the fireplace. I thought I glimpsed a picture of Philip standing beside the woman who must be our mother, but I couldn't pause long enough to see her clearly. Mrs. Boston was practically trotting.
    "Most of the bedrooms are on the second floor, but there is one bedroom downstairs off the small kitchen. Mrs. Cutler told me that one's to be yours," she said.
    "What was it, a servant's bedroom?" I asked. Mrs. Boston didn't respond. "After I earn respect, I will be able to sleep upstairs," I grumbled. I don't know if Mrs. Boston heard me or not. If she had, she didn't acknowledge it.
    We went through the small kitchen and then passed through a short hallway to my bedroom on the right. The door was opened. Mrs. Boston turned on the light as we entered.
    It was a very small room with a single bed against the wall on the left. The bed had a simple light-brown headboard. At the foot of the bed was a slightly stained cream-colored oval rug. There was a single-drawer night table beside the bed with a lamp on it. To the right was a dresser and a closet, and directly ahead of us was the room's only window. Right now I couldn't tell what the window looked out on, for it was dark and there were no lights at this side of the hotel grounds. The window had no curtains, just a pale yellow shade.
    "Do you want to put your things away now, or would you rather go to the kitchen and get something to eat?" she asked. I placed my little suitcase on the bed and looked around sadly.
    There were many times we had moved into an apartment so small that Jimmy and I didn't have much more room than this to share, but somehow, because I was with a loving family, because I was with people who cared about me and about whom I cared, the size of my room didn't matter as much. We made do, and besides, I had to