Secrets of the Morning (Cutler 2)

"I don't know," I said, "and if I did, you would be the last person I would tell," I cried and ran from the room.

"Dawn!" Agnes screamed.

"I'll talk to her," Trisha said and followed me up the stairs. I slammed our bedroom door behind me and stalked around the room, fuming.

"I just knew something like this might happen," I said. "I just knew it. I warned Agnes, but she wouldn't listen, and you saw what his parents are like. They're horrible, horrible!"

"Wow. You really told them off," Trisha said.

"I couldn't help it. Arthur is in trouble; he's crying out for help and all they can think about is themselves and their own reputations. I'm sick of parents who don't really love their children. Sick of it!" I cried and flopped on my bed. Trisha sat down beside me.

"You don't know where he is though, do you?" she asked. I shook my head.

After the Garwoods left, Agnes came to our room.

"I'm so embarrassed," she began. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. The Garwoods are heartbroken."

"They're not heartbroken," I insisted. "They're worried about what their friends and relatives will say, friends and relatives they have invited to Performance Weekend. They don't really care about Arthur."

"You were absolutely rude and insolent down there, Dawn. I won't have such behavior in my house. If you don't tell me this instant where Arthur Garwood is, I will call your grandmother and inform her I have to have you expelled from this residency."

"I don't know where he is," I moaned. "He has no real friends to go to. He's just hiding out somewhere until Performance Weekend is over. Then he'll return. You'll see."

"Did you encourage him to run off?" Agnes demanded. "His parents suspect you did."

"I didn't have to encourage him. It's their own fault he did. They wouldn't listen to his pleas. Honest, Agnes," I cried through my tears, "I'm telling you the truth."

She stared at me and then shook her head.

"What are we to do?" she asked, her gaze growing distant.

Trisha and I looked at each other. Whenever anything unpleasant occurred, Agnes fell into one of her old roles. I could tell that she was drifting into some memory now, posturing and taking on the demeanor of some character in some obscure drama.

"Young people are so troubled these days. Their lives are so complicated. Don't you long for the simpler times, the quieter times? Don't you wish you could go to sleep and wake up a little girl again? I do. Oh, how I do," she said and turned to leave slowly, gracefully from our bedroom.

"She's losing it," Trisha remarked, shaking her head. "She can't handle turmoil."

"Who can?" I asked. "Who wants to?" I added.

Performance Weekend came and went and Arthur Garwood did not return. The Garwoods had the police come to the apartment house to question everyone, especially me. I told them everything I had told the Garwoods. They listened, nodded their heads and left. Agnes went off wringing her hands and Donald Rossi tried to invent new jokes about the situation.

Then, nearly a week later, I received a letter without any return address on the envelope. Something about the handwriting on the front, however, made my heart beat faster. I ripped open the envelope and read.

Dear Dawn,

There's no one else I care to say goodbye to. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye in person. I have been putting away my money for a long time to do this. The only reason I remained as long in Bernhardt as I did was because I enjoyed being around you. But you have your own life and I know that I won't be part of it.

I've decided to go off and try to become a writer. Maybe, if I succeed, my parents will forgive me. I hope you were being honest when you told me you would always cherish the poem I wrote about you. Maybe someday we will meet again. Thank you for caring.

Love,

Arthur

Trisha thought I should give the letter to Agnes. "But then they might hunt him down and drag him back and he will hate me for it," I said.

"There's no return address on it," Trisha pointed out. "All they know is it was mailed in New York City. This way," Trisha continued, "Agnes will know it's not your fault and Arthur's parents won't be able to blame anything on you."

"Poor Arthur," I said. Trisha shrugged.