Whittaker 03 The Secrets We Keep

by Donna White Glaser

  The top right corner of the plastic sagged, exposing a white divot where the staples pulled out a chunk of drywall. Damn. I grabbed the stapler from my nightstand.

  “But what?” Eli said.

  Gripping the phone against my shoulder, I shot three more staples into the corner. That should do it.

  “Are you still stapling?”

  “What? No. Don’t be silly.”

  A gust of wind bowed the plastic inward, then sucked it back out with a whoosh. The bottom left edge pulled loose, flapping wildly against the sill. Son of a—

  More stapling. Lots more.

  Eli’s sigh rattled through the phone. “Letty, put the staple gun down. Go sit in the living room. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Make no mistake—dogs rank right up there, but duct tape is truly man’s best friend. And it sticks to aluminum siding, too. A wet-dry vacuum solved the other problem.

  I waited in the living room, partly because it was gratifying to just hand over the problem for a change, but mostly because I didn’t trust myself alone in a bedroom with Eli. Didn’t trust him, either. Before he’d gotten here, I’d changed into sweats and a billowy, puke-green t-shirt, for good measure, but it hadn’t lessened the charged atmosphere.

  The window repair kept him busy, though. Even from two rooms away I could hear dark mutterings about the damaged wall, and he was still shaking his head twenty minutes later as he dragged the vacuum down the hall and set it in my tiny entryway.

  Eli joined me on the couch. I scooted to the far end. Siggy surprised me by jumping up on the couch’s armrest, next to Eli. He’d disappeared during my Visqueen-wrestling match, and I’d expected him to stay hidden with a strange male in the house. Apparently, sexual tension does not provoke the survival instincts in Siggy as fear-induced tension did. Or maybe it was a testosterone thing.

  They gave each other the hairy eyeball.

  “And who are you?” Eli asked.

  Siggy’s ears swiveled back and forth, then he stalked his way up the cushion until they were nose to nose. Siggy’s whiskers traced the map of Eli’s face, evaluating. Neither blinked. After several moments, Eli blew a puff of air into Siggy’s furry face. Siggy sneezed in Eli’s.

  They both drew back.

  Then, inspection apparently over, Siggy jumped lightly into Eli’s lap and curled into a ball. I watched as Eli’s talented fingers found the sweet spot under Siggy’s jaw, stroking gently. A ridiculously loud, contented purring rose between us. Mesmerized by Eli’s hand, I cleared my throat to make sure the sound was coming from Siggy, and not me.

  Eli’s eyes slid to mine, a faint, this-could-be-you smile dancing on his lips.

  Boy don’t I know it.

  “Um, what time—” My voice croaked like a dehydrated toad. More throat clearing. “What time is it? I’m supposed to meet Beth at 10:00 in Eau Claire.”

  He checked his watch and sighed.

  FORTY TWO

  Since we’d already decided the situation didn’t require all three of us to talk to Patty, and in fact, three would probably be too intimidating, Eli went home to study.

  Beth was waiting in the small, between-the-doors vestibule of the restaurant when I got there. The place was nearly deserted. Two waitresses stood behind the counter; one of them rolling up silverware in paper napkins while the other, a thin, dishwater blonde, half-heartedly wiped the formica. They both looked up when the door opened, but before either could stake a claim of us, a third waitress swooshed through the swinging doors leading to the kitchen and made for us.

  “Is Patty Westcap working tonight?” Beth said. “We’d like to sit in her section, please.”

  Olive—her name embroidered in big whorls over her left boob—shook her head. “Patty? Sorry, but she doesn’t work here anymore. Not for a while.”

  Disappointed, we followed her to a booth and ordered coffee. Olive talked us into some pie as well, which she accomplished by mentioning they had some. When she got back with our plates, I asked if we could ask a few questions.

  Olive glanced at the only other patron in her area. He’d just started tucking into his hot beef sandwich, and she’d topped off his coffee on her way to fill our order.

  “Sure,” she said, leaning her weight on her left leg. “I’ve got a few minutes.”

  “We were hoping to see Patty. I know this is going to sound weird, but we had some questions about her son’s accident last summer.” Olive shifted, making me wonder if the question made her nervous. Then I realized her feet must be killing her. “Do you want to sit?”

  Another glance around the dining area. Nobody was paying us any attention. She grabbed a chair from the table next to us and sat down with a sigh and a relieved smile. “I’ll have to scoot if our manager comes out, but he’s probably sleeping in the back office. They’ve got a couch.”

  “We really appreciate it,” I said. “Did you work with Patty?”

  “Oh, sure. Patty only worked here a few months, but I’ve been here forever. Girls come and go all the time. Especially college girls. In fact, I doubt I’d even remember Patty if it wasn’t for her kid’s accident. But, you know, a thing like that happens…” She shook her head sympathetically.

  “Have you stayed in touch? Is she still in the area?” I was still hoping we could talk to Patty herself.

  “Nope. She took off to Florida.”

  Although Olive’s response came naturally enough, she’d crossed her arms, and her gaze skittered away.

  Beth frowned, and we exchanged a look. “Does she have family down there?” Beth asked.

  “Her mom, I think.”

  No surprise that a woman who’d gone through such a tragedy would want a fresh start. And moving to family made sense, too. But Olive seemed uncomfortable—a noticeable difference from her friendliness mere moments ago. I decided to shift the topic and see if she relaxed. After all, I didn’t know the woman. Maybe she was just moody.

  “I understand you all chipped in for the funeral. That was really kind.”

  Olive smiled, and though she kept her arms crossed, her muscles eased. “We put out coffee cans, so it wasn’t just us. I mean, you know, it’s not like we’re rolling in dough, but you get enough people and it adds up. Besides, folks around here take care of each other. You see it all the time.”

  Beth and I agreed. Time to return to the Florida topic.

  “So, Florida, huh?” I let the non-question dangle in the air between us.

  “Well, I can’t say I blame her,” Olive said. “Staying here, that would be tough. Besides—”

  I raised my eyebrows in a “go on” signal.

  Olive sighed, regretting her little slip. “She came into that money, you know. And I guess people started bugging her, which is pretty rotten. I mean, come on. Her kid just got killed, and people are hitting his mom up for loans. I’d have taken off, too.”

  A stillness hung between us.

  “Money?” Beth said. “From life insurance or something?”

  “Heck, no. Who can afford insurance on their kid? She got, like, a donation.”

  “From the coffee can fundraiser?”

  Olive laughed. “No way. We only raised about six hundred bucks. I mean, that’s pretty good. I’m not knocking it, but there’s no way we could afford fronting the cost of the whole funeral. No. Somebody gave her almost fifty grand. It was like she won the lottery, except, you know, she had to lose her kid to get it. Can you imagine? How could you even enjoy it?”

  “Somebody just gave her fifty thousand dollars?” Beth pursued the main point. “I’m guessing anonymously, right?”

  A short man with the world’s most obvious toupee came out of the kitchen.

  “Oops.” Olive jumped up. “Gotta go.” She scuttled off to the waitress’ station where she began pulling ketchup bottles out of the cooler and lining them up on the counter for refilling. The manager shook his finger at her, but playfully, so I didn’t have to worry that we’d cost her job.

 
Beth and I stared at each other. Fifty thousand dollars from an anonymous donor?

  Huh.

  Sunday night, Mary pulled me aside as soon as Eli and I showed up for the marriage group. She seemed agitated this evening; her grip on my arm almost pinching.

  “Letty, I’m sorry to bother you with this,” she said. “But I know you’re a therapist in town, and I need some advice.”

  I put on my “I’m listening” face, but inside my radar started pinging. Had I ever mentioned my job? I couldn’t recall. “What can I help you with, Mary?”

  “It’s Caleb. I just… I don’t know what to do. He came home last night…” Her voice petered out. Glancing at her husband on the other side of the room, she took a deep breath. “I think he’s on something. I mean, he was last night. I don’t know what to do. Letty, he’s only sixteen.”

  “Did you confront him?”

  “No. I didn’t want Lyle…” Another glance at Gibson. He was at the coffee table talking to Eli, but he kept shooting curious looks our way. Trying to look natural, Mary forced a smile, and turned slightly, so her face was pointed away. “Could you see him?”

  “I’m sorry, Mary, but that would be considered a duel relationship. I could recommend—”

  “I don’t even know if he’ll agree to therapy. I just want you to talk to him, get a feel for what’s going on. Just once, and then you can let me know if you think he needs to see someone. I get that it can’t be you, but it would help to refer him if you’d talked to him, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well—”

  “I’ll pay you, of course. Cash. I don’t want a record.”

  The reverend broke off with Eli, and began walking toward us.

  “Oh, here’s your husband. Is it time to start already?” I chirped.

  He looked at Mary quizzically. She turned to face him, her own smile beaming.

  “Am I holding everyone up?” Without waiting for an answer, she clapped her hands like a kindergarten teacher and gestured for the group to come sit down. For a brief moment, Gibson’s eyes narrowed, watching her performance, then they cut sideways to me.

  Just then, Shelly and Tyler entered, creating a new kind of tension. I used the opportunity to escape Gibson’s scrutiny.

  FORTY THREE

  If we were surprised to see them, Tyler was shocked as hell to see Eli and me. Apparently, Shelly hadn’t mentioned how she’d met us; I supposed they had other issues to discuss. And the long, angry-looking scratch down the side of his face didn’t suggest a positive outcome. Tyler’s glare drilled through me, making me wonder if he’d talked to Kris after our little sisterly chat the other day. If so, was she the one responsible for the gash in his face?

  And was he responsible for her trip to the hospital?

  By the time the group had assembled, both Gibson and his wife had reverted to their usual demeanor. The reverend called the group to order quickly, barely giving the coffee drinkers time for their fake creamer to dissolve. “It’s good to see everyone here tonight. I was afraid the beautiful weather might keep people away.”

  Blank expressions gave testimony to the premise that enjoying nice weather was the sole province of happy people. Everybody else huddled in dank church basements trying to make sense out of life.

  “I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say how pleased we are to see Tyler with us again.”

  ”’Bout time,” Ralph muttered. Janet whacked a dimpled elbow into his side, leaving a puff of talcum powder.

  “We’ll start,” Shelly said, grimly. No one was stupid enough to disagree. She turned to her wayward husband. Using the same tone as though commanding a dog to speak, she said, “Tyler?”

  Tyler’s handsome features settled into a scowl, lips thinning. He was not a happy puppy. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward resting his elbows on thighs, clasping his hands tightly. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. I already admitted I screwed up, and I’m sorry.”

  “And now I get to be a devoted Christian wife and just forgive you? Oh, goody.” The acid-drip of her sarcasm made him flinch.

  Eyebrows hugging our scalp lines, the group sat frozen watching the drama play out. Gibson shot his wife a say-something signal.

  “Um… Forgiveness takes time,” Mary said. “And trust takes even longer.”

  “You got that right!” Shelly rapped the words out in a staccato burst.

  “Forgiveness isn’t just for the sinner, it’s also healing for the victim,” Gibson said. I agreed with the sentiment, but, from him, it sounded self-serving. Shelly apparently agreed.

  “Puh-lease. If he’s concerned about my healing, he’d help me understand why? Why?”

  “What’s to understand?” Tyler asked. “I screwed up…”

  “Screwed up, screwed down, and probably screwed sideways.” Ignoring the gasps, Shelly continued, “Your apology means diddly to me if you won’t answer my questions.”

  “What questions?” Gibson asked.

  Slipping out of her usual supportive-wife role, Mary simultaneously crossed her arms and rolled her eyes hard enough to bring on a migraine. Apparently, she felt “what questions?” was self-explanatory. Her husband flushed.

  “Let’s start with: How long has this been going on?” Shelly glared at the top of Tyler’s bowed head as if she wanted to pull the answers straight out of his skull.

  Covering his eyes, he mumbled to the floor, “Hell, I don’t know. A while.”

  “A while,” Shelly repeated. Turning to the group, she said: “This is what I get. ‘A while.’” She swallowed. “What do you see in her? What is it that you don’t get from—” She choked. In a whisper of dread, she flung one more question at her husband. “Do you love her?”

  For the first time, Tyler raised his eyes to meet hers. “No. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

  So much for dread. In a flash, Shelly’s anger re-ignited. “Don’t even try it. Were there others?”

  Stricken, his eyes dropped to the floor again. “No.” His denial fell flat.

  Ralph’s bark of laughter earned himself a real elbow to the ribs. He grunted.

  Shelly cried.

  Clearing her throat, Mary gathered our attention, providing her respite from the group’s stares. “You two will have to continue to work on understanding the choices you have made, Tyler. In the time remaining, it might do you good to look at what changes you can make in your current situation to foster trust and forgiveness.”

  “What d’you mean?” Tyler mumbled. It may have been an honest question, but his tone came across sullen.

  “What changes in your lifestyle do you need to make to start the process of trust?” Mary stayed patient, but focused. I found myself liking her better.

  “I suppose you want me to say I’ll give up drinking, stay out of the bars.” Again, Tyler sounded petulant. Next to me, Eli snorted in disgust, drawing Tyler’s attention. His face darkened.

  “I’m not the only one who likes to have a drink now and then. I’ve seen you two everywhere I go. What, were you spying on me? You the ones told Shelly?”

  “No, we were, um, just having a date night,” I said.

  Tyler sneered. “Some date. What’s with all the questions about Trinnie, then?”

  Gibson looked startled, then frowned. Luckily, Shelly jumped back into the fray. “They didn’t tell me anything. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I couldn’t figure it out on my own? And why are you bringing up Trinnie again? What did she mean to you?”

  “Me? She didn’t mean anything to me.” Back on the defensive, Tyler’s voice pitched high, but he sat up straight and met her eyes square on. I reminded myself even liars occasionally told the truth.

  “You sure hung around her enough,” Shelly parried. “And you’re the one who just brought her up in the first place.”

  “I wasn’t hanging around her. I couldn’t stand her. I can’t stand any of these holier-than-thou types.” He glared at me, making me wonder what Kris had told him. And wha
t she saw in him, anyway. “Besides, she wasn’t my type.”

  In confessions, the “she’s not my type” defense is generally a tactical mistake.

  “Your type?” Shelly’s shriek overlapped Ralph’s contribution to the idiocy.

  “Men like pretty women,” Ralph explained. “Ones who take care of themselves and stuff.” Ralph stared at my bare legs as he offered this tidbit. Janet started crying, and the meeting fell apart altogether.

  Monday morning I woke up late, to an empty refrigerator. The grocery fairy hadn’t dropped by. After calling the window glazier, which meant staying home since they would be by “sometime between 9:00 and 5:00,” I made an emergency run to the nearest Kwik Trip, bringing home a bucket-sized cup of coffee, two donuts and a yogurt. I stuck the yogurt in the fridge.

  The glazier miraculously showed up just after 11:00, so I debated going in to work. All of my clients had been canceled, but I was worried about the amount of time off I’d been taking. Our new clinic director, assigned after Bob finally retired, had come over from the main office and was still a bit of an unknown. She seemed amiable, but I had no idea what kind of rumors might still be circulating in the wake of previous crises I’d endured.

  Lisa, our eerily-efficient office manager, raised white-blond eyebrows at my entrance. “I thought you were out today. All of your clients are rescheduled.”

  “I am. This—” I waved a hand over my body “—is a figment of your imagination.”

  She snorted. “Well, the figment has chocolate frosting stuck to her cheek. Did you bring me some?”

  I scraped the frosting off with my fingernail and held it out to her. This act of generosity earned me a dead-eyed stare before she stomped off to the file room.

  As soon as I settled into my desk, I checked voice mail, where I found a message from Mary Gibson. She hadn’t let go of the idea that I should see Caleb. I felt seriously conflicted about the idea. I’d already explained that I couldn’t see him for counseling, because of a dual-relationship. True, as far as it went, but simply being involved with the church group that his mother ran—although enough to qualify as a dual-relationship—was the least of the problem. There was also the little matter of having lied my way into the group in order to ferret out everyone’s dirty secrets, just in case one of them slaughtered my friend.