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I need to go back to the way things were, as bad as they seemed. I need to hear Jimmy's voice and be able to call him through the darkness and share my fears and my hopes with him. I need my little sister calling for me, and I need a daddy who comes to greet me with a hug and a kiss—not one who stands in the doorway and tells me I have to change my name.
But there was no point in telling my real father any of this. I didn't think he would understand.
"No," I said.
"Okay, then, you should go with Mrs. Boston and eat something. Take her right along, Mrs. Boston," he said, heading out. He turned back to me. "I'll speak to you again soon," he said and left.
"I'm not hungry," I repeated as soon as he was gone.
"You got to eat something, child," she said. "And you got to do it now. We have a schedule to meet. Mrs. Cutler, she cracks a whip around here."
I saw she wasn't going to leave me alone, so I stood up and followed her back to the hotel and to the kitchen. When we reached the stairway, I looked up. My real mother was up there somewhere, in her room, unable to face seeing me yet. The very idea made it sound like I was a monster with fangs and claws. What would she be like when we finally did meet? Would she be more loving and thoughtful than my grandmother? Would she insist I be moved upstairs immediately so I could be near her?
"Come along," Mrs. Boston said, seeing I had paused.
"Mrs. Boston," I said, still gazing up the stairs, "if you call my grandmother Mrs. Cutler, what do you call my mother? Doesn't everyone get confused?"
"No one gets confused."
"Why not?"
She gazed upstairs to be sure no one was near us and could overhear. Then she leaned toward me and whispered.
"They call your mother little Mrs. Cutler," she said. "Now, let's go. We got lots to do."
The kitchen seemed like bedlam to me. The waiters and waitresses who served the guests in the dining room were lined up in front of a long table to pick up their trays of food.
The food was delicious, but Mrs. Boston stood behind me waiting impatiently for me to finish. As soon as I rose from the table, we were off to see Mr. Stanley.
He was a slim man about fifty with thin brown hair and a narrow face with small eyes and a long mouth. There was something birdlike about him and the way he moved in short, jerky motions. He stood back with his arms folded and considered me after Mrs. Boston had introduced us.
"Hmm," he said, his head bobbing. "She could fit into Agatha's old uniform."
I wanted Agatha's old uniform even less than I wanted her job, but Mr. Stanley was very efficient and didn't wish to carry on any conversation. He chose the uniform, found me some white shoes my size with white socks, and distributed it all to me as though I were entering the army. I even had to sign for it.
"Whatever anyone breaks here, they pay for," he said. "What they lose, they pay for, too. Things don't walk away from this hotel as easily as they do from the others. That's for sure," he said proudly.
"When you get here in the morning, you'll go to the east wing with Sissy."
"You know how to get back to your room?" Mrs. Boston asked as we left. I nodded. "Okay, then, I'll see you in the morning," she said. I watched her walk off and then I started back.
After I reached the old wing, I paused at the living room and entered so I could look at the family pictures on the mantel. There was Clara Sue when she was a little girl, and there was Philip, standing together in front of one of the small gazebos. I found the picture of Philip and our mother I had only glimpsed before, but just as I reached up to bring it closer to me, my grandmother appeared in the doorway. I jumped when she spoke.
"If I were you, Eugenia, I would get a good night's rest," she said, her eyes moving from me to the pictures. "You have to get yourself into the daily schedule."
I put the picture back quickly.
"I told you," I said defiantly, "my name is Dawn." I didn't wait for her response. I hurried away and to my little room, shutting the door after I entered. I stood there listening to see if she had followed me, but I heard no footsteps. Then I let out the breath I was holding and turned to my little suitcase.
I took out the picture of Momma as a young girl and placed it on the little table. As I looked at her, I recalled her final words to me.
"You must never think badly of us. We love you. Always remember that."
"Oh, Momma!" I cried. "Look what has happened to us! Why did you and Daddy do this?"
I reached into the drawer where I had hidden the pearls and removed them. Holding them made me feel closer to Momma, but I couldn't wear them. I just couldn't. Not here. Not in this horrible place that was my new home. The pearls had been meant to be worn on happy occasions, and my current situation certainly didn't qualify. I looked at the pearls one last time and then hid them away again. No one at Cutler's Cove would know about their existence. The pearls were my last link to my family. They were the only thing that gave me some feeling of comfort, and they would be my secret. If I ever felt lonely or needed to remember happier times, I'd just take them out of their drawer and hold them. Maybe one day I'd wear them again.
Finally, exhausted from what had to be one of the worst days of my life, I put away the rest of my things and dressed for bed. I crawled under the cover that smelled clean, but felt rough, and the pillow was too soft. I hated this room more than any of the awful apartments we had lived in.
