Domestic Secrets

by Rosalind Noonan

  Rachel had never heard this before, but KJ’s ego was sometimes a bit overinflated. “When was that?”

  “When I was in high school. Like, sophomore year.”

  “Maybe you misread her intentions.”

  “No, it was real.” KJ stood his ground. “She was the reason I wouldn’t audition for Gleetime. There was no way I was going to do private sessions with her in that studio.”

  A pale scrap of memory flickered in her mind: Ariel dancing with Graham Oyama the night of the rehearsal, his hands on her body, possessive and familiar. Had Ariel had been crossing sexual boundaries with these boys?

  No. Ariel could be wild and unconventional, but she was not depraved.

  Shifting on the couch, Rachel worked to keep her voice level. “Memory can be so subjective. When I think of you in sophomore year, football comes to mind. You were all about getting on the varsity team. Football was your world. You wouldn’t have taken time away from it for something like Gleetime.” She put her mug on the table. “How’s that all going? Have you talked with the coach?”

  “Yeah, and I think it’s over.”

  “Oh?” She braced herself for more bad news. “Your choice or theirs?”

  “Mine, I guess. They said they would play me, but . . . I don’t know. It’s killing me, but I don’t want to take the chance of having mush for a brain. At least, that’s where I stand right now. I’ve got another month to make a final decision.”

  “That sounds like the responsible choice.” An expensive choice for Rachel, but worth every penny. “I’d be very happy with that. Just say the word, and I’ll move some investments around to cover things.”

  Tuition, room and board, on top of Jared’s legal fees. She would need to liquidate her rainy day funds.

  “I’ll let you know.” He raked a hand through his dark hair. “But now my issues are small shit compared to Jared’s. What the hell happened to him, Mom?”

  She shook her head.

  He snorted. “Maybe we should’ve let him kill himself when he wanted to go.”

  “Kyle James!” Tears filled her eyes at the suggestion. But then, in a perverse way, KJ was right. If Jared had committed suicide, Remy would be here today.

  She would be alive.

  And Jared would be at peace.

  Cassie rolled onto her side, pulled the sheets over her head, and breathed in the smell of lavender and orange. Remy’s scent, on the sheets, in the bed all over this room.

  She whipped down the covers and stared up at the Day-Glo stars covering the ceiling. How was she supposed to sleep with signs of her sister everywhere she turned?

  She scurried to the edge of the bed to turn on the lamp. In the safety of the light her old room was now unfamiliar and eerie. When she’d gone off to college, Remy had taken it over, redecorating cheaply with a corkboard strung with lights, necklaces and jewelry and tie-dyed tapestries on the walls. Now it was psychedelic. Every time Cassie sat on the bed under the ceiling covered with Day-Glo stars, the song “Feelin’ Groovy” popped into her thoughts, and the video Remy had sent her from the Gleetime showcase played in her mind.

  The big upstairs bedroom had become Remy’s in life; in death, it still was very much Remy’s territory. Her scent, her music and laughter, her colors and moods hovered here, rushing and receding like a human heartbeat. Her breathing, soft and steady, filled the spaces in the restive house.

  Cassie was afraid to open the closet, as if Remy were hiding amid the hanging clothes, waiting to scare her and insist she wasn’t really dead and take a selfie with Cassie so that everyone would get a good laugh at her eyes popping in fright.

  Always a skeptic, Cassie wondered about ghosts. Was Remy haunting the house, trying to tell her something? But no message was coming through, just vivid impressions and whispers of her sister—but none of them were reassuring. One thing Cassie knew for sure: She had to get out of this house.

  She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand, then put it back. Too late to call Andrew. Earlier that night, on the phone with Andrew, she had gone through possible timelines for getting back to Corvallis. She had to wait till the coroner released Remy’s body. Then the funeral. Then, once the kids were resettled, maybe she could go back. Would that be Friday or a week from Friday or in a month?

  Her summer classes began in two weeks. Would she make it back in time? Andrew insisted that she should take time for herself. The school would let her drop the classes without a fee. He didn’t understand that she wanted to get back to the safety of her college life. That she needed to escape this tightly woven web before she became ensnared and weakened.

  Now she grabbed a comforter and started for the stairs, thinking of the couch in the den. But halfway down the skunky odor of raw weed reminded her that Eli was bunking down there.

  Frustrated and exhausted, she returned to the room with the luminescent stars. Hugging the comforter to her chest, she sat on the bed and looked up to the artificial heavens above.

  “What are you trying to tell me?” she asked.

  There was no rush of wind, no blinking light from the hall. This was not going to be a simple task.

  “Okay. Tomorrow I’m going to do some digging. Talk to your friends. Go through your stuff, and I don’t know . . . search for clues?”

  Silence. Well, what did she expect? A talking ghost? She plodded down the hall to Maisy’s room and pushed her little sister aside to claim some space in the single bed.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning, Rachel’s hand shook as she brought up Kit’s number on her cell. “I’m sorry, but I need you to cancel my afternoon appointments, too,” she told the shop receptionist. “I thought I’d be able to come in after the arraignment, but . . .” The truth was that she could not hold her hands steady, and she could not bear the inevitable looks and whispers. There would be questions from the bold, sympathetic pats on the shoulder from the others. No, not today. “I’ve just got this stinkin’ headache,” she told Kit. With the throbbing pain between her eyes, it was only a half-lie.

  “No problem.” Kit was a rock; she would make the calls and chitchat when necessary, but she would not let the conversation spill into Rachel’s current dilemma. A former suburban heroin addict, Kit understood the value of privacy. The resolve to keep things buttoned down was one of the reasons Rachel was prone to hire a person with an illicit past. “I’ll take care of it. You just let me know if I need to reschedule your Monday clients.”

  As she massaged shampoo into her hair in the shower, Rachel wondered if this numbness would wear off. Most likely she was feeling residual effects of the double dose of over-the-counter sleep aid she had taken last night. She wasn’t generally a pill popper, but last night it seemed to be the only way she could find even a superficial level of sleep.

  As she turned off the shower and toweled off, she realized that it had been years since she’d missed a Saturday at the shop. Not since Jackson’s death. Part of her believed that the shop would crumble to pieces if she wasn’t on site, holding up the posts and beams. In reality, gals like Kit and Hilda could manage while she took care of family business.

  While crossing the courthouse parking lot with KJ, Rachel recognized Jared’s lawyer getting out of a Toyota. With a squat, strong build, bushy reddish hair, and a thick beard to match, George Hunt looked like he might work as a lumberjack in his spare time. She hurried over to talk with him. “Do you think there’s a chance he’ll be tried as a minor? He’s barely eighteen. He just had a birthday?”

  “Barely eighteen is hardly a mitigating factor.” He stared ahead, as if he couldn’t spare her a look. “He’ll be tried as an adult.”

  “What about bail?” she asked. “Maybe we can get him released for a while?”

  “Not likely. This is an extremely violent crime your son is charged with. But we’ll be in and out today. This is very routine.”

  She introduced KJ and asked if there was a chance that they could talk with Jared today.

&nbs
p; Hunt stopped walking and leaned in, stroking the side of his beard. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whalen, but he doesn’t want to see you.”

  Stunned, Rachel gestured to her oldest son. “What about his brother, Kyle James? Maybe he’ll see him?”

  KJ’s shoulders went up as he arched back. “Not sure I want to go there.”

  “I’ll ask.” Hunt continued walking toward the entrance. “But no promises.”

  “Can I ask about the case?” Rachel hurried alongside him. “How are things looking?”

  “It’s all preliminary still. Let’s just say I’ve got my work cut out for me. And no, I can’t give you details. Remember what I said about client privilege?”

  Rachel let the man go. “Don’t forget to ask about KJ,” she called after him, thinking that even a distant connection to Jared was better than none. Hunt disappeared into the shadows and was swallowed up by the courthouse. So that was that; Jared didn’t want to see her. Tears began to blur her vision as she turned back to KJ. “When this is all over, remind me to ground your brother.”

  “Yeah, Mom.” KJ put his arm around Rachel and led her into the courthouse.

  They didn’t get far before they came to a cluster of people blocking the corridor. TV reporters, looking bigger than life in their makeup, spoke into cameras, setting up their story. And at the center of the group was the sun—Ariel Alexander, looking chic in an enormous black hat with dark netting that swept down to cover her face. Always a woman of mystery. Cassie stood beside her, appearing distinctly uncomfortable with all the attention. Looking sophisticated in high-heeled sandals, black jeans, and a print top with a high waist and scoop neck, Cassie ran her fingertips over the hem of her shirt, tugging on it nervously. Eli, Oliver’s father, hunched against the wall, hands in his jeans pockets and the collar of his corduroy jacket folded inside.

  Rachel approached Ariel and paused, trying to see beyond the veil and dark glasses.

  “Mom,” KJ muttered. “Don’t. Just keep going.”

  “I have to stop. I have to say something.”

  But with reporters shooting off questions, it was impossible to get a word in. Although in an odd disconnect, Ariel wasn’t answering anyone; she simply stood in the center of the corridor like a queen holding court.

  Rachel raised a hand and mouthed, “I’m sorry,” but Ariel did not acknowledge her. A moment later, when Cassie waved her away with a look of warning, Rachel continued on with KJ.

  Inside the courtroom it seemed that half of the town of Timbergrove had found a new spectator sport. She recognized her neighbors, Walt Finley and Mrs. Abduljuwad, as well as a bunch of the high school supermoms. Tiffani from the shop fluttered her fingers at her, though something sinister gleamed in her eyes. Were these people here to support Jared or crucify him?

  One row seemed to be filled with teachers and school administrators, looking dutifully somber. Rachel recognized Dr. Balducci and Mr. Enrico. None of the teachers met her eye as she and KJ came down the aisle, but then most of them didn’t even know who she was. Until yesterday, she had been an inconspicuous parent of an unremarkable student in their school.

  KJ found seats for them near the front, and Rachel braced herself. She wanted to appear strong and supportive, just in case Jared got a look at her.

  But the minute the bailiff brought her son out, Rachel began to cry. His dark eyes were hollow and haunted, and the way his lower lip jutted out in his attempt to stave off tears cut her to the quick. He moved slowly, obviously uncomfortable in the handcuffs, and the orange prison jumpsuit made him resemble a beanpole, but he was her beanpole of a boy, her son.

  She could not bear to look at him in that jumpsuit, a reminder that he would be tried as an adult even though he was not truly a man yet, not really. Couldn’t they make an exception for a kid like Jared who had not reached that level of maturity? He had just turned eighteen! If all of this had happened a week ago, he would be treated quite differently by the criminal justice system.

  He was a kid, damn it. It seemed like yesterday that she was taking photos of him in his First Communion suit. Closing her eyes against tears, she saw his freckled face, his grin missing a few teeth as he handed her the homemade Mother’s Day card that held three coupons entitling her to a kiss, a smile, and a week of making his bed all by himself. She saw him banging on the back door, just home from football practice, crying as he held aloft the cleats that he had to retrieve from the urinal of the boys’ locker room.

  No . . . not a man yet. Barely eighteen. Opening her eyes, she tried to focus. She knew she should focus on what the attorneys were saying, but she could not stop crying over what would not be. His adult life, his second act, his happy ending.

  At the mention of Remy’s name, a visceral pain traveled through her. She hadn’t even scratched the surface of misery over losing Remy. She closed her eyes and saw Jared kissing Remy’s boo-boo when they were both in preschool. He was always a gentle person, kind and tentative.

  Sniffing, Rachel turned toward her best friend, hoping for a glance, a nod, some sort of connection. But the black-brimmed hat hid her well.

  The charges were read: “Jared Whalen is charged with premeditated manslaughter.”

  Rachel sobbed quietly into a rumpled tissue.

  That tiny whimper seemed to catch Jared’s attention, as he glanced back over his shoulder.

  With a deep breath, Rachel tried to calm herself. She could tell he’d been crying, and she didn’t want to make him feel even worse. Straightening, she gave him a brave smile.

  But when she silently mouthed, “I love you” she realized he was looking beyond her.

  Chapter 27

  Manslaughter.

  The word seemed to hang in the damp air of the courtroom.

  Cassie realized it was incorrect. It should have been “woman-slaughter.” He had cut her sister’s throat, killing her on the morning of prom, even before the first classes of the day had begun.

  Cassie had learned some of the details from Remy’s friend Malika, when they talked on the phone in the morning. That day at school, Malika had been downstairs in the choir room, hanging out with Remy and other girls who were going to prom in a group. They were making plans to meet early, at Sophia’s house, do their hair together, and feast on sushi, pizza, and ice cream. Girlfriends together. No need for dates. All very nontraditional.

  They were still talking prom when the first bell rang. Malika and Sophia were a few steps behind Remy, who got pulled aside in the stairwell by Jared. Apparently, he’d been doing a Flashco sales pitch for a teacher, and he still had his knife kit in his hands when he flipped out.

  Jared, Jared, what the hell is wrong with you?

  Staring at the back of his head, Cassie couldn’t think of an adjective to describe him. Desperate Jared. Despondent Jared. Pathetic Jared. Borderline Jared. Killer Jared.

  No, that didn’t sound right, but then again, nothing did. He’d always been a quiet kid, the last person you’d expect to hurt someone. But that was the thing about people: From the outside, you couldn’t see their secrets.

  One night in senior year when they were absorbed in a school psych class, Cassie and Olivia had stayed up late trying to diagnose the people in their lives. With his preoccupation with being the star quarterback, they had deemed KJ Whalen a narcissist. Olivia swore that her dad was a sociopath, because he didn’t have a moment’s guilt over anything. He spent his entire weekend golfing, and she was sure he was having an affair with some woman at work. Cassie got a little nervous when Olivia brought up Ariel, but Cassie quickly pointed to her mother’s Native American background as partial explanation for her drinking problem. If Olivia realized that Ariel’s real addiction was for sex, she didn’t bring it up.

  While Olivia proposed that Jared was on the spectrum for autism, Cassie argued for borderline personality disorder. Jared was very sensitive to changes in environment, and he definitely seemed to have abandonment issues. Over the years she had observed him, mostly because he
was so easy to observe. Usually, Cassie steered clear of Jared because they were so different. When they were little, she thought he was a big baby, so easy to disturb, so sensitive. “Just get over it,” she would mutter. She could not understand why he didn’t grow a thick skin and get over his fears.

  Although Jared had seemed to get better in the past few years, Cassie realized that was a myth, like growing out of being Caucasian or shedding your Navajo heritage. Certain things just stuck with you for life. For Jared, it was his frantic need to avoid rejection, his panic-button heart, that would now define him forever. Remy had been the unlucky one to reject him at a bad time.

  Diagnosis by Dr. Cassie. But just because she understood what made him tick didn’t mean she couldn’t hate him for killing her sister. He deserved to fry. And it hurt to feel that way about someone she’d grown up with.

  Cassie felt bad that she couldn’t engage with it all—with Remy’s funeral, with the people who’d dropped by with food, with the lawyers talking right in front of her about her sister’s murder. Cassie was crushed by Remy’s death, but guilt could be crushing, too. She wanted to figure out a few things, put her sister to rest, and get the hell out of Timbergrove.

  But it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Cassie was now the center of the universe at home. She could deal with Trev and Maisy, but there was also Mom being comatose, Stosh calling and trying to be Mom’s boyfriend again and trying to butt into their family, and Eli coming in from the garage stinking of weed and spouting off words of advice for the grandkids. He tried to pitch in with the dishes and stuff, but he didn’t believe in dishwashers and the man didn’t know how to clean.

  Cassie wanted to run. Slam the door behind her and go back to school, back to her separate life, away from the memories that her home in Timbergrove held. Was that denial? Hell, yeah, but she welcomed it. Everything here was steeped in memories of Remy. Back in Corvallis, Cassie could pretend that Remy was still alive and doing her thing. Graduating and finding a summer job and picking out a comforter for her dorm room. Cassie wanted out of here, but she couldn’t leave her siblings in the lurch.