Cutler 01 - Dawn

right away about it."
    I shrugged and put my polishing cloth and polish in my little cart. He came closer.
    "Dawn," he said, reaching for my hand. When his fingers touched mine, I pulled away instinctively. I couldn't help it. What had once been thrilling now seemed as soiled as the linens I changed every morning. It felt wrong to look deeply into his eyes, wrong to hear him speak softly to me, wrong to have him care about me. I even felt guilty talking to him alone in the card room.
    "Not a day has passed when I didn't think about you and what a horror you've been going through. I wanted to call you, even to leave school and come home to see you, but Grandmother thought it would be better to wait," he said, and I looked up at him sharply.
    "Grandmother?"
    "Yes."
    "What did you tell her about us?" I asked quickly.
    "Tell her?" He shrugged as if it had all been so simple and so harmless. "Just how you and I had become such good friends and what a wonderful person you were and how beautifully you sang. She asked me about your mother and father, and I told her about your mother's illness and death and how surprised I was to learn what they had done."
    "I don't know why they did what they did or why any of this happened," I said, shaking my head. I looked away to hide the tears in my eyes.
    "Grandmother felt the same way. It had been a terrible surprise to her, too, when it happened," he said. I spun around.
    "Why . . . why did you call your grandmother? Why didn't you speak with . . . your father or mother?" It was still hard for me to think of them as my parents, too.
    "Oh, I've always gone to Grandmother for most things," he replied, smiling. "She's always been in charge. At least, as long as I can remember, and . . . you've met Mother," he said, raising his eyes toward the ceiling. "She's having a hard enough time about it all as it is. Father would only ask Grandmother for advice anyway if I had called him. She's quite a woman, isn't she?"
    "She's a tyrant," I snapped.
    "What?" He kept his smile.
    "She wants to change my name from Dawn to Eugenia, only I won't agree. She's insisting everyone in the hotel call me Eugenia, and they're all afraid to do otherwise."
    "I'll talk to her. I’ll get her to understand, you'll see."
    "I don't care if she understands or not. I won't change my name to please her," I declared firmly.
    He nodded, impressed with my determination. We stared at each other again.
    "Don't worry," he said, moving closer. "It will be all right."
    "It will never be all right," I moaned. "I try to keep busy so I won't think about Jimmy and Fern and what's happened to them." I looked up at him hopefully. "Have you heard anything? Do you know any-thing?"
    "No. Sorry. Oh, before I forget, regards from Mr. Moore. He says no matter what, you must continue with your music. He said to tell you he wants to come hear you sing at Carnegie Hall someday."
    I smiled for the first time in a long time.
    "I haven't felt much like singing or playing piano these days."
    "You will. After a while. Dawn," Philip said, this time seizing my hand and holding on to it tightly. He went on, his eyes soft as they saw my distress. "It's not all that easy forgetting about you the way you were, even when I see you here."
    "I know," I said, looking down.
    "No one can blame me, can blame you for feeling the way we do about each other. Let's just keep it our secret," he said. I looked up surprised. His eyes darkened with sincerity. "As far as I'm concerned, you're still the most beautiful girl I have ever met."
    He pressed my hand more firmly and drew close as though he wanted me to kiss him on the lips. What did he expect me to do? To say?
    I pulled my hand out of his and stepped back. "Thank you, Philip, but we have to try to think of each other differently now. Everything's changed." He looked disappointed.
    "This isn't easy for me, either, you know," he said sharply. "I know you've suffered, but I've suffered, too. You can't imagine what it was like at school," he added, his forehead creasing. Then, easy as a mask to take off, he threw away his anger and put on his dreamy-eyed romantic look.
    "But whenever I grew sad about it, I forced myself to think about all the wonderful things you and I could do here at Cutler's Cove. I meant what I said before. I want to show you the hotel and the grounds and the town and catch you up on our family history," he said, his voice full of energy and excitement.
    "Thank you," I said. "I'll look