All the Secret Places

by Anna Carlisle

  “Okay, look, I’m sorry,” Jake said. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  “No, of course not,” Gin said. Maybe she’d had too much wine too; and now she was making her guests feel uncomfortable. “I guess we’re all just on edge about the situation. Let me start the coffee.”

  The kitchen was open to the dining area, with its huge rustic table lit by iron pendant lights turned down low, so that everything was lit with a golden glow. As Gin stacked dishes in the sink and made coffee, she listened to the others discuss the fire.

  “Maybe we should ask around ourselves,” Gus said. “Or we could go up to the main house and see if it looks like someone’s living there, keeping an eye on things.”

  “Yeah, I had that same thought,” Jake said. “Don’t see how it matters, though—failing to report a fire isn’t a crime.”

  “Not unless you set it yourself.”

  “Yeah, true.”

  Gus frowned and pushed the ice cream around in his bowl, turning it into a chocolate-studded soup. “Anyway, back to that morning. I put the pedal to the floor once I smelled smoke in the air, and when I came around the bend—shit. I mean . . . you can probably imagine. Tore me up. I knew we weren’t going to be able to save it, not with the roof already gone. I spent about five minutes running around trying to figure out if there was anything I could do to stop it from spreading before I came to my senses and realized I needed to call it in, and then I just . . .”

  He glanced at Marlene, who seemed to shrink backward in her chair.

  “I just prayed, man,” Gus said quietly. “Sat down on a paint bucket and prayed my heart out. Seems like it took forever for the first truck to get there, but they told me it was only seven minutes.”

  Gin watched Jake’s face as Gus told the story. Nothing he was saying was new, and he’d probably given the same version of events to the cops, but this was the first time he and Jake had discussed that morning together.

  “When Witt called you, did he say anything else?” she asked. “About—about whether they’ve got any more leads?”

  “He brought up your name more than once, Jake,” Gus said apologetically. “He pretty much admitted that county fucked up, picking you up like that. I mean, do a fucking Google search, you know? Every contractor truck in town’s gonna have traces of accelerant.”

  “Did he mention what it was?”

  “Yeah. Toluene.”

  “Shit.”

  “What’s toluene?” Gin asked.

  “It’s a solvent, but it’s in all kinds of shit. Paint strippers, lacquer thinners, Valvoline—people even add it to their gas tank to clean out the fuel line,” Jake said. “They’re starting to regulate it more—besides the fact that you could use it to make homegrown explosives, it’s carcinogenic. Really nasty stuff.”

  “Yeah, but you can still buy it by the gallon at Sherwin-Williams.”

  “Hell, you wouldn’t even have to do that. The coke processing plant would probably give it away.”

  “Sounds like that would make it hard to trace, if it’s that common,” Gin said.

  “Exactly,” Gus agreed. “Stillman must have known that too. I think he was pissed that Baxter shot off his mouth before he had a chance to try to get something else on you. He seems to have it in for you—any idea why?”

  Jake glanced at Gin and immediately away, and Gin wondered how much Jake had told him about their past. “I’m not . . . There are a lot of people in this town who probably wouldn’t mind seeing me get tripped up.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gus said. “And Gin, I’m really sorry about your sister. Jake told me.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, setting out a pitcher of cream and the sugar bowl before pouring coffee into four mugs. “But it was all so long ago.”

  There was an awkward silence as they sipped coffee, and Gin wondered if they were all thinking about the past, about the way small details add up to create an unstoppable wave. Joy, tragedy, revenge—the outcomes of human actions were difficult to predict and impossible to prevent.

  She was also confused by the interaction between her guests. Gus—on the surface, at least—was a warm and considerate man, if a little rough around the edges. But Marlene was acting almost fearful of her own husband. Maybe it was simple shyness, manifesting as social discomfiture. Gin hoped so, for both of their sakes.

  “Well, at least we have our health,” Jake finally said in an effort to lighten the moment. Everyone laughed, but as they raised their mugs in a toast, she wondered how long it would take before the next unexpected turn of events shattered this fragile peace.

  11

  The next day was Saturday, but Gin was unable to sleep in, wakened by uneasy dreams she couldn’t remember. She was fighting a slight hangover in the afternoon when she went to pick up Olive to take her to practice.

  “Thanks so much for driving her,” Brandon said. “Come on in. I’ve been after Olive to get her things together all morning, but she only just now realized she can’t remember where she left her shorts. Sorry to make you wait—you’ve really gone above and beyond.”

  “I drive right by here, Brandon,” Gin said. “It would be ridiculous for us both to make the trip.”

  “I’ll make it up to you at the postseason party,” Brandon said. “We’ll have it here—the kids can go nuts in the garage.”

  After Brandon and Christine’s divorce, he had turned the garage into a “man cave” with foosball, air hockey, a big-screen TV, and a game table. It was getting a lot less use these days now that Brandon was a full-time parent, but he’d good-naturedly given up his weekly poker game and let the kids take over the room. Austen was apparently becoming quite a pool shark, and the beer fridge now contained root beer and orange soda.

  “That would be great, assuming I’m able to keep the girls interested that long,” Gin said. “We’re kind of building the team from the ground up.”

  “Hey, as long as they have fun, right?”

  “Exactly. By the way—Olive’s really showing a lot of promise.”

  “I doubt that’s true,” Brandon said. “But you’re kind to say so. And even kinder to spend the time with her.”

  “How has it been going?” Gin asked gently.

  “It’s been . . . hard.” Brandon glanced up the stairs to make sure Olive was still out of earshot. “The therapist says she’s doing great, and she likes the other kids in the support group in the city . . . but I know there are things she used to talk to Christine about that she’d never talk to me about. Especially since she’s getting, you know, older.” His grimace reflected the challenges of a girl arriving at adolescence.

  “Is Diane able to help at all?” Gin asked delicately. She’d seen Brandon’s girlfriend at the funeral and heard through the grapevine that she’d been a huge support to Brandon throughout the events of the last few months.

  Brandon shook his head. “Diane is great, but she’s really cautious about overstepping. She grew up with a stepmom who pretty much came in and took over the household and . . . well, she says she wants the kids to know that they’re in charge of the timetable. I mean, not that we have a timetable, or anything, but—”

  “I think I understand,” Gin said. “I mean, I can’t understand, not really, but it makes sense. It sounds like you chose well. Diane’s got a generous heart.”

  “Yeah. You know, I’d been thinking it would be nice for the four of us to go out sometime. Like a double date. Except—then I thought maybe that was weird . . .”

  Gin felt a rush of affection for him. “Aw, Brandon, everything about this situation is weird, not to mention downright tragic. But the way I see it, all we’ve got is the future—might as well make the best of it, you know?”

  Brandon gave her a grateful smile. “That sounds like something I’d see on Facebook with a picture of a turtle or something, but yeah, I agree. Maybe when things settle down with the investigation . . .”

  “I’m afraid it might take a while,” Gin said and explained abou
t the newest developments in the case.

  “Jeez, that’s all Jake needs,” Brandon said, running a hand through his hair. “Like it isn’t enough to be trying to hold onto the business.”

  “Yeah . . . wait,” Gin said. “What do you mean, hold onto the business?”

  An odd look came over Brandon’s face. “Damn, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “I mean, I know he’s got his own money tied up in this project but—have you heard something, Brandon?” Gin felt her face color. “I know I shouldn’t ask—or maybe I ought to be asking him, but . . .” She felt like she was backed into a corner. She didn’t know how to ask what she wanted to know without sacrificing Jake’s privacy or letting on that the pair were having problems.

  “No, it’s okay,” Brandon said. “It’s just . . . I know a guy at the bank. Kind of an asshole, actually, can’t keep his mouth shut when he’s been drinking. I ran into him at McNally’s, and he says Jake leveraged everything to get that land. Contractors have historically been considered high-risk borrowers, so his rate isn’t great. And to make things worse, his bonding company has a priority lien on accounts receivable.”

  “Oh,” Gin said, her heart sinking. “Can you tell me what that means in English?”

  “It’s complicated, but it means that if he defaults on the loan, any future payments go to the bonding agent, and he stands to lose his whole investment.”

  “I didn’t know,” Gin said. “I wish . . . I just wish he would have told me. There’s—there’s got to be a way I could help.”

  “Gin.” Brandon touched her shoulder. “A guy like Jake, he’s not going to want you to think he can’t handle it. He’s a hardheaded man. A little advice: don’t push him on this.”

  “You’re saying that from experience, I guess?”

  “Hell yeah. I’m the same way. Or was, until all this therapy I’ve been having.”

  Olive came bounding down the stairs, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, her shorts in hand.

  “Where were they, tiger?” Brandon asked.

  “Nowhere, Dad.”

  “They were exactly where I said they would be, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And if you’d folded your laundry like I asked, they never would have gotten buried under there in the first place.”

  “Whatever, Dad. Gin, can we go?”

  Brandon gave his daughter a quick kiss on the forehead. “Do everything Gin says. She’s the boss.”

  “No she isn’t,” Olive said, dashing for the door. “She’s just the coach. I’m going to be team captain, and then I’ll be the boss.”

  “Well, it seems like you’ve got the dad thing under control, at least,” Gin said, following Olive out.

  “Like I said—therapy,” Brandon laughed, walking her to the door. “I’d suggest Jake give it a try, but . . .”

  “Like you said,” Gin said. “He’s a hardheaded man.”

  * * *

  Brandon came for the last fifteen minutes of practice, driving the minivan for which he’d traded his Dodge Charger when the kids came to live with him full time. Gin had her hands full when he got there—not with the practice but with an uncomfortable situation that she’d inadvertently made worse.

  Olive had invited a few girls for a sleepover, and Gin made the mistake of mentioning it in front of Cherie. Olive shot her a warning look, but by then it was too late; the girl eagerly asked if she could come.

  “Sorry, my dad won’t let me have any more kids than I already invited,” Olive said before running down the court, leaving Gin to handle Cherie’s disappointment. Her face crumpled, and she began silently crying; the other girls edged away from her and whispered.

  Gin was nearly certain that Brandon wouldn’t have wanted to exclude Cherie, but it wasn’t her place to try to fix the situation. She did her best to comfort and distract the girl, but the more she talked, the harder Cherie cried. “I want to go to the sleepover,” she kept repeating. She only stopped when Brandon joined them, silenced by his presence.

  “Whoa,” Brandon said, grinning. “Was there a casualty on the court?”

  Gin tried to signal him with a subtle shake of her head, but Brandon, unaware of Cherie’s challenges, continued to joke with her for a moment before going down to help out at the other end of the court. By the time practice was ending a few moments later, Cherie had wandered off to the bleachers, where she was slumped despondently.

  Gin drew Brandon aside. “Listen, I just want to give you a heads-up about something,” she said, explaining what was going on.

  Brandon frowned. “That’s not okay,” he said. “It’s not like Olive to deliberately hurt a classmate.”

  “I don’t think she did it on purpose,” Gin said quickly. “I just think . . .”

  Before she could finish her thought, Olive and a few of the other girls came running over, their equipment bags slung over their arms.

  “Okay, Dad, ready to go,” she said, not looking at Gin.

  “Great news,” Brandon said in a firm voice. “Cherie’s going to be able to join the sleepover too.”

  Gin’s heart sank. She knew Brandon’s intentions were good, but the look of horror on Olive’s face revealed just how much she hoped to avoid being associated with the developmentally delayed girl. She remembered Olive’s words from the other day—I’ve got enough problems already. And now Gin had made everything worse.

  Olive shot her a baleful glare, but she didn’t contradict her father, instead allowing Cherie to catch up with her and the others as they walked toward the exit.

  “Could you let Baxter know she’ll be with us?” Brandon asked. “I’ll drive her home tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Gin said, hoping Olive wouldn’t feel betrayed—and that she’d make sure no one was cruel to Cherie.

  “And about that other conversation . . .”

  Gin winced, remembering their discussion about Jake. “Yes?”

  “Just wanted you to know you can always call me if you need more love life advice.” With that, Brandon winked and followed the girls out.

  “Want to explain that?” Nanette asked good-naturedly. “Is Brandon Hart available for marriage counseling? Because I need someone to explain to Tom that Pirates season tickets are not an appropriate gift for our fifteenth anniversary tonight.”

  Gin laughed; Tom Springer adored his wife, and she knew the question was tongue-in-cheek. “I’ll take care of this, Nanette. Go on home and soak in a bubble bath, have a glass of wine, and by the time Tom takes you out to celebrate, you’ll have forgotten all about the Pirates.”

  “You sure?” Nanette tossed her a stray ball that had rolled under the bleachers. “Honestly, if you don’t mind, I could sure stand a little extra time to shave my legs. My mom’s picking up the kids for the night, and—”

  “Say no more,” Gin said. “I’ve got this.”

  By the time Gin finished collecting the practice balls and locking them into the equipment room, all of the girls had been picked up and the sky was darkening fast. A chilly wind kicked up leaves and sent them scuttling along the edge of the gym, lending a lonely air to the empty grounds. One of the parking lot lights was flickering, heightening the eerie, abandoned feeling of the place, and Gin walked quickly to her car.

  She got in her SUV and turned on her radio for company, picking up a jazz station from the city. The mournful notes of a trumpet echoed her melancholy. She was worried she hadn’t handled the situation with Cherie well. But she was even more upset about what Brandon had told her about Jake. How were they going to navigate this latest crisis together? Other couples got to go through a honeymoon phase of getting to know each other, each person putting on their best face and trying hard to make a good impression. But Jake and Gin already knew each other at the deepest level. At least, Gin had thought they did . . . until this latest revelation.

  Gin had money. She’d been well paid in Chicago, and her needs had been few. A workaholic, she’d never taken luxurious v
acations, never even bought a house. The momentum of her last relationship had seemed likely to sweep her along into the next stage of life—marriage, a home, maybe even a baby—but that relationship had come to an abrupt end when Gin had returned to Trumbull.

  Now she was barely making a dent in her savings. Jake had refused her offer of paying rent, and while she tried to contribute in other ways, like buying groceries, their life together was simple. There were no expensive nights at the opera or fine restaurants, no housekeepers or gym memberships, no need for fancy clothes. She didn’t miss any of these things, and she would gladly help Jake with whatever difficulties he found himself in.

  But Brandon’s words replayed themselves in her mind. Don’t push him on this, he had cautioned, and Gin knew he was right. Jake’s pride ran deeper than it did for most other men. He’d had to learn to be tough at a young age, and everything he’d gotten in life, he’d earned the hard way.

  It was nearly dark outside, and Gin’s stomach growled. She thought about picking up dinner at a downtown bistro that specialized in organic comfort food, but the last time she’d done so, Jake had looked at the receipt and scoffed. “Thirteen dollars for macaroni and cheese? I’m obviously in the wrong business.”

  Tonight wasn’t the night to rehash that discussion.

  She turned out on the road, driving carefully to avoid the cones that had been set up along the stretch of road due to a repair project. Erosion was threatening the hillside into which the school was set; the road was being shifted several yards and new guardrails would be installed at the edge. The drop was a steep one, down a sheer rocky cliffside. The road took several hairpin turns to get to the bottom, and Gin quickly realized that she should have taken the longer route, even though it would have added nearly a mile to her drive. With only her headlights to illuminate the road, the going was treacherous.

  Parents had been complaining about the construction since the beginning of the school year, but tonight hers was the only car on the road. Far below, she could see the glowing line of headlights of cars heading to the city for a Saturday night’s entertainment.