Our Little Secret

by Roz Nay

  “She won’t need to,” said Mom, sucking an olive off the stick in her drink. “She can live with me, and I can help her bring her life around.”

  “It’s HP I want to bring around, Mom,” I said. “Can we just leave it?”

  A look of hurt passed over Mom’s face, and I immediately regretted my tone.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Mom’s been great, Freddy. We’ve been in a sorority all week, haven’t we, Mom? I’ve learned endless things about ballroom dancing.”

  “It’s been lovely, darling.” She put her olive stick down carefully. “But honestly, I can help you set yourself straight, maybe even fix things for good with the Parkers—even if there was a bedroom incident.”

  “A bedroom incident?” Freddy’s head tilted.

  “Mom, that’s private!” I’d tried hard to keep the facts of my dismissal from HP’s house to myself, but in a weaker moment I’d let Mom in on it. Part of me needed help: I needed her to pull me out of the quicksand and tell me I hadn’t ruined everything.

  Freddy looked straight at me, like I was an old joke.

  “You know what?” I pushed my drink away. “I don’t really feel like parading my private life around for all to see, thank you, Mother. It’s really none of your business. Nor is it yours.” I tipped my chin upward at Freddy.

  “Absolutely. Absolutely right. Apologies,” Freddy said.

  “Yes, dear,” Mom echoed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Your secrets are not mine to tell. Now let’s just get past this and move on.” She eyed Freddy meaningfully in a way I did not like.

  The waiter drifted within waving distance, and Freddy took the opportunity to change the subject. “I’m a bit peckish. Would either of you ladies like a spot of food?” He pulled a menu from the center of the table and scanned the appetizers. I could see his brow creasing. “We could order here and have them bring it up to our room.”

  My mouth felt clammy. I was trying to get Freddy’s attention, but he wouldn’t look up from the menu. He flourished a hand at the waiter, who came over and took Freddy’s order of oysters and foie gras.

  We went back up to our suite and ate on the silk couch, watching the sunset over the Charles River. I picked at my food, my headache thumping. Foie gras seemed wrong to me—a spread made from the choked, force-fed geese of France. I pictured them with hoses jammed down their throats, and felt guilty on their behalf. Had I been that pushy, that unkind? All of a sudden there was something horribly relatable about them.

  The afternoon had blurred into evening; soon it would be time to go to bed.

  “So where are you sleeping, Frederick?” Mom asked, pinching skin on the back of her hand and then pressing it flat.

  “I’m not sure we’ve decided. But the master bedroom is that one.…” He gestured to a set of closed white doors and strained to pop the cork out of a fresh bottle of Krug Brut Vintage. “Feel free to freshen up.” He handed Mom her champagne.

  “Oh, I’m perfectly fresh, thank you.”

  “Most likely I’ll sleep on the couch,” Freddy said after a pause. “You girls can take the bedrooms.”

  “That’s fine,” my mother breezed. “Whatever suits best.”

  Freddy sat down beside Mom and me as we watched the sun dip behind the embankment. Its globe glittered away to nothingness, leaving only scurrying people on the riverbank, oblivious to the insignificance of their lives. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t hold back my tears.

  “Angela, good heavens, you’re upset!” Freddy said, hunching low to get a good look at me. “What on earth’s the matter?” He put his arm around my shoulders, and it spilled out of me then, my worst, deepest fear. I couldn’t help it.

  “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

  He laughed as if I were making a joke.

  “I think I might have something serious, like a personality disorder.”

  Freddy shifted deeper into the couch cushion, squashing me down. “Well, that’s no biggie,” he said. “Haven’t we all.”

  “Angela, you’re … fine. You’re doing just fine,” my mother said. “You were too involved, you know, too vulnerable, and Saskia was never an ally. Not from day one. She was jealous, wasn’t she, Freddy? She was, and she set you up. But, sweetheart, this too shall pass. Maybe now you can finally…”

  “Move on?” Freddy offered.

  “Yes,” my mom said. “Freddy’s absolutely right.”

  I paused, letting their words sink in. I looked from Freddy’s face to Mom’s, and what I saw there was new and unfamiliar. Their eyebrows arched with the same concern. Had they always had these expressions? Was it just that I’d never looked properly?

  “I’ve been thinking the past few days about the choices I’ve made lately, and … I’m scared. I don’t know how else to put it.” My nose ran and I wiped it with the back of my sleeve. Freddy pulled his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his blazer and passed it to me.

  “Are you talking about sleeping with HP?” he said. “Because if you ask me, it’s totally understandable. A mistake, for sure. But now you’ve got it out of your system.”

  “We didn’t sleep together. He doesn’t even want me. Probably never did. Oh, God, I’m such an idiot.” I thought for a moment about the rich luxury of HP’s sheets, the quiet of the house before it all went wrong. Pressure built at my temples like heat.

  “You are not an idiot. You’re my girl,” Mom said, running a hand over my hair and tucking a strand behind my ear.

  I thumped my thigh with a clenched fist. “I need it to stop. I can’t live like this anymore—obsessed with all the wrong things. Why can’t I be like everyone else, just living a normal life?”

  Mom took my hand, even though it was damp with misery. “You’re all worked up. You need to calm down.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, Mom, there is no calm! I need help. I’ve got spiders in my brain and they won’t stop crawling.”

  “Okay, let’s not panic,” Freddy said. “I mean, how many webs can a spider weave? Now you realize something new about yourself. So that’s good. And … And I’m right here.” He clasped me to him.

  “You’re not helping. It’s not just about HP. It’s about a family I found a place in.” Freddy looked at my mother, and something passed between them that I couldn’t quite catch. “It’s about HP and Olive, being part of their lives. That’s over now. Gone.”

  “I can see this is upsetting.” Freddy tapped his forefinger against his lip. “How can we help sort this out for you?”

  “I’m just a tragic sad sack, pining after someone who doesn’t want me my whole life. It’s turned me into something I’m not.”

  Mom shifted like the sofa was prickly. “Just try to be a bit kinder to yourself, darling,” she said.

  “I’m tired.” I blew my nose loudly. “I’m tired of chasing the wrong things.”

  “You are being a little bit dramatic,” Freddy said. “And very defeatist. You haven’t turned into something you’re not.”

  “Olive thinks I’m the witch in the story.”

  “Olive’s five. She thinks monsters live under the bed,” Mom said.

  “But she’s right. I’ve wanted to hurt Saskia. I’ve wanted her gone.”

  Freddy bit his lip. “I see,” he said. “Perhaps when you get to that level, it might be considered a bit…”

  “Obsessive,” my mother said. “But, darling, I thought you’d gotten all your serious hate out years ago. Those manifestations you wrote, all that anger put into a jar…”

  Freddy leaned in close to my neck, still holding his champagne glass. “Do you want me to have Saskia killed? I really don’t like her, either. What a cow.” He pressed the base of the flute against his knee so the crystal rotated, catching new light. “I’ve got all manner of contacts—all of them ex-military-contractor types.”

  “What, contract killers?”

  “I could have her dead by tomorrow, around midday,” he said. “Say the word—they’ll send me her head
in a fancy hatbox. I’ll make a few calls on my hotline. Your mum can help out, right, take care of the sordid details?” He winked at Mom, then at me.

  “Of course I could,” Mom chimed. “Anything for my precious, exceptional daughter.”

  I rested my chin on my fist. “You’d really do that? For me?”

  “My dear, I should have hired a sniper for their wedding,” Freddy said, chuckling. Then he snapped his fingers in disappointment. “Bugger it, that was a chance missed.”

  Mom giggled at that.

  “You could have hired me. I’d have done it for free,” I said, and that got us all roaring. We laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Freddy was the first to calm down. He refilled his glass and took a gulp. “Well, at least we’ve had a good chuckle. And we’ve solved one problem. Quite often with these things you have to name it to tame it.”

  Mom nodded. We sat quietly for a moment, everything turning somber again.

  “You mustn’t worry, sweetheart,” Mom said. “We’re here for you. We’ll take care of everything. You leave it to us.”

  “We love you, Ange. We’re both in your corner. And believe me, we’re excellent people to have on your team.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  When Tate comes back in, he hangs by the door and stares at me for a few seconds before he speaks. He takes off his tie and hangs it on the back of his chair.

  “We’re in trouble,” he says.

  I’m so tired I might cry.

  “They found Saskia’s body about an hour ago. She’s drowned. That’s the only thing they told me.” Tate clears his throat. “I’m sorry to be the one to pass that on.”

  I can’t get another clear thought, so I nod like I’m listening but my brain’s sucking in on itself like mud in a geyser. Every time I inhale, the walls pull closer.

  “Let’s prepare ourselves now, Angela. Novak’s coming for you, and we need to be ready.”

  I’m trying to steady my head, but I’ve been holding back the truth. I haven’t told a soul. It’s sitting at every edge of me now, ready to spill out: all these hours in this room and I never said once that it was Freddy and Mom who came up with the plan.

  * * *

  “Angela, the only way to exorcise these demons of yours is to take them on full force. Attack from the front. You need action.” Freddy thumped one fist into the other. “You need to take charge.”

  The three of us were still sitting on that couch in Boston, watching the dying light.

  “Let’s wipe out this poisonous chapter,” Mom added. “All it takes is letting go. We’ll bury the past, start over, and throw the entire book into the fire.” Her eyes glittered. “Everything will be better after that.”

  “That’s right,” Freddy echoed, straightening his blazer. “Let the whole sorry thing go. Move on. Begin afresh. All of us.” His sentences punched out like military coordinates. What was I to do but go along with it? Even talking about Saskia and the swirl she’d caused inside me was helpful—admitting to Freddy and Mom that my brain had grown crusty and unwell was like handing over a sickness to be cured. I was no longer alone in the labyrinth. I had allies. Whatever we did together would be our little secret.

  Freddy organized every last detail, including contacting Saskia and inviting her to Elbow Lake to meet up with me. Thursday night was warm. Mom and I drove out to the lake in her car, the windows down as we sped along past the liquor store and north to the highway. There was heat left over from the day, like memory, beating upward from the asphalt.

  “Now, make sure you go through with it,” she shouted over the Les Misérables CD she’d insisted on bringing, the woman’s song strident and mournful. “Remember everything we’ve told you about fixing the problem once and for all.”

  I stretched my right hand out the open window, letting the air current push my flat palm up and down.

  “All I’m going to do once I’m there is stand lookout, darling, just to make sure nothing goes wrong.” She glanced sharply at the clock on the dash. “Freddy should be there by now, with Saskia.”

  We reached the track down to Elbow Lake, Mom’s car bumping over the rutted grass to the shoreline. She parked fifty feet from the dock, and I could see Saskia standing alone down there, feathery and delicate in the evening sun. She was wearing a light gray top that billowed behind her like a sail.

  “How are we feeling?” Freddy strode toward Mom and me as we got out of the car and shut the doors. He was rubbing his hands together like we were about to eat a feast. “Angela? Are you up for this?”

  My heart fluttered, mothy and condemned.

  “In these situations”—he put a solid arm around me—“it’s best not to overthink it. Just get in there and do what has to be done.”

  “It’s the only way to feel better and move on,” Mom said, flanking me on the other side.

  Freddy lifted his chin at Saskia. “She spoke all the way here about her need to resolve things. It’s an entirely open door.”

  Saskia waved from the dock, her hand uncertain. I couldn’t wave back. I yanked my neck out of Freddy’s hug.

  “I can’t do this,” I said.

  “I think you’ll find you can,” said Freddy. “You’ll never get a better chance than this one.”

  “You can end this, Angela,” Mom said.

  The two of them gripped my hands, walking me down to the dock. As we got nearer to Saskia, I could see her face, pale and strained but hopeful. After all this time, she still believed the world was a nice place. The wood of the dock was grainy, the nails rusted darker and deeper. I took two steps on the ramp while Mom and Freddy stood behind me on the last of the shore. When I turned back, they were waiting with their arms crossed.

  “Go on.” Mom flicked her fingers at me like this was normal, a necessary tearing apart that parents ought to encourage. My mouth was dry as ashes. Saskia stood only ten feet from me, her thin arms wrapped around her ribs. Every now and then, she moved strands of golden hair from where the wind whipped them against her mouth. She didn’t speak to me, but when she took a step toward me along the dock, I froze. Mom was wrong. I couldn’t do this, it was insane.

  I turned my back on Saskia and ran down the ramp onto the shore, past my mother and Freddy. I made it all the way to my mother’s car before they caught up with me.

  “What are you doing?” Freddy said, breathing hard. “This isn’t the plan.”

  “I can’t go through with it, Freddy. This isn’t me.” Overhead a bird cried out, shrieking and lonely, making me jump.

  “You’ll regret this later,” Mom said, one arm propped against the side of the car. “You’ll wish you’d been more proactive.”

  “No, Mom. I won’t. I’m going home.”

  “Not in my car, you’re not,” Mom started, but Freddy put his hand on hers.

  “Shelley, I think Angela’s reached her limit. The best thing we can do now, as members of her team—” He paused for emphasis. “—is to see this through for her.”

  Mom looked from Freddy to Saskia and back again. “What—us?”

  “I think that’s for the best. Let your daughter go home.” He opened the driver’s door of Mom’s car and helped me into the seat. “Angela, you drive safely back to your mother’s house. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll explain everything to Saskia, won’t we, Shelley?”

  Mom nodded, although her neck muscles were taut. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

  “Off you go now.” Freddy slammed the door. “Everything will be fine after tonight.” He smiled, but his teeth looked odd.

  As I bumped my way back up the grass to the road, theatrical music blaring, I saw Mom and Freddy walking down to the dock, talking close to each other’s faces. Freddy now had his arm around Mom. The rearview mirror bounced their reflections wildly, but the last I saw of them both—of my mother and Freddy—was them stepping onto the ramp. Freddy’s arms extended toward Saskia, and he was just about to reach her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


  The clock is ticking past five p.m. Novak holds the door for someone, and with a jolt of relief I realize my mother is behind him. She flitters by the doorway, her movements birdlike and skittish. I clamber out of my chair and run to her, hug her tight.

  “Mom,” I say. “Are you all right?”

  She opens her mouth to answer but nothing comes out, and when she looks at me her eyes are watery and moribund like the trout at the Saturday morning city markets she used to take me to as a child. Hugging her is like holding a cold pole.

  “Why?” Mom’s voice barely registers enough sound to shape syllables. “Why did you do it?”

  Mom sobs now, a sound like she might be drowning. She drapes herself into the chair opposite Tate. I return to my seat, my arms limp by my sides, shock filling me.

  No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

  Sitting down in the only other chair at the table, Novak places himself next to my mother. “Saskia Parker is dead.” He watches me for a reaction. I give none. Across the table, Mom’s breaths are swift and rickety, and then she collapses, crying into her hands.

  Is she for real? Why is she doing this to me?

  “We have of course notified her next of kin.” Novak’s words sound automated; he’s studying more than he’s speaking. “You don’t seem surprised to hear of her death, Angela.”

  I can’t tell what’s inside my head and what’s outside of it. Everything’s radio fuzz. Why isn’t Mom yelling at him, defending me? How can she do this?

  “Do you know what happens to a body that’s been submerged in water for close to forty-eight hours? Can you picture it? We thought perhaps you’d like to tell your mother what you did. Hence the family reunion.”

  Mom looks up, her eyes drilling into mine.

  “Mom,” I say, “why are you looking at me like that? Say something!”

  “How, Angela? How could you?” she asks. “How?” And then it’s more tears.

  Novak steps in. “According to your mother’s statement, you very recently referred to yourself as ‘having become something you are not’ and said there were ‘spiders’ on the inside of your head. Is that true?”