Keeping You a Secret

by Julie Anne Peters

  "It ain’t the Ritz, but hey. What we lacks in looks, we makes up for in love.” The guy who managed the place, William, had a thick southern accent. Okay, he was sweet. He told us he and his partner shared an apartment on the main floor. “But the penthouse suites are on the second floor. This-a-way." He crooked a finger and bounded up the stairs.

  As he unlocked my room at the top of the rickety steps, he added, “You’re lucky. This suite just opened up yesterday.”

  I couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped from my mouth. The apartment was a dump. Wallpaper was peeling everywhere and the furniture, if you could call it that, was all ripped and filthy. The mattress – oh, my God – the mattress was stained. The whole place reeked of mold and rot and cat pee.

  Cece entered the room and wandered around, fingering things. William pulled me aside in the hall. "Okay, hon, here’s your key. We really discourage you from making a copy for your girlfriend. We’ve had some problems with exes, if you know what I mean.”

  No, I didn't know what he meant. Like what? Burglary? Domestic violence?

  He pressed the key into my hand. “Let me give you the grand tour.” He crossed the threshold. “You have all your amenities. Salon, master bedroom, deluxe kitchen, den.” His arm swept across the one big room. There was the bed, a rusty sink, an ancient refrigerator, a crusted-over microwave, and a fifties dinette set. I spied the door to the bathroom on my right and decided against a preview. “There isn't a lot of storage space,” William said, “but if you need more there's a rental unit down the street. And if you want to use our kitchen for a party or something, just ask. We serve brunch on Sundays for everyone in the house, then afterwards we all gather for family hour. Just to see how everybody's doing."

  “Is this the bathroom?” Cece asked. She popped her head in and pulled it out fast. The horror in her eyes spoke volumes.

  William rattled off the rules: We were free to come and go, no parties on weekdays, be considerate noisewise. Not too restrictive. I asked the question I’d been avoiding, dreading the answer to: “How much is the rent?”

  “For you?" He sized me up. “Free.”

  "Free? Are you kidding?”

  William winked and grinned.

  For free, it was the Plaza.

  "Until you get your feet on the ground," he added. "Then it's sliding scale.”

  “What’s that?” Cece and I asked together.

  “Means whatever you can afford. You just take care of you." He gave my arm a squeeze. "We have a philosophy here: Accept the help you need; give the help you can.”

  Cece said, “How many other lesbians live in this place?”

  William replied, “None – at the moment. To be honest, we don't get too many women.”

  “That’s good," Cece said.

  What was good about it? I wondered. That I was a rarity? Oh, yeah, I felt so special.

  “Wait," I said to William as he headed for the stairs. “Is every one here homeless?”

  He scrunched up his face. “Now, hon. You're not homeless. Are you? Ramon, is anyone here homeless?" he called down the hall.

  A tall boy with dreads, who'd just exited his apartment, turned around. "Homeless?" he quipped. "Not us." A dimple dented his cheek.

  "Get out here.” William shooed him down the stairs. “Everybody here is, what we like to call, in transition. Moving to a better place.” He waggled a finger in my face. “You are not homeless. Now, when you feel up to it, come on down and fill out the paperwork. Oh, and I have some clean sheets and towels. A hull welcome basket full of goodies from the Center, too.”

  “It’s not so bad," Cece said as I shut the door. “We can paint and hang curtains. Buy some rugs and kitchen supplies at yard sales." The hand she dragged across the dinette table left tracks in the grime. She wiped her fingers on her pants. “Today we'll give it a good scrubbing down –”

  "Not today," I cut in. “I need to be alone today.”

  She frowned a little. Coming over to me, she said, “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “Iʼm fine.”

  She took my hands. “Holland…?”

  “Please, Cece. Just go.”

  She looked hurt, crushed, but must’ve sensed my need. She kissed me and said, “Don’t worry, baby. Everything'll work out. Your mom'll probably call next week and beg you to come home.”

  I might’ve laughed.

  “I’m sorry," she said. “It might take a little longer for her. But hey, look on the bright side." She removed her baseball cap and stuck it on my head, then pulled my face close to hers. “At least now we have a place.”

  After I carted up my meager possessions, shut and locked the door, I wandered over to that dingy window. My view was the alley Dumpster, where some old bag lady was picking through the garbage. Yesterday, I thought, I was Holland Jaeger, regular parson, regular life. I had a home, a family, a history. Today I’m…

  I don't know what I am, where I am, who I am.

  I checked to make sure my phone was on, the batteries charged. I set it on the microwave. Without warning, a ground swell of sorrow overwhelmed me and my bones disintegrated. I slid down the wall to the floor, bawling into my hands.

  Chapter 22

  Cece and I scoured the apartment from top to bottom on Sunday. Either the Lysol fumes made me lightheaded, or being busy staved off my depression. “Mom’s sending over more sheets and blankets and towels,” Cece said. “Kitchen stuff, too. I think she feels guilty about abandoning you.”

  “Don’t.” I stopped scraping the gunk off the microwave to look at her . “Your mom’s great. You’re lucky and you know it.”

  Cece dipped her sponge into the bucket and continued scrubbing the wall.

  “I was going to ask your mom…” I swallowed hard. “Never mind.”

  "Ask her what?”

  I sighed. "If she’d hire me part-time. I’m going to need more money. I’ll need to buy food and toothpaste and shampoo, every thing. My job at Children's Cottage pays like crap.”

  “I wish you'd told me you were thinking about that." Cece swept a cobweb off her head. “Mom just hired a part-time helper. But," she snapped her lingers, “I bet my uncle would hire you at Hott ‘N Tott. He’s always looking for people to work the early shift.”

  “Yeah?" My hopes soared. “That’d be great.”

  “Iʼll talk to him tonight.”

  I voiced my next thought: “I might have to quit school.”

  Cece spun around. “No. What are you talking about? You can’t quit. You have to graduate. You have to. What kind of example would it set if the student body president dropped out?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Who cares?”

  She flung her sponge into the bucket and charged across the room. Clenching my arms, she spun me around to face her and said, "I care. You have to graduate. You have to go to college. You have to think about your future.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “Oh, puhllease –” Cece paused. She bit her lip. “You’re not serious, are you? You wouldn’t really quit school because of this. Because of…me?”

  "It's not because of you. It’s not your fault.”

  “Holland,” she said, shaking me, “don't do it. Don’t do anything youʼll regret.”

  Like promising to keep us a secret? I didn’t say it. Her tightening grip was hurting my arms and I twisted away. “I probably wonʼt quit,” I muttered.

  “Promise."

  When I didn’t right away, Cece said in my face, “Promise!”

  “Okay, I promise.” Geez.

  Smiling, she patted my arms and said, “Thatʼs my girl.”

  Why did she make me feel like she was my mother and father and friend and lover all rolled into one? Because she was. She was my everything. “What are you doing next year?" I asked as she returned to her bucket. "Staying at Southglenn or going back to Wash Central?”

  “I’m never going back there,” she said. "I can't."

  Canʼt? "What do you me
an?”

  She replied, “Turn up the radio. I love this song.”

  I amped the volume on the portable radio Cece had brought over. She began to dance and rock out, obviously avoiding the question.

  I resumed scraping. That solved one problem, anyway. I was’t leaving to go to college out of state – if I was going at all. Right now college was the furthest thing from my mind. Surviving day to day took priority.

  The song finished and Cece’s sponge plopped in the water. She flung herself backward across the bed and said in a yawn, “Let’s go get a pizza or something. I’m wiped.”

  I set my knife on top of the microwave, trudged over, and sprawled out beside her. We gazed up into the cracked and blistered ceiling. Facing her, I said, “You want to try it out?”

  A slow smile snaked across her lips. "I thought you'd never ask.”

  ***

  Quitting school was never an option, really. Well, maybe it was, but there were only eight weeks left. No sense throwing it all away, like Mom had. Like her life was so ruined. Her future destroyed.

  The resentment, the anger toward her began to consume me and I couldn’t let it. I had three midterms and a presentation next week, not to mention the leadership conference. Seth had gone ahead and organised the whole event, which I felt guilty as hell about. I wanted to thank him, to tell him he’d done a fantastic job, but try to talk to him. He acted like I was the Scourge.

  Art class was my salvation. I could totally zone while Mackal assumed I was visualising the next Sistine Chapel. Occasionally, Cece would glance back at me, looking worried, and press a fist to her heart, making me squeal with ecstasy. On the inside only, of course.

  One Friday afternoon, feeling wasted from all the stress and overwork, I slid into my seat in art and ran through my usual rouine: Check the phone, pull out my sketchbook, stare at the back of Cece’s head. Mackel showed us slides of various objects and talked about how to draw perspective. How to give dimension to buildings, rooms, furniture.

  A vision came to me. My dump. I dug out a pencil and began to sketch it. That was depressing. I ripped out the page.

  Mackel eyed me. I grimaced an apology. What about drawing my vision of what the room could be?

  Okay, it had possibilities. See beyond the surface, Mackal had said.

  The act of creating, of transferring my altered vision to the page was oddly comforting. Possibilities. They were there.

  ***

  We were sitting in a booth sharing a box of donut shards and refilling napkin holders when Cece looked up and smiled. I twisted around. Faith stood at the counter, hangdog. "I brought your stuff," she grumbled, shoving a couple of Hefty trash bags at me.

  So this is what my life has been reduced to, I thought. Faith added, “She was going to throw it all out.”

  An ache gnawed at my core. “Is my safe in there?" I sniped.

  “No," Faith said. “She kept that. She said…” Faith stopped.

  My eyes narrowed. “She said what?”

  Faith stuck her thumbnail in her mouth and started chewing.

  “Never mind. I can guess.” Even though she’d never actually voiced the sentiment, I knew Mom felt that everything I had I owed to her. “How did you know where to find me?" I asked Faith.

  She and Cece exchanged glances. I glared at Cece. "I think I hear the cinnamon rolls rising,” she said, sliding out fast. “You two talk. You need each other." She touched Faith’s shoulder and added, "Tell her.”

  My glare engulfed Faith. "Tell me what? Why you outed me?”

  "I didn’t.” Faith spit out a cuticle. "I’d never do that.”

  I held her eyes.

  She lowered her hand and repeated, "I didn’t do it.”

  “But you apologized.”

  "What?” Her eyebrows twitched. "Oh, yeah. For not defending you that night, not taking your side. I should have. It all just happened so fast.”

  I studied her face, searching for the truth and getting nothing but a vacant sign. “Sit down." I motioned to the plasti-seat Cece had vacated.

  Faith scotched in. I offered her a donut chunk from the box. She shook her head, then stuck her thumb in her mouth and began nibbling again.

  “It’s hard to talk to you when you’re doing that,” I told her.

  She dropped her hand. “Don’t be mad at Cece," she said. “I made her tell me how to find you. I’ve been worried about you.”

  She was worried about me? My shoulders slumped. At least somebody was. I felt guilty. For blaming her, for cursing her every time I crunched a cockroach in my bathroom. “So," I said forcing a smile,"how are you? How’s everything?”

  She met my eyes. Stuck out her tongue in a gag.

  “Do you know who told her about me?”

  Faiths eyes grazed the table. “I think so.”

  I waited. She didn’t volunteer the information. I wanted to lunge at her, grab her around the neck, force her to look at me, talk to me, tell me –

  Tell me what? That none of this had happened? That it was all her fault? Somebody else’s fault? Anyone’s but mine? Because it was mine. It did happen. The actions, the decisions, the consequences, they were all my responsibility.

  Accept it, Holland, my inner voice admonished. Get over it.

  I was dealing. Still, I had to know. "Was it Bonnie Lucas?”

  Faith curled a lip. “Who?”

  “Mom’s friend. The career counselor at school.”

  “I donʼt know her.”

  Another long, uncomfortable pause. Was I going to have to beat it out of Faith? Because I would –

  “Your mom called around to all your friends one Saturday to find you. You were supposed to go shopping for a dress or something?”

  Oh, shit, the dress, which I’d agreed to buy under the false pretense I’d wear it to the governors dinner. Which I never did attend. After I became a homeless street urchin, dinner with the gov seemed a tad trifling.

  “Kirsten," I seethed aloud. “I should’ve known.”

  “No. Kirsten wasn’t home," Faith said. "Leah was. She talked to Leah for a couple of minutes. Then she called someone else. I heard your mom say, ‘What girlfriend?' I'm pretty sure she was talking to Seth.”

  "Seth?” My jaw unhinged. “But…” No, he wouldn’t tell my mother. Itʼd reflect on him. He wouldn't tell anyone. Would he? Is he the one who told Leah and Kirsten? Is he the one who leaked it to the world?

  “After she hung up, your mom was like flaming all over the house. Totally psycho. She attacked me on the sofa and screamed at me to tell her what I knew. But I didn't. I swear. So she went through your room, trying to find something. Proof, I guess. She’s always pawing through your stuff, you know. Going through your drawers and your closet.”

  “Youʼre kidding." I knew she went in to gather laundry.

  “Nope.” Faith helped herself to a donut chunk and added, “Anyway, I think she found what she was looking for. A card? Something like that." She nibbled on a chocolate sprinkle.

  “The card from the flowers. But I put that in my safe.”

  “So? She gets in there, too. And she checks your pills every day."

  “What!" I gawked at Faith. “My birth control pills?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “But that doesn't prove –”

  A hon honked outside and Faith flinchcd. She shoved the rest of the donut into her mouth and garbled, “I gotta go. Dads waiting.”

  My eyes followed hers out the window to the parking lot, where Neal sat in his Ford Explorer, tapping the steering wheel impatiently. When our eyes met, he smiled stupidly. “Faith.” I caught her arm on the way by. “l’m sorry." I stood up and folded her in an embrace. “I'm really sorry.”

  "Me too," she said.

  “I wish it could've been different between us. I wish I’d…” Tears stung my eyes. I wish I’d been more of a sister to you, I wanted to say. Even a friend. I wish I’d trusted you. But no, I took one look at you and slapped on a label. Freak. Weirdo. I neve
r once made an effort to dig beneath the surface. I was such a hypocrite. No wonder she couldn’t stand me.

  “Yeah," she said, “I wish I woulda stolen that Dixie Chicks CD when I had the chance.” Faith stuck out her tongue in a gag.

  I smacked her arm.

  She added with a smile, “I really like Cece. I’m glad for you.”

  She was the only person who’d ever said that, and I needed to hear it so badly. I hugged her again, fiercely. “Do something for me, will you?" I asked.

  “Anything," Faith said. "I'd do anything for you.”

  My throat caught. “Just…give Hannah a kiss for me?”

  "Oh, I have been. I talk about you all the time, especially in front of your mother." Faith smirked. "I won’t let Hannah forget you."

  In my blur of tears, Faith disappeared.

  ***

  I missed the blowout. Cece said she and her parents had a knock-down-drag-out when she told them she wanted to stay with me at Taggert House. They absolutely refused. Cece threatened to run away. She told them they'd have to call the cops to haul her ass back home, then lock her in her room at night to keep her there.

  So they compromised. What choice did they have? Cece could sleep over on the weekends, Friday and Saturday nights. Her parents had to hate me. They had to blame me for causing a rupture in their family.

  I lay in my lumpy bed, listening to the creaking walls, to the flushing of a toilet downstairs. A train whistle mourned in the distance. Cece had come in late, looking exhilarated and babbling for an hour before finally crashing. Everything seemed normal with her, perfect. But I knew she was a good actress. I wanted to confront her about where she’d been tonight.

  She had told me she was working, that her uncle had called and asked her to fill in for one of the cooks who was sick. I thought I’d surprise her. Stop in with a Starbucks espresso, her favorite. Pure sludge. It cost too much for coffee, but it’d be worth it to see her face light up.

  Except, she wasn't working. The regular staff was all there. The trace of stage makeup around her hairline was telling.