Domestic Secrets

by Rosalind Noonan

No! That couldn’t be her little sister. The girl she had taken by the hand a thousand times to guide across the street or through a parking lot. The long, thick hair that she had brushed and tied into ponytails. The kid who loved the way Cassie made grilled cheese with pickles and chicken potpie with biscuit crust. The young woman who strung gems along the walls of her room and sprayed her underwear drawer with perfume. The intuitive sister who recognized that Cassie had mad talents that were untapped here in Timbergrove.

  “College is going to be your time to shine, Cassie,” Remy had told her late one night at a graduation party that a bunch of kids in Cassie’s class had thrown for themselves. One of the guys lived in a big house on the Willamette River, and after the sun went down, kids had flooded the yard with its kidney-shaped pool that backed into the dark, tree-lined riverbank. Cassie had been sitting with Olivia and some other graduates on a boulder overlooking the water when Remy had breezed in like she owned the place. Like a fairy dispensing pixie dust, she had danced to the song of the summer as she handed each girl a cold bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade—the drink of choice for girls, who didn’t go for the soap-sud taste of beer. . . . Then she plopped down next to Cassie for a heart-to-heart.

  “I’m so excited for all the great things that are going to happen to you in the next few years,” she told Cassie. “You have so many talents and gifts that people here just don’t see,” Remy said. “High school kids are way too into themselves. But out in the real world, people will notice. You’re going to be a rock star, Cass.”

  Ironic, because everyone knew Remy had been the one destined for stardom.

  But not anymore.

  A wave of sorrow washed through her stomach. A sick feeling that would probably never go away. None of this could be reversed. It was a red band of alarm tight around her stomach, a harness that would forever reel her back to the sorrow of losing her sister.

  When she turned on Cedar Lane, signs of commotion loomed ahead. A news truck parked a few doors down from their house, its satellite tower jacked up and spiraling thirty feet into the sky, announced that big news was happening here.

  “Look at that.” She turned to the empty passenger seat as if Remy would be there to see it all. This was right up Remy’s alley! Gaggles of people cluttered the street, slowing traffic and giving the neighborhood a festive feel reminiscent of the Fourth of July when people came out front to set off firecrackers.

  “All we need now is a lemonade stand,” Cassie muttered as she braked to ease through the crowd. A shuffling noise in the backseat made her glance over her shoulder; Ariel had removed her seat belt and flopped onto the floor, where she huddled facedown.

  “I don’t think it’s quite that extreme, Mom.” They were crawling toward home when Dinah Lambo, a neighbor, tapped a TV reporter on the shoulder and pointed toward Cassie’s car.

  “Traitor,” Cassie muttered.

  The reporter began to jog alongside the car, pointing a microphone toward Cassie’s window. “Jazz Milkin, from News Seven.” He was a thin, rangy, mocha-skinned dude with a soul patch and square red glasses. Fun-loving and animated. Cassie had always liked watching him on TV. “Can we get a statement, please? Our viewers want to hear from the family.”

  Cassie just kept easing the car toward the house, repulsed by the media circus. The last time Cassie had been on television it had been because she had led the high school food drive at Thanksgiving. Back then, the reporter hadn’t been half as enthusiastic as Jazz.

  With relief she pulled into the driveway, waited as the garage door opened, and then eased into the shadowed protection of the building. She cut the engine and slumped in her seat, waiting for the door to descend behind the car. Home . . . but not really. It would never be home again, not without Remy.

  With sunglasses on, her mother moved lethargically, stumbling out of the car as if she were drunk.

  “Mom?” Cassie stopped her at the door. “Did they give you something at the hospital?”

  “They’re so tight with drugs these days.” Ariel frowned. “It’s a good thing I carry my own supply of Valium.”

  “How many did you take?” Cassie asked.

  But Ariel stumbled into the house like an old grandma, palming her way along the wall as Maisy and Trevor called from the dining room table, where they were sitting with their grandfather. Their eyes were puffy and red, but Cassie felt a little better just seeing them gathered together. Misery loved company.

  “Mommy, you’re home.” Maisy came over and threw her arms around Ariel, who wavered with the weight. “We need your hugs.” Her voice broke as she pressed into Ariel’s blouse.

  The tiny whimper tore at Cassie, who hadn’t really cried. She’d misted over a few times in the anxious moments of waiting to view Remy’s body at the morgue. Mostly she was feeling anger, a hot fury that took all her strength to subdue, but she kept a tight grip. Someone had to keep things together for Trevor and Maisy.

  “My darlings.” Ariel kissed the top of Maisy’s head. “Eli. Thank you for coming.”

  Cassie was relieved to see that Mom had called in Oliver’s oddball father. There were so many choices for child care that would have been worse than the hippie poet and woodcarving stoner. Besides, Eli Ward was actually family, and he had a big heart.

  “I’m here as long as you need me.” With a gray fringe of hair, a shiny bald pate, and round glasses that gave him an owlish look, Eli projected a mixture of wisdom and rebellion that reminded Cassie of Gandhi. “We were just noshing a bit.” Eli gestured at the table where an eclectic assortment of fruits, vegetables, dips, and desserts were laid out.

  “Granddad took us to Trader Joe’s,” Trevor said. “We got Japanese ice cream balls in dough.”

  “Mochi. Can I interest you in a little something?” Eli asked. “You must be spent.”

  “Not really hungry, but thanks.” Ariel ruffled Trevor’s hair, and then headed upstairs.

  That would be the last they would see of her for days . . . maybe months. That band of alarm closed tighter as the rule of the house landed sharply on Cassie’s shoulders.

  Gotta keep it together. Hold on.

  “Cassie, do you want some hummus?” Maisy asked. “It looks like poo, but it tastes much better.”

  A stilted noise came from Cassie’s throat. “I might. I’ll be right back.” Desperate for escape, Cassie ran upstairs to scrub her face and hands, wanting to remove any essence of that sterile morgue where she imagined toxic microbes lingering in the air.

  Drying her face, she choked up at the sight of Remy’s box of makeup on the corner of the vanity. Hands clutched at her gut, tugging her down into misery. Remy’s fingerprints were all over this house, all over Cassie’s life. There would be no escape. Now she understood the mythology of ghosts.

  Downstairs she found Trevor crying over a text he’d received. “I hate David Green,” he said, glaring at his cell phone.

  “I don’t blame you,” Eli said. “With friends like that, who needs enemies?”

  “I hate him, too.” Maisy’s lower lip jutted out in a pout as she drew swirls in the hummus with a baby carrot.

  “What did David do?” Cassie asked as she cracked open a can of ginger ale and took a seat beside Trevor at the table.

  “He said this.” Trevor flashed the screen of his cell toward her, and she read the text.

  I heard he cut her head off.

  The soda went sour on Cassie’s tongue, and she had to force herself to swallow. “This David kid is a little shit.” The urge to snatch Trevor’s cell away and toss it out in the backyard was fierce.

  Trevor’s round eyes beseeched her. “Is it true?”

  Cassie braced herself on table as the image of Remy at the morgue floated back to her mind. A blue sheet had been pulled up to Remy’s chin in an unnatural way, covering up the gash in her neck.

  “Her throat was cut.” A nurse named Sally had helped Cassie through the trauma at the morgue. Sally’s voice was firm but calm as she rubbed the
center of Cassie’s back. “There’s a major vein in the neck, so she probably went quickly.”

  “The jugular,” Cassie said, remembering her anatomy class.

  “I’m just telling you because you asked how she died, and I want you to be armed with the truth. The technician will do his best to cover the wound, but it’s not always possible.”

  Although Cassie held her breath as they opened the shade to reveal the body, she could not stop the little moan that came from her throat as she viewed the still form that had once been so vibrant. The sheet covering Remy was a beautiful shade of blue, a cross between robin’s egg and indigo, like Remy’s prom dress. Drawn up and draped around her neck, almost lovingly, it framed her heart-shaped face. Cassie had studied the wide lips, the cute little “puggy” nose, the shaped brows and lashes so dark against her pearl-gray skin. Remy had seemed comfortable, but not angelic or really peaceful like you’d think. It was more like she had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  “It’s her.” Two words that slammed a life shut.

  “I’m so sorry.” Sally put a hand on her arm to lead her away, but Cassie didn’t budge. “I’ll give you a minute, then.”

  Although she didn’t want to stare, Cassie kept looking, as if in search of the essence of her sister. When did the spirit leave a body? Was Remy long gone, shot off to the distant heavens, or hovering a few feet above them, sharing in Cassie’s pain?

  And I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. I didn’t think this would ever happen. I didn’t appreciate her enough. Did I ever tell her that I loved her?

  “Is that true?” Trevor asked again, jarring Cassie from her thoughts. “Did Jared really cut off her head? That’s what the kids at school are saying.”

  “And David is the rotten messenger.” Cassie looked to Eli, who held up his hands in an expression of utter loss and left the table. She wasn’t ready to think about Jared’s role in this yet, but she couldn’t let her sister be the center of gruesome rumors.

  “He didn’t,” Cassie assured them, figuring it was as close to the truth as she could get.

  Trevor and Maisy seemed to sag in unison, as if the news had softened the horror of Remy’s death.

  I can do that for you, Cassie thought. I can help you focus on the good memories.

  “So you can text David that it’s a nasty rumor. And he can tell the other kids to cut it out.”

  Somehow, that made both kids feel better. Cassie took another slug of ginger ale and regretted it as it burned all the way down.

  “Let’s put that nasty rumor behind us and never speak of it again,” Eli said as he rattled around in the kitchen. Tipping her chair back, Cassie saw three pans and a griddle on the stove, butter sizzling on the griddle.

  “What are you making, Gumpers?” asked Maisy.

  “Breakfast for dinner. Who’s going to help me?”

  Trevor volunteered, and minutes later Eli had him turning bacon and stirring pancake batter, “just thirty turns,” so that the batter didn’t get tough.

  Watching them, Cassie realized what Eli was doing: carrying on, feeding the family, taking care of the basics. Ariel had always said Eli was a crazy man, but Cassie was grateful for the older man’s eccentricities now. Crazy like a fox.

  Holding a cluster of grapes, Maisy squeezed into the chair beside Cassie. “Is Remy going to have a funeral?”

  Cassie hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Yes. Or at least a memorial.”

  “I don’t like funerals. They’re too scary.” Maisy’s mouth puckered and she began to cry.

  Putting an arm around her, Cassie held her close and stroked her hair and let her cry. She hated it when people tried to get you to stop crying, as if that would end the suffering and despair. No one wanted to be bothered dealing with your pain. Cassie held her youngest sister and told herself that it was better not to join in the tears. Stay strong. Don’t let on that her entire body was now squeezed in alarm. Pretend everything would be fine when she knew that nothing would be fine, ever again.

  Thirty minutes later, Eli brought out plates of bacon, pancakes, and cheesy eggs that made Cassie’s mouth water. “Make way, my children,” he announced, his bass voice rumbling through the kitchen. Cassie helped clear some things off the table and tuck them away in the fridge. When she sat down and forced herself to try the eggs, she was surprised at how easily they went down. Eli was a kook, but he knew how to cook, and he brought an odd comfort to the house.

  After dinner the kids went upstairs, Trevor to do his homework, such a creature of habit, and Maisy to visit Ariel.

  Good luck with that, Cassie thought as she saw Eli open the sliding glass door.

  “Hey, does this fire pit out here work?” he called, turning back to her. “That’s a nice addition.”

  “Stosh bought it.” Cassie stepped out in her socks and showed him how to turn on the propane.

  “I am going to dig that.” Eli sat back with his moccasins on the edge of the pit and lit a joint.

  Watching him, Cassie felt a twinge of envy. How she craved escape, especially here, where Remy seemed to linger in every corner of the house. In the corner of the yard, where she had learned acrobatics on a rope swing that Oliver installed. In the hallways, where her songs lingered in the empty spaces. No one had touched her empty chair at the table, and her mac and cheese pot from last night had been left soaking in the kitchen sink.

  “Want some, sweetheart?” Eli offered.

  “No, thanks. It’ll only make me freak out.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want that.” He took another hit, holding it in.

  “Don’t let Mom see you.”

  “She’ll get over it. But I will be discreet around the youngsters. Should we see if your mother wants a plate upstairs?”

  Cassie scowled. “She’s probably asleep with her boyfriend, Valium.”

  Eli lifted one brow. “And she thinks I’m a bad example. Should we check on her?”

  “I’m not her keeper.”

  “Ah, but Cassie girl, you take good care of everyone you love.”

  She squinted into the flames, trying to ignore the knot in her throat. “Looks like I didn’t take very good care of Remy.”

  “Looks are deceiving.” He stubbed out the joint and put it in a silver case from his pocket. “Take yourself, for example. You look fine. A little tense. But I know you’re breaking inside.” He let out a breath. “You did your best for Remy, but sometimes, like the Beatles said, you’ve got to let it be. The thing you learn when trying to protect young people is that you can’t really protect anyone. We’ve all got an expiration date here. But it hits hard when someone dies so young. Especially someone we love.”

  She did love her sister, damn it. You fell in love with a kid when you raised her almost single-handedly. In some ways, Remy was the greatest accomplishment of Cassie’s life. Staring into the fire, Cassie swallowed against the lump in her throat.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone,” Eli went on. “A good kid. Kind and gentle. And sheesh, she loved to sing. What a crooner.”

  When she looked over at him, his cheeks shone with tears. He lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes with his hands.

  The sight of Eli crying tore at her. Jaded, weathered Eli. Suddenly, the knot of resolve and prickly defiance eased and tears flooded her eyes. She brushed at them with her fingers, but more tears formed just as quickly as she could wipe them away.

  Eli didn’t say anything, thank God, and he didn’t try to console her or make her stop crying. He let her be.

  They sat together in silence. When Eli got up to check on the kids, he paused and dropped a hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “I almost forgot, kiddo. I talked to a funeral director about arrangements. You’ll need to pick out something for Remy to go out in.” Practical Eli; he always seemed to know the next step.

  She sniffed. “What kind of outfit?”

  “They recommend a nice dress, but that sounds a little stiff to me. Remy wasn’t a fancy person, was she? Whatever you th
ink, kiddo.” He patted her shoulder and headed inside. “At this point, it doesn’t matter to Remy.”

  Chapter 24

  After nearly six hours spent corralling a criminal lawyer and reminding the desk officer that she wanted to see her son, Rachel’s nerves were shot. It didn’t help that she had to refuse to be interviewed by the police. She was eager to vouch for Jared’s reputation and fill the police in on the way he had suffered at the hands of bullies. But George Hunt, Jared’s new lawyer, had told her to refuse all interviews. “Absolutely not. No way, no how,” he’d said with a burly scowl. “They can give you a subpoena, and then we’ll do it right. A deposition, with me there to prep you.” Although she heeded Hunt’s expensive advice, she longed to set the record straight now, today.

  There had been a few times when her resolve had cracked, and tears had filled her eyes at the thought of Remy’s shortened life or Jared’s anguished future. But she had held on, calm and restrained, repeating her mantra of “I can do this” until it became part of every breath she took.

  Damn, these molded plastic chairs! She pushed to her feet and ventured outside for some fresh air. They were heading into the long days of light—the Oregon summer—and the vista over the distant treed hills revealed streaks of pink and lavender in the western sky: nature’s glorious finish to the worst day of her life.

  Exhaustion and stress made her tight and wobbly. Pressing her palms to the warm stone wall behind her, she soaked up the distant sunset and wondered if good souls rose up into beautiful skies like this.

  In many ways, Remy had been an old soul. Rachel remembered a visit from Remy one wet autumn day, more than a year ago. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders as she shook off her rain slicker and hung it on the rack by the shop door. “I come bearing gifts,” she said, producing two Peppermint Patties from her pocket. “One for each of us.”

  As Rachel trimmed Remy’s hair, the girl opened up about her stepfather, Oliver, and how the whole family had been stunned by his death. “When things were at their worst, I remembered something Oliver used to say. He said there was a foolproof solution to every problem.”