Domestic Secrets

by Rosalind Noonan

  A foundation on the verge of crumbling.

  Snapping herself back to the conversation, Rachel was relieved to find that the topic had changed to prom.

  “Cooper is going with his girlfriend, and I’ve got to tell you, it’s not cheap. I was going to book the limo, but then Cooper told me they needed a party bus. An entire bus? Can you imagine? Cost me a damned fortune, but I don’t care.” Tootsie was nearly growling now, her voice low as a sleepy tiger’s.

  “Usually the guys chip in for that,” Rachel said. “I bet you’ll get reimbursed for most of it.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t need the money. Not as long as my boy’s happy, and he’s happy as a pig in shit these days. Absolute shit.”

  Rachel was aware that her client was beginning to sour, typical of the degeneration during Tootsie’s visits. She shot a look over to the next station, where Hilda was blowing out a young, pink-faced woman in the chair. A new mom who had left the baby with her mother to get a haircut, Irene had her eyes closed in meditation, and the noise of the dryer probably drowned out Tootsie’s nastiness.

  “Cooper’s got a girlfriend.” Tootsie let out a dry cackle. “A regular screw, is what my husband calls it.”

  “Come on, Toots. That’s no way to talk about a seventeen-year-old girl.” Especially a girl who’s like a daughter to me.

  “He’s joking. I think you know the girl. Remy . . . something or other. Indian girl.”

  “Native American,” Rachel corrected, despising Tootsie for the not-so-subtle put-down. “Remy is a doll. But then, her mom is my best friend in the world, so I’m a little prejudiced.”

  “Well, she’d better be worth it, because I’m sinking a boatload of money into her. We’re taking her on our family vacation this summer. Five weeks in Europe. England, France, Spain, and Italy. And some of those small countries that no one knows the names of.”

  “Sounds like a dream vacation,” Rachel said. The chance for Remy to see Europe was the only bright light in Tootsie’s brag. Rachel had known Remy and her sister, Cassie, since the girls were preschoolers. Many a summer day Ariel’s girls had splashed around in the kiddie pool with Rachel’s boys, and throughout the years there had been countless camping trips and sledding and hikes and picnics that drew their two families together. Rachel had always hoped that one of Ariel’s girls would end up with either KJ or Jared, but you couldn’t make that sort of thing happen.

  “I’ve never been to Europe,” Rachel said. “What’s your favorite spot there? Like, if you could only go to one place.”

  “I don’t know. A bunch of tourist traps, if you ask me. It was Cooper’s pick, and it’s his graduation trip. But first we have to get through graduation and prom.” Tootsie finished her goblet of wine, leaving her lips moist and drooping open. “Who’s your boy taking to prom? You have a senior, right?”

  Rachel nodded, taken aback by Tootsie’s sudden interest. In all the years that she had cut Tootsie’s hair, she’d rarely fielded a personal question from the maven of mean. “Jared.” Honestly, how could Tootsie not know his name? He was in Gleetime with Cooper. “I’m not sure he’s going to prom.”

  “No girlfriend?”

  “I’m just not sure he’s interested in all the hoopla of prom.”

  “That’s right, he’s in theater. That type.”

  “He’s in theater, but he likes girls.” Rachel had blurted it out before she could stop herself, but she was not going to let the likes of Tootsie Dover start rumors about her son.

  Tootsie covered her wet lips as she snorted, a lame attempt at a laugh. “Now don’t go getting all defensive, Mom. I just know that theater crowd answers to a different drummer. Bohemian types.”

  “Right,” Rachel said flatly, glad that she was finished applying the color. She couldn’t stomach much more of Tootsie Dover. “You’re good for now. Let’s give the color twenty or thirty minutes to set.”

  “And I’ll take another glass of wine while I’m waiting.”

  “Okay.” Rachel took the goblet into the kitchen and poured another glass of wine cut with water.

  “Oh, my God, are you watering that down?” Tiffani rolled her eyes. “That’s hysterical.”

  Rachel didn’t find it funny at all. “It’s called limiting your liability. This client has a history of DUI.” She couldn’t bear to think that she might be contributing to Tootsie’s intoxication, especially since the woman would slither out of here and slide behind the wheel of the big-ass SUV that had replaced the Mercedes she had totaled a few years ago when she’d slammed into a parked car. Fortunately, no one had been injured in the crash.

  “Yeah, well, she needs to own up, be responsible for herself,” Tiffani said, running the zipper on her black leather vest up and down. At twenty-four, Tiffani Delgado was the youngest stylist, and she still held tight to that know-it-all smugness of youth.

  “In a perfect world, she would,” Rachel agreed.

  “You know . . .” Tiffani hoisted herself onto the counter, the butt of her jeans inches from a platter of cookies ready to go out front. “We should stop serving the wine and get a latte machine. That would get more young people in here. It’s only the old ladies who drink that cheap wine.”

  “Maybe next year. Unless you want to buy the machine, and operate it. For now, if people want fancy coffees, they can go to the café two doors down. Now take those cookies out to the waiting area, please. Thank you.”

  Striding from the kitchen with the goblet held high as a gauntlet, Rachel contemplated telling Tootsie about Jared’s new girlfriend. How she would love to rub that hot news in, grind her heel over it.

  But it was too early, premature news. Rachel didn’t even know who the girl was, only that she existed. And they were involved. Sexually involved. The disappearing condoms and his dirty laundry didn’t lie. Granted, it had been a sporadic thing over the past few months, but whatever the circumstances, Rachel was thrilled.

  Rachel handed over the wine along with three recent People magazines, then turned away and chuckled to herself as she took her pots of dye to the sink for rinsing. Some mothers of teens would have been horrified to learn that their kid was having sex. She sort of got that. But since it was such a natural, healthy part of life, she was glad to know her seventeen-year-old son had finally jumped that hurdle. She knew that Jared had longed for a girlfriend since junior high, when he had confided in his cocky older brother for advice. That hadn’t gone so well. One afternoon Rachel had overheard KJ laughing at his brother for using Oreo cookies as an entrée to conversation. “Really?” KJ had scoffed. “You couldn’t think of anything better than sharing your cookies?”

  Sweet, kind Jared. He wasn’t confident and popular like his brother, and he was not a star athlete. After a few frightening bullying incidents during junior varsity football he had dropped out of sports and fallen into a geeky group of male friends who spent weekends doing online gaming and probably smoking weed. That part she couldn’t be sure of, as the get-togethers rarely happened at their tiny house. But Jared kept his grades up and sparkled onstage, so Rachel never found any reason to complain.

  He was still as uncommunicative as ever—typical teenage boy—but his confidence had risen and just the other day she’d caught him smiling for no reason. Whoever she was, that girl had put her son in a perennial good mood. Oh, he had a girlfriend, all right, and Rachel was tickled pink.

  Jared had even started talking about going to college in nearby Portland next year, wanting to be close to home. Rachel didn’t want to pressure him to do that, but secretly she was jumping for joy at the prospect of having one of her boys nearby for the occasional lunch or dinner. And he could come home to do laundry. It would help her stave off the empty nest for a while.

  She cleaned up the sink, then went to the desk to spell their receptionist, Kit, who wanted to run out for a slice.

  While she was going through her appointment book, three girls, all bright eyes and long hair, came into the shop and made their wa
y to the desk.

  “We need appointments for prom,” said the tallest, a brunette. “The last week in May?”

  “Timbergrove?” When the girls nodded, Rachel leafed through the book and added, “My son is a senior there. Jared Whalen?”

  “Oh. Jared’s my friend,” said the medium-sized girl. She had cinnamon-colored hair that fell in curls around her face, and green eyes that reminded Rachel of a summer lake.

  Could she be the one? Jared’s secret girlfriend?

  “He draws me pictures in AP Stats.”

  Rachel smiled, careful not to overplay her enthusiasm. Her sons had taught her that teens did not go for the zip-a-dee-doo-dah parents. “I don’t know how you kids survive those math classes.” She scheduled appointments for the three girls, making a note of the cinnamon girl’s name, Aubrey Sweeney.

  Probably not Jared’s girl, she thought as the teens left the shop. Really, what were the chances of that? Still, she thanked God for Jared’s mystery girl.

  She was left wondering if Jared was planning to go to prom with his new girlfriend. He had never attended a school dance; he didn’t know all the steps and rituals. What would they need to plan in advance? Transportation. Well, if they were sharing a limo, arrangements would have to be made, as limo services booked up months before prom. On the other hand, Jared could drive his own rust bucket, or else borrow Rachel’s car.

  Of course, Rachel could trim his hair, but he would need to rent a tux. And flowers. No problem. Rachel had a client who worked at the florist on Maple Street. Wendy would cut her a deal.

  Maybe she was getting ahead of herself, but she would need to press Jared for an answer, since he was turning eighteen the day before prom. If he wasn’t going to the dance, he definitely deserved a bit of private celebration.

  The image of her son’s smiling face lifted Rachel’s mood as she answered the phone and booked a few appointments for the other gals. Prom or no prom, this girl made Jared happy. And with time, KJ would find his moral center again, life beyond football. Everything was going to be just fine.

  Chapter 2

  Just across the square, in the small bridal shop called Stardust Dreams, nineteen-year-old Cassie Alexander sat on the large, puffy, white leather bench shaped like a flat mushroom, waiting for her sister to try on gowns. Although prom was more than a month away, the search for dresses was on.

  “Can I get you something?” asked the clerk, a brutally thin woman with big square teeth that reminded Cassie of a documentary she had seen on herbivores. “Some water or tea?”

  “No, thanks.” Cassie knew she didn’t deserve a drink when they wouldn’t be buying any of these pricey dresses. And she could feel the clerk’s disapproval, which was typical. Women in their forties who worked in shops usually expected only one thing of young shoppers in their teens and early twenties: shoplifting. Of course, Cassie would never, ever, and she wouldn’t allow Remy to go there, either. But the whole dynamic made shopping really suck. Looking down, she picked at the peeling cuticle on her thumb and willed the woman to go away.

  It didn’t work, because the woman walked past her and tapped gently on the louvered dressing room door. “How’s it going in there? Can I give you a hand with something?”

  Like what? Tuck in bra straps or labels? Cassie squinted up at the woman. What moron couldn’t dress herself?

  “I’m fine,” Remy answered.

  “My name is Shanna if you need me.”

  Cassie felt her level of annoyance ease as Shanna whisked herself out of the dressing room to the front of the store. “Let’s get out of here,” Cassie told her sister. “You know these dresses are too expensive, and that Shanna sucks the air out of the room.”

  “She’s just doing her job.” The door popped open and Remy lifted a hand, draping herself in the stall doorway. “This is the perfect dress.” The dress was a striation of color, moving from emerald to a vivid moss green; it complimented Remy’s golden-brown skin and dark hair. Remy did a runway turn to show the back of the dress, then faced the mirrored wall and took a selfie. “I’m feelin’ this one, Cass.”

  “It’s nice,” Cassie conceded, moving into Remy’s mirror shot to check the price. “Three seventy-five.” She dropped the tag as if it burned her hand. “Not gonna happen.”

  Remy didn’t seem to hear. She moved away, twirling, so that the hem of the gown billowed open like an upside-down tulip. A rare green tulip. “But I love this one.” Her voice was soft and joyous, so in the moment.

  Cassie could think of a million responses: You can’t love an inanimate object. You’ll only be wearing it a few hours. It’ll be ruined once you start dancing and break into a sweat. And most of all, it’s too expensive. Most girls had their moms in the dressing room to tell them these things, but Ariel Alexander had given up the reins of the family long ago, sometime between closing herself into her bedroom to grieve over her husband and scrambling to step up her business as a voice teacher so that she could earn enough to buy groceries for the family.

  “It’s really beautiful,” Cassie admitted, “but you can find something as nice for a third of the price.” It was a little annoying that Remy kicked ass in every dress she tried. Remy had inherited Mom’s petite but ripe body and exotic Native American beauty. Her silken black hair looked fabulous with every dress in the shop.

  Cassie, on the other hand, had been cursed with their father’s gene pool, something Russian or Yugoslavian; Mom wasn’t sure about it. Cassie knew she would probably never see her dad again, and she really didn’t care, except that she wished he had given her more than broad shoulders and a horsey body and curly hair that looked ridiculous on her huge head. Thanks for the gift of ugly, Dad. Paul Alexander had left for Alaska to work on the pipeline when Cassie was five, and apart from two late Christmas cards, Cassie had never heard from him again.

  Her memories of those times were a little spotty, though she could still picture herself tending to her sister, holding Remy’s hand to keep her from straying in the mall, comforting her in the car when Mom was inside a store. Always the big sister, Cassie had known that she needed to take care of Remy because little Rem was a baby and Mom was . . . distracted. A few years later, Ariel married Oliver Ward, a local firefighter, and Cassie quickly learned what it was like to have a father. Ariel got pregnant, and the family grew with Trevor and Maisy. Oliver had been totally in love with Mom, and he’d brought their family some security. He didn’t mind “holding down the fort” while Mom went to LA for walk-on roles and auditions. He seemed to get a charge out of seeing her on TV. Those were good times; sometimes Cassie kicked herself for not appreciating what she had back then. Oliver had freed Cassie of the burden of worry and let her have a childhood. Unfortunately, that had ended when Oliver died four years ago.

  “Can we go now?” Cassie asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She wanted to help her sister find a dress—she’d gotten up early and driven home from college just for that purpose—but they were kidding themselves to think they would find anything here. “I know a nice thrift shop on Hawthorne,” she said, trying to make the prospect sound irresistible.

  “Just let me finish trying on what I have here,” Remy said. Although Remy sounded reasonable, Cassie knew it was just a stall tactic. Like maybe, if Cassie stared at that gorgeous green dress long enough, she might cave.

  Nope.

  “So what is Cooper wearing?” Cassie asked. “The classic black tux?”

  “I don’t know.” Remy’s voice was slightly muffled by the door. “And I don’t care.”

  “Wow. That’s a little cold. You two have a fight?”

  “Not really.” The door popped open and she emerged in an indigo dress with crystals sewn into the sheer bodice. Another heavenly dress, though it had a tuft of fabric that draped in the back like a tail. “I love the front.” Remy held up her cell phone and smiled for a photo. The varied shades of blue bleeding from indigo to turquoise hinted of distant, exotic seas. “But what’s t
hat weird thing in the back?”

  “Is it a train?” Cassie tried to unravel the fabric and realized that it was just part of the skirt that had torn away. “It’s damaged,” she said. “I hope they don’t think you did this.”

  “Calm down. It’s probably something that can be fixed.” Remy smoothed the ridge of the fabric along the waistline, holding it into place. “If this part weren’t ripped, I would love it.”

  Cassie loved the price. “Seventy-five dollars, as is. So I guess they know the dress is damaged.”

  “But I bet I can fix it. Mom can help me. She has that experience sewing costumes.” Remy twirled in the sparkly dress, her face bright with enthusiasm.

  “So let’s get it.”

  “I’ve just got two more to try,” Remy said, shutting herself into the dressing room.

  With a groan, Cassie collapsed back onto the giant white dumpling. “So what’s the deal with Cooper, anyway? Did he do something to annoy you?”

  “It’s just that . . . I don’t know. I don’t think it’s working out for us. We probably won’t end up going to prom together.”

  “What?” Cassie sat up straighter. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m going to break up with him. Soon.”

  “You are kidding me.”

  “I wish. Don’t say anything.”

  “Obviously,” Cassie agreed, thinking that Cooper shouldn’t be the last to know. “But wait. If you’re not going to prom with Cooper, why are we shopping for a dress?”

  “Because it’s my senior prom.” Remy’s voice was pinched with annoyance. “I’m not going to miss that.”

  “But we don’t have that kind of money.” This opened a whole new can of worms. Cassie began to calculate costs in her head. “You’ll have to pay for the prom ticket and dinner and flowers. And you need to pitch in for a limo. Oh my God, Remy. We can’t afford that.”

  “I will figure it out.”