No Perfect Secret

by Weger, Jackie

  Her cell phone rang once—then a second time before she located it beneath an oven mitt. “Speaking of the devil,” she said to Lila, an impish gleam in her eye.

  “Hi, Frank.”

  “How did your day go?”

  “Good. Everything is good.”

  “Could I see you for a few minutes? Or maybe take you out for a burger?”

  “Yes and no. I’m at Lila’s, and will be for another hour or so—if you want to stop by.”

  “Let me talk to the big guy,” said Lila, reaching for Anna’s phone.

  “Hey, you good-looking hunk, when are you gonna take me dancing again?”

  “Miss Lila, are you flirting with me?”

  “I sure am. I’m showing Anna how it’s done.”

  “Anna needs to learn how to flirt?”

  “She’s way out of practice.”

  “Well, wind up that Victrola and come open your front door.”

  Still chatting away, Lila skipped to the front of her house. She had Caburn by the hand when they emerged into the kitchen. Anna smiled, and rolled her eyes. “You two are a pair.”

  “I was in the neighborhood,” Caburn said. Then his attention was on food that covered the table and countertops. “This is a good-smelling kitchen; lots of good juju.”

  “You’re welcome to eat with us,” offered Lila. “We’ve got to deliver a bunch of it to our neighbors, but we cooked extra for ourselves. Didn’t we, Anna?”

  Anna looked from one to the other. Both wore hopeful expressions. “Yes we did. Frank, if you want to eat, you have to earn it—we’re looking for a pot washer.”

  “That was at the top of my resume.” He tossed his coat on the back of chair and began rolling up his sleeves. “Pot washer deluxe—that’s me. Point me to the dishwasher.”

  Anna put her finger in the middle of his chest.

  Caburn gave her a lopsided smile. “Just like home.”

  Lila took off her apron and wrapped it around Caburn’s waist. She tied the sash in front. “Ooooh, you have some abs there, buddy.”

  “Miss Lila, you are shameless.”

  “You think? Back in the day when a woman copped a feel, it was called risqué. Anna—are you paying attention?”

  “I am not. I’m cooking.” But, she was smiling as she removed the green bean casseroles from the oven.

  Lila brought out an ancient, faded red wagon from her pantry. “Our version of Meals on Wheels,” she told Caburn.

  He helped load the foods, and carried the wagon down the front porch steps. It took thirty minutes because they had to chat with Mrs Nagi, plead with Mr Hannah ,the agoraphobic, to open his door, and then retrace their steps across the street to deliver to Mr Wilson, who was wrapped in an old woolen robe and standing on his porch, anxious that he wasn’t being passed over.

  Once returned to Lila’s kitchen the three friends sat down to their own supper. Caburn ate two helpings of everything, including pecan pie. Lila finished off the bottle of sherry and was nodding off in her chair in the living room by the time Anna and Caburn restored order to the kitchen.

  “We can have coffee at my house,” Anna said.

  “I don’t have room,” said Caburn. He followed Anna out the back door and across the yard into her own back door.

  “Anna, you’ve got to start locking your doors.”

  “The only problem I’ve ever had is Clara-Alice—and she had a key.”

  Caburn leaned against the counter while she set coffee to brewing. “Tomorrow is going to be a big day. Helen and I are going up to Ellicott City.”

  Anna winced.

  “We want to know if it would be all right with you if we mentioned that your marriage to Nesmith isn’t legal.”

  “Oh...I... But why?”

  “Helen has the idea that you both are victims.”

  “I hate that word. I hate it!”

  Caburn exhaled. “I know, but we hope that if we show a pattern, it will take the onus off you.”

  She looked up sharply. “What onus?”

  “Helen thinks wives often get blamed for a husband’s...a husband’s peccadilloes.”

  “You mean—as if I should’ve known what Kevin was up to?”

  “Something like—yeah. There’s more. Albert is adamant that we keep this quiet. No news stories.”

  “I don’t want any publicity either. I would be humiliated if my colleagues and friends knew. It’s bad enough that—”

  “Yes, it is. It’s awful. I wish we could’ve caught it—him. We want the folks in Ellicott City to feel the same.”

  “Yes, Okay. You can tell them. But I don’t want to talk to Janie—or her parents. That would just be too much.”

  “That’s the second thing. We want you to unplug your landlines, your answering machines.”

  “Because?”

  “Because the obit is being published in several cities. We don’t know what that will drag up—we hope nothing.”

  Anna crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. “This is so hard. I was really pumped after I talked with Dr Neal.”

  Caburn put his hands on her shoulders. “Anna... In less than forty-eight hours you’re going to be on a beach—sun, sand, tan, mojitos.”

  She leaned her head against his chest, and felt a flicker of excitement. She could tell where each of his fingers touched on her shoulders. Frank was keeping a bit of distance between their bodies, so she knew he felt it, too.

  She looked at him, a soft expression on her face, her eyes moving to his eyes. “Sun, sand, tan, and mojitos—that’s going to be my mantra for the next two days.”

  “Want to come home with me? I could start you on the mojitos.”

  Reality eased in. “I can wait—but my ironing won’t.”

  “Get it done then, because you’ll have to overnight at my place tomorrow.”

  He thought about her pajamas. The ones with the buttons missing. That would be a nice view across his kitchen counter. Then he thought about his own chest. It looked like a half-skinned cat. “We have to be at the airport no later than four a.m. I don’t want to fight the holiday traffic from my place to yours and then back again to the airport.”

  “Good try, Frank. But all of Washington will be closed on Friday. The politicos and their staffs are already in their home districts. The rest of government is off on Friday. That just leaves shoppers and tourists—and they won’t be up at four in the morning. I can meet you at the airport.”

  “No. You’ll be late.”

  “I’m never late for anything,” except life. “We are not going to argue about this,” she said, ushering him to the front door, and out.

  “Yes, we are.”

  She shot the bolt.

  “No!”

  ~~~~

  Rain was beating down on the windshield one minute and stopping the next. Caburn kept adjusting the wipers.

  “Will you please just put the wipers on or off. You’re driving me nuts.”

  “My morning was just as bad as yours, Helen.”

  “That was godawful,” she said. “Stop at the first Starbucks you see. My mouth is dry. My eyes feel gritty.”

  “I thought Mr Abernathy was gonna murder me. That man is volatile.”

  “Janie is his baby girl. Did you hear how much he said he paid for their wedding? $55,000.”

  “That made me think—How was Nesmith gonna get out of his marriage to Anna? He couldn’t divorce her, because he wasn’t really married to her.”

  “He was going to figure something out. The parents have money with a capital M. Good old Kevin was gonna stay with the money. So, what’d Mr Abernathy say when you were in the kitchen together?”

  Caburn frowned. “Obviously, no publicity. He wants to keep up the charade of the marriage for Janie and his grandson’s reputation. His own, too, I imagine. I’m pretty sure he’ll force that down the girl’s throat. Add to that, he wants to do the funeral—in the hopes that will make Janie seem a legitimate widow. So that means we have to talk to
Albert and Anna. You can do that. I don’t have time, or the stomach for it. I’ve got to pick up travel documents from Mr Charles, get over to the hospital to get these damned staples out, hit the drugstore, the bank, and call my mom.”

  “You dog—you left everything to the last minute on purpose.”

  “Learned from a master by the name of Helen Callaway.”

  “That and four bucks is gonna buy me a cup of coffee. There’s a Starbucks in the next block on your right. Let’s brave the rain and go inside. I want a slice of lemon pound cake. Then I’ll call Albert, and see how it went with Clara.”

  While Helen called Albert, Caburn called Anna, certain she would be in a funk, waiting to learn what happed in Ellicott City.

  “Hey, Frank,” she answered, all cheer.

  “You sound happy.”

  “I am. Sun, sand, tan, and mojitos in twenty-four hours.”

  “So, what’re you doing?”

  “We’re having lunch out. I’m treating Lila and Helen’s tenants. Then at two we’re going to a Christmas concert at Lila’s church. Matinee performance. The screen on my computer couldn’t be saved, so I bought a small flat screen television. JoJo is going to hook that up for me, so I’ll be back in business.” She paused. “I hope everything goes okay at the hospital—you know—when you get the staples out of your back.”

  “They let people with purple hair in a church?”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Frank. I thought you were better than that. I’m hanging up.”

  Helen finished her call to Albert. “What’s with the sour face, Frank? Something wrong at Anna’s?”

  “Nope, everything is just hunky-dory.”

  “Aww, you don’t get to play the hero, today.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Yes, it is. I know what Anna is doing today. I got invited but I had to decline. You need to think things through, Frank. If you want a wimpy woman, don’t be looking at Anna. She has a real independent streak. She’s not going to need rescuing every single day of her life.”

  “Am I supposed to be taking notes?”

  “You need to be taking Xanax.”

  “Right. I’m duly chastised.” Twice. “What did Albert say?”

  “Miss Clara did not have a meltdown. Dr Neal was there and so was a nurse advocate from social services. Clara insists that since she is Nesmith only blood relative, she wants his car, his money, his life insurance. Albert handed her the applications for the residential homes and told her to find herself a place to live. He warned her against harassing Anna ever again.”

  “He didn’t mention Janie or her parents?”

  “Nope. That will have to wait until the funeral arrangements are made. Even if they make contact—Clara won’t be able to bully Janie like she’s done with Anna. Janie’s folks would step on her in a New York minute. So. We’re free. Our holiday starts now. Take me to the office. I have to fill up the cat and water feeders and I’m so done.” She tapped his cup with her own. “Merry Christmas.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Within five minutes of takeoff on the flight to Cancun Caburn tilted his first class seat back and went comfortably asleep to the droning rhythm of the jet engines.

  Anna nudged him awake for breakfast.

  “You didn’t go to bed last night, did you?”

  “I couldn’t,” he said around a mouthful of scrambled egg. “I wound my alarm clock too tight. It broke.” He eyed her plate. It was still three-quarters full. “Are you gonna eat that?”

  Anna’s fork landed on his plate quite sharply. “Do you plan to sleep away our entire first day in Cancun?”

  “Of course not. I’m just catnapping.” He finished her breakfast, drank her coffee, and leaned back once more, pumping up the full size first class pillow. “Just catnapping, really.”

  While he slept through the stop in Cleveland to board more passengers and de-ice the wings, Anna read through the packet and magazine the travel master had provided. She noted the details for their ground transportation, found a spectacular photo of the Grand Palladium White Sand Resort and Spa, Mayan Rivera, and nudged Caburn awake. “Look,” she said excitedly, “This is our hotel.”

  “I see it,” he mumbled not opening his eyes.

  After they deplaned in Mexico he tried unsuccessfully to sleep standing up as they waited in line to go through Customs and Immigration. While waiting for their luggage, he leaned against a post; his arms folded over his chest, his mouth open, snoring.

  We are so different, Anna thought. Frank was so laid back he can sleep against a post. She could get by on five hours of sleep. Coffee and toast could almost get her though a day. Frank had to have eight hours of bed time, and a feeding trough three times a day. Then there was the errant topic that got him skittish—sex—or anything having to do with it. She wondered how perturbed he was going to get when he discovered they were smack in the middle of Mayan culture.

  She spied her luggage on the conveyor—dragged it off to where Caburn was standing, and then quickly transformed herself from chilly D.C. chic to casual beach. From a side pocket of her carry-on she drew out slip-on sandals with a bit of shiny bling on the straps; slipped off her blazer to reveal a brown cotton camisole tucked into belted Banana Republic cotton slacks; repacked the blazer and loafers into the side pocket, and out of her purse came sun glasses and bobby pins—which she used to pin up her hair. She shook Caburn awake.

  “Your luggage has gone around on the conveyor twice.”

  “I’m getting it,” he grumbled. Returning to her side with his luggage in tow he stopped and stared. Her neck somehow got long and elegant, her waist smaller, and there were only these tiny, tiny, straps holding up her blouse, displaying a world-class view of her chest. “Did you change clothes right here in the middle of the airport?”

  “Yes, I did and every man who walked by stared something awful, and there you were—sound asleep against a post.”

  They soon stepped into the wicked, white-hot Mexican sun to meet their van driver. Anna dropped her glasses from forehead to eyes.

  “Oh, merciful God,” Caburn exclaimed, putting up a hand to shade his eyes. “Are we closer to the sun down here?” Off came his leather jacket. He couldn’t find his sun glasses.

  Their travel vouchers were collected as they were ushered into an air-conditioned van with other tourists, and forty minutes later they were being welcomed into a huge and elegant open-air lobby at Grand Palladium. A breeze full of the smells of wet sand, hot sun, salty sea, and coconut sunscreen perfumed the air. Anna breathed it. Fabulous. The atrium soared more than sixty feet and was constructed of woven palm. A massive replica of a Mayan temple god caught Anna’s eye. She smiled at Caburn as they moved to check-in. “Did you see that sculpture?”

  “I can’t see anything yet.”

  “Grumble, mumble, toil and trouble,” she muttered.

  The concierge ordered them to hold out their left wrists. Plastic bracelets were attached and they were warned not to remove them.

  “Do we have to go to our rooms right away?” Anna asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Anna took Caburn by the arm, guiding him across the lobby where she had spied the bar and lounges.

  “I’m dying in this heat,” he complained. “I need a shower.”

  “Go ahead and die then, but right there in that chair.” She went to the bar and returned with an ice-cold beer for him and a frozen pina colada for herself. Caburn had his eyes closed. She placed the cold bottle against his temple. “Do you think one of these might turn you into a human being?”

  He drank it down as if he’d spent a week in a desert. He handed her the empty. “Two might. And I’m sorry.”

  “Get the second one yourself.” She sipped her pina colada, spread the contents of the welcome packet on her lap, and found a map to a restaurant that fronted a swimming pool.

  She knew very well that Frank was watching her out the corner of his eye. She sipped her drink.

&nb
sp; “I know,” he said, sitting down next to her. “I’m an ass.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I like a man who knows what he’s about.”

  “Am I going to be in trouble this entire trip just because I needed a little nap?”

  “No, not if I get my way on everything else. There’s a restaurant down around that walkway. I’m hungry—you ate my breakfast.” Anna’s saucy poise left her when they rounded the corner and the acres of pool spread out before them. Iconic columns growing out of the water sent cooling sprays on young and old alike. Swimsuits edged from not quite modest to minimal on hundreds of shapely bodies in the pool, tanning on lounges, and beneath green and gold striped umbrellas. There was a bar in the pool and another top side in the open-air restaurant. Inside a round of glass windows were buffet tables loaded with foods of every description.

  Caburn paid not one whit of attention to the hundreds of skimpily clad bodies. He grabbed Anna’s hand. “We’re not sitting out here. There’s a freaking dragon under that table.”

  Anna looked and laughed. “That’s an iguana. They’re not dangerous.”

  “I knew you’d have some kind of frivolous answer.”

  So they dined in air-conditioned bliss on soups, salads, and fresh fruits of every description. Caburn grazed on hamburgers, pizza, chicken, fresh baked breads, and beer. Anna took a last sip of freshly squeezed orange juice.

  “Let’s go to our rooms, change into our swimsuits, lather on the sunblock, and hit the beach. I am so ready.”

  “Sounds good.” He was thinking shower, bed, cool sheets, and fluffed pillows.

  A tram took them to their room. It wheeled along on narrow asphalt lined with towering palms, bamboo, banana shrubs heavy with fruit, bougainvillea in bloom, and shady mango trees—the unripe fruits hanging heavy as chandeliers. It was a thousand miles and a world away from dreary D.C. Anna savored every inch of it.

  The driver led them to their suite and opened the door while a porter carried in their luggage. Caburn stifled a yawn as he passed out tips.

  “Frank,” Anna said, standing in the foyer and looking into the suite. “We don’t have separate bedrooms.”