Dirty Little Secrets

by Lizzie Shane

  “Mom, I haven’t even decided I’m doing it yet. And even if I were to try for public office, I was thinking I’d start smaller. Maybe a State Senate seat—”

  She huffed, waving away his start-small plan. “You want to make a difference, don’t you? Starting small is for people who aren’t connected. You have the connections. You should use them. Have you spoken to Chloe’s father?”

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone yet.” And it hadn’t occurred to him to talk to Chloe’s father, though his former father-in-law had his hands in almost as many political pies as the Montgomery-Raines family. “Slow down a little and let me catch up.”

  Though he should have known his mother would throw the family political machine into full speed as soon as he gave her an inkling of interest.

  She made a face now. “If you insist on starting small—which, frankly, is a mistake—there’s a weak incumbent in the Maryland State House. His record is terrible and he’s being sued by half of his staffers for sexual harassment. You’d win in a walk, but you really should be more ambitious, Aiden. With your legal record, family name, and personal history, you have an incredible amount of political capital to spend right now and I don’t want to see you wasting it on a spot in the State House.”

  “Personal history?”

  Her stare was the look Regina Montgomery-Raines gave people when she was being too well-bred to roll her eyes at their stupidity. “Don’t be touchy. You know how this town works. And so did Chloe. She would be happy to know that her tragic loss could catapult you into a position to help others.”

  He somehow doubted that Chloe would be overjoyed to have her death used as political capital, but he didn’t argue the point. “So I’m running as the tragic widower?”

  “The tragic widower with a recognizable fiscally-conservative name and an excellent legal reputation as a civil rights attorney—the independents will love that.”

  “Don’t you think we’re getting ahead of ourselves? I’m not even sure I want to run yet.”

  “Darling. Give me a little credit. You wouldn’t have mentioned it to me unless you knew you wanted to do it and you were just looking for someone to tip the scales that last little bit. But you take all the time you need to think about it.” She beamed. “And then, when you’re ready, we’ll take you all the way.”

  Maddie called out, demanding her nana’s attention and Regina strode off to obey, leaving Aiden staring after her, a little dazed. He should have expected his mother’s reaction, but he still felt like he’d been strapped into a rollercoaster and launched into motion before he even knew for sure he wanted to ride that ride.

  But she had a point. Now that he’d decided he was ready to start looking to the future, there was no sense thinking small.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  For weeks Samira had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. If life had taught her anything, it was that when relationships seemed too good to be true, they always were. She was becoming more certain every day that what she felt for Aiden really was the big L, but it was hard to trust that feeling. Looking back on her marriage now, the part where she felt like she was in love with Trevor seemed like one giant illusion.

  And now… she was too happy. Aiden was too perfect. She kept watching for the first sign that the house of cards was going to come tumbling down, but it never did.

  Not that he was perfect perfect. He still worked too much and somehow managed to leave his dirty coffee mugs all over the house—far more mugs than any one man should logically be able to dirty in a single week. But that was nothing. An almost annoyingly minor wrinkle in their bliss.

  The bliss that was starting to freak her out.

  Their relationship was starting to feel… serious. Not that they ever talked about the future or forever, but she’d found herself fantasizing about it when she wasn’t on guard against those thoughts. Not big things like white weddings, but little things like how much fun it would be to go on vacation together, maybe take the girls to Disney World.

  He made her feel bubbly and light, like anything was possible—and that feeling more than anything convinced her that reality hadn’t set in yet. That the earthquake that would shake her life was coming and she needed to brace for it.

  She watched him for some sign that he was turning into her ex—but he was the same Aiden he’d always been. Kind. Smart. With his gentle way of teasing her, his blue eyes glittering with humor that made her feel fizzy inside.

  She watched for some sign that he was only using her, that she meant nothing to him other than sex, but if anything she was the one putting up walls and keeping them from sliding into real boyfriend-and-girlfriend mode. She was the one who scrupulously avoided any talk of the future or what they were to one another, shutting him down or changing the subject whenever she thought the conversation might be drifting in that direction.

  He’d alluded to her coming with him to his sister’s wedding—not to manage the girls, but as his date—and she’d nearly spilled half a glass of wine all over herself as she stammered to change the subject. She wasn’t ready to be out in public with him as his date. Wasn’t ready for the rest of the world to intrude.

  She was on guard for every tiny symptom of the other shoe dropping, braced for catastrophe. Every day it felt like they were on the verge of being discovered. His family. Jackie. The truth would come out and everything would change.

  Her thoughts were consumed by Aiden, so fixated on him that the house felt empty when he took the girls to see their great-grandfather on Saturday morning. She scrolled idly through Facebook, trying to remind herself that her world didn’t begin and end with Aiden Raines, when a post from her mother caught her eye.

  Thank you all for your support during this difficult time.

  Samira frowned. What difficult time? Her mother hadn’t said a thing on their last phone call. Samira pulled up her father’s Facebook page to get more details, but when she tried to find him in her friend list he was missing. She typed in the url, but all she got was a notice that the page no longer existed. Had her father taken down his Facebook page?

  She went back to her mother’s page, but there were no more clues what the cryptic thanks for your support message meant. Samira told herself it was probably nothing, but she still grabbed her phone, dialing the number she knew by heart.

  Her mother answered on the third ring. “Samira. Are you all right? This isn’t your usual day.”

  She typically called on Monday afternoons while the girls were at their tumbling class for the weekly awkward conversation with her mother where neither of them really said anything. “I just saw your post on Facebook. Did something happen? Did Dad take down his page?”

  Her mother released a long suffering sigh. “It’s nothing.” Her accent had been softened by three and a half decades in the United States, but it came out now with her irritation. “Your father decided the Facebook page wasn’t worth having. Everyone is making too big a deal.”

  Samira frowned, hearing more in what her mother wasn’t saying. “Too big a deal of what? What happened?”

  “It was nothing. A student with a bad grade starting a stupid rumor. These things happen.”

  “A student with a bad grade made Dad take down his Facebook page?” For a moment the words didn’t make sense. Then they did. Her stomach roiled queasily. “Was someone harassing Dad online? Mom, you can report them. Get them blocked.”

  “There were too many to block and your father doesn’t really like social media anyway. He hasn’t felt the same about using it since he was stopped at the airport coming back from a conference in Vancouver a few months ago.”

  Samira’s hands went cold and a low ringing started in her ears. There were so many things to unpack in that sentence she wasn’t even sure where to start. “Dad was detained? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Her father had had a green card for decades, but he’d never taken the final step to citizenship—and she hadn’t worried about the omission until peopl
e had started taking a hard look at people from Iran. Even those who had been teaching in St. Louis for almost forty years.

  “Your father didn’t want to make a big thing of it. We keep our heads down, but I think watching those men confiscate his phone, go through his social media—”

  “Mom. They can’t do that.” But they could. And they did. “Did he have a lawyer?”

  “He was released after only a couple hours. When he got home, he said he wanted to forget the whole thing.” Her mother spoke calmly, but Samira heard the worry in that calm. Heard her mother focusing on now-everything-is-fine so she didn’t obsess over what could have happened. Or the fear that it could happen again.

  “You still could have told me.”

  “What would you have done?”

  “I work for a civil rights lawyer!” Even if Aiden wasn’t a member of the bar in Missouri, he would know who to contact in St. Louis. Who could help.

  “We were fine then and we’re fine now. It’s just a Facebook page. Everyone at the university has been very supportive. No one believes the accusations—even if they have to investigate as a matter of policy.”

  The full ramifications of what her mother wasn’t saying reverberated through her. This wasn’t just about Facebook. Some disgruntled student was filing complaints against her father, accusing him of God knew what. “Is he going to lose his job?”

  “Samira! Of course not. He has tenure.” Apparently nothing trumped the sanctity of tenure. “Besides, the university is a sanctuary campus.”

  “That didn’t stop Dad from being detained.”

  “We’ve lived here for almost forty years. People panic and we weather the storm. This is nothing new. Your father’s coworkers have been incredibly supportive. You should see the way people have rallied around us.”

  Samira reminded herself that he was a celebrated professor on a liberal college campus that prided itself on being inclusive. It was about as close as they could get to safe these days, but still she worried. “If he has any problems, any at all, you have to call me, okay? Aiden might be able to help. And I have some vacation time built up. I could come out there.”

  “Don’t be silly. The last thing we need is you showing up here.”

  Samira flinched at the casual words.

  In the long moment she took to compose herself, she heard her mother sigh. “You know what I meant.”

  Unfortunately, she did. They both knew her presence was hardly a comfort to her father. She spoke to her mother every week, but she and her father hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words since her divorce had been finalized. The swirl of anxiety that had been simmering inside her twisted toward another topic.

  “Does he still have lunch with Trevor every Thursday?” she heard herself asking, a question she’d always carefully avoided in their conversations because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “Samira. It isn’t that your father doesn’t support you—”

  “Really? Because that’s exactly what it feels like when I’m your daughter and he’s dining out with my ex-husband.”

  “You’re still our daughter. But you’re the one who chose to leave, to move to DC.”

  “Because you two kept trying to convince me to go back to him! You took his side.” And she still couldn’t seem to forgive them for that. They’d believed him.

  “Your father and I thought that your side and his side didn’t have to be different. When you’re married, you’re a team. As your parents, it’s our job to guide you. To encourage you to make good decisions.” Her mother’s voice was so patient, each scrupulously calm word like a needle under Samira’s fingernails. “We were doing everything we could to support you both—”

  “And now?” Samira cut in. “Do you still think you’re supporting me by being best friends with the man who spent two years breaking down my confidence?”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? No one can make you feel inferior—”

  “Don’t quote Eleanor Roosevelt at me!” Unlike her father, her mother had gotten her U.S. citizenship and had developed a fascination for American history—particularly the role of women in political movements. “Maybe I gave my consent, but he made me feel inferior and the fact that you guys still can’t see what a betrayal it was for you to take his side in the divorce—” The words choked off.

  “It wasn’t about sides. We only want what’s best for you. If you came home—”

  “You just told me not to use my vacation.”

  “You could move back—”

  “My life is here mom. I live in DC now. I’ve even started seeing someone new and he’s amazing. He makes me happy, Mom. Happier than Trevor ever did.” The truth of the words soothed something in her and the frustration retreated to rational levels as she remembered that she wasn’t where she’d been three years ago—trapped and miserable.

  “That’s wonderful,” her mother said, but her voice was hesitant—and Samira hated that hesitation. Hated that their relationship had become a minefield.

  “I want us to be close again, Mom.” I want to be able to forgive you. “I want to be part of your lives, even if I’m never moving back to St. Louis. You have to let me know when things happen—like Dad is detained or being harassed online. I want to know. I care about you.”

  “We care about you too,” her mother said. “And I’ll try to remember to keep you in the loop.”

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t ask for more. Not yet.

  They said their goodbyes and Samira set aside her cell phone, slumping down on her bed. Benjamin Franklin, now fully recovered from his veterinary adventure, whined to be petted and propped his chin on the mattress beside her, wiggling for attention. She stroked his silky soft head, her thoughts a thousand miles away.

  It had been too long since she and her mother really talked about anything. She’d let them become distant acquaintances. So distant her father had been detained and she hadn’t even known.

  He was home. He was safe. Innocent. But fear still closed off her throat. It didn’t always matter what was true. It mattered what people believed.

  Too many to block. That meant it hadn’t just been one disgruntled student. She could easily picture it—online trolls joining the witch-hunt at the first hint of the words Muslim Iranian immigrant. Filling up her father’s Facebook page with hate. Samira’s page was private, as was her mother’s. Doubtless the only reason the viral hate hadn’t spread to her.

  Her father didn’t like to give up. Didn’t like to let others win the war of ideas. He wouldn’t have made the choice to shut down his Facebook page lightly, no matter what her mother said. It had to have been bad.

  Samira sent Jackie a text, grateful when her friend replied instantly and showed up at her door less than fifteen minutes later.

  “What happened?” Jackie demanded as soon as Samira opened the front door, one hand on Benjamin Franklin’s collar to keep him from mauling Jackie with his affection for her.

  She blurted it all out in a rush—the Facebook threats, the detention—and Jackie stepped across the threshold, pulling her into a hug.

  She didn’t have to explain. Jackie understood all the fears piled up behind her words, which was fortunate because she wasn’t sure she would have been able to find the words.

  Samira squeezed her friend tight, then forced herself to let go and step back, standing on her own. “The worst part is they didn’t even tell me when he was detained before and this time I wouldn’t know what had happened if my father’s Facebook page hadn’t vanished.”

  “I’ve met your parents,” Jackie soothed. “They’re good at denial. It probably had nothing to do with you.”

  “Didn’t it?” She led the way into the kitchen, pulling out two mugs for tea while Jackie dropped her always overflowing handbag onto the counter, half the contents spilling out the top. “We barely speak anymore.”

  She dropped a teabag into each mug and reached for the kettle to fill it. But
when it was on the heat and there was nothing left to do with her hands, her throat closed and she pressed her lips together against a sudden heat behind her eyes.

  “I just feel like if I’d been more connected to them I could have done something.” Saved the day. Redeemed herself in their eyes. But even as she said it, she knew it was wishful thinking.

  Samira scrubbed both hands across her face, trying to wipe away the awful oily feeling that had been smothering her since the phone call. She hated this feeling. Scared for her family. Scared for all of them that worse was coming. She was so tired of feeling this way, like they would never be truly accepted, like no matter what they did or how good they were they would always be on the verge of eviction.

  And she’d thought what? That she could just ride off into the sunset with Aiden Raines? That she would be absorbed into the perfect bubble of his life and nothing would ever touch her there?

  The kettle whistled and Samira jerked into motion, grateful for something to do. Pouring the tea gave her a moment to compose herself. She set one mug in front of Jackie, her gaze catching on the gossip rag spilling out of Jackie’s purse. The headline slashed across the picture on the front in giant, dark letters.

  His Dirty Little Secret! Guess Who’s Been Banging the Nanny!

  The larger photo showed the celebrity in question ducking away from the cameras, with a smaller inset of what appeared to be a yearbook photo of a pretty young blonde. Bile roiled in Samira’s stomach and she couldn’t look away.

  Jackie followed her gaze and rolled her eyes. “Can you believe that? He’s married to pretty much the hottest woman on the planet and he still can’t keep it in his pants.” She tapped a finger on the glossy cover. “And this is what happens when you get involved with someone like that. Can you imagine if something had happened between you and Aiden Raines? You’d always be his ‘dirty little secret.’ Good thing you stayed away from him.”