Domestic Secrets

by Rosalind Noonan

  “Of course. What would I do without you, Dawn?” Craig opened his arms in a gracious gesture of thanks. Or was there more to it? Definitely a vibe between Dawn and Craig.

  Nora Delfatti raised two fingers. “Since I already placed some ads in the Timbergrove Times, I’ll handle publicity.”

  “It’s all yours,” Craig said.

  “I’ll do hair,” Rachel volunteered, knowing that no one else would want it.

  Dawn circled one red-lacquered finger, as if lassoing her posse. “We’ll all do makeup.”

  That would mean plenty of lined crimson lips and glittering faces. Rachel sank her teeth into her lower lip. If Ariel were here, she would have jumped on makeup and gotten the job done correctly.

  Other moms signed up, and Craig made a list of each group on his phone. Nan Lee and Liz Luchter signed up for costumes, though there would not be much work to do there. The Gleetime kids received matching costumes in the fall—formal attire for the boys and sparkling, full-skirted dresses for the girls—and the same costumes had to last until the end of the school year. The kids would need wardrobe for the duets and sketches, but often the students used their own clothes.

  “I’ll help you with the costumes,” offered Angela Harrell, a stoic-faced woman with hair in a long braid down the back of her neck. Rachel felt sure that, if she ever unraveled that hair, moths would fly out. The Harrells were strict Christians whose objection to evolution warranted them pulling their daughter Mary out of some history classes and prohibiting her from taking Anthropology. And yet, Angela didn’t seem disturbed by her daughter’s penchant for low-cut sweaters and costumes that resembled hookers’ attire. Rachel didn’t get the woman, so she just smiled and tried to keep her distance.

  As details were ironed out, Rachel stood by quietly speculating about Craig. Was he gay? Secretly dating? Divorced and bitter? Maybe a serial dater. Nothing wrong with that. Rachel, who had no sex life, liked to imagine that someday a responsible older gentleman with charisma would find her. But since she did not do the bar scene and she was not going to hook up with a psycho through that online dating garbage, her new lover would have to be someone like Craig who was already a part of her life.

  When the meeting ended, Rachel went up to the table to take an extra flyer for Ariel. To her surprise, Craig excused himself from the supermoms and stepped in to intercept her. “Rachel . . .” His eyes were blue as a summer sky. “You’ve been hiding something from me.”

  Her throat was suddenly dry as she faced him, not a clue as to what he was talking about. Unless, of course, he was privy to her fantasies. “Have I?”

  “Just that dynamite ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ number your son is putting together with Remy Alexander. Or hasn’t he mentioned it?”

  There had been one rehearsal at Ariel’s studio. “How did you know about it? Auditions aren’t till next week, right?”

  “I saw them working out some choreography in the school studio at lunchtime, and they did a short run-through for me.” He held up one hand to shield his words from the others. “Don’t quote me, but they’re a shoo-in for state. In fact, I’m thinking of incorporating the number in the Spring Showcase if they have it ready in time.”

  “Craig . . .” She felt a surge of gratitude at his support. Did he know about the recruiter coming to state? “That would be wonderful.”

  He nodded, shifting his eyes over to the ladies, then lowering his voice. “I think so. Might be just the boost our showcase needs.”

  Rachel knew that was code for, “The showcase is drowning in a sea of lackluster talent!” Jared had mentioned that Sage Sherer was doing an operatic song that made his balls ache—his exact words—and Blake Luchter was doing a country solo, despite the fact that he had trouble staying on key. That was high school politics: To the big donors go the spoils.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” she told Craig, nodding toward the gaggle of ladies.

  “Oh. Well. I love my job.” He flicked at his cheek, a nervous habit. “Just not every aspect of it.”

  “I bet. Someday, we’ll have to get together and swap stories.” There. She’d given him the perfect entrée. He could suggest a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.

  “You bet.” He winked at her—not a sexy gesture; more of a grandpa wink.

  What did that mean? “So what do you—”

  “Excuse me.” He was already looking over her shoulder. “I’ve got a fire to put out.” He stepped toward the costume ladies, waving one hand. “Did I hear someone mention budget? Because we don’t have one. We’re using costumes and props from our inventory.”

  She headed to the door, wondering if that was just bad timing or a way for him to avoid her overture. Dang it. If only Ariel were here to put her two cents in.

  Three blocks from home, Rachel turned off her usual route and headed toward Ariel’s house. She was dying to get her friend’s input on the Craig situation, and she needed to drop off the flyer.

  The house seemed dark as she pulled her Subaru up to the curb and cut the engine. The second-story windows were dark, the younger kids probably in bed. After all, it was almost ten. From here she couldn’t see Remy’s back bedroom or the master, though there seemed to be some muted light coming from the studio. She texted Ariel, saying that she was here, just came from the Spring Showcase meeting, didn’t want to bug her, but would leave the flyer in the mudroom.

  Come get me if you’re up for a chat.

  She held on to the phone for a minute or so as she watched the house, expecting a light to go on in the studio, or maybe even the mudroom door to fly open to reveal Ariel in her silk pajamas, waving her inside. Both Ariel and Rachel were night owls compared to most of their neighbors, who rose before sunrise and hit the local coffee shops or jogging paths. Bored, Rachel opened the console and gathered the old gum and lozenge wrappers into a ball, which she shoved into her travel cup. She liked to keep her car tidy; even though the vehicle was six years old, sometimes it still had that new car smell.

  The seconds ticked away in her ears, the silence in the car overwhelming. No use waiting. Ariel was probably in the shower or working on a song, which she did from time to time. She’d never had much luck selling one of her creations, but you never know. Best to drop the flyer and go.

  The mudroom door was open, as always, and recorded music pulsed through the adjoining wall and door. The narrow room with a long bench and cubbies served as a place for Ariel’s students to wait while Ariel was finishing a lesson in the studio. Rachel put the flyer on the cubby counter by the door, holding it in place with the deep-mauve-and-blue plate Remy had made in ceramics class. She was halfway back to the door when the throbbing bass of the music caught her attention. That was no show tune. Sort of a sexy Meghan Trainor. Maybe Rihanna? Pausing to listen for a moment, Rachel heard the deep rumble of a man’s chuckle.

  “Oh. My. God,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Stosh.” What the hell was he doing back in town, back in Ariel’s house?

  Still as a stone, she listened intently. She could hear their voices, but they were muffled by the wall and the music, keeping her from making out anything beyond the tone, which was decidedly smooth and low.

  At least they weren’t fighting.

  She edged closer to the door and waited. Now the playful noises were giving way to moans and . . . spanking?

  Not a beating, but the torturous, rapturous, rhythmic sounds of two bodies engaged in an active sexual romp.

  Rachel felt stung, curious, and intrigued, all at the same time. A voyeuristic part of her wanted to stay and listen; this was the closest she had gotten to any sign of passion since her husband had taken ill.

  But the moral part of her wanted to barge in and demand that Stosh leave her friend alone. How dare he come back here? She should march in there and drive him out the door, straight out of town.

  But she couldn’t do that. It was not her call, even if the man was a worthless abuser. Rachel loved her friend dearly, but all
the good intentions in the world could not protect Ariel from her own decisions, her own desires.

  Damn it.

  Maybe just a little scare? Rachel considered stomping around the mudroom in the hopes that the lovers would hear her and have the mood ruined. Coitus interruptus. But really? It was none of her beeswax. Feeling a mixture of guilt and alarm, she fled the mudroom.

  As she drove home, she wondered how Ariel pulled that off, entertaining a man while her kids were asleep. Remy had to be up and about still. Didn’t Ariel worry about her kids barging in or overhearing? Apparently not. It reminded Rachel that, next fall, she would be an empty nester with two sons away at school. She could entertain her imaginary gentleman friend all night long, swinging from the chandelier and making love on the rug in front of the fire.

  Too bad he was just imaginary.

  The next morning Rachel pushed herself out the door into the misty rain to get her run in. In Oregon, if you waited until the rain stopped to go running, you would never get outside. The last few months had been so consistently wet that Rachel had taken to putting her running shoes on the heat vent. She knew it wasn’t good for them, but stiff shoes were preferable to wet ones.

  With a baseball cap and her hood staving off the drizzle, she jogged her loop along the trails that cut through the park with the totem sculpture and around by Briar’s farm. Rachel hated exercise, but she did it for the relief of being done with it. One of these days she was going to get an exercise bike and take a load off her feet, but right now, with two in college next fall, a big purchase like that was out of the question.

  She was warmed up now, enjoying the sensation of flying as she passed through the park on the return trip. The trail spilled out of the park and past the elementary school. She leaped over a puddle and forged ahead, happy to be in the homestretch and loving her neighborhood. Where else could she feel safe running alone amid trees and grass and art in the park? Fat baskets of flowers hung from the lamppost on each corner, and she drank in the bright shades of poppy and lemon yellow, royal purple, and lipstick pink. Rain or shine, life was good in the town of Timbergrove.

  A line of cars eased into the school parking lot: moms and some dads dropping their kids off for school. It seemed like yesterday that Rachel had been waiting in that line with both boys in the car, and then, two years later, just Jared, her scraggly little guy who’d caused her so much worry. Ironically, these days it was the older kid who’d been keeping her up nights with his fatalistic comments about life while Jared seemed to be moving toward his dreams. You never knew how things would turn out.

  She spotted Ariel’s BMW pulling up to the elementary school for the drop-off. Grinning, she called out a greeting to Kath Monahan, who worked the crosswalk with her flag and orange vest. She cut into the school driveway, jogged up to the overhang, and ran in place, mugging for Ariel and the kids as the beamer approached.

  “Aunt Rachel, what are you doing here?” Trevor asked as he popped out at the curb.

  “Just happened to be in the neighborhood,” she answered, patting his shoulder.

  “I knew that was you!” Maisy said, reaching out to hug her. Rachel felt a gush of joy at the contact. Oh, she wished she’d had just one girl.

  Quickly, she sent the kids on their way and jumped into the vacated passenger seat.

  “Hey, honey!” Ariel’s dark eyes were bright, her smile reflecting her vibrant good mood. “Wanna go for coffee?”

  “Absolutely. My first appointment isn’t until eleven and we need to catch up.” Wednesday was Rachel’s late day at work, so she usually started around noon and went through till nine p.m. or as late as her clients needed her.

  “I saw the flyer,” Ariel said as she swung out of the school parking lot. “I meant to drop you a text. I had a phone conference with a producer.”

  “Really?” Rachel worked the zipper of her hoodie up and down. “Well, you didn’t miss much at the meeting. Except I wasn’t sure if you wanted to sign up for hair with me or join the Walking Dead Moms on the makeup crew.”

  “Like that’s a choice. I’m with you, girlfriend. But I’ll bring my makeup box, just in case.” During lean times in Hollywood, Ariel had worked as a makeup artist, as well as a salesclerk at a pricey department store. One of those gals who pulled you aside for a quick makeover to hawk their products, and you bought their whole line because you thought you might turn out looking half as gorgeous as the salesperson. Rachel suspected Ariel had done well with that.

  “Well, that’s good.” Rachel let the Craftsman homes and trees blur beyond the window as she decided to go for it. “’Cuz I’d hate to let a little angry sex come between us.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You. Doing the nasty with Stosh when I dropped the flyer off last night.”

  “What?” Ariel’s head snapped around, her features strained for a moment before softening into a grin. “Oh. That.”

  “Yup. You were pretty far into it when I stopped by. And honestly? I was worried all night. You know Stosh is bad news for you.”

  “Yes, he is,” Ariel agreed.

  “And you know I don’t approve. I won’t lie about that, but please, don’t let him come between us. No man is worth that.”

  “Right again. But you don’t need to worry, Rach. It’s not Stosh.”

  “What? It’s not?” It was Rachel’s turn to be taken by surprise. It did not occur to her that Ariel could have hooked up with someone else so quickly. “Well, aren’t you a fast worker. I am relieved and amazed. Who the hell was it?”

  “Someone I’ve known for a while.” Ariel kept her eyes on the road, the mauve lacquer of her nails reflecting light as she smoothly turned the wheel of the BMW. “But it’s a relatively new thing.”

  “Who?” Rachel could barely contain her curiosity. “Tell me. I need details. You know I haven’t had sex since the mullet was in. Help a friend out here.”

  “Stop putting yourself down, and give me a little space.”

  “Seriously? You’re not going to tell me?”

  Ariel shook her head. “He doesn’t want to go public yet, and I’m good with that. I’m not sure he’s going to be around too long. Maybe it won’t last.”

  “I’m not asking you to marry him, I just want to know who he is.” Rachel turned in her seat, totally focused on her friend’s response. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me, but when I say a name you can shake it off.”

  “Nope.”

  “Is it Dave Tang?” Dave was their insurance agent, single and attractive, but socially awkward. Lived with his mom and worked out of a little shed in the backyard.

  “I am not going to play this game,” Ariel said.

  “You didn’t even blink. It’s not Dave,” Rachel said, studying Ariel’s face. “Let’s see, what other single men do we have in town? Come out, come out, wherever you are. Craig Schulteis? No, never mind, can’t be him. He was at the meeting. How about the pharmacist. That guy is loaded. What’s his name? Sam something.”

  “Sam Hornbecker, and it’s not him.”

  Rachel squinted at her friend. “It’s got to be someone with money. Is it that estate lawyer, Ron Bolen? No, no, it couldn’t be. That man is so old that his dingle berries must be dried peas.”

  That made Ariel laugh. “You know, older can be quite seasoned and aged, like a fine wine.”

  “Or a stinky cheese,” Rachel responded. Although she made light of Ariel’s affair, she was a tiny bit jealous. Here she was holding on to daydreams about Craig Schulteis, a sexually nebulous drama teacher, while Ariel was having hot sex, acting out her fantasies with a mystery man. And all this had happened barely a week after dismissing her Hollywood producer boyfriend. Rachel had to know who this guy was.

  “Is it someone from out of town?” Rachel asked.

  “My lips are sealed.” Ariel pinched her fingers together and made a gesture of zipping closed her lips.

  “If you’re not going to tell me who, at least tell m
e how,” Rachel said. “I could sure use a few pointers on how to get from first base to home plate.”

  “You’re fine, honey. You know how to talk to men. You make everyone feel comfortable and so good about themselves.”

  “So what is it about me that sends men running in the other direction?”

  “It’s not you, it’s . . . men. They’re so confused about what they want. Sometimes you just have to take them by the hand and tell them.”

  “Tell them what? What do they want?”

  “Besides sex? Not much.”

  “I was afraid of that. That ship has sailed for me. I’ll never have your luck attracting men.”

  “I’m not sure luck is the right word.” Ariel frowned. “Men want me. They want to possess me and have their way with me. I don’t know what it is, but I’m telling you, it’s a gift and a curse, too.”

  “Mmm.” Rachel slipped off her seat belt as they arrived at the coffee shop on Main Street. “A terrible curse.” She struck a haughty pose. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. I’ll take some of that.”

  “You are beautiful,” Ariel said, though it seemed a bit forced and pat.

  “But not voluptuous.” Stepping up to the coffee shop window, Rachel caught a glimpse of their reflections. Ariel was a trim line of curves, her jeans hugging the swell of her hips, her suede-collared hunting jacket cinched in at the waist, her black T cut just low enough to reveal a hint of bountiful cleavage.

  Next to Ariel, Rachel was hardly the picture of femininity. She was all thighs in her running tights, her jacket straining over her wide hips. A big lump of spandex. She tugged her zipper up and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. To everything there was a season. And apparently, she was way beyond the season of feminine wiles.

  Chapter 8

  “Let’s take it from the top, one more time,” Ariel said, leaving the sheet music for “Singin’ in the Rain” open to the last page, as she now knew the song by heart. She should, after a solid week of daily rehearsals. Despite Rachel’s concern that Jared would be annoyed at being pushed to partner with Remy, he had been pleased by the whole setup. Which did not surprise Ariel at all. These kids had known each other since diaper days, and they could find a groove together when they both put their egos aside.