The Secrets We Keep

by Nikki Lee Taylor

  When it’s attached to the message app, I type a quick note then check it over one last time.

  Satisfied, I hit send:

  Your photo. as promised

  I start the car. Everything is on track.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sophie

  The phone rings: once, twice, three times. I know from Samara that Gerard keeps Mondays clear for consultations, so he should be in. When the receptionist finally answers, I tell her my name is Sophie, and that it’s a personal call. A few seconds later Gerard’s voice comes onto the line.

  “Sophie, how are you?” he chimes.

  “Hey Gerard, sorry to call you at the office. I was hoping to make an appointment, but the thing is, I just wanted to talk to you about it first.”

  “Appointment? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m okay. I actually wanted to chat with you about possibly having another baby. I’m just not ready for a relationship, so I thought maybe with a donor….”

  The line falls silent, and I hope he won’t hang up. When he eventually speaks, his voice is low and serious. “Sophie, have you really thought about this?”

  Wanting another baby is the only excuse I could come up with needing to make an appointment. “Maybe it’s that I’m turning 35 in a couple of years, I don’t know,” I tell him. “But I’m thinking this might be the only way I’ll ever have another child, Gerard.”

  On the other end of the line, he sighs out loud. “If you’re sure, then we can discuss it. Have you spoken about this with Samara?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first to see if you would be willing to help me. Obviously, I’d have to come in for an appointment to discuss it properly.”

  When he agrees, I thank him for his help, and make an appointment for later in the week. With any luck, it won’t be too hard to find Jane’s file on his computer and copy down her details. All I’ll have to do is get him out of the room.

  I put down my phone, and sink into the couch, guilt already creeping over me. It had taken so long to make the decision. Back and forth, to and fro, always worrying about how to broach the subject with Gerard. On the afternoon it happened, I had no idea a simple walk to Joe’s for milk would become the catalyst for everything that was about to unfold.

  He had been two houses from the corner of Brown and North 25th when I saw him. A twenty-something kid dressed in cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and the item that caught my attention: a camouflage-print Philadelphia Eagles cap. I sent the same one over to my brother, when he was still in active service, before the communications bunker in Afghanistan was raided, before they sent him home to wake up each night, drenched in sweat and re-living the honorable horrors of serving his country. The hat was meant as a bridge, something to connect his love of the Eagles with his dedication to the service. But when I saw the kid on the street with his camouflage print Eagles cap, it struck me what a ruse it all had been. Not the NFL’s Salute to Service military recognition campaign – God knows veteran’s support groups need all the help they can get. But the pride I once felt at being a military daughter. Conflict is ugly, and no amount of camouflage can ever cover that up, but it did get me thinking. If I concealed my plan, and camouflaged my intentions, created a ruse of my own, perhaps I could avoid conflict all together. If Gerard didn’t know I wanted Jane’s details, and believed our consultation was about something else, then maybe I could achieve my mission without ever upsetting anyone. And that’s how it happened. That’s how a simple ruse started a war.

  On the morning of my appointment with Gerard, I text Samara from the waiting room. Knowing them inside out will work in my favor, and as much as I know this is wrong, I can’t leave anything to chance. It’s the only shot I’ll get at seeing the files, and I can’t afford to blow it. In my text I tell her I’m thinking of using a sperm donor to have another baby. I tell her I’m not exactly sure how I feel about it, and am going to discuss the logistics with Gerard. Since Josh ended up being conceived naturally, I don’t expect any issues, but it’s important to go over everything just to be sure. I also suggest dinner at my place tonight, where together we can pour over every detail. As I hit send, right on cue Gerard appears at the door and calls my name.

  I follow him into the room, and sit down.

  “Now, Sophie, before we start…”

  And just like clockwork, his cell phone rings. I knew without a doubt that Samara would call him the moment she read the text. I also knew he wouldn’t ignore the call, or take it in front of me. He glances down as their wedding photo lights up his phone screen. “Do you mind if I take this? I’ll only be a moment.”

  I sit quietly as he makes his way out into the hall, and the second he closes the door I leap into action. I minimize the window on his computer and search frantically on his desktop for something labeled as medical files. My legs feel giddy and my heart is racing as I move the search arrow across the screen, looking for anything that resembles my goal. “Shit, shit,” I whisper. “Where are you?”

  Trying another tact, I click on the search bar and type in my own name. The procedure will only relate to Jane and her husband, but they used my eggs, so there might be a connection. Instantly, my name pops up, and I click the link. It takes me to the medical history files I was looking for, but they are password encrypted. I quickly glance over my shoulder and wonder how much time I have before he comes back. “Password, password,” I wonder aloud. “What would he choose?”

  I type in SAMARA, and hold my breath. No luck. I try his birthday, but it’s another fail. I might only have one more shot before the program locks me out, so I type in their daughter’s name: JADA. And I’m in.

  Knowing I’m on borrowed time, I click the link, and it takes me to a file with records of my egg harvesting procedure and cryptopreservation, but there’s nothing about Jane. I try typing her Ian’s name into the search bar, but once again it comes up empty.

  “Shit, maybe her full name is Janelle, or maybe Janet” I think out loud. “Why didn’t I ask her surname? Stupid.”

  I scroll all the way to the bottom of the screen, and notice a code with a hyperlink. It’s a numerical sequence with no letters or words, but I click the link anyway, and hold my breath. I can hear Gerard saying goodbye to Samara down the hall.

  A new screen loads, and the first words are IVF procedure and 2007. This is it.

  “I love you, too,” Gerard says. He’s right outside the door.

  I scroll down, and find the words I’ve been looking for: Patient Details. I click them, and open the camera on my phone, ready to snap a picture of her address.

  When the new page loads, and I see what’s in the file, my hand flies up to my mouth, and my phone clatters to the floor. “Oh my God. What have I done?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Madelyn-May, 1997

  People were gathering around the trailer to watch it burn, shadows hollowing their faces, making them look like gargoyles. A man I recognized as Jim Clancy from five trailers over tried kicking at the front door a couple of times, but embers quickly lit up the sole of his boot and he kicked it off, cursing out loud, something I couldn’t make out.

  “Mom’s still alive,” I whispered frantically to Melody. The sharp edges of my keys pressed through the pocket of my jeans and into my hip. “We have to go back.”

  But Melody grabbed my arm, and spun me around to face her. “We can’t, Madelyn-May, not now. It’s too late.”

  “But we can’t just leave her in there.”

  “We have to. If we go back, they’ll ask too many questions. The only chance we have is if we disappear. It’s done. Let it be.”

  I glanced back at the burning trailer. A long plume of black smoke billowed up from the roof, twisting and coiling like a dark genie. Had I wished this upon us? All those nights I cried myself to sleep, wishing it would stop – had the night sky heard me?

  “I can’t just stand here,” I told Melody. “I know what I did, but she’s still alive in there.
I have to go back.” I pulled my arm free from her grasp and started running toward the trailer. “Go,” I shouted over my shoulder. “Don’t wait for me.”

  It was an inferno. Heat radiated through the dark, and as I drew closer, the air felt like it was on fire. Tiny sparks and pieces of burning debris lit up the sky like fireflies, the wind carrying them off into the distance. A window exploded, and flames licked their way along the outside walls.

  “What are you doing? Get back!” someone screamed.

  But I wasn’t listening. With a sweater wrapped around my hand for protection, I ran to the door and shoved my key into the lock. Ash fell into my eyes, and sweat beaded across my forehead. Coughing and choking from the smoke, I shielded my eyes and turned the key.

  “Do not open that door!” someone shouted. “The flames will—”

  I pushed the door and fell back as fire punched its way through, scorching my hand and wrist.

  “Someone help her,” a woman shouted. “She’s hurt. Someone help….”

  I rolled my arm back and forth across the grass, trying to put out the flames. The burning material had tangled around my wrist. The pain was excruciating, and I screamed out. Two men rushed over and worked quickly to unravel the smoldering sweater. When it fell away, I saw fibers and melted fabric were stuck to my skin, but I didn’t dare pull at them. Instead, I hoisted myself up to my knees, and nursed my burning arm across my chest.

  “Are you alright?!”

  “Let me see.”

  “What were you thinking?!”

  People rushed forward, trying to see my injuries. They asked questions, and tried to get a better look at my face, despite the dark. “I’m fine,” I snapped. “Just leave it. I can take care of it.”

  Behind us, three fire trucks rolled in, the firemen already out and uncoiling their hoses before the wheels came to a stop. “Out of the way!” a burly man dressed head-to-toe in yellow PPE shouted. “Was there anyone inside? Are there people trapped in there?”

  “A woman was screaming,” someone told him. “Five people live there. A man, a woman and three girls. We don’t know who was inside.”

  The firemen turned on their hoses as the main drive of the trailer park flooded with red and blue lights. The police. I glanced back to see if Melody was still hiding over by the trees, but to my relief she was gone. I had to make a choice. Own up to what I did, or try and get away before it was too late. Melody was already gone. Mercy would have the alibi of being with her boyfriend. That only left me.

  “Are you alright? How bad are you burned?” It was Avril Beanie, a nice enough but strange woman who lived over by the playground.

  “I’m alright, Avril, thanks for asking.”

  “Which one are you, dear? I never can tell you and your sister apart. You look so much alike.”

  “We don’t look that much alike,” I told her. “My sister is much prettier than me, everyone knows that. But I’m okay. Thanks for asking. I need to go and find my sisters.”

  Avril nodded, and I ran off toward the trailer Mercy’s boyfriend occupied, hoping it would throw her off my trail. When I was satisfied that everyone was busy watching the burning spectacle that had once been our home, I turned and snuck along the outside of the park, careful to stay in the shadows. I tracked back to the leafy spot where I had stood with Melody, and picked my backpack up off the ground. I winced at the weight of it on my burned arm, and glanced down to see pieces of dead skin already flaking away. Gritty ash spread further across my cheeks as I flinched from the pain and tried to wipe away my tears.

  The rocky track behind the park led past the sewer pipes, and through the riverbed that always dried up in summer. The ground was littered with loose rock and broken twigs; it was difficult keeping my balance. The air felt damp and humid, and thin moonlight fell across the surrounding bush. I stopped and clutched at my chest when an owl hooted from somewhere off in the distance. At any moment, I expected the weight of a hand to fall across my shoulder or a spotlight to shine in my eyes. But when nothing happened, and I was safe inside the big pipes that ran under the main road into town, I crouched down and rested my burning skin on the cold cement. Melody had given me what I guessed was about $300. I also had a few hundred dollars of my own saved up from helping at the hair salon on Saturdays, but it wouldn’t be enough to hide nearby for any length of time. People had seen me at the fire. They knew I was there. My only option was to get as far away as possible, and like Melody said, never come back.

  I got to my feet, and clawed my way up the embankment and onto the main road that led out of Sonoma. My plan was to take the local bus to Santa Rosa, and from there take the first Greyhound to somewhere on the East Coast. I didn’t care where. I just wanted to get as far away from California as I could.

  I had been walking for about ten minutes when the sound of tires crunching in the gravel sent a pulse of fear running through me. Terrified it might be the police, I dropped my head down and kept walking, but when a solo woman’s voice called out, I stopped and turned around. Her headlights were blinding; I couldn’t see her face. “Hello? Who’s there?”

  “Sweetheart, do you need a ride?” I still couldn’t see her, but there was something soft about the tone. Something nurturing.

  “Umm….” I glanced down at my filthy clothes. How would I ever explain the blood? “Thanks, but I’m alright.”

  She took a few steps toward me, not so close that I would run, but enough for her to see my face. “Sweetheart, it’s past 10pm, and you’re alone on the side of the road. That’s no place to be for someone who’s alright.”

  The truth was, I had never been further from alright, and I did need help. But after one look at me, anyone in their right mind would surely call the police.

  “I can help,” she offered. “I can see you’ve been in an accident and I mean you no harm. I just want to help.”

  My shoulders fell slack. I was so tired. I turned, and against my better judgement, took a few small steps back toward her car. When I got closer, she caught her breath.

  “Oh my, you are definitely not alright, are you?”

  I flinched as she placed her arm around my shoulders.

  “Whatever happened to you?”

  “Umm… I was in an accident, like you said.”

  “And your parents?” Her voice held a downy timbre of kindness that I had never heard before. She smelled like lavender, and had a simple gold band on her ring finger.

  “My parents, they’re….” And that’s when I started to cry. A flood of emotion finally pouring out for everything that had happened. For my childhood, for my sisters, for my parents, and what I had done to them.

  “Never mind that for now,” she told me. “First things first, we need to get home so you can clean up.”

  “No! You can’t make me go anywhere.” I pulled away, panic coursing through me. “I just need to get to the bus stop.”

  “It’s alright,” she said quietly. “You’ll get cleaned up, and then I’ll take you wherever it is you need to go. No questions asked. I assume you have clean clothes in that backpack?”

  I eyed her cautiously, and noticed a small gold cross hanging around her neck. “You’re from the church?”

  She took the pendant between her fingers. “You mean this? No, I’m not from the church. But I do work with teens who get themselves in all sorts of strife. They don’t always hang around, but they leave in better shape than I found them.”

  “So, you’re some sort of counselor then?”

  She smiled gently, and thought for a moment. “I like to think of myself as a rescuer, of sorts. I lost my husband a while back, and it’s good for me to have life in the house. I was a teenage girl once myself.”

  I figured she was probably used to drugs and teenage pregnancies, but had she ever taken in a girl who’d killed her own parents?

  “Will you let me help you? Just to get cleaned up?”

  I weighed my options, and quickly realized I had none. If I went to the
bus stop covered in filth and blood, they would call the police and child services in a heartbeat. So I quietly followed her back to the car, and once we were inside, stole a better look at her. She had a heart-shaped face, and wavy grey hair pulled into a loose knot at back of her neck. I could tell she paid no mind to things like styling or make-up, but that didn’t matter, because all I could think was, she felt like coming home. It was hard to tell in the dim light of the car, but I guessed her eyes were hazel, and the only thing that stood out about her mouth was her smile. Gentle and genuine. She had an elegant nose that seemed in contrast to the deep lines etched around her eyes, and there was something about her, a certain fragility, that made me think of burnt orange leaves falling in Autumn.

  “Why were you driving so late?” I asked, as we pulled out onto the road.

  “I was actually on my way home from a friend’s place. Book club night.”

  The words sounded foreign to me, and I tried to imagine the kind of life that included a book club.

  “I usually get home a little earlier than this,” she continued, “but there was a fire back at the trailer park grounds. They blocked off the road, so I had to take a detour.”

  “Oh yeah,” I mumbled. “I heard the sirens. Some coincidence, I guess.”

  She glanced over at the burn on my arm. “There are no coincidences, sweetheart. Sometimes things just happen for a reason.”

  “Thank you, ma’am – for stopping I mean. I’m Madelyn-May.”

  “Well, you’re very welcome, Madelyn-May,” she smiled. “And please, call me Mary.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Madelyn-May

  Any trust I gained with Bastian after our argument about the matches gone up in flames when I lost it over Harlow. The morning after my outburst in her room, I considered packing a bag and writing a note telling him it was best for everyone if I left for a while. But despite my failings, I am still Harry and Harlow’s mom, and Bastian’s wife. I may not know how to emotionally connect with them, and maybe all my good intentions inevitably make things worse, but they are my blood, and this is one family I could never run away from.