Johanna's Secret

by Maya Northen Augelli

  As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I spot the pile of old books that still sit by the fireplace, and make a mental note to take a look at the ones that I haven’t gone through thoroughly. I throw some eggs in the skillet, vowing to cook healthier and get more exercise by the end of the week. My phone buzzes on the counter beside me - Greg again. “I’m thinking about you… a lot. More than I expected to. My day is pretty crammed today, but are you free for coffee or breakfast tomorrow?” I smile. So much for healthy cooking. I’m glad that he’s suggested a casual morning activity. It will help to keep things from moving too fast, and it implies that he really does want to see me, even if just for a brief time. He isn’t just bored and looking for someone to spend evenings with. “Coffee or breakfast tomorrow sounds great,” I type back. “Perfect, I work tonight and tomorrow night, and I’m helping my brother move around some furniture today, but I really don’t want to wait until Wednesday to see you.” At least he’s honest. “Then tomorrow morning it is!”

  With Greg busy for the day and my brain feeling productive, I head back upstairs to get my weekly articles written and perhaps work a bit more on my book. After that, I vow, I’ll go for a walk to get some fresh air and exercise. Besides, I remind myself, I desperately need groceries.

  The next few hours pass quickly. I’m in my zone, tuning out everything but work. When I finally look back up at the clock, it’s just past one in the afternoon. A glance in the mirror tells me I look a mess, and I hop in the shower. I plan to venture further than just the garden today, and while I don’t need to impress anyone, I certainly don’t need to scare anyone either. Throwing on my most comfortable light blue t-shirt dress, I grab my purse and head out the front door. It’s a particularly warm day, and the sun feels good after being cooped up at my desk all morning. I walk in the direction of the local market, thinking it’s been awhile since I’d been into town. Which reminds me that I want to check in on Billy and see how he’s feeling. I make a mental note to call him later today.

  As I turn onto Harbour Street, I see a figure down the block waving in my direction. I assume it had to be Grace, as she’s the only other person under sixty years old that knows me well enough to recognize me from a distance. She quickens her pace towards me, her red curls blowing behind her.

  “Hennie!” She hugs me like she hasn’t seen me in months. “So?” Her eyes look at me expectantly. “So… what?” I pretend to be puzzled. Despite admitting to myself that I clearly have feelings for Greg, I’m about to run around shouting it through the streets. I don’t know how privately he wants things kept, and I have to remember that he’s known Grace much longer than I have known either of them. While I trust her, who’s to say she isn’t checking in with both of us. “How was your date with Greg? I was going to text you this morning, but I didn’t, just in case…” “In case…” “Well, in case he was still there,” she giggles, and I laughed with her, feeling like two college kids. “Grace! It was our first date and I wasn’t even sure it was a date.” “Of course it was!” “Well, I know that now. He actually came right out and said that. It was sweet, in a slightly awkward way. And it went really well.” I actually feel relieved to tell her. I’m not particularly good at dating, and despite my initial hesitation, it’s nice to have someone to discuss it with. Instinct tells me I can trust her. “Yes!” I think she’s just as excited about it as I am “When do you see him again?” “Tomorrow, for coffee or breakfast.” “Good, have to keep yourself in front of him. Though it sounds like he’s making sure of that.”

  I don’t have a reply. She’s right, he was paying me a lot of attention, making sure I was in front of him and he in front of me. “He said he wants to take things slow,” I tell her cautiously. “So you guys are dating then?” “Well,” I hesitate, “he hasn’t said that. I don’t think the best way to take it slowly is to label it after one date.” Grace smiles, conceding, but then adds, “It’s been two dates.” When I don’t reply, she continued. “You know that first time you met for coffee was a date, right? Why do you think I wasn’t there?” She has a point. We were together at the bar the night I met him, so he could have invited her. Then again, he hadn’t not invited her. She just hadn’t pursued the issue. “I was making sure he wasn’t a serial killer, remember?” I joke. “Which you wouldn’t have had to do if it wasn’t a date and I’d been invited,” she teases back. “He never said you weren’t invited. You just wanted it to be a date so you didn’t include yourself. Besides, sorting through a dead guy’s stuff in his attic isn’t exactly date material.” “It is if you’re both into that kind of thing.” I give her a funny look and start laughing. “Oh you know what I mean. Two people sitting in an empty room staring at the wall together could be a date if you want it to be.” She’s won, and I know it. “In fairness, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him then.” “But you do now.” It isn’t a question.

  “So where are you headed anyway?” I’m glad she’s changed the subject. “The market. My pantry and fridge are practically empty.” “The one two blocks back that way?” She laughs, pointing in the direction we’ve just come from. We’re walking with no sense of purpose other than catching up, and I managed to miss it entirely. “Yep, that’s the one!” “Great, I’ll go with you if you don’t mind the company. I should pick up some stuff for dad. Hey, you should come over for dinner this week. He’d love to see you and talk more about your house, I’m sure. I told you Josh and his family are coming in this weekend right?” I nod. “I’m sorry I’m going on and on. It’s nice to talk to someone my own age. And a female at that.” “It’s funny, my family is almost all women, except for my dad of course, so I sometimes find it refreshing to get a man’s perspective.” Realizing I could have offended her, I add, “on some things at least. My date status, though, would not be one of those things.” She laughs. “I know what you mean. Even with dating, it’s sometimes helpful to have my brother’s opinion. I would have been mortified to ask him when we were younger, but now we can talk about it like friends.” “I often wish I had a younger brother. It would have been nice to have that perspective sometimes. “Well, now you have Greg.”

  “Speaking of Greg,” I continue, ignoring her implication as if we haven’t been speaking of him the entire time, “Did I tell you he found a piece of paper, written in French, just like I found? It fell out of his grandfather’s diary.” “No, you didn’t! Do you know what it says?” “No, but he has a colleague that he can ask, if he can reach her over the summer break.” Grace raises an eyebrow. “Oh, stop, she’ a colleague who teaches French.” “Ok that makes sense. Do you think the two pieces of writing are related? Not too many people speaking French in this town over the years, at least from what I know.” “I haven’t seen the one he has, and the writing on mine is so faded that it might be tough to compare the two. Mine looks like it could have some initials on the bottom but I can’t make them out. I keep meaning to take it to the library to see if I can magnify it on a projector or something.” “Well you may be able to see if they’re in the same style just by comparing them. At least you would be able to tell if the two authors are the same.” “That’s what I was thinking.” “Let me tell you, you and Greg certainly have more interesting dates in store than the average couple.” I shake my head and laugh.

  We reach the market and separate temporarily to do our respective shopping. I browse the fruits and vegetables, making a mental list of potential meals for the week. I love that they sell a lot of local foods, but I occasionally miss some of the items I’m used to from home. Grace and I re-convene in the checkout line. She has some other shopping to do, and I want to get home to prep some meals for the week while I’m still feeling inspired. “You’d better let me know how tomorrow goes!” she instructs as we hug goodbye. “I will. And you can text. He will not be at my place,” I joke.

  I wake up the next morning anticipating my breakfast with Greg. We tentatively planned on meeting at nine o’clock, so I actually set an ala
rm - a -rarity for me these days. I’m getting more comfortable around him, and don’t feel the need for an hour long prep before breakfast, but I also didn’t want to wake up last minute in case plans changed. I’m a morning person, but I also need a few minutes to clear the grogginess from my head when I wake up.

  I take a quick shower and threw on my favorite jeans with a cute but casual purple cotton shirt. I leave my hair in its naturally wavy form. I’m not one for pulling out the straightener and numerous hair products for a casual breakfast, no matter who it’s with. Besides, if this is going to go anywhere, he’d better get used to my natural look.

  I have a few minutes to spare - Greg texted while I was in the shower and confirmed the time - so I sit down at my desk to jot down a few notes that popped into my head while getting ready. The first is a reminder to bring the French note to the library for closer inspection. I also add down a few instincts based on the discoveries and conversations over the weekend:

  Sharpe not responsible

  Third person involved - took close photo of J and E at movies

  Two French letters connected?

  Someone in Sheffield family locked the door - knew what was behind it

  Did Greg’s grandfather know?

  I look down at the list, surprised by the last sentence. I’m not sure where it came from, but it’s there, a small, nagging question in my head, and I have to include it in my list. Greg said his grandfather never mentioned the door, and I believe him one hundred percent. In fact, I have no reason to think otherwise. But if it was truly something worth hiding, perhaps he’d been sworn to secrecy. It had clearly been in use when he was there, and if he’d ever been into the room, he would have seen it. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t notable at the time. Maybe there was nothing that seemed out of the ordinary about it, and he’d not taken notice or thought to mention it to Greg. Still, if he’d been back to the house since they disappeared, and I suspected he had, he’d have noticed, I’m sure, that it was locked with no discernable way of getting in. I jot some of these thoughts alongside the rest of my notes.

  My phone buzzes again - a text from Greg. “I’m ready whenever you are, and I’m starving.” I laugh, enjoying the familiarity we’re already beginning to have in our daily contact. Within fifteen minutes, there’s a knock on the door. It’s sweet that he insists on “picking me up”, even if the cafe is the same walking distance to my place as to his. I’m greeted with a warm hug, in which he holds me closer than I expected. “Is it weird that I missed seeing you yesterday?” he asks. Part of me wants to say ‘yes, we’ve known each other less than a week,’ but the part of me realizes I felt the same way. Sure, we’ve only known each other for about five days, but in those five days we’ve spent a good amount of time together, and I’ve gotten used to his company. He’s quickly becoming the person I want to tell when I discover something new or am contemplating an idea. I think, I bet Greg would know or Greg would think this was interesting. “No, though I’m surprised you’re not sick of me by now,” I tease, watching the concern ease from his face. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” I let the comment lie and simply smile. If he wants to continue this line of conversation, I’ll let him take the lead, but not until I have some food and coffee in my system.

  Once again, he pulls out my chair as we sat down to eat. “So Grace stopped by the bar quickly last night to invite me to dinner with her family this weekend. Apparently her brother’s in town. She said she already mentioned it to you, and assumed you knew I was invited with you, but wanted to ensure I could make it. Her words, not mine.” He grins, shrugging his shoulders good naturedly. I shake my head. “She certainly is determined.” “She is,” he agrees. “Though it has its perks. I’ve never had so many social engagements in my life.”

  “In addition to dinner,” I hurry the conversation along, “Grace had another good idea. She suggested taking both of our French letters down to the library to see if we can magnify them and compare the text. It would at least help us see if the author looked to be the same. Plus, mine has what looks to be some sort of signature at the bottom, but it’s so small that I can’t make it out. If we could magnify it, and the letters look to have been written by the same person, then we have a good start.” “I don’t have anything until work tonight. Want to go after breakfast?” “Sure, I pretty much have no plans all day,” I laugh. “Great, we can take our time then.” I nod, glad we may possibly be able to make some headway with the notes, and admittedly, that I’ll get to spend more time with Greg.

  “Are you definitely going to Grace’s this weekend? I think I’ll feel weird going if you aren’t there.” He looks at me expectantly. “She seems to have her heart set on it, so I can’t really say no.” “That’s exactly how I feel. Plus, it’s a great excuse to see you,” he grins. I return his smile. “You know she’s going to be brutal, right? And I mean that in the best possible way.” “I know, I did think about that. I think I can handle it.” Something told me that Greg isn’t too worried about Grace trying to push us closer together. I’m a bit more reserved about it, and I may plead with her privately to go easy on us.

  We finish our breakfast, talking amicably about his work, my work, his hopes of eventually teaching at a bigger university, seeing more of the country and the world. He is enamored with universities and has taken trips - road trips usually - to visit those known for their beauty, history, and influence. He’s of course been to Harvard and Yale, along with several other ivy league schools. A few years back, he’d visited Cambridge and Oxford while in England.

  “The University at Bologna is at the top of my list, but I haven’t made it there yet.” He sounds a bit wistful, like he a kid discussing a pipe dream. “But I think it will be quite a while until I’m able to do that financially.” “Funny, the previous renter at this cottage went to Italy because her daughter is teaching in Bologna.” “Gerry? Really?” He appears animated upon hearing about her, and I momentarily feel what must have been a twinge of jealousy. I don’t like the emotion, nor that his just knowing another woman can make me feel that way. I check myself before replying. In no way can I betray what was going through my head. “That’s right, I always forget you grew up with everyone here.” I say it mildly, trying to sound more casual than curious about their interactions. “Yeah, although not too many of us are left here. Sometimes makes me feel unaccomplished. Still here, teaching nearby, going to the same shops and restaurants that I did as a kid.” “But there’s something nice about that too,” I reply, regretting that my previous comment may have hit on a sore spot. “It’s being home, and there’s a lot to be said for that. It’s not like you don’t explore and get out, you just have a familiar home base.” “I haven’t thought about it that way. You have such an optimistic outlook.” “Not always,” I concede. “I spent about six months wallowing this past year. But coming here has given me a fresh perspective, and the opportunity to do something I really couldn’t do… before.” I hate bringing up the past, and don’t want to introduce Brent into the conversation again. Greg is well aware of my ex and our current friendship, if you can call it that, but there seems no reason to emphasize it. “Well, we all get that way at times. I think you’re doing remarkably well.”

  I need to pull the conversation away from me, and quickly. “So, what would your ideal life be. If you feel like you want to get away, what do you want to do?” It’s a bit of an intrusive question, I know, and perhaps unfair coming from someone who doesn’t want the focus on herself. I hope he won’t take offense, but I asked for two reasons. The first is pure curiosity, to get to know him better and give him the opportunity to open up. The second is more selfish. I want to know if he plans on leaving the area. While I’m not even sure what’s going on between us, clearly it’s something. If he is planning to up and leave, I need to stop myself from caring about him anymore than I already do

  “Well, I’d meet a smart, interesting, beautiful woman, and we’d t
ake off working and traveling. We’d explore Europe, and she’d work on writing her novel while I perhaps did research for a historical society or museum. And then, when we tired of traveling, we’d come back to the states - somewhere we decided on together - and we’d settle down. She’d help us find the perfect rescue dog, probably that one that everyone passes up because it isn’t as ‘adorable’, but she’d see the beauty in its flaws and know it was perfect for us.” I sit in semi-shocked silence. I’d have to be completely oblivious not to catch the references to myself, yet without knowing how serious he is, I’m afraid to open my mouth. “That does sound pretty ideal.” It’s all I can think of to say. I’ve tried so hard to avoid this type of conversation, as much to avoid facing my own feelings than anything else, and yet I led him right into it. As a psychologist, I chide myself. I should have seen that coming when I asked the question. He smiles and put his hand on top of mine. I can’t deny that the intimacy of it feels comforting. “Want to walk off breakfast before heading to the library?” I still don’t trust myself to say much without betraying my emotions. “Sure,” I reply.

  As we stroll through some of the paths towards the park, Greg puts his arm around my waist. He pauses and turns to face me. “Hennie, if I’m moving too fast, or pushing too hard, please tell me. I’m not good at this kind of thing. I’m terrible at hiding my feelings, and they’re a lot stronger than I anticipated.” He looks at me earnestly, waiting on my response. “You’re not, Greg. I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression. It’s just that I haven’t had to do this in almost six years. I honestly came here hoping to just bury my nose in my novel and maybe eventually make a few friends. But I never expected to meet someone I’m interested in, especially not so soon. And when you say things like you just did back at breakfast, I don’t know how serious you are. I don’t want to assume…” I trail off, not wanting to ask directly. He looks at me, more serious than I’ve seen him yet. “I would never say anything like that if I wasn’t serious. I’ve learned the hard way how much people like to dissect and analyze things. I try very hard not to give mixed signals.” I’m not sure how I feel about this. On one hand, I’m gratified to know that I wasn’t overzealous in my hunches. On the other hand, I’m not sure how I feel about his placing me, even hypothetically, in his future after such a short period of time. While my gut tells me that he’s a good guy who had simply come to care for me quickly, my brain, and my pessimism, tried to intercede and look for some ulterior motive, some proof that he’s too good to be true. Try as I might, though, I just can’t find any. He seems too genuine, and despite his early emotional attachment, isn’t pushing the relationship in other aspects.