The Secret Between Us

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Because she trusts you. Who do you trust? Who do you share your responsibilities with?”

  “My dad, when it comes to work.”

  “What about at home?”

  “My sister some. Mostly it’s just me.”

  “Is your ex-husband involved with the kids?”

  Definitely, she wanted to say. He calls them all the time. That would have been less humiliating for her. But talk about lies?

  “Not actively,” she said, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “He’s at a different place in his life.”

  “He still has two children.”

  “He assumes I can handle it.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “Absolutely not,” she burst out. “All my life the assumption has been that I can handle it, so more and more is piled on. There are times when responsibility sucks!” Just then, she saw Hal at her office door. “Speaking of responsibility, I do have to run. Can I, uh, give you my cell number?” she asked.

  “Please,” he said, then seconds later, “Got it.”

  “Will you let me know if you learn anything?”

  “Definitely.”

  Pretending she had been talking to anyone other than the man who could take her to court for killing his brother, she hung up the phone and eyed Hal. He looked somber. She felt a shot of apprehension. “You’ve talked with John?”

  “Earlier,” he said. “There’s no news. I thought I’d let you know. Thanks to the flu, it may be another week. They’re short of staff to interpret the data.”

  Deborah was discouraged. Much as she could tell herself that Grace had done nothing wrong, she wouldn’t rest easy until the state police attested to it. “What if this were a case of a drunk driver plowing into a crowd and killing five people? Would illness slow up the report and allow a menace to stay on the road?”

  “No. The menace would be in custody. It’s like anything else. Cases are prioritized. Yours isn’t particularly urgent.”

  “Fine for them to say,” she mused dryly, “but I’m the one sitting in limbo. You, on the other hand, look like you’ve just come from the spa.” His hair was damp and freshly combed, his cheeks faintly flushed.

  “Not the spa,” he said. “The racquetball court.”

  Karen’s worried voice echoed in Deborah’s ear. “Where’s that?”

  “At a gym in Boston,” he smirked, “not far from the court.”

  “I didn’t know you played racquetball.”

  “I don’t. But several of my friends are really into it. I did a test run to see if it was something I wanted to do.”

  “And?” she asked, thinking that a gym in Boston would provide long-term cover.

  “It might be,” he said, looking pleasantly surprised. “I mean, did I ever sweat! As cardio workouts go, it’s a good one. Whaddya think? Should I join?”

  “What I think,” Deborah said, “is that you should find a local place. Let K play with you.”

  “K plays tennis,” he said smoothly. “She doesn’t have time for racqetball.”

  “She’d make time if you asked.”

  “And have her beat me? No way.” He tipped his head. “Did she call here?”

  Deborah nodded.

  “I told her I’d be in Boston,” he complained. “She had my secretary calling all over the place. What is it with her lately?”

  “Nothing that answering your cell phone won’t solve. What if a client needed to reach you?”

  “No client matter is so important that it can’t wait an hour.”

  “If that’s true,” Deborah said only half in jest, “I may get myself another lawyer. I want to know the instant John calls.”

  Chapter 10

  Deborah returned to the forms on her desk, but her heart wasn’t in it. When she wasn’t smarting from Dean LeMay’s call, she was seeing Hal’s slick face or thinking about Cal McKenna. Based on what his brother said, it sounded like Cal was slightly uptight. But wasn’t she, too? She liked things neat and well planned. She could identify with the comfort Cal felt knowing how history books would end.

  One of the hardest things she’d had to deal with in the first months after Greg left was not seeing the road ahead. Even when divorce papers were in the works, a part of her believed he would wake up and realize how foolish he was being.

  She had always blamed him. But with her anger at the divorce diffused now, she could see that fault was relative. Greg and she shared it.

  Lying about who was driving on the night Cal McKenna died? That was her doing alone. She felt the stark burden of it when the phone rang a short time later. It was Mara Walsh, the school psychologist. “I know you’re probably busy, Deborah. The past week can’t have been easy for you. But I’m worried about Grace.”

  Deborah swallowed. “Why?”

  “The other kids are handling Cal McKenna’s death quite well. We made our grief team available, but there have been few takers. Everyone liked Cal well enough, but kids didn’t identify with his death on the personal level. Some teachers have that special rapport with their students. Cal didn’t.”

  “And Grace?” Deborah asked.

  “Grace has a special reason to mourn him. She saw it happen. I figured last week would be tough on her, and the race Saturday, well, that was totally understandable. But I was hoping after the weekend that she’d be better. She isn’t. She’s ignoring her friends and walking alone with her head down. As body language goes, that makes a statement.”

  “She’s upset,” Deborah acknowledged.

  “John Colby was just here asking about her.”

  Deborah’s heart began to thud.

  “He came by to pick up his wife,” Mara said. “She tutors students in reading—”

  “I know that, but was he actually asking about Grace?”

  “He’d heard from Ellen that she was struggling. He mentioned a party last weekend that she didn’t go to.”

  “Kim Huber’s, but how would John know that?”

  “He said he talked with Kim’s parents. He wanted to know if Grace was okay in school.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Exactly what I just told you, that she was struggling. I’d like to talk with her, Deborah. Would you mind?”

  “Of course not,” Deborah said—what else could she say? “I’m just not sure she’ll agree. I’m also not sure that the timing is right. You know how it is, Mara. When kids are singled out for special help, they begin feeling like something’s really wrong with them. Grace is going through a rough patch, but I don’t think it’s anything time won’t fix. I don’t want her feeling like she’s under a microscope.”

  “I could meet with her after school.”

  “She has track.”

  “Then evenings, if she’s willing. I’m sure you’re talking with her, so anything I say might be redundant. It’s just that she was looking so unhappy this morning. I’d like her to know that I’m here if she needs me.”

  And what could Deborah say to that without being branded the coldest woman in the world? “That’s fine, Mara. It’s a comfort knowing you’re there. Just make it optional, okay? If she isn’t ready, she isn’t ready.”

  Grace was on the oval in the stadium, bent over with her hands on her knees and her eyes on the track between her feet. She was dripping with sweat and breathing heavily. Her concentration was shot.

  “Good run, Grace,” said the coach, trotting up.

  “It was terrible,” she wheezed, barely looking up.

  “Are you kidding? You started off beautifully. You were on your way to a personal best.”

  “Were. Right. But I didn’t finish.”

  “Hey, you were sick last weekend. That makes today’s run remarkable. Keep it up, Grace.” He trotted off.

  Keep it up, Grace. The words hurt, because she really had wanted to run well. She had been concentrating on her breathing and her stride, refusing to let the accident intrude, and she had felt really good. Then she saw John Colby and was ruined. At leas
t, she thought it was him. She couldn’t be sure, because he was heading away from her, and lots of guys his age wore khaki shirts and dark pants. But who else would be hanging around the oval at four in the afternoon? He was watching her, because he knew.

  “Bonjour, Grace!”

  She looked back. Her French teacher was coming toward her down the track.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” the woman said. “I didn’t want to have to call the house.”

  In a breath, Grace was back in French class that morning, watching her pencil filling the test sheet. She was thinking that it shouldn’t be so easy, when suddenly her hand froze and the answers refused to come.

  “Can we talk about the test?” Madame Hendricks asked.

  Straightening, Grace blinked the French teacher into focus. “Sure,” she replied, feeling surprisingly little emotion.

  “You didn’t do very well,” said the teacher.

  “I didn’t study,” Grace lied. Once, such a lie would have been unthinkable.

  “That’s not like you. You’re the top student in all of my sections this year. You knew the material. Even without studying, you should have scored well.” When Grace didn’t reply, she said, “I was worried you were sick, but you ran well just now. Was something bothering you this morning?”

  “I couldn’t focus.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “I know,” Grace said.

  “Well. It’s been a difficult week with Mr. McKenna’s death. I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon. I could have you retake the exam, but we know you’d do well. So let’s just set this one test aside. I won’t average it in with your other grades. You’re too good a student to be penalized for one bad day. Are you comfortable with that?”

  Grace was not. If any of her friends had done what she had, there would be consequences. They would have to retake the test. They would have to meet with their advisor. Failure was unacceptable in this town. Leyland students were shining stars who would go on to lead spectacularly successful lives.

  It made her sick.

  But would Madame Hendricks understand this? No. So Grace simply nodded.

  “Good. It’ll be our little secret. We’ll chalk it up to a bad day. Au revoir, mademoiselle.” Looking pleased with herself, she walked away.

  Grace stared after her, feeling not at all pleased. But it wasn’t only the French test that had her upset. Her life used to have boundaries. It used to have certain expectations. But lately, all the rules were being broken. Her father had cheated on her mother. Her mother had lied to the police. Madame Hendricks had created “our little secret.” And her friends were buying kegs.

  Grace used to know where she stood. She used to know how her life would play out. No more.

  At the gym several blocks from the high school, Deborah bobbed on the elliptical trainer. Arms and legs pushing and pulling, she was breathing hard and covered with sweat. She had been at it for forty minutes.

  “What are you doing?” Karen asked from the next machine.

  Deborah looked up in surprise. “Hm?”

  “You look like you’re fighting a war.”

  Deborah forced a smile and said a breathless, “The exertion feels good.”

  “Maybe for you,” Karen said and came to a stop, “but I’m done.” She turned off her machine, slid her towel off the hand bar, and mopped her face. “I wouldn’t even have done it this long if you hadn’t forbidden me to play tennis.”

  “Not forbidden,” Deborah managed, pumping hard. “Advised. It’s my job.”

  Karen ran the towel over her arms. “Want me to wait?”

  Deborah shook her head. “Go ahead. I’ll do a little more.”

  Karen blew her a kiss and left. Her machine was taken a minute later by the town librarian, who nodded briefly at Deborah as she adjusted her earphones.

  Deborah continued for another ten minutes. Stepping off the machine, she took time to stretch before heading for the locker room.

  At the door, she ran into Kelly Huber. A longtime patient of Deborah’s, she was the older sister of the same Kim who had thrown the party last Saturday night. Kelly had been Deborah’s afternoon cancellation, having called in to say she had a headache.

  “Kelly, hi,” Deborah said, feeling mellow as her breathing continued to settle. “Welcome home. Is the spring semester done?”

  Kelly looked startled to see her, and not terribly happy. “I finished last week.”

  “You look wonderful,” Deborah said. “You must be feeling better than you did earlier.”

  “Some,” Kelly replied and looked around nervously.

  Her mother appeared in the nick of time. Emily Huber’s hair was newly highlighted and caught back in a ponytail like her daughter’s.

  Deborah smiled. “You must be thrilled to have her home.” When Emily didn’t answer, she turned to Kelly. “Plans for the summer?”

  “I’m, uh, not sure. I may be doing an internship.” She darted a glance at her mother. “I’m going to start.” Giving Deborah an awkward smile, she scooted past.

  Deborah had barely processed the awkwardness when Emily said, “That was not a comfortable moment for my daughter.”

  Deborah frowned. “Because she cancelled her appointment with me?”

  “I was the one who cancelled it,” the mother said. “After what happened Saturday night, it would be best if she saw someone else. Kim, too. I’ll be by for their records later this week.”

  Deborah was confused. “What happened Saturday night?”

  “Did you have to call the police?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Just because Grace didn’t want to come to my daughter’s party?”

  “I didn’t call the police.”

  “You told them it was about the noise, but we both know what it was about. You were hoping they’d send a cruiser to the house,” she said, quieting fractionally when a pair of women passed them with curious looks. “But they know Marty and me. They trust us, maybe more than they trust you right now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Deborah asked with a disturbing thought. There was always a chance that Grace had told Kim the truth.

  “The accident last week,” Emily said with a hard stare. “Calvin McKenna was one of the best teachers at the high school. He wasn’t the kind of man to be out there running recklessly. You must have been driving too fast in the rain—”

  “Excuse me,” Deborah cut in. “Speed was not involved.”

  Emily held up both palms. “Okay, but to pretend you did nothing wrong? You call the cops on other people, while you lie to them yourself?”

  “What lie?” Deborah asked.

  “It’s classic. You have a few drinks, so you want others to have a drinking problem.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Well, your father does, so it’s only a matter of time.”

  Deborah felt like she’d been hit. “What?”

  “Oh, come on,” said Emily. “It’s well known that Dr. Barr washes his lunch down with something more than a Diet Coke. I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t called to report us on Saturday night.” With a look of disdain she followed her daughter into the gym.

  Any mellowness Deborah had taken from her workout was gone. Shaken, she went to her locker, and it wasn’t mention of the accident that upset her the most. If her father was drinking at lunch, she didn’t know it. If he was, they had a problem.

  One of the women who had passed by during Emily’s attack stood nearby. When Deborah raised her eyes, the woman looked away.

  The accident was public knowledge. But Michael Barr’s drinking? It couldn’t be. Deborah had never seen as much as a suspicious glass at work, never the least unsteadiness, but how to check it out? She couldn’t ask the nurse if she had seen anything, lest it plant a seed of doubt. And the business manager was a frank woman, who would surely have spoken up if she had noticed anything amiss.

  Deborah told herself that Emily was only making trouble.
But it was one more worry to add to the rest.

  Then she checked her cell phone and found a message from Greg.

  “Call me,” he said.

  She might have ignored the order if she hadn’t been feeling so alone. Her life was unraveling. It was like she had to catch a thread—any thread—or the whole thing would come apart.

  In the parking lot behind the gym, she punched in his number.

  “Hi,” he said pleasantly enough, before going on the attack. “Did you talk with Grace about not answering my call?”

  She was a minute getting her bearings. “Yes. I did.”

  “And?”

  “I’m afraid it was more an argument than a talk.”

  “Who took which side?” he asked.

  “That was unnecessary, Greg. I’m on your side in this. I want Grace to talk with you. I just can’t force her to do it.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “Tell her she can’t drive until she has a civil conversation with her father.”

  “I’m not sure that’ll work. She’s not interested in driving right now.”

  “Then take her cell phone away. Tell her she can’t have it back until she talks with me.”

  “Same problem. She hates her cell phone this week.”

  “Hates her cell phone? What’s going on?”

  Deborah closed her eyes and pressed them. “Nothing that a little time won’t cure.” She prayed that was it, prayed that Grace hadn’t said anything to Kim.

  “Is it still about the accident?” Greg asked—to his credit—more gently.

  “It’s barely been a week. She knew the man. He was her teacher. She feels guilty.”

  “Guilty for the accident? She just happened to be in the passenger’s seat.”

  She wasn’t, but Deborah couldn’t say it, and that was Grace’s problem, she realized—the lie. It was the lie that was coming between Grace and Deborah, Grace and Greg, Grace and her friends. The lie had kept Grace from the party Saturday night, which had annoyed Emily Huber. It was the lie.

  And Deborah was its source.

  But what could she do now? The crash report was filed. Her story was on record in three different places, in addition to the Ledger ’s account. Changing her facts now would only make things worse.