Cutler 01 - Dawn

clothing. It was just the idea that it was Clara Sue's clothing, Clara Sue's hand-me-downs, that disturbed me. I couldn't help remembering all the terrible things she had done to me at school.
    On the other hand, my mother, whom I really hadn't spoken to since our first meeting, was thinking about me. I supposed I should be grateful.
    "My mother picked all this out for me?" I asked. Mrs. Boston nodded and raised her hands.
    "She didn't pick it out exactly. She asked me to gather all the things I knew Clara Sue didn't use or want and see if you could make use of it."
    I tried on one of the sneakers. Clara Sue was a year younger than me, but she was a lot bigger. The old sneakers and shoes were a perfect fit. All of the blouses and skirts would fit, too. There was even a bag of underwear.
    "Everything in that is far too small for her now," Mrs. Boston said. I was sure all the panties would fit, but the year-old bra was still too big for me.
    "You can sort out what works and what don't. Let me know what you don't want. There are plenty of poor people I know who would really appreciate most of this," she said, raising her eyebrows. "Especially Agatha Johnson."
    "Well, I don't have time to work on this right now," I snapped. "I have to go to the card room. I'm supposed to clean it up between one and two while most of the guests are away." I put the clothing aside.
    Mrs. Boston grimaced and then left. I followed her out and went to do my afternoon chores.
    I had just finished polishing the last table in the card room and put back the chairs when I heard Philip call, "Dawn." I turned and found him standing behind me in the doorway. He wore a light blue shirt with a button-down collar and khaki-colored slacks. With his hair brushed neatly, every strand in place, he looked his usual unperturbed self.
    I had lost interest in my own appearance from the day I had arrived at Cutler's Cove. In the morning I would simply pin up my hair and then tie a bandanna around it the way the other chambermaids did. My uniform was dirty from cleaning the card room.
    It was the first dark rainy day since I had arrived at the hotel. The brooding sky had made this particular day even more dreary and tedious for me. The air was cool and clammy, and I worked harder and faster to keep the chill out of my bones.
    "Hello, Philip," I said, turning about completely.
    "How are you?" he asked.
    "All right, I guess," I replied, but my lips began to tremble and my shoulders started to shake. When I looked at him now, it made me think that my days at Emerson Peabody were all part of some dream, a dream that had turned into a nightmare the day Momma died.
    "I set out looking for you as soon as I arrived," Philip said, not taking a step closer. "I haven't even unpacked. I just threw down my things and asked Mrs. Boston where I could find you. She told me Grandmother put you downstairs and started you working as a chambermaid," he added. "That's my grandmother—I mean, our grandmother—for you."
    He paused again. The silences between our sentences were deep, and the small distance between us seemed like miles. Rapid and dramatic events had made him feel like a stranger to me. I was having trouble thinking of things to say and how to say them.
    But suddenly he smiled the same way he always had with that twinkle in his eyes, that impish grin in his face. He shook his head.
    "I can't think of you as my sister. I can't. This is too much," he said.
    "What can we do, Philip? It's true."
    "I don't know." He kept shaking his head. "So," he said, stepping closer, "how do you like the hotel? It's quite a place, isn't it? The grounds are beautiful. When it's not raining like this," he added.
    "I've only been able to explore the inside of the hotel. I haven't had much of a chance to explore outside," I said. "Mostly, I've been working and spending time alone in my room."
    "Oh." His smile widened. "Well, now that I've arrived, you will have more to do. I'll show you every nook and cranny. I'll re-explore everything with you, show you my favorite places, my old hiding places . . ."
    For a moment we let our gazes lock. My face felt hot, my heart raced. What did he see when he looked at me? Did he still think me the nicest and prettiest girl he had met?
    "On your day off," he continued quickly, "we'll walk along the beach and look for seashells and—"
    "I don't have a day off," I said.
    "What? No day off? Of course you do. Everybody gets a day off. I'll speak to Mr. Stanley