Every Last Secret

by A. R. Torre

  His head dipped, and he gave me an awkward wave. “See you later.”

  I lifted my cup in response, my gaze settling on Neena’s face. She glared at me as if I’d pissed in her cereal. I kept my expression light, my voice sunny. “Can you believe this weather?”

  She knotted her arms over her chest. “It’s fine.”

  “Matt looks great—that keto diet is amazing.” I rested my forearms on the fence, a bit of chill coming in through the gap in my robe. “Maybe I should get William on that.”

  She blinked at me, and I could see the inner struggle she had with a response. She was probably warring between telling me to keep my eyes off her husband and reacting to the reference to William.

  “How was the wine-festival meeting?” she finally managed.

  I was surprised she knew about it. Then again, I wasn’t. It was funny she had asked, since she had come up as a topic of conversation. Valerie Cortenza had mentioned she had seen William leaving Bevy’s Sandwiches with Neena on Tuesday. I’d found that information very interesting, since I hadn’t been aware of that lunch. I’d returned home and examined my calendar. I’d had an early dinner with William that night, and he hadn’t mentioned a word about a lunch meeting with her.

  “It was good. Again, so sorry you didn’t make the board.” I frowned in mock regret.

  I pushed off the fence and lifted my coffee to my lips, making sure to use the hand with the diamond, the huge stone impossible to miss. He’s mine. “Have a nice day, Neena.”

  “You, too.” She smiled, and I smiled, and the morning chill didn’t have anything on us.

  CHAPTER 23

  CAT

  “I can’t believe I’m not there.” William cleared his throat, his exhaustion audible even through the phone. “I miss you already.”

  I stretched out on the master bed in our Hawaiian home and kicked the expensive sheets loose. “I know. How’s everything there?”

  He groaned. “I can’t even go into what a screwed-up situation this is. I’m crunching numbers to try to salvage the deal, but it doesn’t look good.”

  “I’m sorry.” I fluffed the pillow under my head. “We should have canceled the trip.” He’d been on his phone since the minute we’d headed to the island. Half of my conversations with him were ignored, his fingers tapping across his phone, the sound of his text-message notifications driving me insane. He’d left two dinners in the middle of our entrées, stepping outside the restaurant for calls, then returning after I’d already polished off dessert.

  “Even the brief moments were worth it. I just owe you another trip after I fire every member of my acquisitions team.”

  For once, the issues hadn’t been with Winthorpe Tech, but with Winthorpe Capital. William had been midacquisition of an accounting firm when a whistleblower in upper management revealed that half of the due-diligence documentation had been altered. This morning, William had left the jet in Hawaii and taken a direct commercial flight at nine. He’d gone straight to the office from the airport and buried himself in work. I’d heard from him sporadically throughout the day, his energy level waning with each call.

  I yawned into the receiver. “I could have come back with you. I’d be dragging you to bed and forcing you to get a few hours of sleep.”

  “As tempting as that sounds, I’m glad you’re there. Someone needs to enjoy that view.”

  I looked out the open french doors at the turquoise waters, the gentle sweep of waves barely audible. “I’d rather look at other things.”

  “Just enjoy the next few days. Get lots of massages and run up our credit card. I expect you to come back tan, spoiled, and ready to punish me for our foiled vacation.”

  “What kind of punishment are you thinking of?”

  He groaned. “Something filthy. Wear that black-lace number I love so much.”

  I grinned, rolling on my side and stuffing the feather pillow under my head. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

  He chuckled, and even exhausted, he was lethal on my heart. I wanted nothing more than to have him beside me, his warm body curled around mine.

  “Have you talked to Matt or Neena?” I pulled the sheet higher on my body.

  There was a pause I didn’t like, a hesitation before he responded. “No. Why?”

  “I was just wondering if they knew that you were back.” I closed my eyes, pushing off my paranoia. He was at the office. There wasn’t a safer place for him to be on a Sunday evening in terms of women or temptation. “Are you planning on sleeping at all?”

  “Once I figure out the real numbers and talk to the legal team, I’ll lie down for an hour. What is it, eleven thirty there?”

  “Yeah.” I yawned. “I’m in bed now.”

  “In California, you’re already a year older.”

  “Ugh.” I curled onto my side. “I prefer my Hawaiian age.”

  “Happy birthday, sweetie. Call me when you wake up. I’ll be a little more sane then.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  After he hung up the phone, I lay there for almost an hour, my mind festering on my increasing age, his empty side of the bed screaming at me. Why had I agreed to have him travel back home alone? It went against every foundation our relationship was built on. We did everything together, yet I’d let him talk me into being here—on my birthday, all alone.

  The next morning I opened up a bottle of chilled champagne and poured a healthy amount into my orange-juice glass. It was funny how birthdays, with age, grew more painful.

  First, there were the obligatory gifts, which were an art in our social circles, each item carefully selected to send the right message and each requiring a perfectly worded thank-you card. Just the act of giving and receiving was a social minefield that had taken me years to navigate properly.

  Then there were the calls—coming from my parents, my sisters, my friends, and a dozen business and social connections. All well intentioned but unwanted, especially on a day like today, when I only wanted William, grinning at me in the Hawaiian sun, a thousand miles away from Neena. This was supposed to be our time to reconnect, to have four days without her smug little smile, her foil-wrapped plates in the center of our counter, her opinions cropping into William’s conversations with me. If I heard Neena said one more time, I’d clench my hands around my ears and snap them off.

  Even worse than William’s mention of her was his silence. I could feel him retreating from me. His phone had become an almost-constant attachment, his emails and text messages dominating our time together. We’d been together for thirteen years, and I’d never seen him this distracted. Something was wrong, and I’d started to count down the days to our trip with a secret plan to put us all back together on the island.

  And look how well that had turned out. William was back home, and I was scrolling through Facebook messages from strangers wishing me birthday cheer. As if getting older were something to celebrate in my world. One day, would I be too old for William? I had never considered it, always so cocky in my view of our marriage. But lately, with Neena breathing down my back, I was questioning everything. I tilted back the glass, my empty stomach rolling in protest of the bubbles. Setting down my phone, I looked at the water and considered walking down to the beach and finishing the bottle in one of the waterside hammocks.

  My cell rang, and I picked it up, seeing my mother’s face on the display. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Happy birthday, honey.”

  An unexpected swell of emotion hit. In the background I could hear my father’s voice and the sound of baseball on the television. I pictured him in his recliner, an afghan laid across his legs. I settled into the closest chair and listened to my mom chatter about the day’s events, getting updates on my sister’s family and their kids. She asked about our trip, and I stretched the first two days into four, playing up the weather and the decadent meals we’d enjoyed.

  “Put William on. I want to tell him hi.”

  “Oh, Mom, he’s in the shower. I’ll tell him when he get
s out.” The lie stuck in my throat, my pride too strong to admit that I was spending my birthday alone.

  I rushed through the remainder of the call and hung up, immediately dialing William’s number. It rang once and went to voice mail, as if he was on the phone. I sighed and ended the call without leaving a message.

  My mind was starting to spin in dark ways, my solitude in this oceanfront home giving my doubts, insecurities, and paranoia free range to work overtime. The fear grew. Festered. Was something wrong between us?

  I’d felt this way before. Six years ago, I’d had a similar feeling. William had been spending more time at the office, and I grew suspicious of the little changes. A cologne he began wearing with steadfast frequency. A new workout regime he was sticking with. An enthusiasm about the office I hadn’t seen before.

  I’d remotely accessed his work computer one day and spent hours wading through emails before I found the potential culprit. First, an email between him and his assistant, where she called him Mr. President. That, while a little odd, wasn’t completely out of left field. He was the president and managing member of Winthorpe Companies. But in his response, he called her Ms. Lewinsky.

  I’d stared at the words until they blurred, hot tears pricking the corners of my eyes, their presence quickly wiped away and replaced by something stronger—anger.

  I’d printed every email between them since the start of her employment and gone crazy with a highlighter and Sharpie, underlining incriminating lines and scrawling notes with lots of exclamation points. By the time my clueless husband came home, every surface in his home office was covered in furious white pages, and my bags were packed and sitting by the door.

  I had been like a baby snake, unable to control my venom and striking out with everything on the initial hit, no reserves left for the dumpy brunette who’d crossed the line with my husband.

  And she had been dumpy. That had been the most alarming thing of all. I’d spent our marriage on high alert for the sex kittens, the glamour queens, the pinup models masquerading as pencil pushers. I’d known his type—leggy brunettes with great bodies—and had blocked every potential threat with precise accuracy. He was a sexual man, one who appealed to practically every woman out there, and I’d spent the first few years of our marriage playing badminton with beauties until I’d found secure footing in his fidelity. But when he had strayed, it had been with the most ordinary of women. Brenda Flort. Forty-two years old to his then thirty-five. Chubby around the midsection, she wore pants a hair too short. Glasses because “contacts made her eyes hurt.” Her hair was in a perpetual messy bun. She was a woman whom William should never have given a second glance to, yet he had. He’d risked our marriage over his flirtation. And I made sure that the minute he’d walked in the door, he understood it.

  It hadn’t gone well at all. I’d expected tearful remorse, a shuddering of composure, and him begging me to forgive him, to give him another chance.

  Instead, he’d turned haughty, dismissing my emails as nothing. He called me crazy and brought up innocent acquaintances of mine, painting them with the same brush.

  We’d fought for hours, our throats growing hoarse. They’d developed nicknames for each other after a conversation on a Lewinsky news piece. That was it. She was old, for Christ’s sake. Did I think he was sleeping with her? Was he not allowed to be playful with his own staff? Was I that insecure in our relationship? Had he ever, in seven years, given me any reason to doubt him?

  I’d deflated and begun to question every word I’d read. I’d cursed myself for not doing more research—following him and gaining more evidence than just emails. Was I wrong? Had it been just innocent wordplay?

  I’d fallen silent, and when he gathered me into his arms, I allowed it. I took his reassurances and swallowed my concerns. The suitcases returned to our closet, where they were unpacked by the home staff the next morning, our perfect life back in place by noon.

  I’d caved, but despite my carefree comments to Neena, I’d never fully trusted him again.

  I was down at the surf when my phone chimed. Moving away from the water, I dug in the pocket of my robe and pulled out the cell. “Hey, love.”

  “I hate that I’m not there to celebrate with you.” William sounded guilty, and I ditched any thoughts of sharing my pity party with him.

  Adopting a breezy tone, I told him about my morning, playing up my lunch, telling him about the beachfront café and an intact conch shell I found half-buried in the sand.

  “You sound like you’ve been drinking.”

  I glanced down at the champagne bottle, almost empty in my hand. “I have been. Remember that bottle of Dom we had for tonight? And the chocolate-covered strawberries?”

  “Ah.” He sighed. “That’s right. I had big plans to lick it all off your body.”

  “Don’t tease me. We’ve got another two days before we see each other. I’m already planning to tackle you the minute I get home.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “I’m miserable without you. I don’t want to ruin all of your fun, but . . . I need you here.”

  He needed me. It was a sentiment uttered frequently between us, but my starved emotions chugged it as if hearing it for the first time. I tossed down the bottle, watching as a bit of the champagne sloshed out the top and fizzled on the sand. “Call the airport and tell them to prep the jet. I’ll go upstairs and pack. I can be on the way there in twenty minutes.” I calculated the time in my head. A five-hour flight . . . I could be there by midnight, California time.

  “Thank you.” His voice was gruff, heavy with need and love. “I promise, I’ll bring you back to the island and we’ll do it right.”

  “I know you will.” I made a kissing sound into the phone and stumbled up the soft sand toward the house, anxious to pack and get back to my husband. There was something I didn’t like about being apart from him. Especially with Neena right next door. Watching. Waiting. Did she already know he was home?

  CHAPTER 24

  NEENA

  The chicken was missing its left drumstick. At the open door to the oven, I glared at the one-legged bird, then turned my head and cursed Matt’s name. He continued rummaging through the fridge, unperturbed by my yell.

  “Honestly, I’m going to kill you.” I slammed the oven shut and opened the lid to the garbage, immediately spotting the evidence, half-wrapped in a dirty paper towel.

  He pulled out a container of yogurt and peeled back the top, ignoring me.

  “You know I like dark meat,” I complained, forcing the lid back on the trash and cursing when it didn’t fit correctly.

  Of course he knew. I always claimed the drumsticks and thighs. He’d probably eaten it out of spite over my refusal to add some NFL package to our cable account.

  “The chicken’s not even done yet. It still has another twenty minutes to cook.” Maybe he’d get salmonella and die. I’d have his five-million-dollar insurance policy and no more headaches. I warmed to the idea and, for not the first time in our marriage, added it to the list of potential retirement scenarios.

  Moving back to my prep of the broccoli-cheese bake, I paused at the sound of my phone, buzzing by the mixer bowl. Licking a chunk of cheese off the tip of my finger, I grabbed the cell.

  I had to come back early. Don’t be alarmed if you see lights on over here.

  I stared at William’s text. He’d had to come back? Had he left her there? I thought of Cat’s smug announcement that they’d be in Hawaii getting some “alone time” for her birthday. Ha! She’d probably stuck birthday candles into a heap of solitude. I leaned against the counter and texted him back.

  Me: When’d you get back?

  William: Yesterday, but I’ve been at the office nonstop.

  Me: Everything okay? Can I bring you some food?

  “That’s the smile I love.” Matt rounded the corner, coming up beside me and pulling me into a hug. I held the phone out of harm’s way and gave him a quick kiss. “What, did you find the perfect recipe?
”

  “No, just got a text from an employee. A breakthrough with the device.” I slipped the cell phone in my back pocket and smiled at him. I could invite William to eat with us, but where would the fun be in that? His attention would be on Matt, and while I was turned on by their close union, I was starting to think that their friendship might slow my progress with William.

  And I needed that progress. My focus on him had increased tenfold with Cat’s recent betrayal, delivered on wine charity–board stationery this Monday. We regret to inform you . . .

  As if they were a fucking Ivy League school. A bunch of lacrosse moms and Ambien addicts, that’s all they were. I could have brought intelligence to the group. I was a doctor. They should have waved me through, no questions asked.

  But I hadn’t even made it to the reduced list of finalists who’d received board interviews. My friendship with Cat should have gotten me that, even if I didn’t have any other strengths in my favor.

  It was clear that she’d sabotaged it. She didn’t want me on there and had slashed through my name with one perfectly manicured nail. I’d let her know how important it was to me. I’d even offered to reduce my interactions with William, but she hadn’t cared. Selfish, that’s what she was. Selfish and shortsighted.

  Cat had done more than remove me from the candidate pool. She’d drawn a battle line in the sand and added a new incentive for my seduction of William.

  “Go sit down.” I pointed to Matt’s recliner, a revolting piece of his-and-her furniture I had lost the battle over. The ugly thing was annoyingly comfortable, its siren call almost soothing on long days. “If you distract me, I’ll burn everything out of spite.”

  His grin crooked up, revealing the chipped tooth from a sixth-grade fistfight. “And mar your perfect culinary record? You wouldn’t dare.”

  It was sweet how much he loved me. I’d wager to say he loved me even more than William loved Cat. She thought she was queen, but her castle was made of sand. One perfectly timed blonde wave and . . . whoosh. Slow erosion at first, then a cascade.