Little Secrets

by Jennifer Hillier

  “Well, what else is she supposed to think?” Marin is upset, and her voice is sharper than she intends. She takes a breath, and softens her tone. “But it’s fine. For Julian, I mean. It’s not like the PI knows anything about him. She doesn’t know what I tried to do.”

  “You didn’t try to do anything.” Sal says this forcefully. “You hear me? You met a friend of mine in a diner. You ate some food. The next morning, in a completely unrelated act of generosity, you donated a bunch of money to charity. That’s all you did, you understand? At least, that’s all anybody knows you did.”

  “What about what Julian knows?”

  “That guy won’t say fuck-all to anyone,” Sal says. “If I told you the number of people he’s laundered money for, you’d shit yourself. Names you’d recognize, too. He’ll never talk. It’s an honor code thing with those guys.”

  “‘Those guys’? How many of those guys do you know?”

  “A few.”

  “Christ, Sal.”

  He reaches across the table and grabs her hand. “Marin. You didn’t do anything, you hear me? Whatever happened to Derek’s girlfriend isn’t on you.” He thinks for a moment. “That day you stalked her at the coffee shop. You pay with credit card or cash?”

  “Uh…” It takes Marin a moment to remember. “Cash. I dumped the change into the tip jar. Why? You think the police are going to question me?”

  “Only if they know you were there,” Sal says. “But they won’t. Other than the roommate, who’s even looking for her?”

  Marin’s mind is in overdrive. “You’re sure you told Julian that I changed my mind?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “And you’re completely certain he got your message?”

  “Mar, there was no message. I spoke to him.” Sal rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed he’s being forced to explain it. “I told him under no uncertain terms that you didn’t want to proceed. Not gonna lie, he was irritated, said he’d already gotten a bunch of things in place. I told him to undo whatever he did. He said fine, but you weren’t getting your money back. I said you’d wait for the charitable donation receipt.”

  She lets out a long breath, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. “Then what is all this? How can it be a coincidence that she’s gone?”

  “I don’t know.” Sal shrugs. “And frankly, I don’t give a shit, and I’m surprised you do. She’s young, and probably flaky as hell. Maybe she hooked up with some other dude, didn’t come home, forgot to tell the roommate. None of this is going to lead back to you, so why worry about it? You wanted her gone. She’s gone. You’re back with Derek now, so it’s like she never existed, anyway.” He pauses, chewing his lower lip. “It’s like it never even happened.”

  “Are you talking about them, or us?”

  Sal doesn’t answer. He’s angry. She sees that now.

  “Sal, are you mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad at you.” He looks away for a few seconds, staring at the wall, and then sighs. “Fine. Maybe I am a little. Or maybe it’s more that I’m hurt. I guess I feel a little used.”

  “Sal!” She half laughs. It’s the last thing she ever expected to hear him say. “Used? Seriously?”

  “A little, yeah.” He raises an eyebrow. “What, like that’s so hard to believe? Like a guy can’t feel used and tossed away like yesterday’s newspaper?”

  “With all the casual hookups you have…?” She matches his eyebrow raise, attempting to make light of it.

  “It was never going to be casual with you,” Sal says quietly. “And I know you know that, and that’s why you did it. Because you knew I wouldn’t say no to you. Because you’re the opposite of casual for me, Marin. You took advantage of that. Of me. But I get it. What was it you said to me once? After my dad died? You said hurt people … hurt people.”

  They look at each other, and for a few seconds, for as long as Sal allows it, the heartbreak is all over his face.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I saw that on Oprah,” she says, and they burst out laughing. The laughter breaks the tension, and they both exhale.

  “You’re absolutely right,” she says. “About everything you said. I knew better. I needed to feel close to someone. I wanted to feel wanted, and beautiful, and seen. And you always make me feel that way. And I will always love you for it.”

  “As a friend,” he clarifies.

  “More than a friend.” Marin wants him to know that this is true, because it is. “So much more than a friend. But just … not like a husband.”

  He nods slowly. “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

  “I’m always going to want you in my life. Don’t leave me, Sal. Be mad at me all you want, but please. Don’t leave me. I wouldn’t survive it if you did.”

  “Never.” He doesn’t make eye contact, but he squeezes her hand.

  “Are we okay?”

  He finally looks at her, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes. “Dude. Come on. We never weren’t okay.”

  “Then can you do me a favor?” she asks. “Can you check with Julian again after I leave and make sure that he really didn’t do anything to her? Indulge me, please.”

  “I already told you—” Sal says, but then he stops. “You know what, of course I can do that. If it means you can sleep.” He pauses. “What else did the PI say? Anything new with Sebastian?”

  “Nothing at all.” It’s Marin’s turn to sigh with frustration. “We didn’t even talk about him. But when she called, I nearly fainted. Usually she emails. I thought for sure it was going to be bad news.”

  They sit with that for a moment, and then her phone pings. It’s a text from Derek.

  What’s your ETA? I’m making popcorn and I don’t want to watch Stranger Things without you.

  The text makes her smile.

  “I should go,” she says to Sal.

  He comes around the desk to give her a hug. She squeezes him tighter than he squeezes her, and it feels like she’s broken his heart for the second time in twenty years. She takes back what she said to him when she first got here. She does regret it. Not because of what they did. Because of how it affected him.

  She closes the office door behind her and runs into Ginny in the hallway. She’s coming out of the ladies’ bathroom, and her lipstick looks fresh, her hair a bit shinier. She must have spritzed some perfume on, because Marin can smell her from a foot away.

  “Hey.” Ginny’s expression sours at the sight of her. “Sal still in his office?”

  “Yup, still in there.” Marin eases past her in the narrow hallway. They’re so close, their shoulders graze. “He’s all yours.”

  “You’re hilarious,” the younger woman says, and Marin pauses to glance back. Ginny’s voice is like ice, her eyes like daggers. “Sal will never be anyone’s, thanks to you.”

  Chapter 25

  The funeral for Thomas Payne is held at St. Augustine Church, the same place Marin first met Frances, Simon, and Lila. The chapel is sizable and can easily seat up to four hundred congregants. On this rainy Tuesday morning, however, there are only thirty or so people occupying the first three rows.

  It’s hard to know what to say to Frances. Their unofficial group leader greets Marin, Lila, and Simon as they file in together, the three of them having met up beforehand so they could brace for this day as a team. Frances is pale, but her eyes are clear. She’s wearing a loose-fitting black dress, a black shawl, and black clogs, and her long, graying hair is curly and wild. Marin notices she’s wearing lipstick for the first time since Marin’s known her, a bright rose shade that brings color to her cheeks. Frances hugs each of them for a full minute, allowing them to say the things they need to say, accepting their condolences with a smile that lets each of them know she’s glad they’re here.

  Marin follows Simon and Lila into seats in the second row. It’s hard not to stare at the lacquered brown wooden casket at the altar, draped in white flowers and flanked on each side by enlarged framed photos of Thomas.

  “F
rances is handling this like a champ,” Lila whispers, chewing on her thumbnail. “I’d thought she’d be a mess.”

  “No kidding.” Those were Marin’s thoughts exactly. She’d been expecting to see Frances shell-shocked and barely holding it together, but the woman seems almost the exact opposite of that.

  The three of them stare at the closed casket. The framed photographs flanking the glossy wood show two very different versions of Thomas Payne. The picture on the left is one Marin’s already seen. It’s the photo Frances always shows people when she talks about her son, the same one she posts on Facebook every year on his birthday. In it, he’s fifteen, awkwardly teetering on the precipice of manhood, with good teeth and a smattering of pimples along his jawline. His red hair—the same shade his mother’s used to be—is hidden under a well-worn Mariners baseball cap, the brim curved perfectly to the contours of his face.

  In the photo on the right, it’s Thomas as a man. This picture, Marin has never seen, and she has no idea where Frances got it or how recently it was taken. Thomas is fully grown, his face chiseled but hollow, his hair shaved almost to the skull. He’s leaning against the side of a brick building dressed in dirty jeans and a black T-shirt, painfully thin, skin weathered, a cigarette dangling from his dry lips. His eyes are haunted. He could easily pass for thirty-four instead of twenty-four, and while there’s some indication of the handsome man he might have been had he not spent the last nine years homeless and addicted to drugs, it’s a difficult photograph to look at. Perhaps that’s why Frances chose to display it. Marin has never met anyone more incapable of bullshit, and she can understand that Frances doesn’t want to pretend that her son died looking like the same teenage boy he was when he left.

  “Can I sit with you guys?”

  The voice shakes Marin out of her reverie. Jamie, the newest member from group, is standing at the end of the row. Marin almost doesn’t recognize her. She’s wearing a fitted black dress and three-inch heels, and her hair is blow-dried straight, a far cry from the stringy wet mess it was the first time they met. She didn’t contact Jamie about the funeral—honestly, she’d forgotten all about her—so either Frances called her, or Jamie saw something about it on the group’s Facebook page.

  “Of course.” Marin swallows her surprise, turning to Lila and Thomas. “Jamie’s here. Scooch down.”

  They all move over one seat, and Jamie wedges herself in between Marin and the armrest.

  “How are you?” Marin asks.

  “You know, I never know how to answer that.” Jamie speaks softly, looking past Marin to give Lila and Simon a little wave. “I feel like if I say ‘good,’ people will think, why are you good? You have a missing kid. If I say ‘terrible,’ it just makes everyone feel bad and awkward, wishing they’d never asked.”

  “I like to answer, ‘I’m managing,’” Marin says, and offers a small smile. She knows exactly how the other woman feels. “It reminds them that I’m going through something hard, but doesn’t imply that I’m good, or bad.”

  “‘I’m managing.’” Jamie sounds out the words. “I like that.” They sit in silence for a moment, and then she says, “I almost didn’t come.”

  “Frances would have understood.”

  “I had to see it for myself, though.” Jamie seems to be speaking more to herself than to Marin. “There are only three possible outcomes for our children: they stay missing forever, they’re found safe, or they’re found dead. I needed to see what one of the outcomes looked like. To … prepare myself.”

  The church pianist begins to play the first few bars of “Amazing Grace,” and a hush falls over the mourners. They’re all invited to open their hymn books and sing along, but Marin doesn’t need to. She knows the words.

  “I hate this,” Lila whispers to Marin as the pastor steps up to the podium. “I know it’s selfish, but this is literally the last place I would ever want to be. I don’t want to be here.”

  “I know,” Marin whispers back. “But it’s Frances. It’s the least we can do.”

  * * *

  The reception is at Big Holes, and while the front door is unlocked, a sign on the door informs customers that the donut shop is closed for a private family event. Frances has ordered sandwiches and veggie platters that aren’t nearly as tasty as the donuts and coffee, but most everyone is eating. There’s a handful of people Marin recognizes from when she first joined group, but other than a brief greeting and some small talk, the old members don’t engage with the current participants. Regardless of why they stopped coming, they chose to stop coming, and none of them are comfortable being here. They sit on the opposite side of the room.

  Frances’s ex-husband, whom Marin’s only seen in photos when he was much younger and thinner, is now bald, bearded, and doughy. He’s huddled in a corner with his second wife and their son, a quiet boy of about twelve who looks eerily like Thomas did at fifteen, minus the red hair. The ex-husband has been crying on and off for most of the morning, his sobs gruff and heartbreaking, and his wife seems to have no idea how to console him.

  Marin sits in a corner with Lila, Simon, and Jamie. She’d texted Sadie where she’d be today, but she didn’t tell Derek where she was going. He knows who Frances is, but they’ve never met. Derek’s never attended group, and there seems to be no point in sharing the terrible news with him.

  They’ve only been at the reception for a half hour, and already Marin’s lost count of how many donuts Simon has had. Jamie is asking his advice about cars—she’s considering buying a Highlander—and Lila is currently Facebook-stalking the woman she believes her husband is sleeping with. Marin still doesn’t know Jamie’s story, but maybe she’ll share it at the next meeting.

  Assuming there is a next meeting, considering why they’re here today.

  “I mean, she’s not even pretty.” It’s the third time Lila has said it, and she shows Marin yet another photo of her husband’s alleged lover. Marin agrees, not that she’d say anything if she didn’t. The other woman certainly isn’t a supermodel, but in fairness, she’s not supposed to be. She’s just a regular person with horrible judgment. “I mean, come on. What does Kyle even see in her?”

  He sees that she’s not you, Marin thinks, but again, doesn’t say. It isn’t what Lila needs to hear. “You’re much better looking.”

  “Can you believe he still denies it?” Lila continues to stare at her phone. “‘We’re just friends, babe, relax.’ But you don’t go out drinking and dancing until the wee hours of the night with a woman you’re just friends with. I know he’s screwing her. I know it. I feel it.”

  “Confront her,” Simon says through a mouthful of maple bar. “If he won’t admit it, maybe she will.”

  “That’s a terrible idea. What would that even accomplish?” Marin gives Simon a look, and he shrugs, as if to say, What? She turns to Lila. “You don’t need Kyle to admit it. Your gut doesn’t lie, and nobody knows him better than you do. But remember that whatever he’s doing, it’s not about her. It’s about him. Whatever you need to work out is between the two of you. She could be anybody. She doesn’t matter.”

  She should have taken her own advice. What a hypocrite she is; she knows exactly how Lila feels. She stalked Derek’s mistress at her place of work, for Christ’s sake, only to end up in a diner at midnight with a strange man, discussing murder. You do batshit-crazy things when you’re drowning. When you’re underwater, you’ll grab on to whatever’s closest to you if it means you can take one more breath. Regardless of Derek’s affair, the number of terrible decisions Marin’s made from the moment she lost their son fills her with horror and shame. McKenzie Li is Thomas’s age. It could be McKenzie lying in that casket, had Marin not come to her senses.

  The donut shop suddenly feels warm, and she realizes she’s sweating. She stands up so abruptly, she nearly knocks her chair over.

  “Where you going?” Lila asks, prying her eyes away from her phone. “You okay?”

  “I just need some air.” Marin works at
sounding normal, but her temperature is rising. The walls feel like they’re closing in. If she doesn’t get outside right now, she’s going to lose it. Thomas is dead, Sebastian is still missing, McKenzie is missing, and she’s sitting with two friends—and maybe a new one—whose children are also gone. It’s all too much. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Marin makes her way through the small donut shop to the back and shoves the door open with both hands. A cold burst of morning air greets her. The chill on her damp skin is painfully revitalizing, like a much-needed slap in the face.

  Frances is sitting on top of a picnic table beside the back door, having a smoke. Their eyes meet, and Marin sees that it’s not a cigarette between the other woman’s lips. The skunky sweetness of the marijuana wafts over and into Marin’s nostrils.

  “Sorry,” she says to Frances, and the word comes out a gasp. She works to center herself from the escape she just made from the claustrophobic shop, feeling bad for busting in on a grieving mother’s quiet time. “I didn’t realize you were out here. I can go back inside.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Frances’s voice sounds a little rougher than usual. She moves over a few inches. “Want to sit?”

  “Really, I don’t want to interrupt—”

  “Marin, you’re not interrupting.” Frances pats the bench for emphasis. She takes another drag from her joint. “Come sit by me. I could use the warmth. It’s getting cold out here.”

  Marin steps up onto the table and takes a seat beside her friend. The wood is cold beneath her ass, and she shivers a little until her butt starts to warm up. She contemplates going back inside for her coat, but the energy in the donut shop is too stifling.

  “How are you doing?” she asks Frances gently.

  The other woman doesn’t respond, and Marin is reminded of the brief conversation she had in the church with Jamie. How are you? is a hard enough question for them to answer on any normal day, but on the day of her son’s funeral, what does she expect Frances to say? When they saw each other at group a week ago, they were in the same place. They both had missing children.