That Secret You Keep

by Brenda Benny

  Inside my head, I hear the rewind sound from an old cassette tape player.

  “Wait. My dad? What do you mean my dad?”

  Her eyes flash up to mine, and there’s an apology there. “I mean Mr. Bauer – Jonathan. I was seeing him in therapy.”

  “Jonathan?” I shake my head like I’ve heard incorrectly. “But, he never told me…” Of course he never told me! He’d never be allowed to divulge that kind of information.

  “I never told him about you. I didn’t even know he was your dad until the holiday concert.” She shakes her head, her voice insistent on convincing me.

  The concert. The night I tried to introduce her to my dads: the night that she ran. Slowly, the events of these last few months come into focus like an optical illusion transforming into something recognizable.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I press.

  But, I already know the answer to this one – the result of being a therapist’s son. If you don’t want anyone to know you’re holding such a painful secret, you certainly aren’t going to broadcast that you’re in therapy.

  She’s chewing her cheek now. “I’m so sorry, Max. I know I’ve acted crazy.” She visibly winces on the last word.

  “Serena,” I exhale her name with a desperate sigh, like an incantation said to bring about magical transformations in this fairy tale setting. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I wish you would have trusted me with this.”

  The thing is – I can see that she doesn’t even trust herself with this secret.

  “Serena, look at me.”

  She doesn’t at first, but I reach out for her hand and hold it in mine. Finally, she turns to meet my gaze.

  “It was an accident. You said a terrible thing to your mom, in a really bad moment. We’ve all said horrible, shitty things to our parents at one time, or another. But, for some awful reason, the universe decided to have some idiot steal your mom away from you, just then.”

  There are tears rolling down her cheeks, as she cries silently.

  “It’s unfair. It’s futile. But, it is most definitely not your fault. You can’t let this secret hold you hostage any longer.” I use both my thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks. So desperately I want to kiss her.

  “Max… I just… I didn’t hate her. I didn’t.”

  Her eyes are deep, wide ebony pools ringed by chocolate, peering up at me. I put my arms around her, and it feels like such a relief when I pull her head against my chest. It’s like a gasping breath, surfacing, after being submerged in her gaze.

  “You loved her,” I say.

  “I do,” she replies.

  Her tears are soaking my shirt, as her entire body convulses with release.

  I say what I truly wish for her, but know it’s ultimately a promise I can’t make. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  I clutch her tightly, now. She fits so perfectly, wrapped in my arms. I want to hold her like this forever.

  Chapter 18

  Serena

  Max led me to a discreet patch of grass near one of the less popular venues, tucked behind some bushes, where we sat quietly in the sun. I curled up in his arms, there, my head resting against his chest, listening to the steadfast rhythm of his heart: still the same reliable beat – just like Max had always been for me. The last thing I remembered was the brush of his fingers against my hair before I must have drifted off.

  “Hey,” he whispers.

  I blink repeatedly through a murky film, as though I’m looking through a dirty windshield. I feel dazed and befuddled. I have a brief anxious moment before I hear kids, squealing in the distance, and the music from a well known animated film I vaguely recognize. I sit bolt upright, then, with the sudden awareness of where I am.

  “What time is it?” I manage through dry lips.

  My head throbs, and it feels like I’m emerging from a weeklong fever. Max smooths his hand along my back in a calming gesture.

  “We’ll need to leave soon if you’re going to make it. Do you think you can manage the performance today?”

  I rub my eyes with the heel of my palms, trying to clear both my head and my vision. Max passes me an iced tea, and I wonder, fleetingly, where he got it from, but am only too eager to gulp half of it down.

  I let out a sigh, my elbow on my knee, and my head falling to rest in my hand. “I’m not sure I have a choice,” I say.

  “You always have a choice,” he replies with a steely gaze, as though referencing an entirely different conversation.

  I nod, reaching out my other hand to grasp his, and interlacing our fingers. I don’t look away from him, wanting him to know that I do choose him.

  “Let’s go, then,” I say.

  I’m not one hundred percent ready to go onstage yet. Luckily, I’ve had a lot of experience performing mechanically, moving through my life, as though under the influence of a dream. After my mom died, there were vast lapses of time I still can’t account for. I don’t remember coming home from Spain, at all. And the spring and summer after we returned? I couldn’t even tell you what the weather was like at that time in Vancouver. Sunny? Rainy? I have no clue.

  It feels like that same obscurity folds over me now, blanketing my sight like the early morning fog over English Bay at home. But as we take a bus to the theatre, Max’s arm around my shoulders feels like the warmth of the morning sun working to burn away the haziness my brain still feels trapped beneath.

  Once we arrive, I find myself, at least, moving in an upright position, eventually walking onstage with our group. And, although it’s hard to even remember what happens out there, I don’t fall apart – which, let’s face it, was a genuine possibility after my total meltdown with Max.

  For a long time onstage, I feel like I’m confined behind a thick plastic window – a barrier that deadens the sounds and dulls the colours, separating me from the true experience of it all. But by the last number, when I look over to Max and see his wide grin, so steadfast and proud, I finally feel the barrier fall away. I also realize that I am only falling deeper now – that, all this time, I’ve still been in love with him.

  Something happens, then. It’s not huge. Maybe others don’t even notice. Yet, it’s something that hasn’t happened in such a long while. I finally feel it: that spiritual buoyancy, that intense feeling of unity, like I’m connecting with every other person in the room. My skin tingles with it, and my chest swells, making it feel as though I can sing the notes more powerfully than ever before. That feeling sticks with me, long after I leave the stage.

  During the awards dinner that evening, I feel closer to my friends than I have in a long time, laughing and leaping to our feet to cheer on our vocal group’s second place finish.

  I’m talking with Marianna and Lucy, who are proudly wearing the orchestra’s Best in Class medals around their necks, when Max looks over from where he’s standing with Hayden. Our smiles mirror one another. Max begins to head my way, the green ribbon from his medal hanging out of his back pocket as he approaches.

  “Ready to go?” he asks, reaching down to entwine his fingers with mine.

  I grin down at this renewed connection between us.

  “Sure. Let me just grab Vanessa, first,” I say, giving his fingers a squeeze.

  When I look over my shoulder, though, I see Vanessa surrounded by girls from another school. They’re chattering away with one another, hands and fingers fluttering quickly through the air, like ruffled feathers in their animated conversation. She really hit a high note on stage today – pun intended – and people took notice. With her confidence and self-assurance, she fully embodied her vocal role, and totally nailed it. I was so pleased for her. I catch her eye, only for a moment, and she grins back at me – for real this time. All in a rush, I feel that genuine closeness we used to have with one another, where we’re able to convey something wordlessly across the room with only the twitch of a cheek muscle.

  “Wow,” I mouth to her, seeing the crowd, and smile in return. I lift my p
hone to take a picture of the pack around her, and she beams in response, paparazzi-worship being the highest measure of praise in her books.

  I turn back to Max, but before I can say anything, Mrs. Alonso appears at my side.

  “Miss Santos.” She greets me with a small bow, palms pressed together.

  “Mrs. Alonso,” I address her, surprise colouring my voice.

  “It was lovely to see you connect with that depth of feeling and commitment onstage today. By the end of the performance, you ultimately seemed to reach the heart of it.” She tips her head forward as she references our discussion last week after rehearsal.

  She continues on in a confidential tone, “Maybe next time, be more cautious of over-rehearsing, though. You need to take care of those vocal cords, my dear. They’re a priceless family heirloom, you know.”

  My voice was tired and raspy from all the yelling and crying earlier, and I was really straining to maintain solid notes. Certainly from a technical standpoint, it wasn’t all that great: I was just okay.

  “It’s good to have you back.” Mrs. Alonso smiles.

  She glances down at my hand, which remains clasped together with Max’s.

  “Mr. O’Sullivan.” she nods to Max with a conspiratorial smirk before turning away from us.

  Max’s eyebrows lift, and then he leans in to me.

  “I believe we’ve been found out,” he whispers dramatically, and I laugh.

  He squeezes my hand tighter, and I want to kiss him. But I decide this amount of PDA is all I can manage, in light of the numerous curious eyebrows writhing across the foreheads of my friends.

  Hayden breaks from Boris and some of the other performers to approach us. I notice that, unlike some of the other recipients, he’s not brandishing his medal.

  “Congratulations on your Outstanding Vocalist award,” I say to him.

  He looks at me with a small, knowing smile. It’s the first time I can remember that he’s not scowling in my direction.

  “Thanks,” he says, simply.

  Max looks towards Hayden inquiringly. “You coming out tonight?”

  “Not sure yet,” Hayden replies. Just then, his phone pings. He looks down at it and grins. “Looks like I might be hanging out with a new friend, instead. I trust the two of you will enjoy your own company?” He winks at Max.

  Max is laughing already. “A new friend? Really? He wouldn’t happen to be the adventurous type, would he?”

  Now, Vanessa, Emily, Malik, and several others are crowding in behind Hayden.

  “Are we headed to the parade and fireworks together?” Vanessa asks.

  Hayden’s head jerks around, surprised by her voice. Smoothly, he moves away, tipping his chin to Max in departure. Despite the feeling of closeness the night has spawned in all of us, Vanessa and Hayden’s tolerance for one another hasn’t changed at all.

  “Make sure he doesn’t send a stunt double!” Max calls out to Hayden, and I see Hayden’s middle finger cast in the air as he disappears through the auditorium doors.

  We’re on our way as well, the group already moving towards the exit like a slowly growing virus, attracting more bodies as we go.

  The air feels cooler than earlier, and there are slate grey clouds obscuring the stars in the night sky. It obviously rained at some point while we were inside, and it’s hard to tell if it’s going to start up again.

  We climb on the buses, and soon arrive with the mob-like crowd of visitors who have come for the nightly shows. Once inside the gates, our friends decide to vie for a prime spot near the castle to see both the parade and fireworks. But as we negotiate a path through the thousands of people already gathering on the main street, the walk ahead feels like a marathon distance to me. I’m utterly exhausted. I don’t know if I’m up to standing around to watch a parade, no matter how fabulous it’s supposed to be. Max holds my hand as I lean into him for both physical and emotional support, straining to stay upright.

  He looks at me with curiosity, and then leans down to ask quietly, “How set are you on seeing this parade with everyone else?”

  “That depends. How keen are you to carry me back?”

  He laughs at that. “I know where we can go to perch and relax,” he says with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

  We tell the others we’re taking a detour, and that we’ll text to meet up with them later. Vanessa shoots me a glance that suggests she doesn’t believe that for a minute.

  A light rain starts, creating rivers of rushing bodies that hold curious souvenir items over their heads as they seek shelter. It’s nothing that fazes a couple of kids from the West Coast, though, so we keep walking. I have no idea where we’re going, so I let Max lead me, only hoping to rest my legs soon. We pass over a waterway, and turn a corner beside an old saloon-type restaurant.

  And then I see it. It’s an enormous, dark leafy tree, with a trunk like something out of the old growth forest of Cathedral Grove on Vancouver Island. A series of labyrinthine, roped, plank walkways encircle it like a boa constrictor all the way up. There are multiple platforms and structures hidden beneath the branches: tree houses.

  My eyes shift from the mammoth structure to Max. He’s wearing a grin that rivals the width of the branches ahead of us.

  “What is it?” I ask, trying to figure out what kind of attraction it could be.

  “Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse,” he answers, his eyebrows lifting in humour.

  I immediately remember his story from that night at his house: the tree house themed room, his fascination with the movie.

  “Oh my God!” I’m barely containing my laughter, now. “Max, it’s like the mother ship calling you home!”

  “I know!” he says, laughing with me, and then pulls me by the hand. “Come on, let’s go up!”

  When we enter through the covered walkway, I notice there are hardly any other people at this attraction, and certainly no lineup. I’m thinking how unusual this is when I hear loud bell ringing music in the distance, and notice a cascade of hurrying visitors headed towards the centre of the park’s grounds. The parade must have begun, and it seems the tree house is off the main route.

  Lanterns light our way, as we traverse a bridge over a river, and see a complex conveyor system lifting pails of water high into the treetop. We pass a family crest with a red Swiss cross on the tree trunk, and begin to climb the Escher-like stairways. We stop at a small platform, and lean our elbows against the railing. There, we watch a giant water wheel turn, and listen to the soothing sounds of water trickle through the succession of paddles. The sound of moving water drowns out the busy human voices in the park, transporting us somewhere altogether different. We could be in Max’s backyard after a rainfall.

  The rain has left behind that pungent, earthy scent that summons memories of cold winter rain finally turning warmer: visions of thick, yellow rain coats, and heavy, red rubber boots, jumping into puddles. It reminds me of walking through the trails near our house with my mom – the deep, rich smell of undergrowth beginning to push through during the first warm spring days each year.

  “Can you smell the worms?” I ask Max, closing my eyes, briefly, to breathe it in.

  “The worms?” He looks at me strangely.

  “After the rain stops. You can always smell the worms that have been forced out of their dark holes. It’s like their shelter has been invaded, and they need to come out of hiding. It smells like… new beginnings.”

  He tilts his head, as though unable to completely agree with me.

  “New beginnings? For who? The worms, or the birds that are going to eat them?” he asks, motioning towards several black birds, perched in a sparsely leafed tree lit by lantern lights below. It immediately conjures the black, ravenous birds from my dreams.

  “Yeah, I guess. The early bird gets the worm. The circle of life, I suppose.” I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore. The smell and the birds mix my dreams and memories all together into a murky concoction. “Do you know what they call a
group of ravens?” I ask reflexively, still staring in the direction of the black birds. I’m not even sure they are ravens – maybe crows?

  “Wait,” Max says, sounding confused. “Are you telling a joke?”

  I shake my head in response, biting back my smile.

  “Okay. What, then?”

  “An ‘unkindness’,” I reply.

  Max nods his head slowly, chewing on his lip.

  “Interesting.” He cocks his ear in their direction. “Their loud screeching sounds like they’re belittling one another,” he comments, and then continues on, “It looks like a high school clique up there. I wonder if one of them might be related to Vanessa?”

  A laugh bursts from my mouth before I can feel guilty about its complicity. Of course, Max doesn’t know what Vanessa has been going through these past few months. That’s her story to tell, and she needs to decide when, and with whom, she’s ready to share it. Still, it makes me think of how cruel high school can be – and how unkind we can be to one another.

  We continue up more flights of stairs until there’s a cordoned-off sitting area with china dishes on the shelves, a table and chairs, and an organ cranking out a winey tune.

  “How do you know that, anyway?” he wonders aloud, examining the exhibit in front of us like he’s judging its authenticity.

  “Study guide for the SAT’s,” I reply flatly: the result of weeks of solitude.

  “Of course,” he responds.

  The rain has subsided, but still, there aren’t many people in this area of the park. Max has stopped looking at the display in front of us, and I can feel his gaze settle on my face like the blooming warmth of a sunrise.

  “You were good out there today,” he says.

  I look over at him with what I can only assume to be an incredulous expression.

  “No, really,” he maintains, “I agree with Mrs. Alonso. It was like your soul took a deep breath onstage for the first time in ages.”

  I shrug unconvincingly, but say what it felt like, regardless. Max has that effect on me. Beside that, I’m tired of hiding. “It felt different today. It was like I could sense my mom’s spirit inside of me,” I begin before starting to climb further. Max follows. “For the first time that I can remember, it was her voice urging me on, instead of the hateful squawking voices that have cluttered my head with taunting accusations all these months.”