The Perfect Secret

by Rob Buyea

  “Wow!” Scott exclaimed. “This is like a surprise-wedding party.”

  “Can just anyone perform a wedding?” Randi whispered.

  “No. She must be a celebrant,” I explained.

  “A what?”

  “A marriage official,” I said. “Someone who can legally perform a wedding.”

  “Oh.” She nodded.

  I’d heard of eloping before—“elope,” a verb, meaning “to run off secretly and get married”—but this was different. Scott was right; this was a surprise wedding right in the Davidses’ house. And somehow, whether by miracle or destiny—Randi and I could argue over that later—they were surrounded by friends who could serve as witnesses.

  And witness we did, a simple, yet beautiful, ceremony. I realize that this may sound out of character for me, but I daresay it was even a bit romantic. What was going on with me?

  Natalie, do you see how he keeps looking at you?

  Stop. I’m not interested.

  Meggie hugged her mommy after her daddy kissed his bride. It was official. Miss Carla was now Mrs. Davids. The big question: Now that they were married, did that suddenly make Carla a legal immigrant? Could she still be deported?

  I hoped Mother could give me answers when we got into the car, starting with: How had she kept this a secret?

  When Mom and I made it home from Gav’s, we got into our pj’s and settled down to open presents, sticking with our tradition of exchanging gifts at night rather than in the morning. It was an especially small Christmas this year because Mom had sunk her money into our upcoming trip to the Elite Stars Festival. I wasn’t complaining.

  I had two things to open, so I went first. I started with the smaller package. I tore through the paper and pulled out a brand-new gymnastics bag. It was black with blue and orange lettering. Mom had had my name embroidered on it. It was perfect. The second gift was a new suitcase, just in time for our big trip.

  “Thanks, Mom. These are great.”

  “You’re welcome, honey.”

  “Your turn,” I said.

  She picked up the rectangular box. It wasn’t much, but I was excited because I liked what I’d gotten her. Coach Andrea had taken a great picture of Mom and me at Regionals, and I’d been able to get it framed.

  “Oh, Randi. I love it. Thank you.”

  We hugged and then went into the kitchen to make hot chocolate. We carried our steaming mugs into the living room and snuggled under blankets. Mom flipped on the TV. “Oh, let’s watch this,” she said. “This is one of my favorite Christmas movies.”

  I shrugged, but by the end of it I was smiling. I’d just learned who George Bailey was.

  Mom and I enjoyed a lovely evening, but there was no doubt the best part of the day took place at Gav’s house. Natalie was suspicious of her mother’s role, but I didn’t want to know. I liked Scott’s theory. Of course, I also liked believing there was a bit of destiny mixed in there.

  Still, I wasn’t naïve. When I closed my eyes that night, I understood that Gav and his family weren’t out of the woods yet, but I was so glad they’d gotten to spend the day in the clouds.

  The holidays provided a short break from reality, but come January and the New Year, the fear of losing Mom was back to haunting me. We still didn’t know what was gonna happen to her. Good thing we had Otis. That blockhead dog helped me get through each day by giving me something to think about other than Mom’s fate. Otis was everything Meggie had wanted for Christmas, but trust me, there was enough of him to go around for the whole family—and we all needed his help. He was way better than that big red I-like-to-lose dog.

  At nighttime Otis slept with Meggie and kept the bad dreams away from her. The haunting came for me every night, though, as soon as I closed my door and climbed into bed. Coach Holmes was still out there making noise, calling for Mom’s deportation, stirring up people’s anger. Mom and Dad never said anything, but I had the feeling they knew more than they were letting on. The not knowing was killing me.

  School was no escape. My friends and a few others, like Mr. Allen and some of my teachers, were openly supportive. Another pack ignored me, which I was fine with. And then there was the group that stared at me like my mother was a murderer. Their eyes stabbed me in the hallways, the classrooms, the cafeteria—all day long I struggled to breathe.

  The worst was when I came across the “I have a dream” sentence strips that were hung in the hallway in celebration of Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Randi saw me coming and tried to turn me around.

  “Let’s go this way,” she said.

  But it was too late. I saw the ones that dreamed of cures for cancer and world peace, and I saw the one that somebody musta stuck up there when no teachers were looking, the one that said, I have a dream that all illegal immigrants will be captured and kicked out. Those words hit me harder than a blind-side crackback block, but I’m gonna tell you, they were nothing compared to when the haunting came for real.

  Mom and I flew out on a Thursday morning. We had an early flight, so we dropped in on Gav and his family before heading to the airport. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got to focus,” Gavin said. “This is a big weekend for you. You’ve got your dad and the competition.”

  I half smiled. “Thanks, Gav.” I stepped forward and hugged him.

  “You’re gonna do great,” he whispered. “It’s your destiny.”

  I squeezed him harder, and then I let go fast and turned and hurried out the door, before the knot in my throat gave way.

  What Gavin had said was true—this was a big weekend for me. I’d been to a lot of gymnastics meets, but I’d never flown to one before. I was on my way to compete against the best gymnasts in the country—and to meet my father. I was scared, nervous, and excited all rolled into one. When Mom asked our flight attendant for wine, I realized she was feeling anxious, too.

  “What?” she said when I looked at her. “I’m not driving, and this is a special occasion.”

  I wasn’t buying the “special occasion” bit, and when she ordered a second wine, I knew her nerves were even worse than mine.

  I’d planned on us meeting Kyle and my father after my meet and after we had agreed upon a time and place. But that’s not what destiny had in mind.

  We landed safely, and once we deplaned and used the restroom, Mom and I found the baggage claim area. I grabbed my suitcase off the carousel. When I turned around, there they were.

  “Kyle!” I exclaimed.

  “Randi!”

  I froze. Slowly my eyes moved to the man standing next to my half brother.

  “Randi?” the man croaked.

  I nodded. My throat had gone dry.

  He wiped his brow. “Gosh. I—I—didn’t expect to meet you here…now….I’m not sure what to say….You’ve grown a lot since I saw you last.”

  “Duh,” Kyle said.

  My dad turned red. I chuckled. What was I worried about? He was just as nervous as I was. It was Mom who took command of the situation.

  “Hello, Tom,” she said, stepping beside me and wrapping her arm around my shoulders.

  “Hello, Jane….You—you look terrific,” Tom stammered, turning redder.

  “Thank you,” Mom replied, as cool as they come. She looked to Kyle. “Hi, Kyle. I’m Jane, Randi’s mother. It’s nice to meet you.” They shook hands. Must have been that the wine had worked, because Mom was kicking butt. “Where are you guys staying?” she asked them.

  “Um…we’re…um…,” Tom stumbled.

  “We’re at the Marriott,” Kyle answered.

  “Us too,” Mom said. “Shall we plan on having dinner tonight in the hotel restaurant? Say seven o’clock?”

  “Sounds good,” Kyle said.

  “Will your mother be joining us?” Mom asked.

  “No, she’s at home with my little bro
ther.”

  “Okay. I’ll make the reservation for four people, then. We’ll see you tonight.” Mom took our suitcases and started toward the exit.

  My father looked at me and shrugged, apologizing for his embarrassment.

  “Bye,” I said, waving. I hurried to catch up to my awesome mother.

  “Where did that performance come from?” I asked her.

  “Maybe you get your ability to rise under pressure from me?” she said.

  I smiled. Then we hopped onto the hotel shuttle—and I was still smiling. I smiled all the way there.

  Dinner that night was nice. Both Mom and Tom ordered a martini to start, and after a few sips they both relaxed. It was strange to think that I suddenly had a dad, but we both did our best.

  “How’s school?” Tom asked.

  “Good.”

  “Are you looking forward to competing tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  It was all small talk, but it was a start.

  A lot had changed for my mom and Tom; at least they were able to sit together and have a conversation without getting angry, and without bringing up old grudges, which was something Kyle and I had feared could happen. Like I said, it was a nice evening.

  I had thought that it would be the least stressful for me to not meet my father until after I’d competed, but once we finished dinner and that part of our trip got checked off the list, I felt much better. I was able to clear my head and focus.

  Friday came, and I did like Mom had done. I rose under pressure and delivered the best performance of my life. There were sixty girls competing, and I finished fifteenth on vault, twelfth on bars, sixth on floor, fourth on beam, and in eighth place for the all-around. Eighth out of some of the very best girls in the country!

  Afterward, at Mom’s insistence, I spent the night celebrating with Kyle and Tom…my dad. Mom went out with Coach Andrea, who had arrived earlier that morning to coach me. Kyle had a great day, too. As destiny would have it, he’d finished in eighth place in his weight class. I got to watch one of his matches on the TV in his hotel room before we went to dinner. I’d never seen a wrestling match before, so it was confusing, but exciting, too. Kyle was losing with seconds to go when he grabbed his opponent in some hold and did a back arch, throwing the other boy to the ground and scoring two points right before time ran out. My half brother was good, like Gav was good at football. They would like each other, I decided.

  Mom was very happy on our way back home the next day, and I thought that was because of how well things had gone—with Tom and with my meet. I’m sure that was part of it, but it’d be a while before I found out what else had her smiling. Unfortunately, our good cheer came to an abrupt end when we stopped by Gav’s and found out what had happened while we were away.

  The instant I saw that Natalie and Mrs. Kurtsman were there, I knew it couldn’t be good.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #17

  January: Part I: Taken; Part II: Emails

  Mr. Davids phoned Mother when it happened, and we were out the door in a flash. Now was when Gavin’s family was really going to need us.

  Mother and I were still there when Randi and Ms. Cunningham stopped by on their way home from the airport. Mother was with Mr. Davids in the kitchen, and I was sitting with Gavin out in the living room; Meggie and Otis were passed out on the couch beside us.

  Randi must have sensed something was wrong, because she hurried over and wasted no time in asking, “What happened?”

  “While you went and found your father, they came and took my mother,” Gavin responded.

  “Wait. What? Who took your mother?” Randi said.

  Gavin sighed. “You explain,” he said, turning to me. He looked beat.

  “Immigration police,” I said, talking softly. “They came and took Mrs. Davids into custody.” Randi didn’t move. “They’ll be holding her in a detention center until her court date,” I continued, “at which time her case will go before a judge and her fate will be determined.”

  Randi glanced at Gavin and swallowed. She looked back at me. “When?” she whispered.

  “We don’t know yet, but hopefully within a couple of weeks.”

  “What does your mother think?”

  “She’s hopeful,” I said, doing my best to sound optimistic. The truth was that Mother didn’t know what to expect; she wasn’t an immigration lawyer. It was a very good thing that Carla had been paying taxes for the past seventeen years, and it was terrific that she and Mr. Davids had gotten married—doing so could help change her status to legal immigrant—but that didn’t change the fact that she’d been breaking the law for all those years beforehand. If you rob a bank but then return the money a day later, it doesn’t erase the crime; you’re still going to face jail time.

  “How’d the meet go?” Gavin asked, obviously needing a change of subject.

  “It went well,” Randi said.

  “How well?” Gavin pressed. “Did you place?”

  Randi sighed. “Yeah. I finished eighth in the all-around.”

  “Eighth!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my excitement. “Against the best girls in the country? Randi!”

  She nodded.

  “Told you,” Gavin said, which actually made her chuckle a little. “How’d everything else go?”

  Suddenly I started hearing about a half brother, Kyle, and about Randi meeting her dad at the baggage claim, and about her mom, and dinner, and more. “Wait. What!” I said, sounding exactly like she had earlier, when she was the one who was confused.

  Gavin laughed at me, and it was the best feeling. He and Randi filled me in on everything I didn’t know, and then Randi finished telling us about her incredible weekend. The change in subject was a welcome break. But it lasted only so long.

  We stayed until late that night, but eventually we had to leave. Mr. Davids and Gavin thanked us and told us they’d be all right. I had promised myself I’d be strong in front of them, but I almost lost it when Mr. Davids put his arm around Gavin’s shoulder. They were far from all right.

  For me, the most frustrating part was the fact that there wasn’t anything more I could do. I felt helpless, and that does not sit well with a take-charge girl. There had to be something—and lo and behold, there was. The answer was waiting for me when I got home.

  My experience working alongside Mother and Father in the office had taught me that people don’t always respond to messages in a prompt manner. There are times when this requires a follow-up call or email—to subtly encourage a reply. Experience had also taught me that people often fall behind on such matters during the hectic holiday season. So you need to exercise patience and let people catch their breath.

  In my case, the teachers and coaches I’d emailed requesting an interview to discuss the booster club and what support their programs had received belonged to the post-Christmas responders. But this didn’t test my patience, because thanks to the whirlwind happening around me, my article on the booster club had completely slipped my mind. I had forgotten I’d even sent emails. And because Lake View Middle School was upgrading servers during the holiday break, our student accounts were down. It wasn’t until the technology upgrade was complete, and our accounts were activated again, that I received the messages. They all came across at the same time and were waiting in my inbox when I came home from Gavin’s that night.

  I wasn’t planning to read all of the messages before going to bed, but after opening the first email, I had to read a second, and then a third, and a fourth. Essentially, each person wrote one of two things:

  My program has never received any financial support from the booster club.

  Or:

  My program received one small contribution in the amount of [X] dollars to help us purc
hase [fill in the blank].

  Everyone concluded by saying they’d be happy to meet with me if I felt it was necessary for my article.

  After doing some simple math, it was easy to see that the amount of money Holmes had given out didn’t come close to what he had likely earned from the Halloween dance over the past three years.

  Embezzlement (noun): the misappropriation of funds (money) for one’s own use

  Synonyms: theft, larceny

  This was the word that immediately came to mind, and it frightened me. This wasn’t a small-time thing. Let me be clear: it was beginning to look as if Mr. Holmes were quite possibly taking most of the money he was supposed to be raising for the booster club and was padding his own pocket instead. If this was the case, the man was a crook.

  I hoped I was wrong. I hoped that when asked to provide a booster club bank account statement, he would have one that showed all of the fund-raised money sitting right there where it was supposed to be. Then the conversation would be about Mr. Holmes being a bad booster club president rather than a criminal. If, however, the money didn’t show up in the account, there would be real trouble.

  I didn’t like Mr. Holmes. He was a rotten man. But accusing a person—even one you strongly dislike—of such a despicable offense required proof. I suppose that’s why lawyers get paid the big bucks. But I wasn’t officially a lawyer—not yet—so I didn’t officially know what to do. I could have consulted my mother on the situation, but she had plenty to worry about with Carla Davids—and I wanted her focused on that, because saving Carla was priority number one.

  I had to slow down and think. It was still possible that Mr. Holmes was innocent. Remember, innocent until proven guilty.

  What is my next move? I wondered.

  I was so excited when I finally returned to school, but things weren’t the same. School had never been hard for me, but I couldn’t remember everything from before. All the information that used to run around in my brain at high speed got stuck in slow motion. I needed more time to process and think. Some of my teachers understood and gave me extended deadlines on my makeup work, but a couple were as flexible as iron and didn’t want to hear my excuses, because they didn’t get it. Mom told me to do the best I could and not to worry about it. She said that me slowing down wasn’t all bad, that there was a hidden silver lining in that—but I wanted to be back to normal.