Little Secrets

by Jennifer Hillier

  “She’s beautiful.”

  He waves a hand. “So are you. That’s not the point. That’s not the point of any of this.”

  “Stop smiling. This is not okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” he says, and his smile fades. He puts his hands on her shoulders and shakes her. “It’s not okay at all. So why are you here? Why are you not, right this moment, sitting in front of a divorce attorney discussing how to get the fuck out of this marriage?”

  She doesn’t answer. Because she doesn’t know the answer. Her brain hasn’t yet caught up to her emotions.

  It’s funny how life can blow up in a matter of minutes. One minute, you have a son. The next minute, he’s gone. One minute, your husband is faithful. The next, he’s screwing a twenty-four-year-old, and you’re wondering if your best friend actually knows a guy. Because if anyone knows a guy, it’s Sal.

  He pats her thigh. “Okay. Time to make a plan. I’ll help. Want to crash with me for a few days while you figure things out? The condo has a spare room, sheets are clean. You’d have your own bathroom.”

  “Stop. I can’t think that far ahead.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “He’s also my husband.”

  “He’s a liar and a cheat.”

  “He only lies about cheating.”

  “That you know of. Stop defending him.”

  “He’s Sebastian’s father.”

  “So? That’s not enough.” Sal’s voice is pained. “You can’t use your son as an excuse anymore.”

  “I still love him.”

  “So what?” His voice explodes, and the few heads in the bar turn in their direction. The new server watches them from the far end, her face knotted in suspicion and concern. It probably looks to her like Marin and Sal are having a lovers’ quarrel, the way they’re sitting so close to each other, their discussion emotional and heated. “Where has love ever gotten you? You ask me, Mar, love is way overrated. Fuck love. We should be with people we like. And trust.”

  “Like you? Sleeping with the new waitress?” Marin turns and gives the new server a pointed glance, then raises an eyebrow at Sal. He leans back, surprised she figured it out. Of course she did. She knows Sal. “You like her, huh? Which will last, what, a few months, tops, until she ends up quitting because you’ve moved on to the next one and now it’s awkward to work together? You’re always one bad breakup away from a sexual harassment lawsuit, my friend. What the hell do you know about marriage, or commitment, or relationships?”

  Sal visibly deflates, sagging onto his barstool like she let the air out of his tires. Marin regrets her words instantly. She bit back too strongly, and it’s not okay, because Sal isn’t trying to hurt her. Despite the tough exterior, Sal is as sensitive as they come. He never got married, never had children, and it’s a sore spot she shouldn’t have poked.

  “I’m sorry.” Marin takes his hand. He lets her hold it, and a few seconds later, he gives her palm a squeeze. He heals as fast as he hurts, thank god. “I’m a bitch. That wasn’t about you. You didn’t say anything you haven’t said before.”

  “Yeah, and I keep hoping one of these days you’ll actually hear me.” The expression on his face reminds her of how he looked when he asked her to come back to him in college and she told him she was dating Derek. Puppy-dog eyes. Downturned mouth, now surrounded by salt-and-pepper scruff. “You’ve always been too good for him, and I hate that you don’t know that. He did this to you before, and there weren’t any consequences, which is why he knows he can do it again.”

  “Wow, thanks, Sal.” She dropped his hand. “Blame the woman. So it’s my fault he’s cheating?”

  “No.” Sal thumps a hand on the counter. “But it’s your fault you’re staying. He cheated on you the first time while you were pregnant. Who does that? And yet you stayed. You had Sebastian. And now here you are again. Come on, Mar. Who knows how many others there are? Ones that you don’t know about, and never will.”

  Sal’s honesty is like a sledgehammer. Blunt force trauma to the heart, no bullshit, no wasted movements, no needless words.

  “We’re still married,” she says quietly. “I made vows.”

  “So did he!” Sal’s voice is thunderous. It alarms her; he rarely ever raises his voice. She’s still facing the bar mirror, and behind her she sees heads pop up again. The waitress’s gaze laser-cuts her from across the room. She doesn’t even know Marin, and already she hates her because she’s upsetting Sal.

  “You don’t have to stay in a bad marriage as penance for what happened with Sebastian, Mar. Don’t you understand that? Neither is your fault. Havana wasn’t your fault. Enough already.”

  He doesn’t mean the Cuban city. All best friends have a shorthand way of speaking, and Havana was their nickname for a woman named Carmen, a Nordstrom sales consultant of Cuban descent whom Derek slept with when Marin was pregnant with Sebastian.

  After four rounds of IVF, it was her first pregnancy that had gone past twelve weeks, and Marin was both elated and terrified.

  Derek swore it was only the one time. Ironically, it was Sal who’d told her. He’d been on a date, sitting at a restaurant at a table by the window, when he saw Derek walk by arm in arm, laughing, with a woman who wasn’t Marin. Sal told her about it the next morning, but she insisted he had to be mistaken, that either it hadn’t been Derek, or Sal hadn’t seen what he thought he saw. They argued, with Sal accusing her of being willfully blind and she accusing him of trying to stir up drama because he always thought the worst about her husband.

  Then, two days later, a saleswoman from Nordstrom called to tell Derek that the Ferragamo shoes he’d ordered had come in. Derek’s Nordstrom account must have been attached to Marin’s phone number, and the woman didn’t realize she was leaving a message on his wife’s voicemail. Her greeting back then was generic, the autogenerated “You have reached two-zero-six nine-seven-one…”

  Marin replayed the message twice, certain she’d misheard it.

  “Hey, Derek, it’s Carmen. Your Ferragamos are in. I’ll be at the store till close if you’re planning on coming in … If you do, maybe we could get a drink? I had a really great time the other night. I, um … I can’t stop thinking about you. Hope to see you later. Bye.”

  Marin confronted Derek when he got home, playing the message on speakerphone while he cringed. He apologized, begged for her forgiveness, insisting it was a one-night stand, that the pressures of IVF and all the stress of trying to get pregnant had gotten to him, and he’d lost control. What was she supposed to do? They had a baby on the way, and she wanted it—needed it—to work. They went to couples therapy, and while they eventually found their way back to each other after Sebastian was born, they were never quite the same. Breaking trust will do that.

  Sal moves closer, until his face is inches from hers. His breath smells faintly of garlic, but it doesn’t bother her, because hers probably does, too. Sometimes she wonders if she damaged Sal more than she thought. If maybe the reason he can’t commit to a relationship is because of what happened with them in college. He’s never said so. And she’s never asked.

  “You’d be better off without him,” he says. “You could start fresh. Derek is rich as fuck. You’ll get half of everything. That’s plenty.”

  “You mean like Tia?”

  Sal knows who she’s talking about. Tia is a friend of theirs from college who married a wealthy chef and restaurant owner. For ten years, she lived in a house overlooking Lake Washington. She didn’t have to work. She stayed home with their daughter, playing tennis and volunteering on charity committees. Then Bryan met another woman. The divorce was ugly. Bryan hired better lawyers than she did, and while she got a settlement, he got everything else. And went on to open two more restaurants. Tia now lives in a condo and shares custody of her daughter with her ex-husband and the woman he left her for.

  Marin hasn’t seen Tia in over a year. The last time was when her old college friend dropped off a casserole when the news about
Sebastian broke. Tia said she was “happy in her new life,” but it’s hard to imagine how happy she could be. What Tia lost when she divorced Bryan can never be replaced. Time with her daughter. Financial security. Status.

  Marin doesn’t want to be happy in a new life. She wants to be happy in the one she already has … or used to.

  “You’re not Tia,” Sal says. “You’ve always worked. Tia never did.”

  “You know I couldn’t afford to live how we live on my own.” She feels awful for saying it, but it’s true. The salons make money, but it’s a fraction of what Derek earns.

  “Yeah, but you’ve got me,” Sal says. “And you’ll still be you, regardless of what your bank account says.”

  “I don’t want to lose everything I’ve built.”

  “Would you trade it all to get Sebastian back?”

  “Every penny.” She answers without hesitation, despite the alcohol that’s making her head fuzzy.

  “Then if all you need is your son back to be happy, Derek’s got nothing to offer you. Where’s he even been the last year? He’s never home. He’s emotionally abandoned you.”

  “Derek’s a good man,” she says.

  “No, he’s not. He’s nice, and there’s a difference. You can be nice to someone and still cheat. You can be nice and do shitty things. You can still be nice and ruin someone’s life. He’s nice, Mar, but he’s not good. I hope one day you’ll understand the difference.”

  “Sal,” a voice calls out, and they both turn. The server with the tight jeans is watching them from the kitchen entrance. “Wine delivery. He said he needs a signature.”

  “So sign for it,” he calls back, annoyed. “That’s Ginny,” he says to Marin in a low voice. “She’s getting annoying. You said three months? I don’t know if we’re gonna make it three weeks.”

  “How many times have you slept with her?”

  “Only twice.” He looks offended. “But now I think she’s got feelings.”

  “Well, you always were fantastic in bed.”

  Sal throws his head back and laughs. It makes Marin feel better to hear it, to know that she can still make someone sound that way.

  “Sal,” Ginny calls again. “The wine.”

  He disappears into the back room long enough for Marin to order an Uber, and returns just in time to catch her as she’s wobbling off her barstool. The room spins, and she nearly keels over. He grabs her, and props her up.

  “Christ, you’re shitfaced. It’s not even four o’clock.”

  “Achievement unlocked,” she says, and her words are slurring. “I ordered an Uber. Be here in three minutes.”

  He takes her phone out of her hand. The Uber app is still open, and he cancels her ride. “I’m driving you home. Give me your keys.”

  She digs them out of her pocket and hands them over. “Are you sure you’re not needed here?” she asks as they make their way to the door. The floor is rippling. She moves to hug him, but she’s sloppy and she ends up draping herself all over him. From across the room, Ginny is shooting daggers at them with her eyes, and Marin waggles her fingers at her. The other woman doesn’t wave back.

  “Ginny,” Sal calls to her, “I’m out for the day. When Tommy gets in, remind him I’m heading up to the farmhouse tonight.” Tommy is his head cook and assistant manager.

  “When are you coming back? We’ve got—”

  “I’m back when I’m back,” he snaps.

  Chastised, Ginny’s head drops.

  “You didn’t say you were going to Prosser,” Marin says, leaning against him. It feels and sounds like there are cotton balls in her mouth.

  “Last-minute decision.”

  “Tell your mom hello. I miss her so much.”

  Sal barks a laugh. “Now I know you’re wasted.”

  He helps her into the passenger seat of the Porsche and buckles her seat belt. He fumbles with it for a moment, and as he’s leaning across her, she inhales. Soap and water, and shampoo. Same smell. Same Sal. The scent of him is comforting. He’s comforting. She feels safe. She closes her eyes.

  She sleeps.

  Chapter 9

  It feels like only a second later when Sal wakes her up. Marin must have passed out hard, because when she opens her eyes, they’re in the driveway of her house, and Sal is once again leaning across her, unbuckling her seat belt.

  He helps her out of the car and up the steps to the front door, propping her up again while she tries to remember the code. She hardly ever uses the front entrance. She and Derek park in the garage and enter the house through the mudroom, which is rarely locked. The first attempt, which she remembers too late is her ATM card pin, causes the little light to blink red. The second attempt, their wedding anniversary, also fails.

  And then she remembers. The door code is Sebastian’s birthday, and an overwhelming wave of grief hits her as she enters the number into the keypad and the light finally flashes green.

  “What?” Sal asks, feeling her sag against him. “What is it? You going to be sick?”

  “No.” She’s not going to be sick. She never throws up, at least not from drinking. Not anymore. “Can you help me up to the bedroom?”

  He shuts and locks the door behind them. She kicks off her shoes and shrugs out of her coat, leaving both on the floor of the foyer. Sal helps her up the long, winding staircase and into the bedroom, where she plops onto the bed and closes her eyes. The room is still spinning, but she’s a bit clearer than she was when they left the bar.

  Sal sits beside her, and she leans against his shoulder. She likes the way he feels. So solid. So present.

  “Do you have to rush off?” she asks, aware that they’re both on the bed. But she doesn’t want to be alone. She’s always alone these days.

  “No,” he says, resting his cheek on her head. “I can hang for a bit.”

  She settles into him, wanting to lie down with him, but of course that would be wholly inappropriate. They’re already close to crossing a line as it is.

  “Remember when I said I know a guy?” he murmurs, stroking her hair, which has fallen in messy strands across her forehead. Maybe it’s because they’re alone in the quiet bedroom, but his voice gives her the shivers. It’s husky, intimate, a voice she hasn’t heard him use with her since she was his girlfriend. It excites her, and she feels a tingle, but it’s probably just the alcohol making her feel this way. “I wasn’t kidding, Mar. I do. And he can take care of this problem for you.”

  “Stop. I was joking.” She tries to pull back to look up at him, but his arms are strong, well-muscled. They don’t budge when she tries to extract herself from his embrace.

  “I wasn’t,” he says into her hair.

  “Fine, give me his info.” She can play along for two minutes until he leaves. When Sal doesn’t say anything, she says, “What, he doesn’t have a business card? What does this guy do, exactly? Lawyer?”

  “I told you,” Sal says. “He’s a fixer.”

  “Perfect. Can he kill someone and make it look like an accident?”

  “Maybe. He definitely knows people who can.”

  “You’ve used him before?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “You trust him?”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” he says bluntly. “Except you.”

  His arms loosen, and she pulls away just enough to stare into his face. He meets her gaze, holds it. It feels like an eternity, waiting for his lips to twitch, waiting for any hint of a smile to let her know that he’s kidding, waiting to deliver the punchline. Because as shady as some of his friends are—and as shady as he is, at times—of course he doesn’t actually know people who can have other people killed. That would be absurd.

  But the punchline doesn’t come. He’s dead serious.

  Marin can admit she was angry when she got to the bar, but come on. Joking about killing a woman is way out there, even for a guy like Sal with a dark sense of humor. She knows she’s been having terrible thoughts all day, but this is …


  And then, finally, a shit-eating grin spreads across Sal’s face.

  “You ass.” She smacks him on the arm, and he lets out a hearty laugh. Again, it’s the Sal she remembers from the old days. The wisecracking Sal, the easygoing Sal, the Sal who loves her unconditionally.

  Laughter has always made her feel close to him, and before she can think about it, she kisses him.

  It’s a sloppy, wet, drunk kiss, and he doesn’t respond to it, but he doesn’t protest, either. She pulls back after a second, feeling her cheeks redden from embarrassment. He doesn’t say anything, just heaves a long sigh, and instantly she wishes she could take it back. She’s had a shitty day, and now she’s made it worse by completely crossing a line she should have never been anywhere near. She opens her mouth to apologize, but before she can say anything, Sal grabs her by the shoulders and throws her back onto the bed.

  His tongue is in her mouth and the weight of his body feels heavy and comforting on top of hers. She kisses him back passionately, pushing herself against him as his hands move everywhere, and it’s like they can’t get close enough to each other. His lips are on her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, and she wants him, all of him, on top of her, inside of her, so she can forget everything she feels, and everything she knows, if only for a little while.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he rolls off her as suddenly as he rolled on, sitting up on the bed, his breath coming out fast.

  “What’s wrong?” she gasps. “Why did you stop?”

  “I can’t,” he says, not looking back at her. “You’re drunk, Marin. And you’re my best friend. This isn’t right.”

  She notices he doesn’t say and you’re married. She reaches for him, placing her hand on his arm. “Sal, look at me.”

  He does, turning his head toward her. He looks completely conflicted. His eyes are filled with desire, but his mouth is pressed into a straight, determined line.

  “I’m drunk, but I know what I’m doing,” she says. “Do you need to me to consent? Because I consent. I consent. I want this. I want you.” She leans forward, pressing her face into his arm, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. “I need you, Sal. Don’t go. Be with me. Please, be with me.”