Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

sorry, I . . ." He stepped back and closed the door quickly.
    My heart was thumping like a tin drum and it wasn't just because the door lock had given way and caused an embarrassing moment. My mind reeled back to the memory of my brother Philip and what had happened between us at the Cutler Hotel. I felt myself grow nauseous and dizzy, from the memories, and I had to pause and sit on the edge of the bathtub and take deep breaths. Even so, I couldn't stop thinking of Philip's hands touching my body, his lips pressing down on my breast as he babbled and pleaded and forced himself on me that day at the hotel. I'd never been able to reveal what had happened that day because Jimmy was hiding in the hotel and didn't want to endanger him. How horrible it had all been. The vivid images were like tiny knives poking at my heart. I embraced myself and rocked back and forth for a few moments until my nausea subsided. Then, after a few more deep breaths, I got up and showered, turning the water almost as hot as it would go, so hot that it burned and hurt as it splashed down on me. Perhaps I hoped I could burn and scrub away the shame of my thoughts and memories. But I know now I'll never be free of them.
    When my skin was so raw and red I couldn't stand it any longer I got out and dried myself quickly, slipped into my robe and hurried back to my room. Trisha was already dressed and was just finishing her hair. I shut the door behind me and lay back against it, closing my eyes.
    "What's wrong?" she asked. "You look upset."
    I quickly told her that Arthur Garwood had walked in on me.
    "It brought back bad memories," I muttered when I'd finished and sat on the bed,
    "Really?" Trisha started to sit beside me. Then she looked at her watch. "Oh, I've got to go down and help Mrs. Liddy. We'll talk later tonight. We'll go to bed early and put out the lights and talk until we both fall into a drop dead sleep, okay?"
    I nodded. I couldn't help it. Part of me wanted to keep all my twisted secrets locked in my heart, but another part of me longed more than anything for someone to confide in. If only I had a normal mother like other girls did—a mother you could laugh with and bring your problems to, who would hold you and stroke your hair when you were hurting. My mother was a frail, fragile flower to whom nothing sad could ever be spoken.
    All the people I really loved were gone from my life, and all the people who were in my life now were people I could never love: suspicious, cruel Grandmother Cutler; Randolph, my detached, distant always too busy father; my pale, frantic mother; Clara Sue, my vicious sister; and Philip, who wanted to love me in only the ways a brother should never love a sister. I needed a friend like Trisha desperately, perhaps too desperately. I hoped and prayed she wouldn't be like so many others and eventually betray me. But sometimes, we have no choice but to trust someone, I thought.
    After Trisha left, I got dressed, brushed out my hair and went down to my first dinner at the student house.
     
    If Arthur Garwood had been too shy to look at me before, he was terrified of our even crossing glances now. His cheeks still looked rosy with embarrassment and he only looked up from his plate when he absolutely had to.
    The dinner was wonderful: pot roast and potatoes with a delicious gravy. Mrs. Liddy did something wonderful with the vegetables, too. I had never tasted spinach and carrots quite like this. For dessert we had sponge cake soaked in wine and covered with macaroons, almonds and whipped cream. Mrs. Liddy told me it was called a trifle.
    After Trisha had helped serve the food, she sat down beside me, but we didn't have much chance to talk. Agnes Morris dominated the conversation at the table with her stories about different actors and actresses she had worked with and known, plays she had performed in, and where she had gotten her training. She appeared to have an opinion or a story about everything, even the spinach when I squeezed in a compliment about it.
    "Oh, that reminds me of a funny story," Agnes said. I looked at Arthur. He had been stealing glances at me all night, but whenever I caught him doing so, his blush returned and he looked back down at his plate. "About a horrible young actress I knew, whose name will remain anonymous because she has become quite the rage in Hollywood these days. She was about as conceited a person as you could find," she said, looking at me pointedly. "Why, she couldn't