How to Keep a Secret

by Sarah Morgan

“I decided on the sort of therapy you can pour into a glass. It was that or chocolate chip ice cream.”

  “That’s what I call a dilemma.” Greg let go of her and hung up his coat. “Walk me through your decision-making process.”

  “Wine is made from grapes and grapes are fruit, which makes it one of your five a day. So it’s healthy.” She handed him a glass of wine. “And if I’m not pregnant, I might as well drink. How was your day?”

  “If I tell you my day was good are you going to snatch this glass from my hand?”

  She grinned. “No, because by the time I’ve finished whining you’re going to need it.”

  “Wine for whine. Sounds like a reasonable deal.” Greg took a mouthful of wine. “I’m braced. Hit me with it. What was today’s gem?”

  “Nothing new. She reminded me about the painting incident and held me personally responsible for her gray hair.”

  “Her gray hair makes her look distinguished. She should be thanking you.”

  “She praised you, of course.” She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “You, Greg Sullivan, are the all-conquering hero. A gladiator among men. A knight in shining armor. I was lucky you were there to save me from my wicked ways.”

  “She said that?”

  “Not in so many words, but she was thinking it.”

  Greg put the wine down. “Did you tell her you were feeling down about the whole baby thing?”

  “No. Our conversations are an exchange of facts.”

  His gaze was steady. “You’re unhappy. That’s a fact.”

  “Not those sorts of facts. Everyone else seems able to talk to my mother, but not me.”

  Why did it matter? She had Greg. Greg had always been easy to talk to. When people talked about marriage as something that had to be “worked at” she didn’t understand what they meant. She and Greg just were. They fitted like hand in glove or foot in shoe. They didn’t need to work at anything.

  They ate dinner at the table in their cozy kitchen while the winter wind lashed at the house and rattled the windows. After they’d finished the meal and cleared up, they curled up on the sofa.

  Jenna topped up Greg’s wineglass and he raised an eyebrow.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “I’m a wild child, remember? I’m living down to my reputation.” She slid off her shoes, curled her legs under her and moved closer, pressing her body against the solid strength of his.

  Unlike her, his body hadn’t changed much in the past decade. Greg believed exercise helped control mood and set an example to the community by spending time in the gym and running on the beach. As a result his body was as good as it had been at eighteen.

  She thought about what Andrea had said earlier.

  Would her marriage to Greg be different if they’d had other relationships? “Do you ever wish you’d sowed your wild oats?”

  “Excuse me?” He shifted so he could look at her. “You want me to become a farmer?”

  She laughed and took another sip of wine. “You’re not a morning person. You’d be a terrible farmer.”

  “So why the ‘wild oats’ question?”

  “No reason. Ignore me. Let’s go to bed.”

  He looked at her quizzically. “It’s not the right time of the month for you to get pregnant, is it?”

  She felt a flash of guilt, and that guilt was intensified by the knowledge that she’d done those calculations, too. “It’s not the right time for me to get pregnant, but that’s not the only reason to have sex.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Only that lately that seems to be the only reason you ever want to climb between the sheets with me.” He put his wineglass down and then took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  Greg had been the only guy she’d ever kissed if you didn’t count that one session behind the bike sheds with Will Jones, which she didn’t because that had been part of a dare. Sex had changed over time. Being with him didn’t give her the same dizzying thrill she’d had when they’d first gotten together—Take that, Mom. Saint Greg and I had sex before we were married—but in many ways it was better. Familiar. Intimate.

  As he deepened the kiss, his other arm came round her waist. She shifted closer to him and felt something hard dig into her hip. “Is that your phone?”

  “No, it’s my giant penis and the reason you married me.” He nuzzled her neck but she shoved him away and put her glass down on the table next to his.

  “Wait! Greg—why is it in your pocket?”

  “My penis?”

  “Your phone!”

  He sighed. “Because that’s where I always carry my phone. Where else would it be?”

  “Anywhere else! You’re supposed to be keeping your testicles cool and your phone out of your pocket. We agreed.”

  Greg swore under his breath and released her. “This is crazy, Jenna. You’re obsessed.”

  “I’m focused. Focused is good. Focused gets things done.”

  “Getting pregnant is all you think about. When was the last time we talked about something not sex or baby related? And I don’t count talking about your mother.”

  “Over dinner.” She smiled triumphantly. “We talked about decorating the upstairs bedroom.”

  “Because you want to turn it into a nursery, even though you’re not pregnant.”

  Oops. “Last week we had a long conversation about politics.”

  “And the impact it might have on any children we have.”

  That was true.

  “It’s possible I might be a little overfocused on pregnancy. It’s what happens when you really want something you can’t have. Like being on a diet. If you can’t eat a chocolate brownie, all you think about is eating the chocolate brownie. You dream about brownies. Brownies become your life. You’re a psychologist. You’re supposed to know this!”

  Greg breathed out slowly. “Honey, if you could just—”

  “Do not tell me to relax, Greg. And don’t call me ‘honey’ in that tone. It drives me batshit crazy.”

  “I know, but Jenna you really do need to relax. If something is taking over your mind, then the answer is to focus on other things. The way to forget the brownie is to think about something else.”

  “Cupcakes?”

  His expression was both amused and exasperated. “One of my clients is opening a new yoga studio in Oak Bluffs. Maybe you should go. You might find it calming.”

  “I might find it annoying.” She thought about the girl in the magazine. “It will be full of serene people with perfect figures who are all in control of their lives. I’d have to kill them, and that wouldn’t be calming for anyone.”

  Greg retrieved his wine. “Okay, no yoga. Tai chi? Kickboxing? Book group?”

  “My mother runs the book group, and given that the last book I searched for was How Not to Kill Your Mother, I don’t think I’d be welcomed as a member.”

  “Go to a different book group. Start your own. Do something. Anything to take your mind off babies.”

  “You’re saying you don’t want babies?”

  “I’m not saying that.” He finished his wine. “I do want babies, but I don’t think all this angst is going to help.”

  She remembered the way he’d looked when she’d glanced out of the window. Thoroughly despondent.

  She was about to ask him how he felt about the whole thing when her phone rang.

  She ignored it.

  Of course Greg wanted babies. Didn’t he?

  He glanced from her to the phone. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “This conversation is more important than my phone.” Her phone stopped ringing but started again a moment later and Greg reached down to pick it up.

  “It’s Lauren.”

  Jenna st
ared at him stupidly. “What?”

  “Your sister.” He thrust the phone at her. “We can wish Ed a happy birthday.”

  Why did she have the feeling he was relieved their conversation had been interrupted?

  “But isn’t it the middle of the night in London?”

  “It was obviously a great party.” He rose to his feet and walked toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  He smiled. A normal Greg type of smile. “To pack. If you’re going to talk to your sister, it means I have time to take a six-month sabbatical. Your conversations aren’t exactly brief.”

  “We’re not that bad.”

  “No, you’re right. A two-week vacation should cover it. In the meantime I’ll make us coffee.” Greg walked to the kitchen and Jenna watched him go.

  Everything was going to be okay. Of course it was.

  She was married to Greg, and Greg knew how to handle every situation.

  Who needed yoga when they were married to their very own therapist?

  Picking up her wineglass and stretching her legs out on the sofa, she settled in to have a long chat with her sister. It was true that one call last month had reached the two-hour mark, but she and Lauren lived thousands of miles apart! What did he expect? And she was pleased Lauren had called. She’d be able to tell her about the pregnancy test. “Hi, Lauren. Happy birthday to Ed! How was the party? I was going to call you tomorrow. Did our gift arrive?” Because she was expecting everything to be perfect, it took her a couple of minutes to absorb what her sister was saying. “What? Lauren, I can hardly hear you—are you crying?” She sat up suddenly, spilling her wine over her jeans. “Say that again!”

  By the time Jenna ended the call she was in shock.

  Her hand was shaking so badly she almost dropped her phone.

  Greg walked back into the room and put two mugs of coffee on the table. “Did you lose the signal or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then why so quick? I was going to speak to Ed.”

  “You can’t.” Her lips felt strange, as if they didn’t want to move. “Ed is—” She broke off and he looked at her.

  “Ed is what?”

  Jenna felt shaky and strange. Her eyes filled. “He’s dead. Today was his fortieth birthday. He was found at his desk by one of the cleaners. They think it must have been his heart. My poor sister.” She remembered the agony in her sister’s voice and didn’t even try to hold back the tears. How would Lauren live without Ed? What would she do? “I have to go to her.” She felt her sister’s loss as keenly as if it were her own.

  Looking shaken, Greg took the glass from her hand and tugged her to her feet. “I’ll call the airline while you pack.”

  Her brain was moving in slow motion. “We can’t—I can’t—” She couldn’t think straight. “There’s school, and—”

  “I’ll call them. I’ve got this.”

  “What about the money? We already decided we couldn’t afford to go away in the summer.”

  “We’ll figure it out. Some things are more important than money.”

  She didn’t argue. There was no way she wasn’t going to be with her sister.

  Only hours before she’d been envying Lauren, and now her life was shattered.

  It was unbelievable. Unfair.

  And to think she’d been about to off-load her own problems.

  Jenna sleepwalked to the bedroom and pulled out her suitcase. Without thinking about what she was packing, she stuffed random clothes into it. All she could think about was her sister, her big sister, who had always been there for her through thick and thin.

  There was nothing her sister didn’t know about her.

  Not a single thing.

  “It’s all booked.” Greg appeared in the doorway, his phone in one hand and his credit card in the other. “Take sweaters. And a coat. It’s cold in England. And an umbrella, because it will probably be raining. And don’t forget to charge your phone so I can call you.”

  “What? Oh yes.” She pushed some thick socks into the case and paused, helpless and more than a little scared. She felt inadequate. “What do I do, Greg? What is the right thing to say to someone who has lost a husband? I wish you were coming with me.”

  But they both knew he couldn’t. He had people counting on him, and no one who could cover for him.

  “I’ll call you every night. And you can text me. I promise not to give my phone to Pamela.”

  It seemed like a lifetime ago that they’d laughed at that.

  Jenna glanced round her bedroom and tried to work out what she’d forgotten. Lauren would have made a list. She probably had a list already on her laptop entitled “for emergency travel.” Everything would be checked off. Red ticks for the outward journey, blue ticks for the return journey.

  Jenna didn’t have a list to tick.

  She was the disorganized one. Lauren was the perfect one.

  Except that her perfect sister’s perfect life was no longer perfect.

  7

  Lauren

  Widow: a woman whose spouse has died

  She’d never expected to fall in love when she was eighteen. That hadn’t been part of her plan. She’d had her life mapped out in her head. She was going to college, and after that she’d get a job in New York City. She was going to soak up bright lights and busy streets and learn everything she could about design until she was ready to start her own business.

  That had always been her dream.

  And then she’d met him.

  Their relationship started with a single look. Until that moment she hadn’t realized so much could be conveyed without speech. It was more than interest. There was a connection.

  It was the summer before she left for college and she was spending the long, hot humid months doing what all the other local teenagers did, namely working hard to make money for the winter. She had three jobs, one of which included bussing tables at a seafood restaurant.

  She was clearing one of the tables on the sunny deck, counting the hours until she could go home, when a man strolled up to the takeout window.

  Something about the way he moved caught her attention. He had a quiet way about him, an understated confidence that was lacking in many of the boys her age who were wrestling awkwardly with their own identity.

  He was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt and his cap was pulled down over his eyes.

  As he pulled a sheaf of notes out of his pocket, his gaze settled on Lauren.

  She had long legs and blond hair. She was used to boys looking at her. They’d reached an age where everything was about sex, who had “done it” and who hadn’t.

  All her closest friends were having sex and boasting of their experiences. Cassie had lost her virginity in a field near Chilmark and had to explain away poison oak to her parents. Kelly’s first experience had been on the hood of her dad’s Cadillac in a deserted parking lot.

  Because she didn’t want to expose her most private fears, Lauren pretended she’d had sex, too. She doubted she was the only one, but her reasons for holding off were probably different from most.

  She was afraid she might have a phobia. The thought of sex made her heart race and her palms grow sweaty. That wasn’t normal, was it? It was all the other girls talked about, so she assumed it was supposed to be exciting, not terrifying.

  Because she didn’t trust her reactions, there was no way she was experimenting with anyone from her school. What if she freaked out and humiliated herself? It would be all over the island in hours that Lauren Stewart was frigid.

  This man was different. He was older for a start, and a stranger. Definitely not a Vineyarder. Nor did he look like a tourist. His fingers were stained with oil and his work boots were scuffed. A seasonal worker, she decided, and wondered why her brain was asking a thousand questions about hi
m.

  She had no idea how long the moment would have lasted or what might have been the outcome because her imagination chose that moment to conjure up a disturbingly vivid image of what it might be like to be kissed by him. It was real enough to knock the air from her lungs and trigger a curl of heat low in her belly, a reaction she’d never had before. As a result, she stumbled into a chair and knocked over a bottle of beer.

  Her face burned with humiliation and by the time she’d cleared up the mess and dared to glance over in his direction, he was gone.

  He hadn’t smiled at her or nodded. Hadn’t acknowledged her in any way. But she knew that if someone had asked him, he would have been able to describe her in detail.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified to discover she was in fact capable of experiencing the same feelings as her peers.

  Until she’d laid eyes on the unsmiling man in black, she hadn’t felt an urge to find out if she really did have a problem. She’d even wondered if she’d go through life without ever having sex.

  But suddenly it was all she could think about.

  She was still working out how to discreetly discover his identity when she saw him again.

  She’d crept out of the house late at night and gone for a walk on the beach.

  There was only one other person there, and she’d known even from a distance that it was him.

  She’d had a choice to make. She could step forward, or she could step back.

  * * *

  “Thank you all for being here.” Her voice echoed around the cavernous space.

  A week before she’d been planning Ed’s birthday party. Now she was speaking at his funeral.

  She focused on the stained-glass window at the back of the church because that was easier than staring at the people seated in rows. It was bitterly cold. Lauren couldn’t stop shivering.

  The night of the birthday party was a blur in her mind. She remembered the police stepping into the house, the sound of Gwen wailing, gawping guests slinking from the house muttering condolences instead of birthday greetings.

  And now she was supposed to say something meaningful when none of it held any meaning.

  “I first met Ed when I was eighteen and I knew right away that he was the perfect man for me.”