Domestic Secrets

by Rosalind Noonan

  “I want to meet him,” Remy said. “Why don’t you bring him home?”

  “Please. Ariel can be so emasculating.”

  “Ooh. Big college words.”

  “You know what I mean, Boo.”

  “I’m just trying to get you to come home. Don’t you miss Timbergrove?”

  “Not really. I miss you guys, but I feel like I belong here.” She hadn’t felt that way for all of freshman year, and last summer she could not wait to get back to Timbergrove. But now, with Andrew, things had shifted. “This is my home now.”

  “Aw. You’re all grown up, Cass. You’ve flown the coop.”

  “Sort of. But I worry about you guys.” She constantly felt the tug of home; those kids were her responsibility. They needed her, or at least that was what she felt in her heart. Andrew kept reminding her, in the sweetest way, that Trevor and Maisy were not her children, not her responsibility. “You have a life here at college,” he always told her. “This is where you need to be now.”

  “We’re fine,” Remy said, pulling Cassie’s attention back to the conversation. “But wait—you have to come home for graduation. You could make that a long weekend.”

  “Definitely.” Cassie opened her laptop and clicked on the offering of summer classes at Oregon State. “So what are you planning to do this summer?”

  “Now that the Europe trip is off, I got my job back at the theater camp.”

  “Awesome. Believe me, the cash will come in handy next year at school.” Cassie had gotten used to being perennially broke. “So when’s prom?”

  “Friday. Which reminds me. I have to go over to Malika’s. Lady Leeks is loaning me some shoes.”

  “Okay. We’ll talk more later.” Cassie ended the call, put her dish in the sink, and headed out to the living room where her roommate grunted as she lifted her suitcase off a scale. Apparently, the weight limits were strict on international flights. “How’s it going?”

  “My bag is overstuffed. All these clothing, I can’t fit them in my suitcase. Do you want them?” Amelie pointed to stacks of folded clothes on the worn denim couch. There were knit cotton sweaters in delicate shades of pink and oyster gray, and a pile of denim skirts and jeans.

  Cassie held an orange-and-black Oregon State hoodie to her chin. “Some of these will work for me. Otherwise I’ll ask around or take them to Goodwill.”

  Just then piggy Maya breezed through wearing shorts and a push-up bra. “You giving out stuff for free, girl?”

  “Yeah, and you should wrap yourself in one of these before Keisha’s father comes back for another load.” Cassie tossed the sweatshirt at her. “Unless you’re planning to do a pole dance out by the carport.”

  Amelie bit back a grin.

  Maya cast the sweatshirt on the sofa but picked up a black T-shirt with a white graphic skull on it. “This is more my style.”

  “You can have it,” Amelie said.

  “Thanks. I’m gonna miss you guys,” she said, throwing her arms around Cassie for a hug.

  The feeling was hardly mutual, but at least Maya would be gone soon. She had flunked out but planned to move into her boyfriend Jessie’s house June first. She would stay there until she sucked the life out of that boy . . . or got kicked out by his roommates. Amelie would fly home to Denmark tonight, and Keisha was transferring to Portland State. Her father and brother were hauling out loads of her stuff.

  “Things are going to be different around here,” Cassie said.

  “I’m so depressed! I don’t deal well with change,” Maya lamented as she tugged on the skull shirt and tromped into her room.

  Cassie and Amelie watched her go.

  “She doesn’t deal well with much of anything,” Amelie observed. They laughed, and then hugged.

  “Denmark seems so far away,” Cassie said.

  “We’ll Skype. And you come visit me.”

  Keisha came in with her father. “Good thing we brought the trailer. The car is packed to the gills.”

  As Mr. Williams carried out a bulletin board, Cassie realized that her mother had never been in this house. She’d never picked her up or dropped her off for school. Even freshman year, Ariel had been busy with some gig and had Rachel Whalen drive Cassie down to Corvallis and move her into the dorm.

  So why the hell did she feel obligated to go back to Timbergrove and get caught in Mom’s crazy orbit? Andrew was her center now. Her life was here at OSU.

  Ariel would have to figure out how to mother the rest of her children on her own. Cassie was going to spend the summer investing in herself.

  She went back into the kitchen, opened her laptop, and found the three classes she’d bookmarked. Social Problems and 3-D Art. She couldn’t take any essential nursing classes, but two electives would work. She clicked on the box to sign up for the classes. Done. She would go home for the weekend of graduation in June. Other than that, she had flown the coop for good.

  That night Rachel tried to tamp down her excitement as she tugged open the door of the menswear shop and waded into the displays of sweaters, ties, and patent-leather shoes. Jared moved warily behind her, reminding her of the days when he had waded into the ocean behind her, lingering in her path to avoid crustaceans and seaweed that tumbled in on the waves.

  She longed to take him by the hand and tell him not to be afraid, that this was a wonderful moment he would look back on with a smile. But, he was about to turn eighteen; he was no longer a second grader playing in the surf.

  “Hey, there.” A young man with close-cut hair and a big bow tie stepped out from behind a display. “What can I help you with this evening?”

  She turned to Jared, giving him a chance to speak for himself. “Prom,” he said in that shorthand of youth. “Need to rent a tux.”

  “You’re in the right spot.” The bow-tie dude led them over to the formals section, where mannequins in tuxedoes and morning suits took up much of the real estate. Jared muttered short answers to the clerk’s series of questions.

  Rachel wished her son could loosen up and enjoy the moment. These were supposed to be good times.

  “So when’s prom?” the man asked as he swiped a finger over an iPad.

  “Friday,” Jared said.

  “The day after his birthday,” Rachel put in with a flare of pride. “He’s turning eighteen.”

  “Oh, yeah? Happy birthday. So what color is your date’s dress?” the salesman asked.

  Jared shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  She let out a huff of breath. Why was he being so coy about this? “Well, I do. It’s in shades of blue. Indigo, royal blue, teal, and turquoise.” Weeks ago, Rachel had seen a photo on Remy’s phone. “Honey, you need to pay attention to these things.”

  “Whatever.” Jared turned to the dude in the bow tie. “I want a classic tux. Black with white shirt and black tie.”

  “Perfect. Why don’t you step over here and I’ll measure you.”

  Jared skulked over to the spot, then grimaced when the man asked him to stand up straight.

  Rachel decided to spare him some of the agony of planning. “I’m going to cut over to the florist down the street to order the corsage. Should I get a matching boutonniere, or do you think she’s ordering it?”

  “I don’t know.” Jared didn’t make eye contact as he slipped on a sample jacket. “Whatever people do.”

  Bowtie grinned. “He’s not sweating the details, Mom.”

  “No, he’s not.” Rachel stole one last look at her son being fitted, and then headed out.

  A few doors down at the flower shop, Wendy showed her a sample of the roses she could choose from. Full blooms or baby roses?

  Seeing the tight, petite buds restored her excitement. Remy was a tiny thing; these would suit her well.

  Just as Jared did.

  “And it just went on like that, the sales guy asking questions and talking up the merchandise, and Jared answering uncomfortably,” Rachel said, recalling the evening over coffee with Mike the next day. “I’m
telling you, he couldn’t wait to escape.”

  “I’m with Jared. I don’t go in for dressing up. All those collars and ties that are supposed to be a certain way.” Mike nodded as he chewed a piece of bagel. “Sounds like appropriate guy behavior.”

  “It’s prom—his first and only—with a girl he’s crazy about. I was dying to take photos. And he was just dying.”

  “Yeah, it’s a guy thing.” Mike chuckled. “Nice of you to refrain from taking a video. When is the high school prom?”

  “Friday. Nothing like the last minute. And on Thursday Jared turns eighteen. Can you believe it? Talk about timing. But the celebration for that will have to wait until this hoopla dies down.” She snorted. “If he had his way, I think he’d opt out of any celebration at all. That kid is so low-key, sometimes I want to check for a pulse.”

  He nodded, watching as the door of the shop opened behind her and new customers came in—a mom and her two kids. His gaze eased, relaxed, as the threat of danger dissolved. More than protective instinct, his cautiousness was enmeshed with his profession; it was a quality she found very attractive. When she was in Mike’s arms, she felt safe from the world, safe from her own demons, too.

  “So, I’m glad to see someone else has Tuesday off,” he said.

  “Woo-hoo. Big Tuesday.”

  “Got any plans?”

  “I’m going to try and get horizontal.” She grinned, realizing it sounded like an invitation, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “I’ve got some long days scheduled between now and Friday. Lots of girls coming in for highlights and trims for the big night. The shop will be like one wild hen party, and I love it that way. But today’s a quiet day. How about you? What’s on your schedule?”

  “Got some yard work to do. Mowing and trimming.”

  “Do you like yard work?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a necessary evil.”

  “I could help you.”

  When he smiled, crinkly lines formed at the outer edges of his eyes. Those eyes—summer blue—she could stare into them forever. “Do you like gardening?”

  “I’ve got a black thumb. But I wasn’t talking about the yard work.” Her resolve fluttered a bit, faltering, but she plunged ahead. “I’m wearing new underwear.” She saw the lump on his neck move as he swallowed. “Little wisp of nothing. Next to nothing.”

  He swallowed again. “Sounds like something I should check out.”

  “I think so. Due diligence.”

  “I should be power-washing my deck, but . . . what the hell. Any excuse to get out of yard work.”

  Sleepless nights were taking their toll. Ariel had tried every remedy she could think of: hemorrhoid cream to clear up the puffiness under her eyes, a greenish face cream to take the pink out of her skin, and a case of Visine for her burning red eyeballs.

  Tracing a line with eye pencil, she faced the mirror and recited the lines she had memorized from the partial script the producer had sent her by email. “You don’t understand. They were making fun of my daughter. Laughing at her. Treating her like dirt. And I won’t have it,” she rasped, snarling into the mirror.

  Scary. The script was a little too close to life, and she wasn’t so sure she wanted her next big role on television to be a suburban shrew. Still . . . this part would be her ticket out of here.

  Thank God this was just a video chat. Her agent had set up the preliminary meeting for a role in a new TV pilot, but this was just the look-see before the go-see. She would need to be on her game, rested and exuding energy, when they flew her down to LA. For today, she adjusted the lighting, bringing in the lamp with the orange glow to warm things up and soften the shadows on her face. Leaning toward the camera on her laptop for a test run, she approved of the image. Her face was a bit stark from the makeup, but the hard lines softened and her eyes came alive when she gave a big smile.

  And . . . action!

  “Hi, there,” she spoke to the curious faces, three men and one woman. “I’m Ariel Alexander,” she said modestly. Of course they knew who she was, but people got a large charge out of it when you pretended humility.

  “I loved you in the singing witch,” said the round man with the marshmallow face.

  “Wicked Voice,” the guy with the geeky square glasses corrected him. “And we’re pleased that you could meet with us today.” He was Brent, the boss, and he was merely pleased, not thrilled or delighted. He was going to be a tough sell.

  She was charming, smart, affable.

  She got them laughing, but she also drew them in, holding them captive as she gave her interpretation of the character. They loved her.

  When they ended the phone call with a simple “Glad to meet you,” Ariel’s heart began to thud. Was that the end of it? She shut the laptop as hope spilled out of her. She had lost her edge. No one would cast her now.

  She would be stuck here forever.

  By Wednesday afternoon Holy Snips was full of teenage girls, who easily outnumbered regular clients. Tiffani handed out Oreos and cranked up the music, which annoyed Hilda and her older clients. Rachel stayed out of the dispute. Hell, she had her hands full, working feverishly on her regulars and squeezing in a few prom girls. But when Tiffani went on break, Rachel stole behind the counter and lowered the volume.

  Wednesday was a thirteen-hour day, and Thursday was just as busy, with anticipation of the big night crackling in the air. Rachel had tried gotten up early to give Jared his card before school, but he had left it on the kitchen counter, claiming that he didn’t have time to open it. She sent a few cheery birthday text messages, but he replied with a simple “thanks” and instructions not to count on him for dinner. Disappointment nipped at her, but she kept telling herself to get over it. It was time to let go of the rituals of childhood and give her son some space.

  Rachel enjoyed the party atmosphere in the shop, but she was also grateful for the chance to slip out for a bite to eat with Mike. Their lovemaking had bonded them in the most elemental way, and Rachel was taking her time each day, building the relationship one block at a time. She imagined it rising like a Lego tower the boys built together in their munchkin days. They shared an order of eggplant parmigiana and split a glass of Chianti and talked about the stupid mistakes they had made during college. The business with KJ’s football dreams was still far from a resolution, and Mike, who enjoyed reading nonfiction in his spare time, supported her opinion that it was dangerous to risk further concussions. Although she hadn’t told the boys much about her new relationship with Mike, Rachel looked forward to the time when both Jared and KJ could get to know him.

  Of course, dating in a town like Timbergrove was a very public affair, especially when the man involved was a sheriff who prided himself on knowing most of the community on a first-name basis. By Thursday night, when the waitress at Vespa commented on the frequency of their visits, Rachel began to feel a little overexposed.

  “Tomorrow, let’s meet for coffee at Holy Snips. No one is around before ten, and we can hang out in the break room.”

  Mike’s eyes twinkled as he squinted. “Are we going undercover?”

  She nodded. “Just to step out of the display window. I don’t know how you deal with it, but it’s pretty intense, having everyone in town monitor your every move.”

  “The price of celebrity.”

  She smacked his elbow and told him to bring the bagels.

  The next morning, Mike was wearing his uniform when she unlocked the door of the shop for him. The gold star on his chest was most impressive against the dark blue fabric of his shirt. The crisply creased sleeves were accented by gold hash marks on the shoulders. “Wow. Aren’t you looking official, Mr. Sheriff.”

  “This is all off the record, ma’am. I’m on coffee break.”

  “I’m not complaining,” she said as she ushered him toward the backroom. “There’s something about a man in a uniform. Makes a girl want to rip it off him.”

  “I’ll need to wear it more often.”

&nb
sp; The bagels he’d brought were still warm, and Rachel tore into hers without butter or cream cheese. As they chatted, the radio on his collar squawked a bit.

  “Sorry.” He turned down the volume. “I can turn it down, but I need to listen in.”

  “I don’t know how you can understand a word they’re saying.”

  “You develop an ear for it.”

  They talked about prom, how Rachel wanted to take pictures, but Jared was still keeping her at arm’s length. It bothered her that Jared’s eighteenth birthday had been overshadowed by prom, but she had given him a card with a hundred dollars yesterday and was determined to celebrate in some way next weekend. For now, she was considering going over to Ariel’s house tonight, maybe getting a few shots once the kids sprang the surprise on her.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Mike was nodding, but his body had straightened over one of the chirps from the radio. He held up one finger and turned up the volume.

  “Confirm, lockdown at Timbergrove High School.”

  The mention of the school caught Rachel’s attention.

  Mike keyed the radio. “Command to central. Is the lockdown a drill?”

  “Negative. Assault in progress. Man with a knife.”

  “I’m on my way,” Mike said, already on his feet.

  “Oh my God! The high school? What’s happening?” Alarm jangled her nerves as Rachel hurried to the door alongside Mike.

  “It may be unfounded, but I need to get there.” His voice was calm, but the tension showed in the tight set of his jaw. “Sorry.”

  He squeezed her arm, and then dashed out before Rachel could ask him to watch out for her son.

  Chapter 21

  Ariel noticed her hand shaking as she held Remy’s prom dress over the steamer, smoothing out every wrinkle in the delicate fabric so that Remy could knock everyone’s socks off tonight. It wasn’t like Ariel to fuss over her kids’ clothing. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had steamed or ironed a garment for someone else in the house. But this was important. All eyes were going to be on Remy, and Ariel needed her daughter to kick ass in this dress.