Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

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    "Someday we'll find her, Jimmy. And we'll bring the family together again," I said with clear and sharp determination.
    Jimmy smiled and nodded. "Sure we will, Dawn."
    It wasn't until after our food came that we broke loose with talk about ourselves. Jimmy described his training, his friends and some of the things he had seen and done. I told him about school, about Madame Steichen, more about Trisha and described the other students in our apartment house, especially poor Arthur Garwood. After a while it seemed I was doing all the talking and Jimmy was listening, eyes wide.
    "This is certainly a lot different for you than any of the other places we've been," he concluded. "But I'm glad you're with people who see how talented you are."
    Then he broke the bad news: how he was really in New York because he was going to be shipped out to Europe tomorrow afternoon.
    "Europe! Oh Jimmy, when will I see you again?"
    "It won't be as long as you think, Dawn, and I'll write often. Don't look so worried," he said, smiling, "there's no war on. All soldiers go on a tour of duty someplace. This way I get to see some of the world and Uncle Sam pays my way.
    "We don't have much time together, Dawn," he added with a serious look in his eyes, "let's not spend one moment of it unhappy, okay?"
    How wise he sounded. Time and tragedy had changed him. I realized that Jimmy had really been on his own most of the time since that morning the police had come to our apartment in Richmond and declared that our father was a kidnapper. Jimmy had no choice but to grow up.
    I swallowed back my tears and forced a smile. "Let's go for a walk," I said, "so I can show you my school."
    Jimmy took out his wallet and paid the enormous dinner bill without blinking an eye and we left. He was surprised at how well I knew my way around the city, explained how Trisha and I often took the buses and the subways now to go to the museums and see shows.
    "You're growing up fast, Dawn," Jimmy said but looked sad about it. "And becoming so sophisticated I probably won’t recognize you when I come back and you probably won't want much to do with me."
    "Oh Jimmy, don't ever say that!" I cried, stopping on the sidewalk. "I'll never think I'm better than you. That's a horrible thing to say."
    "All right, all right," he said, laughing. "I'm sorry." "You mustn't even think such a thing about me. I would just as soon quit this school."
    "Don't you dare, Dawn. You're going to become a star. I just know you will," he said firmly. Then he reached out and took my hand so that we walked holding hands all the rest of the way.
    After I showed him the school and the small park nearby, he told me about his hotel.
    "It's nothing fancy, but I got a nice view of the city because I'm twenty-eight floors up."
    "Why don't you take me to see it," I said. "I've never been in a New York City hotel."
    "You really want to see it?" he asked. He looked unsure of himself, undecided, and for a minute I thought he was going to say something. Then his face changed.
    A second later, he had hailed a cab and we were on our way to his hotel.
    Although I knew it wasn't as fancy as the Plaza or the Waldorf, it was nice. His room was small, but he was right about the view. It was breathtaking to look out over the buildings and streets and see the ocean in the distance. Jimmy stood beside me and held my hand and we gazed quietly. Then I lowered my head to his shoulder and closed my eyes, trying to swallow around the lump in my throat. I couldn't keep the tears in.
    "I'm sorry, Jimmy," I said, "but I can't stop remembering things. I can't stop thinking about little Fern, about holding her and feeding her and watching her crawl and laugh; and I can't stop thinking about Momma when she was healthy and pretty."
    "I know," he said, petting my hair and then kissing the top of my head.
    "And I can't stop thinking about you and me back at the hotel in Cutler's Cove," I said.
    "I don't stop thinking about it either," he confessed. I pulled my head back from his shoulder and looked at him. His dark eyes gazed down into mine. "Dawn," he whispered, "if you feel like crying, go ahead. I'll understand. Cry enough for me too."
    He looked so sad when he said that. I couldn't cry. I reached up instead and touched his cheek. Slowly, as if we were crossing all the time and distance that had come between us, our lips moved toward each other's and we kissed softly. I turned toward him and our kiss grew more passionate. When