Keeping You a Secret

by Julie Anne Peters

  A curtain in the upstairs window lettered. "I’ll be right there,” she said. “Donʼt go away.”

  I laughed bitterly.

  A few seconds later Cece tripped out the front door, her baseball jersey clinging to her legs, one hightop on her foot and the other in her hand. She sprinted down the sidewalk and across the street. Her palm spread on my closed window and she peered in before charging around to the passenger side.

  “Holland? Honey?” She shut the door and turned to me. I continued to stare ahead. Unseeing, numb. "What happened?” she asked.

  I blinked over to her. “My mother kicked me out of the house.”

  "No." Cece lunged across the seat and threw her arms around in. “Holland, no.” She held me, burrowed her head into my neck. “Oh, baby, no.ʼ

  "Oh, baby, yes."

  Cece drew back. “You told her? About us?”

  “No.” My voice sounded harsh, the way my insides felt, “I didn’t have to.”

  Cece frowned. “Somebody outed you? Who?”

  "One guess.”

  “l donʼt know."

  “Your friend and mine."

  Cece looked confused.

  "Faith," I said.

  Cece shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Are you sure?”

  I nodded. I was sure.

  “Youʼre shivering. Itʼs freezing in here. Whereʼs your coat?”

  I might’ve laughed again. “Guess I forgot it in the two minutes I had to pack.” Tears burned my eyes. "What am I going to do, Ceese?”

  She held me again. “Stay here, of course, with me.”

  "I can’t."

  "Yes, you can. Come on.” She scooted out her side and ran around to open my door. Dragged me across the street and into the house.

  Cece’s parents were both up now. Mr. Goddard stood by the staircase as Kate wandered in from the kitchen, tightening her belt on her robe. "Holland’s mom kicked her out,” Cece in formed them.

  "Oh, sweetie.” Kate rushed over and hugged me. I didn’t think there could be any tears left, but a flood of them burst through the dam.

  “She can stay here, right?" Cece said. There was challenge in her voice.

  When neither of her parents consented right away, I said, “That’s okay. I’ll just go to a motel.”

  "She can sleep on the hide-a-bed," Cece’s dad said. I saw him eye Kate. “Weʼll talk about this in the morning. Letʼs everybody go back to bed and get some sleep.”

  My eyes strayed to the mantel, where a clock read two thirty-five. How long had I been driving? How long had I sat in front of Cece’s house? What day was it?

  There was a flurry of activity and somehow the couch in the living room transformed into a bed. “This is stupid, Dad,” I heard Cece say through the fog in my brain. “Why can’t she sleep in my room?”

  “Cece,” he warned.

  She muttered a curse under her breath. The next thing I knew I was slipping between the sheets. Had I undressed myself? Then Kate was smoothing my hair — or was that Cece? And my cell was ringing.

  Someone had enclosed the phone in my hand. “Hello?" I answered quietly.

  “Hi, love. It's me. Are you all right? That's a stupid question, of course you’re not all right. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really." I rolled over, pulling my knees to my chest. Shivering again, but not from cold.

  “I wish you were up here with me in bed. I wish I could hold you."

  “Talk to me, Cece," I said. “'Talk to me until I fall asleep.”

  “Did I ever tell you about the time my dad caught me kissing this little neighbour girl behind our garage?" She chuckled softly. “My first love. Age six.”

  I smiled, clung to the phone, to her voice, until all the sounds in my head muted and faded and vanished into the night.

  ***

  Breakfast at the Goddards’ was a mob scene. Everyone converged on the kitchen at the same time, grabbing a bowl and their favorite box of cereal off the counter. Spoons clattered and clanged as a milk carton got passed around. Cece stationed me in the chair beside her. Across the table, Greg said, “Hey,” and hitched his chin, looking sympathetic. Cece must've filled him in. Eric pointed with his spoon, mouth jammed full of Froot Loops, and asked, "What’s she doing here?”

  Cece replied, “She lives here now.”

  “No, I don't." I glared at Cece. The tears threatened a rerun, so I got up fast. As I started folding the sheets on the hide-a-bed, I heard Mr. Goddard say, “Come on, guys. Get a move on.” I felt him come up behind me and linger. “Hang in there, kid." He patted my shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  Easy for him to say; he was living the American dream. The clock on the mantel chimed eight o'clock and I trudged back to the kitchen. "I forgot my money. Could somebody loan me five dollars for gas so I can get to school?" I couldn't help it; I burst into tears.

  Cece threw her arms around me. From the counter where she was pouring coffee, Kate said, “Why don’t you stay home today? You're in no shape to go to school. Cece, you take Holland up to your room so she can go back to bed."

  “Really?” Cece’s eyes widened.

  “Alone,” her mother intoned. "You both look exhausted, but youʼre going to school.” She evil-eyed Cece.

  “Mom –”

  “No!”

  Cece grabbed my hand and dragged me through the living room and up the stairs.

  ***

  It’s a myth that things always look brighter in the morning. Every time I’d nod off and wake up, the nightmare was blacker. Bleaker. Too exhausted to sleep anymore, I just lay in Cece’s bed, absorbing my surroundings. Her room. I’d never been up here before. She had a cache of stuffed animals in a net overhead. Stacks of CDs by the bed. No closet doors, but the space was packed with clothes. Her dresser mirror had stickers all over it; pink triangles, rainbow hearts, and lightning bolts. A few photos were wedged under the frame and I straggled out of bed to look at them.

  There was a family shot — Cece, her older sister, I assumed, Greg, and Eric standing by a Christmas tree. One of Cece in a short red dress, posing like a model. The other pics were friends, I guessed, a mix of girls and guys. A couple of familiar faces, though not from Southglenn. Where had I seen them? I removed one of the photos to examine it more closely.

  It was a group shot. A rainbow banner behind the group read, “LGBT Queer and Questioning." The lesbigay club at Washington Central, had to be. There were six or seven guys in it, as many girls. Cece sat on the floor in the front row, hugging her knees. Her hair was longer, darker. Everyone was smiling or laughing, their arms around each others’ shoulders. Cece was smiling, too, but it wasn’t a happy smile. She seemed far away, removed from the others. It made me wonder again why she’d transferred.

  But only for a moment. Thank God she had.

  I put the photo back. Noticed a flyer on her dresser announcing a performance of Unity last Saturday night. Last Saturday? I frowned. Cece told me she was working on Saturday. Why would she lie? She’d never lie to me. The performance must’ve been canceled, or rescheduled.

  The aroma of freshly baked bread swirled up my nose. Instinct and hunger took over. I wriggled into Cece's high-ups and headed downstairs.

  Kate was in the kitchen checking on two loaves of bread in the oven. Two more were cooling on a rack. They smelled unbelievable.

  “Hi, sweetie," she said when I hesitated in the doorway. “Why donʼt you sit down and Iʼll fix you a bowl of soup. Nothing like chicken soup for the soul.”

  My throat constricted. That was the book I bought Mom for Christmas: Chicken Soup for the Mothers Soul.

  Kate ladled out a huge bowl of noodle soup and served it up with a plate of homemade buttered bread. She sliced me a wedge of cheesecake, too, then sliding into a chair across from me, she folded her hands on the table and said, “She’ll come around. It just takes time.”

  I blinked up at her. “You donʼt know my mom.”

  Kate cocked he
r head. “Do you want me to call her? I could talk to her.”

  My eyes fell. “No.” God, no. It wouldn’t help to have my mother screaming at Kate. "I’ll deal with it. But thanks." I slurped a spoonful of soup. It didn’t taste like chicken; didn’t taste at all. Great. I'd lost all sensation. “This is delicious." I forced a smile.

  Kate worried a loose thread on her sweater sleeve. "She just overreacted. It can be a rude awakening, you know." The oven timer buzzed and Kate scraped back her chair. “She has to get used to the idea, that’s all.”

  “How long did it take you?" I asked.

  She either didn't hear or didn’t care for the question. I watched her remove the loaves from the oven and set them atop the burners. "It hasn’t been easy with Cece," she finally said. “Not that she’s… gay." Kate faltered, as if it hurt to speak the truth. “Just that she’s so out there. Iʼm afraid for her all the time. I donʼt want her to get hurt.”

  She turned and looked at me, through me. I didn’t know what she expected me to say. “Like the locker incident?” I settled on.

  "What locker incident?" she snapped.

  "Nothing." Shit. I stuffed my big mouth full of bread.

  “Dammit." Kate folded her arms. “I don’t understand why she has to flaunt her sexuality. It’s a private thing. She should keep it that way. Be discreet, like her sister. I don’t see you out there exposing yourself to the world.”

  Not because I wouldn’t, I wanted to say. And it wasn’t about sexuality. Not entirely. It was about identity. Love.

  Kate added, “She’s just asking for trouble.”

  I thought she was asking for acceptance. I almost said it. Good thing my mouth was full because now was not the time to debate the visibility issue. Not the time to debate anything.

  Removing her apron, Kate let out a weary breath and said, “I want her to be happy. That’s all Tom and I have ever wanted for our kids. I’m sure your mother feels the same way, Holland. We want so much for our kids to grow up and have all the things we never had. We have high hopes for you. Expectations, dreams. Then, something like this…” Her voice trailed away.

  Something like this. Right. Shattered dreams. When it came to my mom, shattered dreams seemed to be my specialty.

  Chapter 21

  I stayed with Cece the next couple of days. My cell phone became my constant companion. I’d check it hourly – make sure it was on, the batteries charged. Mom knew my number. When I hadn’t heard from her by Friday, I decided to stop by the house after work. If nothing else for more clothes, for the cash in my safe. I couldn't keep borrowing gas and lunch money from Cece.

  Mom’s car was parked in the driveway. My pulse quickened. Maybe when she saw me, remembered who I was…

  The back door was locked, so I dug out my house key and inserted it into the keyhole.

  It didn’t fit.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, in denial. She was in the kitchen, behind the curtain. I could see her silhouette. She saw me, I know she did. The outline vanished. The message sank in. I stumbled back to the Jeep.

  When I let myself in the back door of Cece’s house, I heard Cece in the kitchen with her mom, arguing. Cece yelled, “Why can’t she stay here? What are you going to do, throw her out on the street?”

  Kate said, "Calm down. That isn't going to happen, and you know it. But I called and talked to her mother.”

  My stomach hurt. I wobbled a little; had to brace myself against the pantry shelves.

  Kate’s voice lowered. “It looks like we’re going to need to find her a more permanent place.”

  I felt like throwing up.

  Cece said, “Mom, she has to stay here. Everything that's happenned, it's all my fault.”

  “No, it isnʼt," Kate barked. “It takes two to tango.”

  “I don’t mean that." Cece clucked her tongue. “I mean…” Her voice fell away. “Itʼs just my fault.”

  “No, it isn’t." I stepped through the doorway. “Your mom’s right, Cece. I need to find a place to live.”

  “No." Cece rushed across the room and flung her arms around me. “I want you to stay here.”

  “Ceese, you know I can’t. Not like this." I glanced briefly at Kate. “It’s too hard.”

  Cece’s face disintegrated. She knew I was right. It was agony not being able to be together. To hold each other, to kiss and touch and sleep together. She wheeled on her mom, but I pushed Cece out to the kitchen before she said something she’d regret. We didn’t both need to be on the streets.

  "Cece," her mom stopped us midway through the living room. “Come back here a minute.”

  Cece squeezed my hand and retreated. Her mother hugged and kissed her. It made my stomach heave and I raced for the bathroom.

  ***

  Faith was hanging at my locker the next morning. Literally. She was slumped over like a rag doll, swinging her head, her stringy black hair sweeping the floor. This atonal chant was issuing from her mouth, sounding like a death knell.

  Her own, I hoped.

  “What do you want?” I said.

  She jerked upright. Her head smacked against the locker with a clang.

  Ow. Any other time I might’ve been concerned about a possible concussion. At the moment, I couldn’t seem to garner much compassion.

  "I just…" She gulped audibly, like she could detect my murderous vibes. "I wanted to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you, Faith. Do you mind?” I indicated my blocked locker.

  She stepped aside. I opened the locker and shoved in my duffel. I gathered books and spirals into my arms and when I shut the locker, she was still there. “What?” I snapped.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  "Oh, yeah. I’m great. Thanks for caring." I wheeled.

  "I do," she said at my back. "I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? I seethed inside. Sorry doesn’t cut it, Faith. Sorry doesn't begin to cut it.

  ***

  The next couple of evenings Cece and I checked the classiness for apartments. The cheapest studio we found was five hundred dollars a month. “I don’t bring home even half that,” I told her. “What am I going to do?” Panic rose in my chest. "What if I end up living in my Jeep?”

  “That wouldn't be so bad," Cece said. “It's cozy in there. Put in a TV, a lamp.”

  I couldn't even work up a mock sneer.

  “Don't worry, baby." She rested her forehead on mine. “Everythingʼll work out.”

  Yeah, I thought. Like my life so far.

  On Saturday morning Cece woke me by throwing herself on my lifeless form. “Get up. It’s moving day.”

  I groaned. Our midnight phone chats were recalibrating my internal clock.

  Cece said, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier.” She lifted the sheet and wriggled in beside me. “You’ll always have family now,” she murmured. “You're one of us.” She ran a finger down my cheek.

  “Cece, don’t do that," I cautioned, covering her finger with my hand. “You know what it does to me.”

  “Get out of there!” Kate shrieked, propelling me into the air. Cece, too.

  “We’re just talking,” Cece said.

  “I donʼt care. Get out.”

  Cece flung off the sheets and scrambled over me. “Come on, Holland. We're going down to the Center to check out their housing resources. Like I said, you have real family now." She nailed her mother with a look.

  I’d settle for any semblance of real.

  ***

  The Center was the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgendered Resource Center. It was an innocuous brick building located in a strip mall next to a Kinko’s copy shop. I wouldn't have noticed it at all if it hadn’t been for the rainbow flag. On the door were two signs: SAFE SPACE and LOVE SPOKEN HERE. I clung to Cece as we entered.

  A few people were gathered around a TV watching The Price Is Right and shouting, "Higher! Higher!" An older woman passed us on her way out and smiled a hell
o. Maybe I could live here, I thought. It feels welcoming.

  I let Cece do the talking. She explained my situation to the receptionist, who kept shaking his head and saying how sorry he was. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t need his sympathy; I needed a home.

  “Wait right here," he said. He shot out of his chair. “Donʼt move a muscle." Like I could.

  He raced around the corner and down a hall. A minute later he reappeared. “Go on in. Third door to your right." His phone rang and he answered out of breath, "GLBT Center. We’re glad you called. My name's Terry. How can I help?”

  A woman was waiting outside the office. “Hi, I’m Syd," she said, shaking our hands. "I’m the resource coordinator. Come on in, have a seat." She motioned us inside. “Terry told me what happened. I'm really sorry, Holland. You came to the right place.”

  Syd circled her desk and sat. “The Center has a housing program for street youths.”

  Street youths? God. I never thought I'd be a street youth.

  Syd got on the phone. It took her a while to find a place with an opening. Everywhere was full. There were even waiting lists, which should’ve made me feel better, less alone. But it didn’t. I just felt freaked. What if I ended up living on the street?

  Cece reached over and took my hand. It calmed me a little.

  “You do? Fantastic!" Syd held up an index finger. “Great. Thanks, William. I’m sending them right over." She hung up. “There's a vacancy at Taggert House. Here’s the address.” She scribbled on a pink message pad.

  “Do you want to talk to someone about this, Holland?" she asked, handing the page to me. “We have counselors here.”

  “I’m fine," I mumbled.

  “She's fine,” Cece echoed. “She has me to talk to.”

  Syd smiled. It felt warm, wonderful, that she knew we were a couple. She gave us driving directions to Taggert House and we left.

  When we pulled up at the building, I almost hurled. It was an old flea-bitten hotel downtown by the railroad tracks that had been converted to a shelter. A homeless shelter. Cece had to practically wrestle me out of the Jeep and drag me through the door.