Cutler 01 - Dawn

help it. I'm sorry," he said.
    When I looked back at him, he did look like someone in torment.
    "I won't do it again. I promise," he said. He smiled and stepped toward me. "I just wanted to hold you to see if I could hold you the way a brother should hold a sister, to comfort you or greet you, but not . . . to touch you that way."
    He bowed his head remorsefully.
    "I guess I shouldn't have brought you here so soon." He waited, his eyes hopeful that I would disagree and want to forget the truth.
    "Let's leave, Philip," I said. When his arms had encircled me and held me fast, I had become an instrument of desire for romantic fulfillment. Now I was scared, too, of what was inside me.
    He reached up quickly and pulled the light cord dropping a sheet of darkness over us. Then he seized my arm.
    "In the darkness we can pretend we're not brother and sister. You can't see me; I can't see you." His grip tightened.
    "Philip!"
    "Just kidding," he said and laughed. He released his hold on me, and I retreated to the door.
    I hurried out and turned to wait for him to close the door and follow. As soon as he did, we started up the cement stairs. But just as we did so, a shadow moved over us, and we both looked up into the disapproving eyes of Grandmother Cutler.
    Bloated with anger, she glared down at us and looked so much bigger and taller.
    "Clara Sue thought you two would be here," she spat. "I'm returning to my office. Eugenia, I want to see you there within five minutes. Philip, Collins needs you in the dining room immediately."
    She spun on her heels and walked off briskly.
    My heart felt as if it would crack open my chest, and my face felt so hot and flushed, I thought my cheeks would burn. Philip turned back to me, his face filled with fear and embarrassment. What had happened to the strong, confident look he had worn so often back at school? He looked so feeble and weak. He gazed after Grandmother and then back at me.
    "I . . . I'm sorry. I'd better get going," he stammered.
    "Philip!" I cried, but he lunged up the remaining steps and rushed off.
    I took a deep breath and continued up the stairs. A heavy-looking, bruised gray cloud slipped over the warm afternoon sun, putting a chill in my heart.
     
    Clara Sue smiled smugly at me from the receptionist's desk as I walked through the lobby toward Grandmother Cutler's office. She was obviously still jealous and upset by the way Father and Mother had reacted to my playing the piano the other day, I thought, as well as to the crowd's applause for my singing at Grandmother Cutler's birthday party. I knocked on Grandmother's office door. I found her seated behind her desk, her back straight, her shoulders stiff, and her arms on the arms of the chair. She looked like a high court judge. I stood before her, a tight wire inside, stretched so taut I thought I might break and cry.
    "Sit down," she commanded icily and nodded toward the chair before her desk. I slipped into it, clutching the arms tightly in my palms, and gazed nervously at her.
    "Eugenia," she said, only moving her head slightly forward, "I'm going to ask you this just once. Just what is there between you and your brother?"
    "Between us?"
    "Don't force me to define every one of my words and speak unspeakable things," she snarled and then quickly relaxed again. "I know that when you were at Emerson Peabody, before Philip learned the truth of your identity, he fancied you one of his girlfriends, and you, understandably, were attracted to him. Did anything happen for which this family should feel shame?" she asked, raising her eyebrows inquisitively.
    It was as if my heart stopped beating and waited for my mind to stop reeling. A gush of heat rushed up my stomach and over my breasts, circling my throat in a fiery ring that choked me. I felt feverish. At first my tongue refused to form words, but as the silence stretched and became uncomfortably thick, I vanquished my throat lumps and caught my breath.
    "Absolutely nothing," I said with a voice so deep I hardly recognized it as my own. "What a horrible thing to ask!"
    "It would be far more horrible if you had something to confess," she retorted. Her sharp, penetrating gaze rested on me with deep concentration.
    "Philip is a healthy young man," she began, "and like all young men, he is not unlike a wild horse just finding his legs. I think you have the worldly experience to understand my point." She waited for me to acknowledge her, but I simply stared, my heart pounding,