The Sounds of Secrets

by Whitney Barbetti

  “I won’t,” I promised. My hands lightly held her back until she pulled away.

  “Bye, brave girl.” And after a wink, she was gone, leaving me and Samson alone.

  “Why didn’t he just call me?” I asked, turning and heading toward the pub with Sam trailing behind me. I resented the fact that my brother-in-law had sent his best mate after me, as if I was a child needing babysitting, on the eve of my solo trip to another country entirely.

  “Because he thought you might need to get out of B’s clutches, for one, and also he wanted to make sure you’d taxi back instead of walking.”

  I sighed, feeling embarrassed still, and annoyed that Sam was chauffeuring me back. “Is it busy or something at the pub?”

  “It’s busier than usual, actually.” He touched my shoulder to keep me from walking further as he hailed a cab. Since he was looking at the road and not at me, I took the opportunity to study him for a moment. His hair was nearly to his shoulders, thick and wavy in places, like he’d just left a chair at the salon. He was working on a beard that I’d initially hated, and now couldn’t imagine him without. Despite having let his natural brown hair grow out, he still had quite a bit of blond streaks throughout.

  His arm in the air, still hailing a taxi, was muscular—as was the rest of him—and standing next to him made me feel so very small—in size, not significance. Well, maybe that too.

  Sometimes, when left alone long enough for me to ponder thoughts that were probably irrational, I often thought of myself as an accident. Not just in the way my parents said it, how I was the baby they weren’t expecting. But as if I’d slipped through the cracks somehow, and the world had to carve a place for me.

  But Samson, he was here on purpose. He just had that look about him, meant to live the air provided for him, meant to bring joy to all of those he met, meant to just be here. It was probably why I felt that unreasonably strong pull toward him, and probably why he didn’t seem to reciprocate my feelings.

  He turned to me when the taxi pulled up and gave me the smile that made my stomach hurt. I looked away as he opened the door and did not shiver in the least when his hand went to the small of my back to guide me in first.

  In the small space in the back of the taxi, I felt even more insecure than I had standing on the street with him. At least on the street there was distance, air. In the cab, it was all Samson.

  He talked with the taxi driver for a moment before he turned to me with that big grin still plastered upon his face. “Bianca looks different, huh?” he asked, and my twisty stomach plummeted. It was always Bianca. Not with Samson, necessarily, but with any male who gave me attention.

  I looked out the window and suppressed a sigh. “Yes. Well, she’s working at that club, the 1304.”

  “Right.” He shifted on the seat, brushing against my side and I leaned harder against the door, hoping for some brief reprieve—any reprieve. “She got a boyfriend chasing after her?”

  “When doesn’t she?” I asked with little care in my voice. Bianca and I didn’t talk about our relationships. One, because I never had any—which wasn’t very interesting to her. And two, because she had so many that I could never keep up. Like I said, opposites.

  “Well, he’s got his hands full then.”

  I eyed him out of my periphery. “Why do you say that?”

  Sam looked instantly chastened. “Ah, well, I mean, she’s a great girl. Just…” he pursed his lips and motioned with his hands in the air. “You know.”

  “No. Explain, please.” I hadn’t meant to sound so uptight, but I knew I did. I tucked my hair behind my ear.

  “She’s just, you know, a lot of work.”

  Ah. There it was. Samson wasn’t cut out for work, especially when it came to his opposite gender. Another reason we’d never ever be anything more than somewhat-friends, but mostly-acquaintances. Because I knew that I was work. I wasn’t easy in any sense, especially with letting people in.

  “Some people are worth the work.” I hadn’t meant to say that. Sam’s company was dangerous. I found myself meeting him directly in the eyes, and being alone with him for the first time since I’d kissed him. The thought made my cheeks burn, so even though he and I had locked eyes, I had to immediately look away so he wouldn’t see my blush.

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  When the taxi pulled up to the pub, I grabbed a tenner from my purse, but Sam stopped me, pressing his hand over mine. I froze, feeling like a total idiot, completely incapable of reacting in a rational way in his presence. It was as if I had a guard up, but I was doing a poor job of protecting it.

  After paying the taxi driver, Sam turned to me and said, “Wait a sec, Lots.”

  The use of that nickname, combined with the earnest look in his eyes froze me again. I felt foolish, watching him exit the taxi and run around to my door. This wasn’t a date. Sam just did Ames a favor by picking me up.

  He held a hand out for me after opening up the door and I clasped it as I stepped out. Once again, his skin on mine was almost too much to reasonably bear.

  “Ready, yeah?” he asked as we walked toward the door.

  Because I was looking at him with question in my eyes, I missed seeing what was going on within the pub. “Ready for what?” I asked, a second before Sam opened the door and a dozen voices erupted from within. The sound was so startling that I leaned against Sam for only the briefest moments, not long enough for an inhale, but long enough for me to feel completely, utterly, moronically, safe.

  “Surprise!” Ames said, coming toward me with a cupcake in his hand.

  I looked between him and Sam, not able to take in the rest of the room, which was packed, wall to wall, with people. “What?”

  Mila, Ames’ fiancée, came up beside him and wrapped her arm around my waist. “You’re leaving, remember? You’re going to miss your birthday and everything, so we thought we’d throw you a birthday-slash-going away party.” She squeezed me, giving me some much-needed levity from being in Sam’s presence for so long. “Come on. I’ve got an American shot to start you off.”

  It sounded dangerous. Which was foolish, right? It was just a shot.

  Famous last words.

  Chapter Four

  “How many of those have you had now?” Sam asked, sidling up beside me at the bar. There must have been eighty people packed into the pub, shoulder to shoulder. While it had initially caused a brief moment of panic, being so surrounded, with the drinks Mila had made for me warming my stomach, I felt fine.

  “It’s a secret,” I told him, touching the top of the red, white, and blue shot and licking the droplet off my finger. “But I can confirm that I’ve not yet had enough.”

  “What’d she call that?” He nodded at the shot.

  “The Fourth of July shot.”

  He made a face and with a courage I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed him gently. “Don’t be a grump, Sam.”

  “It looks mildly dangerous.”

  “Well, it’s named after a holiday that’s celebrated with fireworks and barbecues, so it’s probably a little dangerous.” I tossed back the shot and gripped the edge of the bar, tipping my head backward as I swayed to the music. When I opened my eyes, Sam was staring at me. It was a lot easier to look at him when my nerves were numbed by alcohol. “Don’t look at me like that. Try one.”

  He gave me a small smile, his eyes steadily trained on me. I prided myself on not looking away. “If I do that, one might turn into two, and then three.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I pursed my lips and waved two fingers at Mila, who was busy behind the bar with Ames. “It’s delicious.” My lips curved like they didn’t even belong to me and I closed my eyes. This was the first time I didn’t feel like myself; I felt free. It was as if I hadn’t realized what was coming tomorrow until this moment, until I was surrounded by my family’s closest friends—knowing I didn’t have the studio to mind, no more brunches with Bianca, no more family obligations.

 
The guilt from that thought hit me like a bus. It turned out it wasn’t just my outward behavior that changed with this much alcohol, my thoughts did too.

  “That was a dramatic shift,” Sam said softly, and then put a hand on my shoulder, rubbing soothingly. “Your face went from serene to miserable in just a couple seconds.”

  I swallowed and looked for Ames, grateful to see he wasn’t within hearing distance. “I just realized this is the first time I’ll be away from this…”

  “And you’re going to miss it, of course.”

  I gave him what I was sure was a strange smile. “Yes, well, sure. But...” I twirled the straw in the water Sam had given me after I’d taken my second shot of the night. “But ever since my sister died, I’ve felt a little bit like I’m…” I swallowed my words, immediately regretting saying anything. I needed to be careful drinking like this, especially around him. My mouth opened and things I didn’t mean to say just tumbled out carelessly.

  Sam leaned on the bar, coming more into view, and this time, I swallowed hard. It was like he had a sobering effect on me, and I nervously searched out Mila, hoping she’d be bringing the alcohol by pronto.

  “You were saying?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. I was saying nothing.”

  Mila returned with the shots, which was layered with red, clear, then blue. Sam eyed it dubiously. “What’s this?” he asked Mila, sounding almost offended.

  “Grenadine, peach Schnapps, Blue Curacao.” She put a hand on her hip, the other braced on the bar. “Come on Sam, you draw nude women and you’re afraid of one ounce of alcohol?”

  My cheeks warmed. I’d never talked to Sam about his art, but I’d heard enough about it from everyone else around us that I’d never needed to actually see it.

  “I don’t only draw nude women, Mila.” He raised an eyebrow and picked up the shot. “In fact, I prefer to draw small pieces of the body itself. You can really get the detail that way.”

  “Ames says you’re good. I’d love to see some of your stuff.” I didn’t need to be jealous of Mila, and I wasn’t—well, not much. She had this natural effervescence about her. She was about my height, but looks-wise, she belonged in a different department. Her tousled brown hair covered her shoulders and though it looked like she’d spent an hour to make it as tousled and fun as it was, I knew it was just her. She didn’t have to put an effort in. And it wasn’t just her looks I occasionally envied, it was the charisma she possessed. Like Bianca, but she wasn’t overt about it. People just naturally gravitated toward her. Like my brother-in-law had gravitated to Mila.

  I knew people thought it was strange that I could be so accepting of my sister’s widower moving on, but—and this was why the guilt of feeling free from family obligation hit me so hard—Ames was an incredible man. The summer my mum and sister died should have split my family in half. But Ames, instead of leaving us, had stayed on—taking over the pub and running it when my father, torn apart by grief, couldn’t. Seeing him happy with Mila alleviated some of the guilt I always felt, knowing that even though he’d offered to stay on, we were still, in some ways, a burden for him.

  As if my thoughts alone had conjured him, he came saddling up to Mila, wrapping an arm around her waist. She leaned into him like second nature, and that’s when jealousy bit me. Not because they had that deep, on another level connection. But because I didn’t. I couldn’t ever be comfortable with someone like that. I glanced at Sam sideways, who was engaged in a conversation with them both, and immediately wondered what it’d be like to have something that was mine. Someone that looked at me like I was more than just skin to hold onto for a while.

  If I hadn’t been sure if leaving the country was a good idea, that moment cemented it. It was as if I was a character in a life that wasn’t really mine; without control, acting out a part that was pre-decided for me. And I was surrounded by people living an unrehearsed life.

  “What’s got you so distracted?”

  Mentally, I shook away my thoughts and turned to Sam, who was still holding the drink. “Are we going to do this?”

  I licked my lips. “You first,” I said, wanting the small pleasure of watching him take the shot.

  After he tossed it back, it felt as if the three of us were suspended, waiting for Sam’s verdict. “Okay,” he began, rubbing a thumb across his lower lip. “It’s not terrible.”

  “See?” Mila exclaimed, her eyes lit up. “Us Americans aren’t all bad.” She snatched up his empty shot glass. “You’ll see, Lotte.”

  I nodded and took my shot, handing it back to her before she and Ames walked away.

  “So, you really want to do this?”

  I turned to Sam. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long that I don’t remember what it felt like to not want to do it.”

  He blinked, and his whole face changed. Gone was his playful smile. “Yeah?” Even his voice sounded deeper.

  “Yeah.” I let out a breath and finally took a sip of water. “I’m ready to embrace whatever is out there for me.”

  He nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but a second later he shook his head and called out to Mila. “Two more.”

  I bit down on my lower lip to keep my smile from spreading. “Not totally awful then?”

  He shrugged. “It’s your last night before leaving. Why not? Speaking of which, what’s the plan? Ames had said a bit, but not much.”

  “I’m flying into Denver and then going to Salt Lake City after that. Well, Utah itself. But the person I’m meeting in Denver is going to Utah, so I’m tagging along to that.”

  “And do you know this person?”

  “He’s someone Mila knows—she vouched for him.”

  “Him?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Is that a good idea?”

  The shot turned bitter on my tongue. “I’m not a baby, Samson. I can take care of myself.”

  “I didn’t say you were a baby. But I admit some concern over this plan. What’s even over there for you? Why are you going?”

  “I don’t know what’s there, but I know what I’ve seen in photos—from researching for myself and from seeing the things Mila’s shown me.” I closed my eyes and could vividly see all the airborne photos she’d shown me, of sandy deserts and mountains that went on for ages. It was a sight I wouldn’t be able to see here. “I want to be in a place I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two about myself.”

  “And you’re going to do all of this with Mila’s … friend, or whatever he is?”

  “It’s safer for me to be in the company of someone than by myself,” I explained, “especially when this someone comes highly recommended by my future sister-in-law.” Saying it like that caused my brow to wrinkle. Considering she was marrying my brother-in-law, I didn’t think that made her my sister-in-law, but it was the only thing that made sense.

  “Sure, but Mila,” he looked down the bar at her as she carefully layered the shots. “You know, she’s well-traveled. She seems like she can handle herself.”

  “Really, Sam?” I asked, feeling like I’d forever be some kind of child in his eyes. “I’m twenty-four. I’m no baby, and I don’t need any babysitting.”

  Sam seemed taken aback by how sharply I spoke to him. “I never said that, Lotte.” It was so rare to hear him call me by my name. It was always “Lots” or “Lotte the hottie.” “I just meant…” He ran through his hair. “You’re, you know, sweet. You could break a lot of hearts, maybe the wrong hearts, by just being you.”

  It was the first time he’d ever said such a thing to me and it gave me pause. “Me? Break hearts?” I laughed. “Unlikely.”

  “What? You’re young, to them you’ve got an accent, and you’re,” he waved a hand in front of me, and almost seemed to trip over his words, “pretty.”

  I didn’t want to blush from the compliment and I was grateful for Mila’s interruption, handing us our shots with little fanfare before she moved back down the bar. “Well, you needn’t worry,” I said softly.r />
  “How do you figure?”

  “Because it’s never happened before, it’s unlikely to happen however long I’m in the States.”

  “What do you mean, ‘however long’? You’ve got your return plane ticket, don’t you?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t book a return flight home yet.”

  “Why not?” he looked … annoyed. Which did a strange thing to my stomach.

  “Because I wanted the freedom of choosing when to return home.”

  “You call that freedom.” He tossed back the shot. “I call that fear.”

  “How is that fear?” I tossed back my own shot, and Mila deposited two more before we could ask.

  “Because you’ve left it open-ended—meaning you could go home one week after arriving, if you wanted. If you purchased a ticket, say, three months from now, you’d have to commit to staying the entire duration.”

  “Yeah, well what if I hate it?” I challenged him. “It’s good to have a backup plan.”

  He laughed at me, which only further twisted up my insides. “I thought the studio was the backup plan? But then you sold it. Why’d you trade one backup plan for another? I thought you wanted an adventure. Not a holiday.”

  He was right, which was why anger curled around my words when I replied, “Why do you even care anyway? You don’t even know me. And besides, just ten minutes ago you were asking me if it was smart to travel with a man I don’t know across two states.”

  “I’m not saying to be reckless. I’m just saying, you think that not buying a plane ticket home gives you the freedom to choose—but it cages you in more. By not buying that return flight, you’re already giving space to what you’re leaving behind instead of embracing what’s in front of you.” He pushed the shot aside and moved my cup so that it smeared a line of sweat across the bar. “Think of it like it’s a race, right? If I told you there was no measure of ‘done’ for this race—you just did it until you were done, do you think you’d run a marathon, or just a few streets?”