Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

to the apartment house together so that Agnes would believe I had been with Trisha the entire vacation.
    After I dressed and packed, I stood with my suitcase and gazed sadly around Michael's apartment. The rays of bright sunlight on a clear, crisp day came pouring through the windows, lighting up our little Christmas tree, making the glitter sparkle, the ferns almost kelly green. Even the holiday wrapping paper around the pile of gifts glittered in the pool of warm light.
    "It's been wonderful," Michael told me at the door. "Every single moment. But don't think of it as an end," he chastised as my eyes filled with tears at our parting. "Think of it as just the beginning." He kissed me and pressed me to him. My throat was so choked up, I couldn't speak.
    "Now get some rest, my little diva," he warned. "We have a great deal of work to do as soon as school resumes."
    "I will. I love you, Michael," I whispered. His eyes twinkled with joy and we parted.
    I was early at the station, so I sat on a bench and read a magazine until Trisha's bus arrived. She came bouncing down the steps of the bus, her long red scarf floating over her shoulders.
    "Tell me everything," she cried after we hugged. "What did you do? Where did you go? I bet he took you to fancy restaurants and shows every day."
    "No, we stayed in most of the time," I said and described how I had prepared Thanksgiving dinner. She looked very disappointed until I showed her my locket.
    "It's beautiful," she said, eyeing it enviously. "And it's so nice of him to have had something musical put in it. What are those notes?"
    "Oh," I said, realizing she might know Michael's song, "just notes. Nothing special."
    We found a cab outside the station and continued talking about our holiday until we arrived at the apartment house. Trisha wanted me to know everything she had done so I wouldn't be caught in any contradictions.
    "If Agnes asks," Trisha said, "we had ten people for Thanksgiving dinner and we had duck as well as turkey."
    "It sounds like it was a wonderful dinner," I said.
    Now it was my turn to be envious, to be envious of a happy, loving family gathered around a dinner table on the holidays.
    We were surprised to find Agnes standing in the corridor at the foot of the stairway when we entered. Obviously, she had been expecting us and had taken her position as soon as she heard us arrive, but one look at her face put a chill in my heart. She was dressed in black, her face pale, no lipstick, no rouge, nothing. Her hair was drawn back and tied in a bun. It was always difficult to tell whether Agnes was playing one of her roles or not. Right now, I thought she was playing a mourner.
    "You lied to me," she snapped before I could say hello. I glanced quickly at Trisha and then at Agnes. "Lied?"
    "Your mother called for you two days ago. She didn't know a thing about your going to Trisha's. Did you go without asking your family for permission? I felt so foolish," Agnes added before I could respond. She twisted her white, silk handkerchief in her hands. "I'm in charge, yes, but I depended upon you, trusted you. When you told me you had permission, I believed you. I should have known better; I should have expected it," she spit.
    "I expect a phone call from your grandmother any moment now," she said. She looked absolutely terrified of it.
    "She won't call," I assured her. "My mother simply forgot," I declared. "She must have been on some medication when we spoke last and she simply didn't recall. It happens often," I said and fixed my eyes firmly on Agnes, amazed at how easily the lies fell from my lips. I could see her considering the possibility.
    "Oh dear," she said; she loved high tragedy. "I don't know what to think. You don't expect a problem then?"
    "No." I shrugged. "It's happened before. Grandmother Cutler is used to it, too."
    "Oh, how sad," Agnes moaned. "Your mother is such a pretty woman. I can't believe she's so ill."
    "No one can," I said dryly, but Agnes missed my sarcasm.
    "Did you two have a nice holiday then?" she asked, looking from me to Trisha.
    "Yes, we did," Trisha said quickly.
    "Mrs. Liddy has made something special for everyone's return. Oh dear," she said, wringing the handkerchief in her hands again. "I was so worried," she muttered and started away.
    "She's getting worse," Trisha commented as we looked after her. "She got all dressed up in that old costume in preparation for some terrible scene. Every time a new thought or mood crosses her, she