Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

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    Mr. Updike sat behind Grandmother Cutler's desk with the papers and documents spread before him. Randolph, my mother and Clara Sue sat on the settee. Philip sat in a chair to the right of them and Jimmy and I took the chairs on the left. Even with all the lights on and the sunlight streaming through the windows, the office looked dreary, drab and gloomy.
    But I couldn't get over how brilliant my mother looked. Supervising the funeral and its aftermath had brought a healthy flush into her face. She sparkled, her eyes dancing with a youthful glint. Clara Sue, who had been pouting all day, glared with hatred every time she looked my way. Our cheerful mother looked more like her sister.
    "Since everyone who is required to be present is present," Mr. Updike began, "I shall commence with the formal reading of the wills and disposition of the estates of William and Lillian Cutler, both deceased," he said in a somber tone of voice. My mother was the first to realize something odd.
    "Did you say William and Lillian, John?" she asked.
    "Yes, Laura Sue. There is some unfinished business as concerns the instructions William left."
    "Well, why wasn't it done before this?" she pursued.
    "Please be patient, Laura Sue," he replied. "The answer is here," he added, tapping a document. My mother's smile wilted and I thought she looked rather uneasy suddenly, but Randolph didn't seem to notice or care. He sat there coolly, his legs crossed, his eyes focused on some memory rather than on Mr. Updike.
    "I shall begin then," Mr. Updike said, "with a letter of instructions left by William B. Cutler, deceased." He fixed his glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose and held up the document to read.
     
    " 'Dear John or whom it may concern,
    " 'This letter is to serve as my final will and testament and is to be read only immediately after the event of my wife Lillian's death. I have left these instructions specifically to ensure that my wife suffer no embarrassment during her lifetime.' "
     
    Suddenly, my mother rose, her hand on her bosom. Mr. Updike looked up from the documents.
    "I . . . I'm not feeling well. I've got to lay down!" she exclaimed and bolted from the office. Randolph started to rise.
    "You had better remain here, Randolph," Mr. Updike said firmly.
    "But . . . Laura Sue . . ."
    "She'll be all right," Mr. Updike said and made a gesture with his hand to indicate we must forget her for the moment and return to the business at hand. Randolph sat back slowly, looking frightened as well as dazed. Mr. Updike continued to read.
    " 'I realize I have no real way to make amends for my actions, but I feel I must not permit my sins to echo on and on punishing the innocent. Accordingly, I hereby confess to having fathered the second child of my son's wife. I make no excuses for this other than to say I succumbed to the same animal lusts and desires men have succumbed to since Adam and Eve. I blame no one, but myself.
    " 'Accordingly, I hereby instruct that on the event of the death of my wife Lillian and on the eighteenth birthday of my son's second child, who is in truth my son's half-sister, sixty percent of my holdings in the Cutler's Cove Hotel be deeded to the second child and the remaining forty percent, heretofore deeded to my wife Lillian, be distributed as she sees fit in her last will and testament.' "
    Mr. Updike looked up. For a moment it was as though a streak of lightning had passed through the room and we were all waiting for the clap of thunder. Everyone, including me, wore the same expression of disbelief and shock. Randolph shook his head slowly. Philip's Adam's apple bobbed as if he had just swallowed a live frog. Clara Sue finally broke the silence by bursting into tears.
    "I don't believe it!" she screamed. "I don't! I don't!" she repeated, pounding her own leg. "This can't be happening!"
    "This has all been properly notarized and witnessed. Actually, I witnessed it myself years ago," Mr. Updike said calmly. "There is no question about its authenticity."
    "Daddy," she cried, shaking Randolph's shoulder. "Tell him it isn't so; tell him it's a lie."
    Randolph lowered his head in defeat. Clara Sue glared at me and then turned back to Mr. Updike.
    "But why should she get so much?" she demanded. "She's a bastard."
    "It's the way your grandfather wanted it," Mr. Updike replied. "And," he reminded everyone, "it was his to do with as he wanted."
    "But she's a . . . a freak!" Clara Sue screamed. "That's what you are,