Sweet Secrets

by Rhonda Sheree

  Nevertheless, I make an attempt at light-hearted banter for Mom’s sake.

  “Grayson, you barely survived high school. How can you afford this thing?”

  “My grades were passable enough to get me into college, thank you very much. Not Harvard, mind you.”

  “College? For how long?” I cut my eyes to him.

  He smiled. “For about three years.”

  “And then you dropped out.”

  “No, then I graduated.”

  “Get outta here.” This is a guy I do not know. The Grayson Lane I knew was going to be an Internet entrepreneur and one didn’t need a degree for that, he would tell me. “What did you major in?”

  “Business Management.”

  Mom says, “Grayson owns a few little shops downtown, isn’t that right, Grayson? Oh, your father would’ve been so proud of him. Of all of you.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  Grayson keeps his eyes on the road ahead, but I see him visibly relax behind the wheel. He’s so different from the boy I remember: insecure, lonely, angry. It seems by the commanding way he whips the car through the light traffic that there is little sign of that boy left. But that boy was also deceptive, I remind myself. All that time he pretended to want me, when the one he really wanted was my sister.

  “Why the sad look?” he steals a glance at me. “You were hoping I was homeless?”

  “Not at all. I never thought about you.”

  “Ever?”

  “Never.”

  “Hmm,” he says quietly. “Looks like we still have stuff in common.”

  I catch him smiling.

  This is going to be a very long night.

  * * *

  The three of us are at the bottom of our first glass of wine and at the end of a long chain of small talk about current events when I see her. Carmen Va-Va-Voom Cole. Between the two of us, Carmen has always been the great beauty. She’s one of those rare women who can walk into a room and change the mood in the atmosphere. Her naturally brown hair is dyed a dark honey blonde that goes well with her light complexion. Long curls bounce on her shoulder as she walks—no, sashays—toward us in six-inch stilettos and a dress that had to be painted around her curves.

  Mom and I scoot out of the booth so that I can give Carmen a long hug.

  “It’s so good to finally see you again,” Carmen says and rocks me from side to side. She runs a hand through my hair and rakes her nails over my scalp. When she discovers that my hair is indeed my hair and not something I picked up from the beauty supply store, she steps back and nods at me as though impressed. But she will never ever say a word in my favor. She would just as soon eat a live caterpillar than give me a compliment.

  Carmen keeps a tight smile on her face as she openly sweeps her eyes over my shoes, up my body, stops at my collarbone, then reverses the sweep.

  “Girl, why have you been hiding from us for so long?” she asks.

  It’s an awkward question. Especially considering she knows she’s partly the cause of my disappearing act. And then it occurs to me that maybe she doesn’t remember. Maybe the pain I felt for years after I left has been forgotten by all of them. It’s possible that only I have been stuck in the past, like a person who tries to run in calf-deep mud.

  “The military’s kept me very busy,” I reply.

  Carmen puts her hands on her hip and damn, I cringe at how utterly striking she is. I don’t remember her breasts being quite that substantial, or her hips having such perfect symmetry to her waist. She is a good four inches taller than me in those heels and even in my black sheath and with my recent weight loss, I still feel downright frumpy in her presence.

  “We have lots of catching up to do. Mom,” Carmen bends down give her a hug. “I see you have a new dress.”

  “It’s not new,” Mom says simply and gets back into the booth.

  I trip on the elevated flooring as I slide back into my seat, thankful her inspection is over.

  Carmen turns to Grayson, who had gotten up, rather reluctantly if you ask me, and stood by while we greeted each other.

  “Grayson.” His name sounds like a lullaby coming out of her mouth. “Don’t be shy, give me a hug.” Carmen manages to make the simple request sound dirty. Like an old man telling a kid to dig into his pocket for candy.

  I watch from the corner of my eye as he adjusts the suit jacket retrieved from the hanger in his car. Grayson leans down and touches her shoulder lamely with his own; his fingertips graze her back. Then he pulls away quickly and invites her into the booth. He moves in beside her, one leg extended so far out from under the table he looks like he’s ready to bolt.

  “Carmen,” I say after we’d placed our orders, “you look amazing.”

  She runs her hands through her curls. “Thanks. I came over here from the shop and didn’t have time to doll myself up. My hair could be better,” she says, running her fingers through hair that is so freshly done I can practically smell the chemicals from the relaxer and the lingering odor of cooked hair from a smoking curling iron. “Anyway, I take it you’ve seen Mom’s new obsession.”

  “Getting dolled up?” I say and wink at Mom.

  “That, and those romance books. What are you reading now, Ma?”

  Mom gushes. “Lustful Delights by Georgia Kinsey. Oh, she is fantastic. Little-known indie writer, small following, but me and the girls at the senior center just love her books!”

  “Vampire stories?” Carmen asks as the waitress sets before her a mug of steaming water with lemon. Carmen squeezes the lemon juice in the mug of water then places her utensils in it to soak.

  “No,” Mom says, as though the idea of vampire romance is beneath her. “Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. That sort of thing. And, oh, the sex scenes!”

  “Okay,” Grayson coughs. “I’m not sure I want to hear about all that.”

  “You got anything against romance?” Carmen asks him.

  “Nothing at all,” Grayson says. He manages to look in Carmen’s direction without looking directly at her. He continues, “I’m not sure I want to be involved in a protracted conversation with Mother Cole about racy romance novels. It is nice to know, however, that there are people who still believe in romance.”

  “Yeah,” I add, “and unicorns.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mom says and pats my hand. “If you don’t believe in romance then it’s because you’ve never been seduced by it. Be patient. Your time will come.”

  Carmen has a smug smile on her face while Grayson eyes me curiously. I want to slide beneath the table. Instead, I decide not to say another word tonight.

  “Callia,” Mom says, “tell us about some of your adventures in the military. Some of the stories that we’ve never heard before.”

  “Is it true that the ratio of men to women is something like eight to one?” Carmen asks. “How can you not be married with odds that high?”

  Grayson replies, “I thought modern-day women had more on their to-do lists than getting married for the sake of getting married.”

  “Who can be too busy for love?” Carmen says. “Isn’t that the most important thing in life?”

  “You asked her about being married,” Grayson said and took a sip of his wine. “You didn’t ask her if she was in love. It’s possible to have one without the other.”

  And then the table became as quiet as a cemetery. This was my cue, apparently, to inform the table about my nonexistent love life. But they don’t need to know how nonexistent it is, now do they?

  “I left someone behind. He was a very nice guy, athletic, gorgeous. But sometimes you have to move on, right?” I pick up one of the warm cheesy biscuits the waitress has set on our table and begin to nibble. We all eat a biscuit except for Carmen, who sips a Diet Coke with a lemon slice.

  Grayson is watching me. There’s no indication as to what he’s thinking, but I begin to squirm because I feel like he can see right through me and the carefully chosen words that I said and didn’t say.

  M
om, on the other hand, sounds thrilled by the news. “Callia, you’ve got to invite him up here. Oh, I’d just love to meet him.”

  “It’s not like that anymore, Mom. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he’s probably already dating someone else.”

  “You just left Florida, like, yesterday,” Carmen says. “You should invite him up. Take him around New York. Or better yet, take him to your reunion this year.”

  “What reunion?” I ask.

  Grayson clears his throat. “Our ten-year reunion is this year.”

  “Honey, I’ve got your invite at home,” Mom says. “I was going to tell you about it.”

  The servers appear with our meals. Carmen removes her utensils from the mug of steaming water with lemon and wipes them down with her napkin. I shake my head. Some things never change. There is a lull in the conversation as we eat. Since I am the guest of honor, I feel a duty to regale them with a story from my military career, although my entire career is probably as interesting to them as watching a plant grow.

  “When I was a lowly little airman,” I began between bites of my shrimp, “my training instructor had a very difficult time trying to discern which of her new fifty cadets would be a good flight team leader. That means when she isn’t there to watch the nest, one of us would be in charge. Well, I certainly didn’t want the job as I’m not the bossy type.”

  “Since when?” Carmen interjects.

  Mom chuckles.

  “But one day,” I continue with my story, “we’re all broken down into teams of five and sent around the base to clean up the different buildings. And I remember being the only one of my group with a plan. So I tell the other four cadets to go clean specific areas, mop, sweep, that kind of thing, report back to me in fifteen minutes and I’ll check their areas, and then we’d leave.”

  “You?” Carmen says, picking at her fish. “Double-checking someone else’s level of tidiness? I think you miscast yourself in that role, Spielberg.”

  “Go on,” Grayson says. He’s barely minding his food and there’s a genuine interest on his face. Gee, it kind of makes me wish my story were a bit more exciting.

  “And as I was delegating to them, I started to feel my confidence boost. I mean, there I was, an eighteen-year-old kid, miles away from home for the first time, missing my dad, missing—”

  I catch myself. Gosh damn, I almost said I was missing my best friend. Grayson had been my best friend. How humiliating would that have been to let slip?

  “Missing life as I’d known it and I was in this strange world, doubting myself and my choices and suddenly, four young women arched their backs, stood at attention, and were giving me some respect. Hell, I even saw fear on their faces and I loved it.”

  “That sounds like the Callia I know,” Carmen quips.

  “When I’m done talking with them, I dismiss them. And when I turn to walk away I walk directly into my training instructor.”

  “Oh, no,” Grayson says.

  “Oh, yes. She had been standing behind me the whole time and I didn’t even know it. This woman was tall, thin, muscular, and she had the face of Skeletor. Absolutely frightening. Remember that old cartoon?”

  “Yeah,” Grayson says.

  “No,” Carmen and Mom say in unison.“But go on, dear,” Mom encourages.

  “My sergeant walked up to me like she was ready to detach my head from my shoulders. She hovered over me and said, ‘Cole, all this time I’d been looking for a flight leader, going through one pansy-ass girl after another. And all this time you were standing there with your mouth clamped shut and you knew, you knew you were a goddamn natural-born leader.’” My audience chuckles in unison so I continue. “I said nothing. What could I say? I just stood there at attention and then she came even closer, put her nose close to mine, and snarled, ‘You fucking disgust me.’ And then she turned and walked away.”

  “And how did that make you feel?” Grayson asks.

  “Uh, confused, and happy. I mean, it was a huge compliment wrapped in a dis. It was like swallowing a bitter pill that makes you feel all good inside.”

  “You didn’t jump out of airplanes or anything?” Carmen asks.

  “No, sorry.”

  “Eh,” she says. She’s barely touched her plate and I begin to understand how she’s been able to keep a frame so slender. Poor thing. I reach for another biscuit.

  “So you’re a leader among men,” Grayson says.

  “Please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m a worker bee.”

  “You have a job lined up yet?” he asks.

  “I do. At a local college. Bursar’s office.”

  “That was fast.”

  “A military buddy of mine hooked me up.”

  Carmen’s phone buzzes; she picks it up and types furiously. Whomever she is texting replies in a series of texts that sets her phone off on a steady buzzing stream. Her thumbs finally stop and she says, “I’ve gotta go. I’m sorry.”

  Grayson springs out of his seat to let her pass.

  “You haven’t eaten a thing,” Mom says.

  “You guys can get it to go.”

  “That’s the husband, isn’t it?” Mom asks.

  “Mom, please. Don’t start.”

  “Don’t tell me not to start. I’ll start if I want to.”

  “Guys, I’m out of here. Callia, we’ll hook up this weekend, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She turns to Grayson. “You know, we could hang out some time too, Grayson. You don’t have to be a stranger.”

  He says nothing but gives her a strained smile and a nod.

  Carmen struts out of the restaurant, with no thought of contributing cash toward the meal. And I guess when you’re the girl who has every man in the restaurant watching you leave, you don’t have the vaguest concept of paying to eat.

  I bury my face back into my plate, giving Grayson all the opportunity he needs to enjoy the view.

  But to my surprise, when I glance upward, his eyes are focused securely on me.

  Chapter 6

  “What a marvelous evening we’ve had,” Mom says as we pull up to the house. “We need to get together and do this again some time.” Neither Grayson nor I respond. “Or not,” Mom says.

  “Here we are,” Grayson says as the car makes a smooth stop in front of the house. He gets out and opens the door for Mom. I’m already out of the car and headed to the gate. “Can you hang on a sec?” he asks.

  He gives Mom a quick hug and promises to swing by again soon to take her to look at the retirement community. He’d be out of town for a couple of days and would check in on her upon his return. After Mom was safely in the house, Grayson closes the gate behind him and leans against the car next to me. A shadow moves behind the curtain. I shake my head.

  “What?” he asks.

  “That’s one nosy lady,” I say.

  “Your mom?”

  “Yeah, I think I can see her behind the curtain.”

  “Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of curiosity, I guess,” Grayson says. “How was dinner?”

  “Great, thanks for taking care of the bill. That was nice.”

  “Yeah, no problem. Any time.”

  I cross my arms. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Oh, right. Um…” He pushes himself off the car and starts kicking a pebble around. “I know we ended things on a bad note—”

  “No, we didn’t,” I interrupt him. “We didn’t end things on a bad note, Grayson. We didn’t end things at all. You left a few days after my dad died.”

  “But I was with my dad. My dad moved us—”

  “You didn’t write me. You didn’t call me. You don’t have an excuse.” I hadn’t raised my voice; still, I made sure my tone conveyed that I was not in the mood for excuses and lies.

  He sighs and stops in front of me. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I say and push off the car and head to the gate.

  Grayson catches my arm and runs his finger down it until m
y hand is in his.

  “I want to see you again,” he says.

  Oh, to be the girl who still believes in fairytales. How wonderful it would be to start anew. To be courted, as my mother would say, and taken on romantic dinners and short excursions and have a man kiss me like he wants nothing more in the world than to possess me. I didn’t have that with Robert. Not really. We were buddies who had a common goal: fitness. Sex was an added bonus and wasn’t that much of a bonus anyway. But we didn’t have the chocolate-and-cherry-wine type of relationship. Grayson’s first disappearing act had left me so heartbroken that when I finally emerged on the other side of the tears, I was a hardened woman. Chocolates and cherry wine are for the foolish women who believe in unicorns. I know the damage these men can do and I want no part of it.

  I slip my hand from his.

  “No, Grayson,” I say and slide inside the gate. “You betrayed me and then you disappeared. I will never let that happen again.”

  Grateful Journal

  Can you believe that I had dinner with Grayson Lane tonight? Yep. Me, Mom, Grayson, and Carmen (looking like she’d made a pact with the devil in exchange for a lifetime of toned thighs and chipper boobs). She left early, though—not sure what that was about. I think some guy was begging her for attention. I guess that’s one thing to be grateful for, huh? At least I was relieved from her microscopic appraisal of my face (which could’ve used a bit more powder had I known the company I’d be keeping) and my newly slender body, which might be in regression, no thanks to the leftover chocolate cake I’m noshing on as I write this (and yes, another thing for which I’m grateful, although my own chocolate cake is better. A hint of raspberry ganache between the layers would’ve set this cake on fire!)

  But I digress. Grayson wanted to talk with me after we’d gotten back to the house. I said no. Absolutely not. The last thing I want to do is be one of those women who listens to a man go through his oh-baby-baby-please routine and fall right back in love with him. I was a child when I knew him. Now I’m a woman. A woman who lives by the code that the man she marries should be a man who loves her more than she loves him.