Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

and Grandmother Cutler had taken care of everything else, there was nothing to do but leave with him. The nurses bid me goodbye and wished me luck.
    All I had on me was what I had worn the day of my accident. The chauffeur was surprised.
    "No luggage?" he asked, lingering in the doorway.
    "No, sir. Everything's being shipped or has been," I said.
    "Fine," he said, obviously grateful that things had been made easier for him.
    It was a luxurious limousine. I was surprised Grandmother Cutler had gone to the expense, but then I thought she was probably trying to impress everyone with how well she takes care of her own family. I sat in the back at a corner of the large, black leather seat and stared out the window as we drove out of the city and toward the airport. My memories of my arrival returned.
    How full of hope and excitement I had been. Yes, I had been afraid, too, but when I had first set eyes on these tall buildings and had seen all the people rushing by, I thought I might just become a famous singer and live in a penthouse apartment. Now, with people scurrying up and down sidewalks to keep warm and the traffic moving at a slow pace through the slushy streets, the shine was certainly off. People looked troubled, frenzied, even bored to me. And the city looked brown and dirty.
    Only the Christmas decorations in the store front windows gave me any feeling of warmth and happiness. It would have been wonderful, Michael and I strolling down Fifth Avenue, my hands in a fur muff. We would have heard the Christmas carols and seen the lighted displays and he would have hugged me to him. Later, we would have lain together at the foot of our little Christmas tree and made plans for our future.
    As the limousine continued down the avenue, I saw a happy couple walking hand in hand just the way I had dreamt Michael and I would have. The young woman looked so happy and alive, her cheeks rosy, her eyes full of promise. Her young man was gesturing exuberantly and saying things that made her laugh. I could see the happy puffs of breath from both their mouths join in the air before them.
    The limousine started to make a turn. I looked back at them as long as I could. Then the limousine sped up and they were left behind, just like all my dreams.

 
    12
THE MEADOWS
     
    Once I boarded the airplane, I fell asleep and woke up just before the stewardess announced we were going to land. The airport wasn't very busy when I arrived, so I didn't expect to have any problem finding my driver to take me to The Meadows, the home of Grandmother Cutler's sisters. But when I came through the gate and looked around, I saw no one holding up a sign with my name on it. In moments the people who had been there to greet arriving passengers left with everyone else who had gotten off the plane, and I was practically all alone in the lobby. I sat down and waited.
    I wasn't sure what to do after the first hour ticked by. People scurried about rushing to other gates and departing planes, but no one appeared to be looking for me. I folded my arms under my bosom and sat back with my eyes closed. I was still very tired. Traveling so soon after my release from the hospital was exhausting, especially with all this waiting. I pulled my legs up under me and curled up on the chair and before I knew it, I had drifted off again. I dreamt I was in the back of Daddy Longchamp's car asleep, my head resting against Jimmy's shoulders. I felt comfortable and safe and was upset when I felt someone poke my shoulder sharply.
    My eyes fluttered open and I gazed up at a tall, lean man with dirty brown hair, the strands going this way and that over his head and deeply creased forehead. He had a long, drooping nose and deep-set, dull brown eyes with a small web of wrinkles at each corner. He needed a shave badly. His rough, gray-brown stubble grew in ugly patches over his pale white face. Hair grew everywhere—on his neck around his Adam's apple and strands even poked out from the inside of his ears. I noticed how his lower lip hung open revealing teeth stained by chewing tobacco. There was a dry brown line from the corner of his mouth down his chin where some tobacco juice had drooled. He was dressed in faded blue overalls and wore a torn flannel shirt beneath. His boots were muddy and even smelly. I hated to think what he might have been stepping in before he arrived.
    "You the girl?" he asked.
    "Pardon me?"
    "You the girl?" he repeated gruffly. It sounded like his throat was