The Release of Secrets_Littlest Sparrow Gone

by Megan Maguire

“Salem.” He breathes.

  His scent seeps into me. The second I unlock the deadbolt, he rushes in and backs me up against the wall.

  “Hi,” he whispers. A thirst slips from his mocha lips as he digs his fingertips into the back of my thighs. I close my eyes in anticipation of a kiss. “You look hot today.” His hand drifts under my dress, fingers traveling up and into the bottom of my silk undies. “Sexier than when you wore that orange bikini as a kid.”

  “That so?” I smile.

  “Yep.” His breath heats my neck. He presses forward, the tissue box a barrier between our chests. “I should’ve told you that earlier, out there in the rain under the trees … maybe slipped my tongue into your mouth … slipped it other places.”

  “Nate…”

  “But the time wasn’t right.” He strokes my cheek.

  This touch is what I want. This closeness. This was my plan all along: an easy access outfit served up with a dash of patience.

  “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  “I can’t. I have to be here from four to eleven for check-in.”

  “You can do both.”

  “You’re whipped,” Jim calls from the laundry room.

  Nate, his eyes set on me, kicks the door closed to shut Jim out.

  “How?” I ask.

  “Dinner. Upstairs. I’ll leave my door open so you can hear if someone’s in the lobby.”

  “So you’re saying I’m dinner. Is that the plan?”

  He grins. “Promise, a real dinner. Come upstairs at six.”

  I’m skeptical, but I love the way his eyes smile when he looks at me. “Is lobster on the menu?”

  “I’ll do my best.” He guides my hand over his erection.

  “Takeout?” I tease.

  He steps back and gives me a seductive look. “If you want to take it out, I’m game.”

  He opens the door and walks out, closing it between us. Footfalls leave me behind.

  “Quick Ollie, to the bathroom buddy. I’ve got a lot to do.” I set the box down. “Bath, then letters, then Nate.” I lock the door. “Bath, letters, Nate.” Ollie jogs alongside me to the tub. “Hurry, Olls. Bath, then letters, then Nate.”

  My cell rings as I’m warming the water. I pull it from my hoodie pocket, scrunching my nose at the name.

  “We’ll let that one go to voicemail.”

  I ignore the second call. The third gets on my nerves. By the fourth, I give in, answering in a huff.

  “What do you want, Brad?”

  “Officer Brenner.”

  “Stop it. I’ve called you Brad since we were kids.”

  “Salem…”

  “Hold on.”

  I set my cell on the floor and lift Ollie into the tub. He holds his tail down low. Poor guy.

  He suffers through a few cups of water poured over his back without a whimper.

  “Salem, you there?” Brad shouts.

  “Wait,” I say down to the phone. I put a dab of almond-scented doggy shampoo in my palm and massage it into Ollie’s back, down his legs, and under his belly.

  “Salem!”

  “Okay.” I pick up my cell with a sudsy hand, sedately rubbing Ollie with the other. “What?”

  “Can I get you to listen for a minute?”

  “Yeah, go ’head.”

  He’s suddenly quiet. For as long as I’ve known Brad, this is the first phone conversation we’ve had without him crunching, gulping, swallowing, or burping.

  “I’m listening.”

  He clears his throat. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  “You should be.” I grin.

  “Hey, it’s not easy.”

  “What, being a cop?”

  “No, being called out to the lodge all the time.”

  “Like I said, being a cop. It’s your job to help—”

  “Salem … Connor was my best friend.”

  I stop washing Ollie. My head lowers to the edge of the tub.

  A bottle cap twists, a fizz, a swig, followed by a lengthy sigh.

  “Connor was my only friend. We were dorks back in high school. Or at least I was … a fat kid with pimples and bad hair. Remember the bowl cut my mom always gave me? I didn’t win over any girls with that look. But Connor was so goddamn nice to me. The other guys gave me wedgies and titty twisters. It sucked. Connor was the only one who took the time to talk to me. He let me come over and be his friend.”

  “He didn’t let you, Brad. He wanted you here. He liked you.”

  “Exactly. He liked me, and I miss the hell outta him. So it’s hard to turn down the driveway to the lodge every week.”

  I know all of this. And I admit, sometimes I’ve overreacted and called in a needless complaint to Brad so I could see a familiar face. Maybe some part of me thought Brad needed the same. To be here, to see me, but I guess I was wrong.

  “You’re not the only one who lost him,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “Then stop fucking torturing me. Stop calling me out for pointless shit, all right?”

  His voice splits like the heart sign out front, a break straight down the middle. He’s more upset than I thought.

  “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

  He takes a long pull on his drink. “It is.”

  “But we were friends, too. I’d like to stay in touch.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh? What does that mean?”

  “Salem … look, there’s something I should’ve asked … uh … a long time ago.” He gets the words out between swallows. “Do you … you wanna go out sometime?”

  “Excuse me?” I cover my mouth, a mix of surprise and disgust.

  “To Martin’s for a beer.”

  “Jesus Christ. Where the fuck did that come from?”

  “What?”

  “Bradley Brenner, you can’t be serious. Is this what’s going on? You’re jealous, aren’t you? Jealous that two hot guys are here.”

  He hangs up.

  “Damn him. Damn you, Brad.”

  Ollie looks back, shivering. I rinse him off and bundle him in a fleecy towel. His sodden fur is dirt-free and back to its pretty tan and cream colors. “Looking good, Olls. A kiss on the head and you’re all set.” I unwrap the towel and he trots to my bedroom. He climbs his doggy stairs to the bed and shakes out his fur. Water droplets land on my comforter, matching the rain spattering against the old window.

  I pick up the tissue box from the hall and join him on the bed. “Here we go, Olls,” I say, a bit frazzled, but wholly excited that I have a few minutes to read some of the letters. I rub my palms together and take a shallow breath. “Here we go.”

  • • •

  Grady,

  Checking in, my friend. Haven’t heard hide nor hair from you or Gert since I dropped off the treasure hunt flyers. Come across anything? Sure you’d tell me. I know my grandson’s all I talk about now. Must be tiring for the two of you, but you’re good to let me share. It won’t be long until he’s home. Then we’ll have a beer and kick back like the good ol’ days, maybe argue about the Paula Jones case, or gripe over skyrocketing gas prices. Can you believe it? $1.20? Outrageous! We’re doomed when a cup of Joe hits the dollar mark. When that happens, the four of us should leave civilization behind and live a laid-back life in the mountains. Have we done that yet? Perhaps not. Not as far as we were once hoping to go. Remember when we were kids and we ran away from home, spent a week hiking along the lake? We said we’d never return to the hubbub of town. What happened to those adventurous lads from the fifties? Sure, we’re out here, but are we roughing it? Tell me what you think, Grady. Gert and Carol get our food from that big chain grocery, and we can’t live without our TVs or our cars. Carol was even talking about buying a computer. She has some cockamamie idea that we need something called dial-up Internet to talk to people. Do you know what that is? Talk to who? Why can’t we pick up the telephone to talk to our friends? What
’s the world coming to? Do people no longer write letters? How impersonal have we become? It’s a ruse. Do you feel the same? I want to know.

  I’m laughing about it and crying at the same time.

  Crying, Grady, always crying.

  Felix

  • • •

  A shimmer passes through me as I straighten my shoulders and pick up the next letter.

  • • •

  Grady,

  Haven’t heard back. Should I stop by? I know you hate surprise visits, but Carol and I are worried. At least return my calls when you get a chance. What are you doing out there? Is Gert okay? Hope she’s still making that delicious borscht.

  Sorry to always be the bearer of bad news, but did you hear about Annie Merchant? Went down to Florida to visit her kids and was dragged to the bottom of a pond by a gator. Egads, what a horrible way to go. Carol hasn’t been in the lake since she got the news, won’t even go in the backyard, convinced someone’s pet gator may have escaped and is living in the water. She’s phobic of everything since we lost Eli. And I suppose I’ve been looking over my shoulder a bit more myself.

  I have some good news, though. The flyers I made are working. My son said they’ve had a few guests search the forest for the ‘Whitfield Treasure.’ A man found a child’s T-shirt, but it was too big to be Eli’s. Maybe it’s your grandson’s. Is he still out there with you? Keep an eye on him. Next year, when our bones aren’t so rattled, I’ll tell Connor about Nate, send him out that way to have a playmate. They’re the same age. Good boy, our Connor, doubt he’ll make your hair turn gray. He’ll keep his visits a secret so you don’t get other people on your property. But in time, not this year, it’s still too soon for our grandkids to be in the forest alone. Another year or two.

  Well then, if I don’t hear from you, I’m going to drop by on Friday. Fair warning, I’m bringing a 6-pack and a couple of cans of sardines. I’ll catch you up on what the Tilford Lake gossipmongers are saying down at the marina. Big news about John Engle and another knee surgery.

  Felix

  • • •

  I place the letter over my heart, my granddad’s presence in the room, nudging me to keep reading. His past is weaving into the present to speak to me, to help guide Nate and me, to release the lost stories of his life. How many people get this chance?

  I’m closer than I was yesterday. Closer to where I want to be tomorrow. I’m closer to deciphering secrets and unraveling haunting dreams, closer to Granddad Felix, to Connor, and to Eli.

  thirteen

  Nate and Jim are eavesdropping on my conversation with Joss. I lean alongside the lobby desk, eyes up to the balcony, smiling at Nate as he looks over the wooden railing.

  “He asked you out?” Joss freaks. “Brad Brenner asked you out for a drink? Does he not remember asking me out a year ago? Do guys not understand they can’t prey on best friends like that?”

  “I feel kind of bad for him.”

  “He’s a creep.”

  “I know. He tries too hard.” I slide my hand down my dress to smooth out the wrinkles.

  “Nail polish?” Joss whispers. “Super sexy, babe.” She slicks her lips with her favorite plum lipstick and puckers them at Jim, an invitation to come down to the lobby. It’s a call he can’t resist.

  My nail polish is still tacky. I place my hands on the desk, splaying my fingers to admire the deep burgundy paint job, the color of fall maple trees. “The last time I wore nail polish must’ve been before my mom died. We always tried to match.” I blow on my fingernails, thinking back to the first time she painted them—a crisp October morning when my grandma took Connor and me to Clayton Winery for an open house. We wore our sexless Sparrow Lodge sweatshirts and wool pants, walking advertisements for the lodge. My mom wanted my nails to look pretty so I’d stand out from my brother, to call attention to the fact that I’m a girl. She brushed on a golden-yellow color, and said that with the black sweatshirt I could pretend to be a bumblebee. I was thrilled, thrilled because, without it, my brother and I looked like twins.

  Of course, my mom was mostly a wreck, no one ever needed to ask why, but those small gestures were always comforting. They’re what made her a cool mom.

  “He’s keyed up,” Jim says. “Haven’t seen him this nervous about a woman since … well, never. Women usually chase after him, not the other way around.”

  Embarrassed, I turn to Joss. “Call up if you need anything.”

  “Girl, please. I can check people in and watch this place with my eyes closed.” She smiles, and I signal to wipe a spot of lipstick off her teeth. “Thanks,” she says.

  I gather my granddad’s letters and head upstairs. Nate’s no longer on the balcony, but his door is open. I spy the downturned bed inside. On the small table next to the window, three lit candles flicker onto peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a bottle of rum. He did make dinner.

  “Salem.” My name, soft whispered, comes from the direction of Virginia’s room. Her bony fingers prowl into the hallway and wave me closer. I head through the dark hallway of the navy night, leaving behind the warm glow of Nate’s room.

  “Hi,” I greet her from the doorway.

  “Don’t be shy. Come in.” She’s securing the delicate stems of crocus flowers to twigs, piecing them into a wreath with the help of twist ties. “What do you think?” She places it on her head, gesturing to the work of art like she’s showing off the grand prize on a game show—a new car, a trip to Hawaii, a speedboat—only better, a gem, her gem. It’s not a wreath; it’s a crown.

  After a shaky turn on her spindly legs, she takes it off and places it on my head. “Crocuses repel strong liquor odors. Take a whiff. Can you smell rum?”

  I sniff. “No.”

  “Good, it works.”

  I remove the crown and set it on the bed. The soft mound of white reminds me of fresh snowfall in the forest.

  “My first husband was an alcoholic. The stench bites into my stomach, but this should help me sleep,” she says.

  “You smell liquor in the lodge?”

  “I have a nose for it.” She points toward Nate’s room. “He’s handsome, but certainly looks don’t make the man. That poor soul has a weak aura from all the liquor seeping out of his pores. And that weight he carries must come from his family’s buried secrets. As does my weight and yours.” She takes my hands and studies my palms like she did the other morning, tracing the lines, grimacing like something’s wrong. “You’ve been married?”

  “Yes.”

  “Divorced or are you cheating?”

  “Divorced.” I smile. “I hate cheaters.”

  She nods. “Good. And he was handsome?”

  “I thought so.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Meaning what?” I love her insatiable curiosity.

  “Besides his looks, was he special? Did he offer you anything for a fulfilling life?”

  I think about Steven and his constant need to be right. How I had no power. How he had to be the center of attention and the top dog amongst his friends. All because he had some worry or insecurity, when in reality, I’m the one who should’ve been worried. But lack of experience due to age is a handicap, blinding at times. It took me years to see the light.

  “No need to answer, Salem. I’m not the one who needs to know, you do.”

  “I’ve figured it out, that’s why I’m divorced.”

  A quiet laugh parts her thin, wrinkled lips. After a gentle pat on my forearm, she picks up the crocus crown and examines the ties with a satisfied smile. “These little flowers are also known to awaken love. Was lining your driveway with them planned?”

  “Yes, by my grandparents.” I return to the important subject. “So you think Nate has secrets?”

  “Nate?” she asks.

  I thumb toward his room.

  “That name doesn’t suit him. You can start there. Ask him who he is.”

  “It’s Nathan Harlow.
I saw his ID.”

  Joss giggles then bursts into laughter, as if Jim’s tickling her. I look down the hallway and back at Virginia, making eye contact to apologize for my boisterous friend.

  “It’s fine,” she says, “I made this for her. She needs love. Honest-to-goodness love and romance in her life, not just a bedmate.”

  Virginia is either a snoop or a psychic.

  She steps into the hallway with the crocus crown and waits for me to follow. I close her door on my way out, and we walk together toward the balcony.

  “Are you clairvoyant? Or were you like, a medium or something?” I ask, half-joking, half-serious.

  “No, a live mannequin.” Her voice warbles from age. She leers down to the lobby at Joss.

  “Is that what it sounds like?” I ask.

  “Yes, a live mannequin for window displays in New York City. I started in the sixties and retired twenty years ago.”

  “I never heard of such a thing.”

  “Most people haven’t.”

  I picture her as a young woman standing in a store window, modeling clothing, her face caked in makeup, taking leaden breaths while listening to the world go by.

  “I don’t have the patience to sit still for long,” I say.

  Joss breaks free from Jim’s greedy hold when she sees us. She mouths sorry, and I wave a hand for her not to worry.

  “My friend would also suck at it.”

  “No, she fits the part. The outgoing ones mingled with the customers. I was one of the few who chose to be a statue.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  She rests her hand over mine on the balcony railing. “Not so much. We had regulars who I watched for years. People I knew everything about—when their children married or a grandchild was born—but I never existed to them. Never seen nor heard. Just a fly on the wall.” A pause. She looks at Nate’s room for a second, then returns to me. “Not lonely, Salem. I was lucky. I knew people’s deepest secrets without having to get involved. I saw men shopping for their wives. Then they’d come back another day to shop for their mistresses. I watched some of the wealthiest women in the city shoplift piddly items for no reason, other than for excitement. That’s how they spruced up their dull lives. I’d say they were the lonely ones, not me.”