Our Little Secret

by Roz Nay

  I said nothing.

  “It’s eight months abroad, Angela. Eight months that will set you up for the rest of your life. After that, you can have it all.” Her eyes shone.

  “I don’t want it all.”

  “You’re beautiful and gifted, darling.” She swept hair from her brow. “You’ll be opening doorways you can walk through with whoever you want. HP, for instance, would be a lovely choice. Nobody’s disputing that. But Oxford? You absolutely must go.”

  “There’s no backing out now,” my dad said, wringing the back of his neck with one hand. “I’ve called in a favor and done all this groundwork. It’ll be very humiliating.” His toes pointed inward in his worn-out slippers.

  I was beginning to stand up to my mom, but my father was harder to defy. His good intentions held all of his own life’s ruin. Arguing with him was like picking a fight with a limping dog.

  Right then our phone rang and I swiped it from the wall, plugging my other ear and hunching over.

  “Gray Eyes?” It was HP’s voice, deep and rich. I turned so that Mom couldn’t see me. “Meet me in ten minutes outside your house.”

  “But I can’t; I haven’t even—”

  “Do it later. We’ll sleep when we’re dead!”

  I hurried out, as Dad’s and Mom’s eyes tracked me in disbelief.

  When I think about that morning now, Detective Novak, I wish I’d said more, done more to defend my own future. Because if you don’t protect that, who’s going to do it for you? Oxford University, England, was never my pick; and yet it forged pathways going forward that crept and thickened like vines. I’m not saying I know what’s happened to Saskia, Detective, but I do know this: She only exists at all because of me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Novak’s let me talk with hardly an interruption, allowing me my forum, my monologue. I didn’t expect him to stick to that deal. From time to time he’s glanced up when I paused, but as soon as I speak again his focus returns to the page, where he’s carried on scribbling with his dented pen. Now, though, he stops me. He’s making a bid for the reins.

  “So there’s no doubt, then. It is a love story.” Novak sticks his middle finger into his ear and twists it like he might dislodge something serious. Perhaps it explains his inability to listen properly.

  I grab the bottle of water he brought me and crack the lid, drinking thirstily. “Like I said, Detective Novak, what love story ends in a police station interview room?”

  “You’d be surprised.” He buttons his suit jacket. “What about Romeo and Juliet? I heard that doesn’t end well.”

  “Not for the lovers.”

  “Are you saying Saskia’s dead?” he asks.

  We lock eyes. Everything’s a game with this guy. The words aren’t out of my mouth before he’s jumping on them, turning them into something that suits his little checklist. I’m telling him what happened—as much as I know of it. But guys like him want a story they’ve heard before and they only ask questions if they already know the answers.

  “What makes you think Saskia’s Juliet?” I ask.

  He clicks the end of his ballpoint pen in and out, in and out.

  “What about Jane Eyre? Do you like that novel, Angela?”

  My stomach tightens. He’s been in my room; he’s seen my bedside table. How else could he know to ask about that book? Novak’s a guy who is good at watching and copying. But you know what? I’m good at watching, too. I can spot a fake. He hasn’t read the classics, and for all Novak’s studied meticulousness, there’s toothpaste on his tie, smudged, like he rubbed at it with his thumb on the drive to work.

  He steeples his fingers like a church spire. “Angela, are you the crazy one? Have you been locked away in the attic all these years?”

  “In Jane Eyre it’s the wife who’s crazy and burns the whole house down, Detective. I’ve never been anybody’s wife.”

  He scribbles notes while I sit with my arms crossed.

  “Carry on.” He reels his forefinger at me as if winding invisible thread and then reaches down into a briefcase he’s had at his feet all morning. It’s almost two o’clock. He pulls out a pear and something wrapped in waxed paper and places them gently on the table in front of me. Within the folds of the paper is a sandwich with the crusts cut off. Some kind of fish paste lingers in the stagnant air. He slices up the pear with a pocketknife and offers a sliver to me.

  “No appetite?”

  “You’d better write that down in my file.”

  “You seem a little agitated. Would you like to tell me why that is?”

  “I don’t know why I’m here!” I hadn’t meant to shout it. I take a deep breath. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I mean—am I in trouble or am I just helping you? Jesus, have you seriously searched my house?”

  He rubs his hands together like he’s watching television and this is his favorite bit.

  “We brought you in under PC—probable cause. At this point, we’re just talking and you’re not the only one we’ve brought in. You’re not charged with anything.”

  “So I can leave?”

  He takes a silver pocket watch out of the breast pocket of his suit. How pretentious. He flips the silver lid open, then snaps it closed again. “Let’s say you can leave in roughly eighteen hours.”

  I cover my face with my hands.

  “Keep going with your … story.”

  “What is it you want to know?”

  He sighs. “Let’s talk a little more about Saskia. You know her quite well, don’t you? Despite the fact that you’re talking about everyone except her?”

  I look up at him, my face hard.

  “I mean, it says here you shared a residence in Cove with both her and HP recently, and for several weeks. Can you confirm that? Your name isn’t on the title of the house. His is.”

  “Yes. I shared a house with HP.”

  “I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind that. You graduated eight years ago, so you’re twenty-six—am I getting that right? And you do have your own address in town?”

  I nod. “My parents owned a small house—I mean, an extra one. They had two places. I was living in the smaller one for the past six years or so, but my parents got divorced recently, so my mother moved in with me.”

  “Does your father still live in Cove?”

  “Nope. After the divorce, my dad sold our old family home and took off for the coast to get away from my mother’s endless judgment. He lives in Maine now and says he’s finally writing a book. I doubt that’s true; and even if it is, it’ll be a book about something ancient that not many people are interested in. I don’t really know how he’s doing. He calls every so often to see if I’m okay.”

  “Are you?”

  “More okay than he is.”

  Novak licks his thumb and forefinger. “So while your mother moves into the smaller house, you move into Mr. Parker’s?”

  “HP offered me his spare room so I could have some space until my mom felt better. She can be high maintenance. Have you met her yet?”

  “So yesterday, when Saskia disappeared…” He looks up. “Where were you?”

  “Like I already told the other cops, I was home last night. With my mom. Detective Novak, I really don’t think Saskia’s even missing. She’s probably staged this whole thing to get attention.”

  “What is it about Saskia that makes you feel competitive?” One of his eyebrows sits higher than the other.

  I stop myself, breathe. “She’s a fake. She lies about everything. I knew it the minute I met her.”

  He stretches luxuriously. “I see. So tell me a little bit more about all that.”

  My shoulders slump forward and I cover my face with my hands again. It’s impossible to finish a conversation with this guy. After a few seconds I look up. “Is HP here? Do you have him in one of these rooms?”

  “We’re speaking with several people. And we think you’re protecting somebody. If you’re not telling us everything, you put yourself in a dangerous
position. Have you considered that?”

  I reach over and grab a slice of his pear, shoving it into my mouth sideways and speaking while I chew. “You know what I think has happened? Saskia’s probably lying low, licking her wounds.”

  His eyes narrow. “What wounds? Is she unhappy? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Define happiness.” I grab another glossy crescent of pear and drop it into my mouth.

  Novak sits back. “I’d rather you defined her unhappiness for me. Why might she have felt wounded, Angela?” He crosses his arms, marking the end of his input. For now, it’s back to me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What Detective Novak will never understand is that I know what real happiness looks like. I lived it with HP that summer, and the memories are burned into my mind.

  We’d spend entire days together at the lake—him on the Tarzan swing while I read a novel in oversized sunglasses. He’d drop me at home for dinner, much to my mom’s delight, and then show up again in an hour and we’d go for a drive in his truck to the lake, or head up to the old mill site to make out. Every time a new movie came to town we sat together near the front, like couples did, while Ezra threw popcorn at us from the back row. We slept all night in his truck a bunch of times, even when I had curfew. We’d wake early, our noses cool, and burrow down under his man blanket until the sun seared us out into the day. We were inseparable.

  Each weekend, there were pit parties out on Old Creek Road where our classmates drank from kegs, hanging out on truck tailgates. I’d turn up late and strain to find HP in the crowd, but when I saw him my body relaxed. I can’t stand parties: I don’t like the chaos. Lacy turned up to every one of those gatherings, too, desperately pivoting a toe in the dirt on the periphery of all conversation, just biding her time until HP had drunk enough beers that she could squirm into his ear with various propositions.

  “She’s a goddamn train wreck,” Ezra said as we sat on a rock at the end of summer, watching HP unwrap Lacy from his waist for the tenth time. “It’s so hot.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I murmured, but I took the cigarette he passed me.

  Ezra put his arm around my neck. “You have so much to learn about guys.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Ez, it’s a one-page manual.”

  I was bluffing. My summer with HP was filled with new discoveries. Every day I got closer to him, swam deeper, so much so that by the end of August I felt like I was breathing at the bottom of a warm ocean, looking up at the surface where all I used to do was paddle. I didn’t want it to end, but like a hangnail snagging at the very back of my mind were my college plans for fall. I hadn’t been able to turn Oxford down—I couldn’t do it to my father. And as Mom kept pointing out, the family reputation was at stake. Besides, she was right about one thing: I wanted to get out of my parents’ house and our rinky-dink town, even if I still couldn’t imagine leaving without HP. How would I manage without him for eight months? At night in my own bed, I lay awake blinking at shadows. I hadn’t found a way to tell him.

  HP joined us on the rock, shaking his head as he sat down. “Lacy’s the Terminator.”

  “I dig that level of desperation in a girl.” Ezra nodded. “I was just teaching LJ what guys want.”

  To the left of us on the dirt road someone poured kerosene onto a pile of twigs and threw in a lit match. The bonfire thumped into flame to a chorus of cheers.

  “I think she knows what we want.” HP pulled me toward him.

  “You two should just get married and get it over with.” Ezra stubbed out his cigarette near my thigh. “Do us all a favor.”

  “I’m totally in if you are.” HP grinned at me, kissing the side of my neck. I nodded but my shoulders were tight, and HP sensed it. “What’s up with you, John?”

  “These parties are all the same. The music’s the same, the drinks are the same, and nobody has anything interesting to talk about.” I scratched at a bump of moss on the rock. “Summer’s curling at the edges. Everyone should just get the hell out of here.”

  Both boys looked sideways at each other.

  “Okay … I’m down with leaving. Say the word.” HP stood up and dusted off his jeans. “Or … is that not what you mean? What’s up with you tonight? You’re … spiky.”

  “I’m bored.”

  Ezra took a lazy drag of a fresh cigarette. “Bullshit. You’re mad about something. I know girls.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” HP said quietly. “Unless it’s me you’re mad at.”

  “It’s not.” I rolled the dead moss off the rock and looked up. “Can you drive me home?”

  We parked in my parents’ driveway. As HP switched off the stereo, he asked, “Is it something I did?”

  I stared at my hands. “HP, I don’t know what to say.”

  There was a tapping at my passenger window and I glanced up to see my mother standing beside my door in her dressing gown. She’d recently brushed her hair. As she gestured for me to wind down the window, I turned toward HP.

  “Just start the engine!” I hissed. “Reverse!”

  “Why?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t…”

  She rapped on the window again, this time using her knuckles.

  “Just roll down the window,” said HP. “She’ll put her fist through my glass if you don’t.”

  I stared into my mom’s face. She was a tidal wave, waiting to pour into the truck and fill up the space until we drowned. I held my breath and rolled down the window.

  “Honey! I heard you two pull up and I just thought I’d come out and wish HP good luck.”

  “Good luck with what, Mrs. P?” His demeanor was so calm. He hunched forward over the steering wheel, resting his chin on it.

  “We’ll be seeing a lot less of you for a while, I guess, because Angela won’t be here. And about that—I just wanted to say that even if she’s not around, you can still come over anytime and visit with me.”

  I stared straight at HP, whose face was a blank white sheet of paper, cut by moonlight.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Mrs. P.” He turned to me. “Roll that back up.” He twisted the key in the ignition and threw the truck into reverse, leaving my mom standing in the driveway in her pom-pom slippers.

  I should have told him earlier, maybe before the party, but I just hadn’t found the right moment. He drove up the block to his house, which I wasn’t expecting. He banged the door when he got out, and in two strides he was over by the old birch tree. I watched from the passenger seat as he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and slid his back down the bark of the trunk. After a minute I joined him. His house was dark except for one light still on in his parents’ bedroom. Mrs. Parker always stayed up reading while her husband slept. HP and I sat in silence until he trod his flip-flop on top of mine.

  “So, you’re going somewhere?” he said.

  My heart thumped. “I got into college. I leave next week. I was going to tell you. That’s why I wasn’t into the party. I was…”

  He looked at me hard and then shook his head, laughing. “How far a drive, LJ? Or is it the community college in town?”

  “England. Oxford University.”

  He put one hand flat on the top of his hood and pulled it forward a few inches. Then he rubbed his face like he was washing it with soap. “When did you find out?”

  “After grad weekend.”

  “Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice sounded small. I felt desperate to hug him, to go lie down in his truck.

  “I’m sorry. It’s my parents. I don’t want to go.”

  “Don’t, then. Don’t go.”

  I put my hand on his arm, but he wouldn’t look at me. “Can you come with me?”

  The sound he made was sharp. “I don’t think I’m Oxford material.”

  I looked down at my toes, curled them into my sandals.

  “And you know I’ve got my own things going on. I’ve got the apprenticeship and I’m coaching the senior swim
team.” He pulled his hood farther down his face. “I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes. The light in his parents’ bedroom went out. When HP finally spoke again, his voice was softer.

  “Look, it’s good for you to go. You deserve it and … and you’ll do well, I’m sure.” He stood up and touched me on the top of the head.

  I was fighting back tears, like a kid on the first day of kindergarten.

  “So you’ll have a blast. And it’s only eight months. Jolly old England. Next time, tell me the truth, though, hey. And give me a bit of warning.”

  “But you don’t get it. I’m only good when you’re around. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

  “I’ll be here when you get back.” He smiled. “It’s not like I’m leaving town.”

  “Could you at least come visit?”

  “Maybe. I’d need to save up. But, hey, maybe.” An idea struck him and he brightened. “In the spring when coaching’s done…” He counted off commitments on his fingers. “I’m sure my old man would give me a few weeks in April. Will you still be there? We could make it work.” He held out his hand to me. His palm was dry and smooth when I took it.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “I’ll try. And maybe Ez will come with me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  As we neared my old gray house, I said, “While I’m gone, don’t hang out with my mother.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry. The woman has fangs.”

  I laughed out loud, even through my tears. “Thank you,” I said.

  I’d never loved him more.

  * * *

  “What do you mean it was none of my business?” my mother said in the morning, her steel-cut oatmeal cooling beside her. “I was inviting him to stay close to us as a family while you’re gone. Can’t you see it’s going to be hard for him? Or do you only ever think of yourself?”

  I slumped forward on the breakfast bar. “I’m still not sure about going.”

  “Angela.” She picked up her spoon and stirred the thick breakfast mush. “Sometimes we all have to do things in life that we find unsavory. Necessary things. I’m sorry you feel so stricken about HP, but I assure you he’ll wait. You’re a Petitjean. Girls like us aren’t a dime a dozen, you know.”