Secrets of the Morning (Cutler 2)

"What are you eating . . . Jell-O and cereal?"

I smiled weakly and shrugged, bringing the bowl out into the open, but I looked down. I had to be careful, I thought, and realize what my eyes might reveal.

"Yes, Mrs. Liddy."

"You're the one who's been dipping into the peanut butter jar every day, too, aren't you?" I nodded. "Don't you eat lunch at school, m'dear?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes, I'm just too busy, Mrs. Liddy."

She gave me that scrutinizing gaze again, her eyes full of questions.

"Are you feeling okay, m'dear?" she asked.

"Oh yes. I feel wonderful."

"Um," she said, nodding. I looked away quickly, gobbled down a few more spoonfuls of corn flakes and Jell-O and then quickly retreated to my room, my heart pounding. Oh Michael, I thought, I can't hide the results of our passion and love much longer. I soon found out, he felt the same way.

I was upstairs in our room doing my math homework when I heard Trisha pounding the steps in her excited effort to get upstairs quickly. We had only two more days before the beginning of the Christmas holiday and all our teachers were piling on the work, especially the performing arts teachers who wanted their dancers and singers to reach certain plateaus before the long layoff that would occur during our holiday break. Trisha had three days of late dancing practice this final week of school, instead of her usual two days. I had been home almost two full hours before her.

She threw the door open and burst in as if the cold winds of winter were carrying her.

"What's wrong?" I asked quickly. I was in bed, my blanket pulled up over my protruding stomach. I took advantage of every opportunity I had not to wear the girdle.

"What's wrong? I thought I'd find you very upset. Don't tell me you don't know, or you didn't know," she said, closing the door behind her and approaching me. She dropped her armful of books on the bed.

"Know what? Trisha," I cried, smiling, "what are you talking about?"

"Michael Sutton," she declared and put her hands on her hips.

"Michael Sutton?" Oh no, I thought, had the school administration found out about us? Had those jealous teachers complained about him and gotten him fired?

"What about Michael Sutton?" I closed my book slowly.

"He's leaving. He's gone!" she said, raising her hands.

"Gone? He was fired?"

"No. Why would he be fired? I can't believe you didn't hear about it before you came home today. The whole school's buzzing. It must have been posted after you left," she concluded.

"Posted? What was posted?"

"His notice informing his students." She sat down at my feet.

"Apparently," she began, "he's been offered the lead role in a major London production. It was something that couldn't wait. The scuttlebutt is that he had been having meetings about it for weeks and finally it came through. He has this letter posted on his music suite door, apologizing to the school and to his students, and explaining why he had to go with such little notice.

"Of course, the administration understands. This is, after all, a school for performing arts. That's show business," she said, raising her arms. "But his students are not very happy. You should see Ellie Parker. She claims he promised to get her a Broadway audition this year. I came rushing home because I knew you would be upset and in your condition . . ."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard the roll of thunder. When I closed my eyes, I saw those ugly, bruised and angry dark clouds riding the wind and drawing a curtain of darkness over the light blue sky, dragging shadows over all that was green and bright below. My heart felt like a brick in my chest.

"Are you all right?" Trisha asked and leaned forward to take my hand. "Your fingers feel ice cold."

I nodded, my eyes still closed, my throat too tight for me to try to speak.

Don't panic, I told myself. Keep calm. This is all part of Michael's plan for us. Soon, he would call to let me know why he had had to do things so quickly without warning me. But he had said he was going to Florida, I thought, not London. Maybe he's just telli

ng them London so they won't come after us. There has to be a logical reason for all of this, I told myself. Don't panic.

I opened my eyes and took a deep breath.