Johanna's Secret

by Maya Northen Augelli

  A theory is starting to form in my head, but I’m not sure that I want to put words to it just yet. “I have a thought, but maybe we should wait until we get the lock off that door.” “That could take a while. We don’t know how much is in there, or what, for that matter. What are you thinking?” “At first, I thought maybe Johanna had set fire to the barn, but that’s not right.” “That was Sheffield,” Greg concurrs. “I’m almost positive.” “So what then?” “She may have taken her own life.” I can tell by the look on his face that this wasn’t what he was expecting me to say. “How did you come up with that?” I take a deep breath.

  “Everyone said she seemed unusually happy that night. As if a burden had been lifted, perhaps.” I feel myself slipping into therapist mode. “Perhaps once she made up her mind about what she was going to do, she felt calmer, what others would perceive as happiness. It’s not overly uncommon, which is why so many people are taken by surprise when a loved one then ends their life. In reality the person suffering is far from happy, of course, but there’s a resignation of sorts. An end to the pain in sight.”

  “So if Johanna took her own life, what about Sheffield?” He slips back into discussion quickly. “That’s less obvious. Went after her and ended up dead too?” Greg looked skeptical. I had to agree, he doesn’t seem like the hero of this story. “Dove over the edge or ran away because he didn’t want to get blamed for her death?” “That’s more likely,” he nods.

  The sound of my phone ringing offers a welcome interruption. A day that started so promising is quickly taking a dark turn. It’s Grace. “Hey I’ve been texting you but hadn’t heard back so thought I’d call and wake you up or whatever,” she jokes.“Sorry,” is my reply. “It’s ok I assume you’re with Greg and that I was interrupting.” “So you called?” I tease. “Well I texted over an hour ago. Christ do you two just not get out of bed anymore?” “It’s nothing remotely like that,” I assure her. “We went to see a puppy that we… Greg… wants at the shelter.” I cringe at my slip up and hope neither of them caught it. “Freudian slip?” Grace pipes in. So much for that. “Long day,” I offer. I’m glad when she lets it rest. “Anyway, then he got the access to his grandfather’s safe deposit box and we’ve been reading the letters he found inside. We’ll just have to show you,” I add. I don’t feel like reliving the contents, especially in front of Greg. “There’s a lot of “we” in there. Is dad going to have to start looking for a new tenant soon?” “Funny.” “I joke.” “Is he standing right there?” “Yes.” “Ok we’ll catch up about that later.” I smile inwardly. I suspect all pairs of girlfriends have had a similar conversation, knowing the unspoken code for getting information without divulging too much with the man standing in the room.

  “Anyway, would you guys be able to come over around nine tomorrow morning? I think Josh is getting here around one o’clock and I want a few hours of cooking and a few coffee and Bailey’s before the kids arrive.” I have to laugh. None of my siblings have children, but I have a lot of cousins and second-cousins and, now that I am on the adult end of things, I understand how family gatherings can require a drink or two. “That’s fine with me. Let me ask Greg.” He looks up at the sound of his name. “9 AM at Grace’s tomorrow ok. She needs help preparing and getting trashed before everyone gets there.” I hear her laughing through the phone. It draws a smile from Greg, which is what I was hoping for. “That works for me. Does she need me to bring anything?” “Put me on speaker,” I hear from my phone. It makes more sense than being the liaison. “Greg, Hennie’s bringing booze, if you have anything to add to that collection, that’s fine. Anything that goes with coffee preferably. Best if I hide the boozing from the kids, and Izzy.” “Yeah, I have plenty.” “Right, the bartending thing. Ok, I’ll leave that all to you two. Have fun, kids! I’ll let you get back to your letters. See you bright and early tomorrow. Casual is fine, jeans, T-shirt, whatever. It’s just family. Bye!” And just like that, the phone goes silent. I have to shake my head and smile at my whirlwind of a friend.

  It’s late afternoon but it feels like late evening. After much debate, we’ve decided not to utilize Annaleigh’s key just yet. The day has taken a lot out of us both, and we need to unwind. Besides, tomorrow is bound to be a busy day, and I need my energy for Grace and her family. “Why don’t we have dinner here?” Greg offers. “You hosted last time.” It’s cute, I think, that he assumes our evening plans involved each other. “Are you sure? It’s been an emotional day for you. If you want to be alone… ” “Hennie, if I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have offered. Do you know how boring my life was before I met you? I’ve had more than enough alone time in the past couple of years.” I nod. “In fact, why don’t you just stay here tonight. We can go grab whatever you need from your house, whatever you need for tomorrow, the drinks or whatever, and we can go straight from here.”

  It sounds reasonable. If I go home, we’ll each be sitting in our own houses, eating dinner alone, a couple of miles apart, and heading the exact same place tomorrow morning. Still, I’m hesitant. The couple of times he’d stayed at my house have been impromptu. Planning overnights is something legitimate “couples” do. I look up at Greg. He’s staring at me, looking thoughtful. He speaks before I have the chance to answer. I haven’t realized I’ve paused for so long. “Hen, listen if you aren’t comfortable, I’ll take a step back. It’s just that, I don’t know, it feels natural. That’s so cliche, I know. But this morning looking at the dog together, the other night cooking dinner together, falling asleep and waking up together. Maybe we’ve never had an official conversation, and if you need that, then let’s have it. If you need me to come right out and say that I want this to be a serious relationship, then, well, I’ve just said it.” I put my arms around his waist, pull him to me, and give him a kiss on the lips. “I didn’t think I needed you to say it, but I guess in some way I did. It’s what I want too. I’m sorry if I’ve given you mixed signals.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I’ve said. “Let’s go grab my stuff.”

  Chapter 16

  It takes me a moment to recognize my surroundings and the incessant beeping coming from the alarm clock. I nudge Greg, who is somehow still sleeping. “Can you please turn that off?” I mumble. My alarm is a gentle, slowly ascending ring of chimes. The harsh tones of a traditional alarm clock is startling to wake up to these days. “What time is it?” I peer over his back to see the clock on his nightstand. “7:30.” “Already?” “Apparently.” He laughs. “Oh, ok, I’m up,” he groans, switching off the blaring alarm. I sit up and pulled the covers over my knees. Greg rolls out of bed, rummages through a dresser drawer, and throws on a pair of old gym shorts and faded blue t-shirt. “I’ll throw on some coffee. Want to shower first? I’m still waking up.”

  His shower is custom built with a rainshower head. I let the water pour down over me, the glass steaming up. “I could get used to this,” I say to myself with a smile. As I climb out, I hear the bedroom door creak open, followed by a tap on the bathroom door. “I put your coffee on your nightstand,” he calls in. My nightstand. It has a nice ring to it. “Room service, I like it!” I call back.

  We get to Grace’s around 9, as promised, and she has mimosas waiting for us. “Thank you so much for coming early.” She hugs us both warmly. I can smell food already in the oven, hear breakfast sizzling on the stove. “I have bagels, french toast, sausage, and bacon. I can make some eggs if you want?” “I’m fine with whatever you already have set,” Greg replies. I nod my agreement. It appears we’re going to stuff ourselves today, and I don’t want to put Grace through anymore trouble.

  After breakfast, we dig into the cooking. “Well, there’s my favorite couple!” I hear from the kitchen doorway. Billy’s unmistakable voice. Greg shrugs and smiles at me. “Starting rumors are you”?” I tease as I gave Billy a hug. “Oh come on you two,” Grace eggs him on. “Seriously, how should I introduce you without offending anyone.” “I’d s
ay Greg and Hennie is just fine,” Greg interjects. “You are both so frustrating!” Grace throws her hands up in mock exacerbation. Grace is right though. I know people are starting to wonder about “us.” We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I’ve noticed a few comments from the local store owners. The other day the cashier at the food market asked where my “other half” was.

  The oven beeps, pulling us out of conversation momentarily. “That would be the lasagna.” Grace rushes over to the oven, pulling out the pan and lifting the foil from the top. “How does it look?” “Fantastic!” I mean it. It’s been awhile since I’ve had homemade lasagna - a couple of years in fact, and it’s one of my favorite dishes. “Phew. It’s been ages since I cooked this. It’s a bit of a mouthful for one.” She places the pan on a trivet next to the stove. “I’ll just throw it back in for a few minutes before we eat to warm it up. What time is it?” she asks throwing a glance at the oven clock. “10:58,” Greg helps. Grace nods. I haven’t seen her this frazzled, even when she relayed the story of her cheating ex, but for the first time since I met her, she seems to not be totally in control. I wonder what’s behind it. “What can I help with?” I step in, thinking perhaps it’s all the preparation that’s throwing her off. “How good are your potato-salad-making skills?” “Ok, I guess. I don’t get fancy with it usually.” “Perfect. Do you know how to make it with mustard? Izzy has a weird thing with mayo.” “She’s allergic?” “She says she ‘can’t have it’. I think it’s a diet thing personally.” “We can handle that,” Greg assures her. “Oh thank you. Sorry, I’m a bit out of it today. I’m not used to cooking for this many. Wine?” she proffers the bottle. I don’t tend to think of wine as a brunch drink, but that doesn’t seem to stop Billy, who hands her his glass. “I’ll take some.” “Sure, why not,” Greg joins in and I follow suit, because it seems like the thing to do. All her jokes from the previous day aside, Grace isn’t a huge drinker, and if she’s nervous about her family, then I figure perhaps a glass of wine might be needed for myself as well.

  “You ok?” I mouth as she pours my wine. “Later,” she whispers back. So there is a story here. Greg and I get to work on our potato salad assignment, him doing most of the instructing and me doing the actual cutting of vegetables. Billy is set to work marinating chicken breasts, and Grace takes a breather at our insistence.

  “So, tell me about this dog!” She looks at Greg and I, happy to steer the conversation away from herself and her family’s impending visit. Greg eagerly begins describing Roscoe and our visit to the animal shelter the day before. “He’s a pit bull mix, super sweet, shy but they said he’s more energetic when you get to know him.” “How big is he?” “Probably about fifty pounds.” “How old?” “Best guess is about three years old. He was found abandoned, but I guess they can tell by their teeth or something.” “So when do you get him?” I notice she hadn’t asked if he was getting him. Back to ever the optimistic Grace, it seems, and I’m glad for it. Greg sounds just as excited. He has the enthusiasm of a little kid, and I find it endearing.. “Well, they have to do a home visit first. They’re coming on Monday. If I pass inspection and my references check out, it’s just a matter of paperwork. Speaking of which, I hope you two don’t mind,” he gestures to Grace and Billy, “I used you both as references.” They nod their consent.

  “I’m sure the home inspection will be fine. I mean, your house is nice enough and you have a big yard,” Billy interjects. I wonder when Billy had seen Greg’s house, but then recalled that it had been his grandfather’s and that the two men had been friendly. Greg shoots me a look, and I know immediately what was going through his mind. Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, so to speak, Greg simply agrees, “I’m sure it will be fine. Might just have to put away a few of the collectables that could make easy chew toys,” he laughs. “Good idea. And if you haven’t already, think about where you’d put his bowls, bed, toys, so that when they ask, you’ll be prepared. And if you don’t have one, I’d put a picture of you two up. The rescues like to see their dogs going to happy, loving homes,” she grins.

  She has a point. If they think we’re married, the lack of evidence of me in the house might seem cold. “I hate to admit it, but you’re right. Though I don’t think I have any pictures of us.” “Oh geez!” Grace exclaims. “Here, stand together,” she orders, pulling out her phone. As I moved towards Greg, my wine tips and spilled on his shoes. “Crap, sorry.” As he backs against the island, the spoon we’d been using for the potato salad flips up and somehow manages to hit me, spraying mustard on my sleeve. “We’re even,” he smiles. I picked up a handful of flour left over from baking and flung it at him. “Not anymore!” He grins as he pulls out a fistful of confectioner sugar and hauls it in my direction. “Oh yeah?” Grace can’t help herself. She runs to the table, phone still in hand, and aims a spoonful of leftover ricotta in our direction. “I think I’ll just…” Billy turns to leave when another clump of if hits him in the back of the head.

  Before we knew it we’re engaged in an all out food fight. Twenty minutes later, doubled over in laughter and out of energy, we call truce. “Now this, is a picture worth putting up! Smile!” Grace held up her phone, which had somehow escaped damage, and snaps a photo. The oven timer brings us back to our senses. “Shit, back to work,” Grace groans. I wandered into the bathroom to find a mirror and see just how much damage was done. My shirt was covered with flour and mustard, and my face with who knows what. It certainly isn’t the first impression I want to give Grace’s family but they know Grace after all, and probably won’t be surprised.

  “You’re welcome to borrow something and throw your clothes in the washer if you’d like,” she offers, popping her head into the bathroom. “I’m sure my dad has a shirt Greg could use. Though that might not be any better,” she adds. I search through Grace’s dresser to find a shirt that looked suitable for cooking and, if need be, meeting her family. Greg emerges from Billy’s room donning a faded navy blue UMass sweatshirt. “I like it,” I laugh. The shirt is clearly small, tightening at the arm and exposing his belt when he moved his arms. “At least I don’t look like the pillsbury dough boy anymore,” he shrugs.

  When we get back into the kitchen, Grace is pulling brownies from the oven. “You look like you’re cooking for an army,” I tease. “I don’t get to do this often,” she shrugs. I sense, not for the first time that day, a sort of sadness in her. Grace puts on a good show, but I wonder if she isn’t a little envious of her brother, with his wife and family, living away from the town he grew up in.

  Grace’s phone buzzes. “That’ll be Josh, saying he’s late.” She’s right. He’s stuck in traffic and Isabelle’s flight is delayed by a half hour. “Go figure,” she rolls her eyes, looking frustrated, but not surprised. “Oh well, more wine for us!” I smile at her, hoping to bring her spirits up. “Exactly!” She brightens, looking a bit more herself.

  “So, now that we have some extra time, fill me in on what you two discovered yesterday,” she addresses Greg and I. My god, was that just yesterday? It feels like a week ago. I yield to Greg to divulge as much, or as little, information as he deems appropriate. Though Grace and I started on this path, it’s now his family that it involves. The letters in the safe deposit box were written to his grandparents, and the contents aren’t mine to share. He fills her in, piece by piece, first on the letter to Millie and then the letter from Annaleigh to his grandfather. For once, Grace and I manage to stay completely silent. “Holy crap,” is all she says at first when Greg finishes rehashing the detail. Then, finally, “Did you try the key yet?” We both shake our heads. “Not yet,” I reply, sensing Greg is drained from telling his story. “We just kind of needed a break.” “I don’t blame you, but I’d be so curious…” “Well, honestly, I’m not sure what we’ll find that will tell us much more. It will give us some details maybe, but we know the major events. Unless….” Grace looks at me expectantly. “Unless Annaleigh put something in
there after she returned.” Greg suddenly looks alert. “I hadn’t thought about that.” “What about the parents, James and Johanna?” Grace continues on. Greg and I exchange a look. “We’re not sure.” I have my suspicions, which I’d shared with Greg yesterday, but it wasn’t a topic I particularly wanted to broach at the moment. “Whatever it was,” Grace muses, “Annaleigh thought it would look bad for Johanna. Or at least that’s how it sounds from her letter.” I nod. “I guess we’ll find out soon. Or maybe not. And in that case, perhaps it’s supposed to remain a secret.”

  Chapter 17

  Josh and his two kids finally arrive at the house around two in the afternoon, with Isabell not making it in until 3:30. Grace plays the good hostess, glossing over the delay, and everyone settled in with a (third) glass of wine for the adults, and juice for the kids. “So sorry, Gracie, we got off to a late start and, you know traffic around here,” Josh shrugs apologetically. Grace shoots me a look that says “I knew it!”, which I can appreciate. I’m a punctual person - one has to be when charging by the hour - and from what I’ve seen so far, a traffic jam around here consists of three cars stopped at a red light.

  Greg and I busy ourselves in the kitchen, warming up the few dishes that needed it and arranging plates and utensils. It’s clear that the family hasn’t seen each other in a while, and I want to give them time to catch up without intruding. “So Hennie,” I hear Josh call from the other room, “Gracie says you’re staying in dad’s cottage.” It seems my invitation to join the party. “I moved in about a month and a half ago,” I answer as I step into the living room. “And you like it there?” “I do. It’s a big change from Baltimore, but that’s what I came here for.” “Well, if anyone could make someone feel at home here, it’s Gracie and Dad.” He puts an arm around his father smiling and I could see the family resemblance. His hair is more strawberry blonde than Grace’s bright red, but he has the same eyes and the dimpled smile that makes both Billy and Grace always look so warm and friendly.