Keep No Secrets

by Julie Compton

  She wants to say yes. She wants to tell him she believes every word that comes out of his mouth. She wants to think that he'd never do anything again to hurt her or place their family in jeopardy. But she can't. Is it because he lied to her about driving Celeste home? Or is it because Jenny has insisted on inserting herself back into their lives, and Jack has let her?

  Yet Claire knows she is partly to blame for that, too.

  Perhaps a part of Claire wonders if there is some truth to Celeste's

  accusations. Celeste may be only sixteen, but there's no denying she could pass for twenty-two, and she looks so much like Jenny. He wouldn't ever force himself on anyone—Claire knows that for certain—

  but if she's honest with herself, she can envision a situation where Celeste comes on to him and in a moment of weakness, he allows it to happen. She knows now he's not as strong as she once believed him to be.

  "Just come home, Jack, okay?" Before he can protest, she hangs up the phone.

  He'd thought he'd grasped the

  irrevocability of what was happening.

  He was wrong.

  When he pulls into his neighborhood, cars and television vans swarm his car.

  They emerge from side streets and from the playground parking lot like magnets to metal. They don't block his way, but they cling to him like a security detail. A few have backed into his neighbors'

  driveways.

  As he approaches his own drive, they scatter to claim parking spots closer to his house. Like soldiers storming the beaches of Normandy, reporters and their crews burst from the vehicles and sprint across his yard, wielding cameras, notepads and pens as their weapons. Anticipating this, he presses the remote to the garage much earlier than usual. As he crawls in, some of them pound on the window of the car to get his attention. As if they didn't already have it. He vows to run them over if they try to block his entrance.

  Once inside, he closes the garage door and dials the Chief's cell.

  "Jack?" The Chief must know it's him from the Caller ID, and he's clearly surprised to hear from him so soon.

  "The press has surrounded my house. I can't stop them from being on the street, but get your men over here to get them out of my yard."

  "You're just now getting home? I gave you—"

  He has no intention of explaining to the Chief why he didn't head straight home after they released him. "Damn it, Gunner! Get them out of my friggin'

  yard! You hear me?"

  He presses the button and realizes the thing he hates about cell phones—they can't be slammed. Dragging his weary self out of the car to face the next battle, he makes a mental note to have the windows tinted.

  Michael's in the kitchen eating chocolate cake and reading the comics. He looks up from the paper, his fork in midair. He was angry after what happened with Jenny four years ago, but the loathing on his face now makes clear that he believes he's living with the devil. He sets the fork down hard and rises from the table. Jack expects him to rush from the room, but Claire's taught him well; he first takes his plate and glass of milk to the sink. After scraping the food into the disposal, he rinses both dishes and puts them in the dishwasher. Jack waits to speak until he finishes and turns around.

  "You don't believe her, do you?"

  Michael starts for the stairs but Jack touches his arm as he passes. "Mike—"

  "Don’t touch me!" he says, jerking away.

  "That's it? You're just going to take her word? You're not even going to question it?"

  Michael takes the stairs two at a time.

  When he reaches the top, he stops. Jack moves closer to the stairs to listen. He hopes Michael has reconsidered and is about to come back down. That's when he spots Claire, sitting on the couch in the family room. Watching him.

  Michael's voice, getting lower with each passing day, comes to life one last time.

  " She's never lied to me." After a few more steps, he gets the physical satisfaction Jack craved in the garage. He slams his bedroom door.

  Jack stares at Claire. For a long moment, she simply stares back.

  In an emotionless voice, she asks Jack where he's been since leaving the jail, and he tells her. He explains how he needed time to think and driving out of the city seemed the only way to get it without the army outside tailing him. When she reminds him that the Chief gave him a head start to get home, he doesn't respond. What could he say? I wasn't prepared to have this discussion with you yet.

  "I can't do this again," she says.

  Jack grunts softly with frustration.

  What is he supposed to say to that? "Do what? You make it sound as if I've done something wrong. As if I've done

  something to you. I drove her home, Claire. I drove a girl home because our son was too drunk to do it himself. And because she was drunk, too, and deathly afraid of her father—why, I'm still not sure—I gave her the time to sober up, and then I covered for her, and for our son."

  "Are you done with your opening statement?"

  He doesn't answer.

  "You lied to me. If you had nothing to hide, why'd you lie to me?"

  He laughs curtly. "What? You think I lied because I actually did something with that kid? You really have that little faith in me? She's a kid!" He realizes he's yelling. He reminds himself to stay calm.

  But Jesus, she honestly thinks he is capable of sexually assaulting a sixteen-year-old girl?

  He wants to say this. He wants to say a lot of things. He wants to remind her that he's taken full responsibility for his prior screw-up, and he's done nothing in the last four years but try to make it up to her. He wants her to understand that he's the victim this time, that he needs her by his side these next few months. He needs her like he's never needed her before. In fact, he wants to ask her why she can't just stand up and come hold him. He spent the entire night in a jail cell and Thank you for downloading from dpgroup.org.

  right now what he really needs is someone to hold him. But he doesn't say any of this, because the whole situation has left him speechless.

  "Why'd you lie to me?" she asks again.

  If she feels anything other than cold anger, she's hiding it. She's not the same woman she was the first time he broke her heart.

  "Claire . . ." he whispers. He's so tired.

  He hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours.

  "Just answer the question, Jack.

  Honestly."

  He hesitates. He thinks of the first answer he gave Earl, and how Earl knew he was holding something back. Earl knew the answer, the real answer. It's the answer Jack needs to give Claire now. He prays to God she believes him.

  "Because of this." He waves his arms, motioning back and forth between the two of them. "Because of this conversation we're having right now. I knew what you'd think if I'd told you it took me two hours to get her home. Even if I'd explained why, you still would have wondered. I couldn't bear to think of you wondering like that." When he sees the expression on her face, his eyes well with tears.

  She doesn't believe a word he's saying.

  Only later, after she's retreated to the bedroom and left him standing gutted in the kitchen, does he wonder if the question he answered wasn't the one she really asked.

  I can't do this again, she said.

  Maybe this was only a peripheral reference to Celeste's accusations. Maybe this had nothing to do with Celeste at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE NEXT MORNING, Claire and

  Michael treat Jack as if he's invisible.

  Neither of them speaks to him, and even the conversation between mother and son is stunted and efficient before Michael retreats to his bedroom. Jack assumes Claire told him he didn't have to go to school again today.

  He sits at the kitchen table eating cereal with Jamie, who, if he senses the tension, has no idea that his father is to blame. Or, at least, that his mother and brother think his father is to blame.

  "Can I get a snake?" he asks. Jack peers down at the cereal box. The bac
k is devoted to educating kids about the common garter snake.

  "I guess so." As soon as he speaks the words, Claire turns off the water at the sink and gives him a hard stare. "I don't see why not."

  She resumes her activities but makes a point of being loud. When she returns a frying pan to the cabinet, she lets it clang against the others. She slams the drawer after she puts potholders away.

  "Hey, how about if I drive you to school this morning?" Jack says to Jamie.

  Claire clears her throat.

  "Can we get a smoothie on the way?"

  "Jamie," Claire says, "I thought you wanted to stay home with Mikey today?

  And I don't think Daddy has time to—"

  "Sure, I think so, if we leave soon."

  Jack pretends he doesn't hear her. "Why don't you go upstairs and get dressed?

  Don't forget to brush your teeth. I'll get our coats."

  Jack and Claire watch Jamie leap up the stairs. When Jack hears the bathroom faucet running, he says, "What is your problem?"

  "Where's your brain, Jack? Oh, wait, forget I asked because I already know."

  It takes a few seconds for her

  insinuation to sink in, but when it does, he's furious. Fuck you, he wants to say, but he doesn't. He's never said those words to her, and he won't start now.

  "Have you looked out the window?"

  she asks. She stomps around the kitchen as she talks. Tugging the refrigerator open, she slams it shut after she's replaced the milk and the butter. "The sharks are circling, waiting for you to leave. Are you going to subject him to that circus?

  Haven't you already subjected this family to enough? I mean, my God, Michael was interrogated at his school!"

  "I didn't do anything. I'm not hiding as if I did."

  She scoffs at that. "Oh, please! You're

  —"

  "But you don't believe me, do you?"

  She stops and crosses her arms.

  "Do you?"

  When she still doesn't answer, he shoves his cereal bowl away and rises from the table. "You know what?" He moves closer to her but she stands her ground, her eyes narrowed. "If anyone's lying around here, Claire, it's you."

  "Me?"

  "Yeah, you. You told me you'd forgiven me. You told me you trusted me again. But you don't. You won't let it go.

  You take every opportunity to remind me of what I did, of how I hurt you, of how I hurt our family. But I already know that, okay? I get it." He's making fun of the phrase she uses, and she knows it. "I'm sorry. I truly am. I've told you how sorry I am, and I've spent every day of my life since then trying to make it up to you.

  But it's not enough for you, is it? What are you going to do, persecute me the rest of my life?"

  "I guess that depends on your plans."

  Her small nostrils flare with sarcasm.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Will you stop talking in code?" he shouts, and she flinches. "What are you talking about? Just say what you mean for once, will you?"

  "You're smart. Figure it out."

  He closes his eyes and tells himself that he can rein this conversation back in. He can make her see reason if he just approaches it differently, calmly. If they both approach it calmly—without anger, without yelling, and simply talk, like two sane, reasonable adults—they can get past this. When he opens his eyes, she's still staring at him; she's not having similar thoughts.

  "Claire," he says softly. He moves to touch her arm, but she jerks away. "Can we please not fight? I need you right now.

  I need you to believe me. I didn't do anything."

  "Nothing?" She spits the word. "Think about it, Jack. Do you really think what's happening with Celeste would be

  happening if you hadn't fucked around with her?" He knows without asking whom her refers to. "He would have never started dating Celeste."

  "Really? You're so sure of that?" The fact that she's rejected his plea for peace makes him madder than he was before.

  His next words slip out so fast he has no time to censor them. "Did you ever think that maybe we just have the same taste in women?"

  She gasps. He immediately realizes what he's done. How cruel it was. Before he can recant it, her palm hits his cheek with surprising force. The sting is so severe his eyes water.

  "Get out."

  When he doesn't move, she yells. "Get out, Jack! Get out now! Before I do something I'll regret."

  He thinks of the wife in the

  interrogation on Sunday, how she

  shouted at the detective, He'd been with another woman! As if that were justifiable cause to smash her husband's skull with a Louisville Slugger.

  He remembers Claire's rage after

  learning what Jack had done.

  Is it true? she'd asked. And when he hesitated answering, when he failed to deny it, she knew. I hate you, she said. I hate you. Screamed it at him, over and over.

  Struck him, over and over.

  If she'd used anything other than her hands . . .

  When Jack pulls out of the garage, he can't see sky for the hard rain that pelts the car. He has a vague sense of having heard the storm when he and Claire were arguing inside the house, but at the time it didn't register. He's now glad she didn't let him take Jamie.

  The media vans and SUVs wait for

  him, their station call letters on the sides blurred by the curtain of rain. Wishing for a distraction, he considers calling Earl to confirm their meeting. But Earl won't forget. Jack is now his highest profile client.

  He's almost at the last Missouri exit when his cell phone rings. The Caller ID

  reads Harley Lambert. It's Claire's father, and Jack knows Harley is at his office because when he calls from home, the cell phone simply reads Harley and Ruth. The man makes Jack nervous—he always has

  —and Jack dreads talking to him. But Jack especially hates talking to him when he calls from his office, which, because he's been retired from the FBI for years now, isn't really an office where he works, but some sort of space he rents in an office park near his home. Jack knows there's a good chance Harley records the call. He's seen the recorder on Harley's desk, the way it's hooked up to the phone, and though Harley claims to record only those who give him permission, Jack knows better.

  "Good morning, Harley." Jack keeps his tone as neutral as possible, but he still hears the resignation in it. He knows Harley must hear it, too. The man doesn't miss a thing.

  "Don't 'good morning, Harley' me, you little prick! There's not a damn thing good about this morning because of you."

  Jack doesn't respond. After all, what could he possibly say to that?

  "Listen to me, and listen to me good."

  "I'm listening." The media vehicles trail his car, matching each turn through the downtown streets. They follow too close, close enough to be dangerous even without the rain.

  "I won't let you hurt my baby again. I stayed out of it last time at her request, but not this time. Say goodbye to your ticket, Jack, because if I have any say in the matter, Jeff City will be pulling it sooner than you can say boo."

  "It'll be a bit difficult to support my family without it." He surprises himself with his nonchalant response to the threat of disbarment. Is he growing numb already?

  "Don't you dare talk back to me!"

  Harley yells so loud Jack holds the phone away from his ear.

  He drives under the interstate, where he's granted a brief reprieve from the rain. In the relative silence he glances out the left window and sees Jenny's homeless friend tucked next to a concrete pillar. All these years later, he still haunts these city streets, even without the few dollars and the food she gave him as she walked by each morning on the way to her office.

  Jack almost wants to buy him a plane ticket south somewhere, where at least he'll be warm.

  "Did you call simply to harass me or would you like to hear what actually happened?"

  "I called to tell you you're done hurting my daughter. She might ins
ist on sticking by you while this is going on, but don't be fooled. Once your ass is behind bars, she's done with you. My

  grandchildren are done with you."

  What Harley says gives Jack hope.

  Claire plans to stick by him, at least for a while. Based upon the conversation at the house that morning, he didn't think she would. And if she told her dad this, there's a good chance she believes Jack really is innocent.

  "I think I'll wait until I hear that from her to believe it."

  Jack can't see him, of course, but he knows every vein in Harley's neck is bulging, and his ears redden as Jack talks.

  He's not used to Jack fighting back; Jack has never challenged Harley on anything.

  There'd never been a need to, really. He's Claire's father, and though Jack has never felt close to him, Harley liked his son-in-law until Jack did the unthinkable. He saved his bullying for other targets.

  "You're garbage, Hilliard. She's finally starting to realize it. Even her mother believes it now."

  Though Jack is skeptical of this, it still stings. Ruth has always loved him like a son—she forgave him even before Claire.

  She's filled a maternal role since Jack's own mother passed away years ago.

  Harley knows it.

  At a stoplight on Market & 4th, an SUV bearing KMOV call letters pulls up along the right side of the car. Jack knows without looking that their camera is trained on him through the passenger side window. They can't possibly have a clear shot, though, not with the sheet of rain that forms an opaque film on the glass.

  "Look," he says to Harley, "I'm about to pull into a parking garage where I'll lose reception. If you'd like to hear both sides before you reach your verdict, I'll call you later from my office, okay? But I've gotta go."

  Harley grunts in response.

  The reporters are forced to stay behind when Jack uses the keycard Earl gave him to enter the underground parking garage.

  As usual, Earl anticipated everything.