That Secret You Keep

by Brenda Benny

  “But leave the keys here,” Jonathan says.

  “If you haven’t lost them again.” Peter grins. I frown at him in response.

  “No worries there,” Serena says.

  Serena stretches on her tiptoes to get closer to my ear so she can speak quietly. “It’s not too chilly tonight. Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?”

  I nod, in agreement, eager to get out from under the noses of adult supervision. “Sure! I’ll grab my camera. Hold on.” I run upstairs to find it, and by the time I return, Serena is already by the door with her coat and scarf on.

  “Thanks for tonight!” I yell out to my dads.

  “Happy Birthday Maxwell!” Jonathan calls back.

  Away from scrutinizing eyes, we stop to kiss as soon as we reach the outside porch. I briefly contemplate suggesting the tree house again, but she grabs my hand and pulls me towards the sidewalk. I feel a momentary flash of disappointment.

  It’s fair to say that Serena and I are still figuring things out – but we’re not in any rush. She may still need some extra time around home next year, and I’ve been talking with some guys at the store about opportunities to learn from some engineers at one of the sound studios. I may even save up some money to take that trip, after all. I’m trying to convince Serena that there are a lot of buses and trains in Europe – and that maybe a little bass guitar and singer show might be fun for a few months, eventually. Her dad is surprisingly on board with this: Jonathan, worried about university acceptances and careers, a little less so.

  For the first few minutes, we hold hands, both of us quiet, shoulders braced to the cool night air. But as we warm up with each stride, we start talking about the party, and laughing about Finnegan and his hilarious social skills impairment. We eventually reach the beaches at Jericho.

  The full moon is out, and we walk in its radiance along the shore. It’s too early in the year for the warmth of a red tide in the water, so there’s no chance of any bioluminescence. It’s one of my favourite things to take photos of down here, when tiny plankton creatures light up the waves with pixie dust sparkles. Instead, I point my camera at Serena’s glowing face and start clicking the shutter. After only a few shots, her image through the lens turns suddenly serious.

  “Did you ask them?” she says, out of the darkness.

  I lower the camera, knowing what she’s talking about, even without her stating it. We’ve been talking about it all week long. “Yeah. I did,” I reply.

  “And?” she nudges me.

  “I can tell they were emotional about it – Peter, in particular. But it seemed like they’d obviously discussed it before. They said they’d known, all along, that I would ask. They were just giving me the opportunity to initiate it.”

  “Are they okay with you actively looking next year?”

  I shrug, continuing to stroll along the shore. “Yeah, I think so. I came right out and told them that I’d printed off the forms and had my birth certificate copied, so they know I’m serious. We’ll apply to the Reunion Services through the Adoption Registry next year.”

  This is a big deal. It means that if my birth parents are already looking for me, we’ll get connected right away. The magnitude of this slows my pace for a moment, and I look out to the dark waters of the bay, lost in my thoughts.

  It occurs to me that our worst secrets – the ones that we most fear revealing to others – sometimes cause no more that a small ripple on the ocean when we think a tsunami will follow. And just like it does everyday, the tide goes out, and then it returns.

  Serena’s voice pulls me from this contemplation. “Is it weird that you’re considered old enough to make clear decisions about legally drinking and not driving in some provinces, but not old enough to find your birth parents?”

  The fact that Serena can even consider this question aloud, now, speaks volumes.

  “Seems a little crooked, hey?” I agree.

  She smiles at me. “Guess that’ll just be next year’s birthday present for you.”

  I feel her hand squeeze mine. Then, I remember there’s more to tell.

  “The craziest part was that Peter knew something that he’d never told me.”

  “Really? How come he’d never said anything?”

  “Apparently, they didn’t want to tell me stuff until I was older, and asking more questions. Peter said that he knew my mom was only nineteen, and that she was living in Vancouver. I guess there was no information about the father, though.”

  “Well, you’ve already got two of those.” Serena offers a cautious smile.

  “Funny,” I deadpan.

  I stop to nudge a large piece of seaweed from a beached log with my toe. “What did you get me, anyway?” I ask her. “For my birthday, I mean.”

  “It’s a secret,” she says coyly. “Not telling till you open it.”

  Her smile is a white crescent moon, her pink lips coloured lavender by the indigo night sky. If it’s possible to glitter in the moonlight, she does. I take another photo.

  “That’s okay,” I say, “I already got what I wished for.”

  “What was that?”

  I lower the camera and try on my best sly grin.

  “You.”

  She gently kicks sand at me, laughing.

  “Max O’Sullivan! I can’t believe I’m in love with such a cheesy romantic!”

  I pull her towards me, first rubbing both her hands to warm them before folding my fingers around her jaw. I bend down close to her face. As the crescent moon of her smile wanes, we start to kiss.

  She’s my revelation. Her cheeks, her lips, this heart of hers: I’m in love with it all.

  It’s no longer a secret we keep from one another. I know it well.

  About the Author

  Brenda Benny lives in Huntsville, Ontario amongst the awesome lakes and forests of Ontario cottage country with her husband and two boys.

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  Acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t have progressed to its current state without the insightful suggestions of the friends/family I cherish and trust: Heather, Meghan, Kristen, Nush, Natasia, Bryn, and Jen. Each of you provided advice in your valuable areas of knowledge and skill. Thank you!

  I started this book at the Muskoka Novel Marathon in July 2015. We raise money for our local Adult Literacy program – and we write as much as we can for 72 hours straight while doing it. You might think about supporting your own local efforts to help with literacy.

  Books are good.

  Reading is important.

  Let’s help others enjoy this gift.

  Special thanks to you, Mom. Your encouragement, as always, was unwavering.

  And finally, love and gratitude to my husband and boys for making all of this worth it. My life is full with you.

  Copyright © 2017 by Brenda Benny

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is ent
irely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Cover Photo by Swaraj Tiwari on Unsplash

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