No Perfect Secret

by Weger, Jackie

  “Home. I’m not feeling so good. I think the anesthetic is wearing off. In fact, I’m certain of it.” He lifted his arm from the table where he’d rested it while eating, and slipped it back into the sling.

  “I’m curious. Would your house keys be on the same ring as your car keys?”

  Reality dawned. “I am so screwed. I’ll call Helen. What time is it?”

  Anna glanced at her watch. “Eleven-fifteen.”

  He looked surprised. “As late as that? Umm, you wouldn’t by any chance have a spare sofa? Helen is not friendly when she gets late phone calls. I’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning. Gentleman’s word of honor.”

  Anna looked at him askance. “Did you plan this on purpose?”

  “You mean did I plan a panicky call to rescue you from a locked basement? Oh, I get it. You think I planned to get stabbed by your loony tunes mother-in-law. Oh, and while I was being carted out of here wondering what the hell was going on, I whispered to Helen to hide my jacket. Some dork, I am. You caught me.”

  “All right. Point made. Get your little blanket and follow me.”

  For as long as you’ll let me babe, I’ll follow you anywhere. “Your sarcasm is pretty good,” he said good naturedly. “Not the best—”

  “I’m out of practice,” she said, hiding her smile, pointing out the guest bath in the event he didn’t remember from his first visit, then stepping aside so that he could enter the bedroom. He walked in and she pulled the door closed. “It locks from in the inside,” she called through the panel.

  Yep, Caburn muttered under his breath. We’re going to have a great life together—if we ever get around to it. The pain in his shoulder had been creeping up on him for the past hour. Now, it stole his breath and cramped his stomach, causing vertigo. He sat down on the chenille bedspread. Please God, let there be aspirin in that medicine cabinet.

  Anna knew using her bedroom was impossible. Hanging behind the hall bathroom door were her old flannel pajamas and ancient robe that had been doing winter duty since her college days. They would have to do. She washed her face and hands, grabbed a comforter from the linen closet, and prepared to bunk down on the living room sofa. The camel back sofa and the antique mirror in her bedroom were the only two pieces she’d brought with her to Washington. Both were family heirlooms: first belonging to her maternal grandmother and then her mother. They were her connection to her past. She’d had the sofa refurbished in a green and cream stripe silk, and added down-filled pillows for comfort.

  She tucked one beneath her head. She wouldn’t sleep, of course. Her mind was going in too many directions. One specific direction it was going in was right down the hall to the man in her guest bedroom. She fluffed the sofa pillow, pulled the comforter up to her chin, determined to give this more thought. She felt Caburn near, his arms around her, comforting her, whispering in her ear until goose bumps lifted on every inch of her skin. But it was the arms of Morpheus that cradled her, and the goose bumps that covered her did so because the comforter had slipped to the floor.

  She awoke midmorning to the fresh aroma of coffee, the smell of frying bacon and soft voices. Shivering and sleepy-eyed she went into the kitchen.

  “Anna. I’m sorry did we wake you?” Lila asked.

  “I don’t think so.” She was looking a question to Lila as she poured herself coffee and sat at the table across from Caburn. He was wearing a red and black flannel shirt, khaki slacks, had wet comb streaks through his sandy-colored hair and a day-old beard.

  “I wasn’t planning to come over here so early,” Lila told her, “but Clarence and JoJo turned up at my door before seven this morning. You should see Clarence. He’s got on one of those white paper hazmat suits, paper booties over ballerina slippers—must be size 12—as big as he is, and plastic gloves. When Clarence says germ-free, he means it—big time. I came over here to get some coffee and I found Frank wearing a blanket sarong, trying to make himself breakfast one-armed. Anyway, Frank filled me in and I went to back to my house and dug out some of the Colonel’s old clothes—”

  Caburn was watching Anna. Her eyes were at half-mast, her left hand propping up her chin, her right holding the coffee cup under her nose. “She’s not hearing a word you’re saying, Miss Lila. She’s still asleep.”

  “Poor thing. She’s had a terrible, terrible loss, and been though more than a body ought at her age. This is too much for her, I think.”

  Caburn wasn’t seeing a ‘poor thing’. Anna’s dark, silky hair shot every which way, her eyes were smoky with left-over sleep, and her robe was gaping open to reveal two buttons missing on her pajamas. He was seeing a woman he’d like to wake up to every morning. The view down her pajama top was world-class incredible.

  Lila caught him looking and rolled her eyes. She put bacon and toast in front of Caburn. “You naughty, naughty, boy,” she whispered.

  Caburn’s ears flamed.

  After a third cup of coffee, Anna came alive. “I forgot all about your party, Lila. I can cook the chicken for you, but I don’t have a thing to wear.”

  Lila gaped. “That is the first time I’ve heard those words out of your mouth in all the years I’ve known you,” she said.

  Anna gathered her thoughts, recalling that both Caburn and Lila had left the night before when she and Helen had discovered the disaster in her bedroom—Caburn in the ambulance and Lila home to bed. “There’s a reason, other than vanity, believe me,” Anna told her. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

  With Lila and Caburn on her heels, she opened her bedroom door, flipped on the light and stood aside. She felt Caburn crowding against the length of her back. She started to move out of his path, but changed her mind. Had he put his arms around her at that moment, Anna would’ve happily melted into him. She heard his breath catch.

  “That is some bad juju,” he said quietly as his eyes swept the room.

  “God-a-mighty,” exclaimed Lila. “It smells like a mustard factory in there. Oh, Anna, your beautiful room and all of your lovely clothes—”

  “This is what Clara-Alice was up to while I was in the basement,” Anna said, feeling the violation anew. Prickles of anger blended with the prickles of intense sensation she felt at Caburn’s warmth against her back. He put his large hands on her shoulders and turned her away from the room.

  “We’ll make this right, Anna,” he told her. She heard the anger and dismay in his voice.

  “You know what,” Lila said, as they returned to the kitchen. “I’ve got two superb cleaning machines in my kitchen this very minute. I’m going home and talk to them. What do you say, Anna? Will it be okay with you if Clarence and JoJo come over?”

  “It would be very okay, Lila. I’d be stupid to refuse help when I’m so overwhelmed with everything.”

  Caburn knew at once that in the face of women’s work, even if Clarence was not—he was superfluous. He got on the kitchen telephone and called Helen.

  When she answered the phone he ran her up the clothesline which was Kansas lingo for subjecting her to a rant.

  “You’re feeling better, then,” Helen said.

  “No, I’m not. I’m worse. I’m in extremis. I’m dying. Bring me my jacket, Helen. My car keys and house keys are in the pocket.”

  “I’m invited to the dinner party, Frank. Can’t you wait? It’s not like you’re standing on street corner freezing your lovely tight buns off.”

  Caburn looked around the kitchen, he was alone. “Your tenants are here, Helen.”

  “They don’t bite, Frank. I mean—not unless you pay them to. Now listen, I’ll be there around four or so. Meanwhile, make yourself useful. You’re the man on the scene. See if you can find Nesmith’s calendars, diaries—whatever. Anna said we could look. Oh. By the way. Anna still doesn’t know the Ellicott City end of things. Albert was going to tell her last night, but Anna sort of collapsed when we told her about Nesmith. We had the psychiatrist, Dr Neal, in to talk to her. So, keep mum on that, unless you think you can handle the f
allout. Anna has an appointment with Dr Neal on Wednesday. Albert thinks that’d be the time to tell her.”

  Caburn wanted to reach through the phone and wring Helen’s neck. “You and Albert are really doing a number on this girl.”

  “Nesmith did the number, Frank. We’re just cleaning up behind him. You need to focus on the job. Stay sensible. You know what I mean.”

  “I am focused on the job.”

  “Really?” Helen hung up.

  Caburn was rooting in the kitchen cabinets for a light bulb when Anna returned wearing the same clothes she’d worn the day before.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A light bulb for the basement. Maybe Nesmith’s calendars are in the file cabinet you mentioned.”

  Nesmith—not ‘your husband’. Well, she didn’t have a husband anymore, did she? “Will a flashlight do? There’s one in that drawer by the dishwasher, and batteries, too.”

  “That will work.” He looked her over. She wore no makeup, and had pulled her hair into a ponytail. Her face was pale, her expression resolute yet vulnerable. “You’ve had a lot thrown at you this past week. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “You sound like Dr Neal. I think I’m doing okay. I’m trying to get my mind around the fact that I’m a widow, and everything that entails. Planning a funeral, writing an obituary... It’s as if I’m outside of myself, looking in. I keep thinking I need to write a to-do list. But where do I start?”

  “In bad times my mom always says, ‘we’ll get through this one cheerful minute at a time.’ Anticipate something nice.”

  “At a time like this? Something nice?”

  “Sure. Like living your life for yourself. Shopping for something fancy. Women like to shop—or going dancing.”

  “Dancing?” Anna looked askance at him from beneath her lashes. “Do you dance?”

  He smiled with lascivious glee. “After three beers I do a mean Cotton-eyed Joe. After four, I just do a sort of herky-jerky.”

  “In other words, you make a fool of yourself.”

  Caburn frowned. “There you go. One cheerful minute at my expense.”

  “Maybe your mom is onto something.”

  The back door swung open, allowing in a burst of cold air along with Lila, Clarence and JoJo. Caburn issued a greeting over his shoulder as he made a rapid exit into the basement. As Lila had said, he was zipped into a white paper suit, his hair wrapped in a cotton scarf, rubber gloves, and sure enough, he had blue paper booties on his feet. JoJo wore her purple hair, jeans, a sweater, and an apron.

  Lila led them to Anna’s bedroom.

  “Holy moly!” exclaimed Clarence as he waded into the mess. “This place smells like hotdogs.” He began issuing orders and within ten minutes had everything and everyone organized.

  Sheets were laid out on the dining room floor, one for a pile of clothes that could be dry-cleaned, one for clothes that could not be saved, and one for washables. Away from Clarence, JoJo was a chatterbox, telling Anna about their lives, their work. Every five minutes or so, Clarence sucked up feathers with the vacuum, but most were escape artists. Anna kept the washer and dryer going and eventually she had a change of clean jeans, a cotton knit T and clean underwear. She called a time out so that she could bathe.

  Maybe fate would throw in a cheerful minute later, but for the moment Anna was satisfied to be clean, fresh, hair blow-dried and wearing enough blush that she didn’t look so winter pale. The physical labor in sorting clothes, running the washer, and folding clothes acted as a kind of catharsis. She had no family, but she had good friends, old and new, to help her. She admitted to herself that she had not always been happy in her marriage, but she had been able to live around it. Her life had changed in unimaginable ways, but it wasn’t over. She was in the early stages of a new beginning.

  Clarence stopped her in the hall. “We rolled up the carpets, washed down the walls, made the bed with fresh linen, and mopped the floors, but those damn feathers won’t cooperate.”

  “Clarence, I want to hug you.”

  “No!” His strong masculine face went pink. “I mean, no, no, no.” He lowered his voice. “Besides, that guy in the kitchen would kill me.”

  That guy? Was Caburn being possessive? “Oh, I thought you were just worried about germs.”

  “That, too. Okay, we’re done here. We’re going back to Miss Lila’s to start on the Christmas tree. She’s got about a zillion decorations to clean.”

  “Wait. What’s your favorite dessert?”

  “That’s easy. Double chocolate cake with extra thick fudge icing.”

  “I can do that.”

  Clarence sashayed through the kitchen in all his hazmat glory. Half out the door he turned. “Bye, Anna darling. See you at dinner.”

  Sitting at the table Caburn clinched his jaw. Anna didn’t dare smile. “You found Kevin’s calendars,” she said stating the obvious. Caburn had them spread over the kitchen table.

  “I had to jimmy the lock on the file cabinet. I can’t make heads or tails of these things. They’re all in code.”

  JoJo came through lugging a garbage bag. “Anna, do you mind if I have all the buttons on these clothes you’re throwing away? It’s bad luck to throw away a button, you know.”

  “Then don’t miss a single one. I don’t need any more bad luck.”

  Caburn pushed an open calendar towards JoJo as she passed him. “Uh, JoJo, did you figure any of this stuff out?” He watched her face go beet red.

  “I told Miss Helen.”

  “Miss Helen isn’t here. Tell me.”

  JoJo shook her head and hauled herself and the bag out of the kitchen and through the back door.

  Anna looked from the back door to Caburn. “What was that all about?”

  “Beats me. Will you look at these and see if anything jumps out at you?”

  “No, I won’t. Whatever Kevin did—it’s over and done with. He can’t be punished; you can’t fire him. If there’s a mystery, State will have to figure out. I have enough on my plate. And, you need to clear out of here.”

  “What? Clear out to where?”

  “The dining room, the sun room, take a nap, or go over to Lila’s. Just clear that stuff off the table. I have food to cook. You’re in my space.”

  “Wow. Do your moods always change on a dime?”

  “Out!”

  ~~~~

  Caburn opted for the sun porch. There was a sofa for comfort, a fat pillow for his head, an afghan for warmth, and with the right position to favor his back—a perfect view. He watched Anna move about the kitchen. It seemed she had a ritual. She poured herself a glass of chilled white wine, took a sip, set the glass aside, and began to lay out utensils he could not have named in a hundred years. The apron she donned emphasized her slender waist; she was as graceful as a ballerina and wholly efficient. Soon the aromas wafting out to the sunroom drew him back into the kitchen. When Anna went into the pantry he began lifting lids off the pots.

  “Hey! Stop that. You’re trespassing.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m one-hundred-eighty pounds of starving farm boy. Breakfast was hours ago.”

  “You want me to feel sorry for you?”

  “No. I want you to feed me—anything out of one of those pots will do. Please?”

  “Oh. The magic word—first time I’ve heard you use it in a nice way.” She cleaned off a corner of the table and served him a bowl of Lyonnais potatoes, big slices of buttered French loaf, and a quart of sweet iced tea. He wolfed it down.

  “What about some chocolate? I smell fudge.”

  “That fudge went on a cake for dessert. The bowl is on the sink, if you want to lick it.”

  “I’m not proud. Pass it over.” He scoured the bowl first with a spatula, then his finger. “Have mercy on a single man, Anna. Pack up your kitchen and come home with me.”

  “That’s about all I’d have to pack up,” she said, the wine having loosened her tongue. “I don’t want a single piece of furnitur
e in this house except my sofa, my mirror and my cooking utensils. Between Kevin and Clara-Alice, I feel like it all has a bad aura. Wherever I go, I don’t want it to take it with me.”

  “You’re getting rid of the bad juju.”

  “Yes.” She drained her wine.

  “So why doesn’t the kitchen have bad juju?”

  “You’re funny. You think Kevin ever sat at that table and licked a bowl? He didn’t. Never washed a dish either.”

  “Gosh, let me get off my bohunkus. Not only am I the best pot licker, I’m the best dishwasher inside the Beltway.” He began stacking empty pots and dirty kitchenware on the counter.

  “Is this the real you, Frank? Or the State Department Frank?”

  “One and the same. Now, how does this dishwasher work?”

  Anna laughed. “You better never lie on a resume. You’d be caught out on the first day. Let’s just clear this table. After I dish up, I want to wrap a couple of presents to put under Lila’s tree.”

  A few minutes later she retrieved gifts from the linen closet, a fine leather wallet, a green cashmere sweater and a Hermes tie. Anna held up the sweater. “This ought to fit Clarence.”

  “As if he’d ever wear it.”

  “I have to give him something for cleaning up the mess Clara-Alice—I mean, Clara—I’ll never get used to calling her plain old Clara—made. And for JoJo.” She showed Caburn a beautiful carved amber monkey hung on a fine gold chain.

  “You think that goes with purple hair?”

  “You are so mean.”

  Anna was just as creative and efficient with wrapping paper as she was with pots and pans. “How much can you carry?” she asked of Caburn.

  “I’ll carry the cake.”

  “It’s a masterpiece. If you drop it, you’re dead. Oh.” She looked stricken.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Caburn said. “It’s just a conversation piece. Anyway, I’m not dropping it.”

  “It’s snowing again,” Anna noticed as they went from her back yard to Lila’s. Lila’s house was configured the same as Anna’s. Instead of a sunroom Lila had a screened-in, latticed, back porch. Caburn held open the screened door with his elbow as Anna went up the two steps. “Careful with the cake,” she warned him, her own arms filled with the gifts, as he opened the big wooden door.