Miller's Secret

by Tess Thompson

  She smiled, adjusting her glasses, feeling like a movie star. Strands of her hair occasionally escaped and stuck in her lipstick until she brushed them away with her hand. Clear sky reflected in the endless sea. Sun, shining through the front glass, relaxed her. She was free in Henry’s car. Nothing and no one could get her.

  Over the last four weeks, Henry had appeared on her doorstep a half-dozen times to ask them to accompany him somewhere. He always made it seem as if it were something he would do with or without them. Each time she wanted to tell him no. It was too risky, given Miller’s decree, but as was the way when it came to Henry, she agreed each time. It helped that Miller’s visits had changed to only weekdays. He had to be at the beach house with his family on the weekends, he explained. His father-in-law had insisted. Phil suspected there was more to the story, but she didn’t ask, too happy to have weekends with Henry.

  Today, they were driving to Carmel. An artist community, he explained, when he asked her to join him. “I’m looking for a painting for my cottage. Would you like to come?” Teddy had left an hour ago with Mrs. Thomas for an overnight sleepover. “To give you a good night’s sleep,” Mrs. Thomas had said. She agreed when Henry asked, feeling excited. A day away, looking at art, how could she say no?

  Carmel-by-Sea, the sign said as they turned off the highway into the little town. Henry parked, and they strolled down the main street of town. The community exploded with people around 1910. “Artists, writers, sculptors started coming here.”

  They spent the afternoon strolling through small galleries and a bookstore. Henry bought Teddy a book about trucks and a copy of Little Women for Mary, even though they had no idea if she’d read it already. The last gallery they walked into had more traditional paintings than the abstract work in the others. They agreed that although they appreciated the abstracts for their artistic qualities, a more traditional work might be better for Henry’s simple décor. They meandered separately through the gallery. Phil was especially drawn to the watercolors, of mostly still lifes and landscapes. She liked the way the colors blended together and were less precise than oil or charcoal. Like life. A little messy.

  She rounded a corner to find Henry in front of a large oil painting. It was of two little boys and a girl sitting on the beach, dressed in overalls. She guessed the subjects to be around eight, given their sizes. They faced the ocean, arms linked around one another’s waists. One of the boys had dark hair, as did the girl, but the boy on the right had unruly blond hair. It looked like Henry’s hair today after their car ride.

  Henry sat on a bench in front of the painting. She walked over to him, about to tease him about the little boy’s hair, but stopped a few feet from him, alarmed. Tears ran down his face, which he wiped occasionally with his handkerchief. Phil sat to his left. It only took her a second to realize what made him cry. The painting reminded him of his sister and William, of their days at the beach. She moved closer and rested the side of her head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Henry.”

  He laughed through his tears. “I feel about Teddy’s age right now. This is not a way for a man to act.”

  “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

  He covered her hand with his. They sat like that for a few minutes. “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.”

  “Good. All this blubbering has me quite famished.”

  They found a bistro at the end of town and were seated by a severe-looking host outside on the patio under an umbrella, with a view of the ocean. Overhead, the screams of seagulls merged with the chatter of other guests and an occasional clatter from inside the restaurant. The waiter came by with glasses of water, then explained to them about the menu. “It’s a four-course meal. Chef’s discretion.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?” asked Henry.

  “Meaning we bring you four courses of the most delicious food you’ll ever have.”

  “Okay, then,” said Henry. “May we also have wine? A bottle of chilled Chablis.”

  “Coming right up,” he said.

  They sat in silence, enjoying the view. What Henry pondered now could be anyone’s guess. It was as if his show of emotion had not happened. After the waiter poured their wine, Henry lifted his glass. “To you, Phil.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re helping me make new memories, driving out the ghosts. The last time I came here was with William and Rose. And now, we’re here, and I’ll have this day to remember.”

  “Thank you for bringing me, Henry. I feel at home here.”

  He smiled, his usual good humor apparently restored after his bout of grief at the gallery. “You belong here with the other artists.”

  “You think I’m an artist?”

  “What else would you be? Your designs? Your vision?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought of myself that way. I always figured I was simply good with the sewing machine.”

  “You know it’s more than that,” he said.

  She sipped her wine before answering. “I guess I do.”

  He slapped the table, hard enough that two bohemian-looking women dressed in peasant blouses at the table next to them turned to look. “It’s about time you admitted how talented you are.”

  “Oh, Henry, you’re impossible.”

  The sun set as they dined. The waiter had not lied. It was the most delicious food either of them had ever had. Something called Caesar salad, which the waiter informed her was invented in 1924 at a restaurant in San Diego by Caesar Cardini when he ran out of the usual ingredients for salad dressing and made up a new one with what he had on hand. However it came to be, Phil was glad it had as she dug into the crunchy lettuce with the tangy dressing. The next course, fresh linguini and clams, was possibly the best food she’d ever tasted. When the grilled trout came out, she changed her mind. “The trout’s my favorite. Definitely the trout,” she told Henry. Dessert was a lemon sorbet that melted on her tongue. At some point, Henry ordered another bottle of wine. By the end of the meal, Phil was full and a little tipsy. The sun had set while they dined, and the waiters lit candles along the railings and the tables. They moved empty tables aside to make a dance floor, as a three-string band began to play. Several couples got up to dance.

  “Phil, I haven’t danced since I lost my arm, but would you care to see if it’s improved my unfortunate two left feet?”

  She laughed. “I have sandals on. You won’t hurt my toes, will you?”

  He stood, holding out his hand. “I can make no promises.”

  They walked out to the middle of the floor and she wrapped her arms around his neck, all inhibitions gone with the second bottle of wine. He held her close with his good arm. “There’ll be no swinging.”

  “Thank goodness,” she murmured. “I’m too drunk for that.”

  The band continued to play as they swayed to the music. The candles created a feeling of estrangement from the rest of the world, and it was only her and Henry and the music. They danced for an hour, until Phil could no longer feel her toes in the high sandals. “My feet hurt,” she whispered.

  “Take them off. We’ll go down to the beach,” said Henry. “You can put your toes in the sand.”

  Henry asked the waiter if they could take the rest of their wine and glasses out to the beach. “Yes, sir.” He appeared two minutes later with a blanket, the rest of the wine and their glasses arranged in a bucket, and a lantern, as if it were the most ordinary request. “Watch your step on the way down to the beach,” he said.

  They could still hear the music from the sand, background music to the waves. In the dark, only the white caps of the surf were visible. Henry spread the blanket out and Phil plopped down, feeling loose like a rag doll. And happy. Being with Henry made her happy. That’s all. Just happy. And smart. And brilliant. Yes, all those things. He made her feel like a better person, not the compromised woman she had become, but a merging of her innocent self with this new, artistic self. If only she were free. If only.

>   Henry handed her a glass of wine. She took a tiny sip, knowing she’d had enough, and leaned back on her elbows. “I had no idea this kind of life existed. Not in Iowa. No, definitely there’s no Caesar salad in Iowa.”

  “Phil?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’re we doing?” His voice sounded serious in the dark. She set her glass in the sand. Her heart started to pound.

  “Having fun?” she asked.

  “Yes. Fun. Every minute with you is more fun than I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “We just have to keep it like this, Henry. We can’t have any of the rest of it.” She’d turned to look at him, making out his handsome face in the lamplight. His eyes glittered as he leaned closer.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

  “No, please don’t.” She sounded breathless, like she’d run up hill. “If you do, I don’t know if I can go back to pretending.”

  “Pretending?”

  “Pretending I don’t want you to.”

  He leaned closer. “I’m going to kiss you.”

  She held her breath as he lifted her chin, then caught her lips with his, pressing gently. Frozen for an instant, she let him kiss her, until her mouth betrayed her and she began to kiss him back. She sighed when his tongue flicked hers. As the kiss deepened, she lost all sense of place or the passage of time. It was Henry and only Henry. Finally, he pulled away and gazed at her under the starlit sky, his eyes sparkling in the lamplight. “Phil, there’s something between us that I’ve never experienced before.”

  “I feel it, too. But, Henry, it’s too late for me. I’ll never be free of him.” She started to cry.

  He pulled her close. “Listen to me. You have to have a little faith.”

  She buried her face in his neck. “That’s what Mrs. Thomas said.”

  “Just be here with me, right now. We’ll worry about the rest later, okay?” asked Henry.

  “Okay.”

  He brushed her hair from where it had stuck to her wet cheek and kissed her for the second time that night.

  “The bigger problem is how we’re going to get home,” said Henry.

  “What do you mean?” asked Phil.

  “I’ve had way too much wine.”

  “The road’s treacherous in the dark.”

  “We’ll have to find a place to stay here in town. Separate rooms. In the morning, we can have croissants at that bakery we saw,” said Henry.

  She giggled. “You and Teddy. Always with the food.”

  He laughed, then kissed her. “Let’s pretend, for tonight, that we don’t ever have to leave here.”

  “But we do, Henry.”

  “Shhh…be here with me now.”

  She answered him with a kiss.

  **

  Two days later, Miller drove them to San Francisco to pick up Mary at the train station. Joseph had gone down to pick up one of the sons to take him to a weekend gathering, he explained to Phil. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to get to the station on time and see her sister, hold her in her arms. The highway to San Francisco was curvy and Phil had to look out the window to the road to keep from being nauseous. From the backseat, Teddy played with his trucks, making sounds like an engine until Miller told him it was silent time if he wanted to have a cookie later. Teddy was quiet after that. Anything for a cookie.

  They arrived at the station fifteen minutes before the train was supposed to arrive. It was crowded with people, all pushing and shoving to get to where they needed to be. Miller kept hold of her arm and she carried Teddy, afraid he would be swallowed by the swarm of humanity. When they reached the doors to the platform, they settled by the window to wait. After a few minutes, Miller, obviously restless, offered to fetch sodas. Phil let out a sigh of relief as she watched him depart.

  A few minutes later, the train came roaring into the station, loud and clanging. Teddy buried his face in her neck. “Too loud.”

  She hoisted him to her hip, then patted his back and kissed his sweaty head. “It’s merely a train, ducky. Nothing to be scared of. And it will have Aunt Mary on it.”

  Finally, the doors opened and passengers started to unload. She might not recognize her sister. She was ten now. What if she no longer looked like the little girl she’d left that day? People continued out of the train and onto the platform. Still no Mary. She started to panic. What if she’d gotten into trouble somehow? What if the companion had abandoned her? Maybe they hadn’t made the train for some reason. Then, she spotted a girl and a young lady. There she was! Her Mary. She was taller and her face thinner, but it was Mary with the same dark brown curls and big brown eyes. She and Teddy could be siblings. Beside herself with joy, she jiggled Teddy. “It’s her. There, see? That’s Aunt Mary.” They both waved. The young woman must have spotted them because she waved back and said something to Mary. Mary’s eyes locked upon them, wide, unsure. The young lady was hustling them inside, and they disappeared for a moment in a sea of people. Phil made her way through the crowd, using her free shoulder to nudge her way through.

  They reached her at last. Mary stood in front of her, holding a small bag. Phil began to cry, which made Teddy increase his grip on her. She drew her sister to her with her free arm, squeezing her against her shoulder. “You grew tall, Mary.”

  Mary didn’t speak, peering at her with unblinking eyes. Did she not remember her? “Do you know me, Mary?”

  Mary nodded, yes, but her expression remained impassive.

  “And this is Teddy. He’s my baby. Your nephew.”

  Her gaze flickered to him. She brought her hand up in a gesture that was almost a wave.

  Using his thumb, he pointed at this chest. “Me Teddy. You like sandwiches?”

  Mary nodded.

  “Mama make you,” said Teddy.

  The young lady—what was her name? Suddenly Phil couldn’t remember. But she needn’t have worried, for she introduced herself. “Miss Rains, I’m Holly Moore.” Holly was a blonde beauty with porcelain skin, wearing a fitted dress that accentuated her copious curves.

  “Thank you for bringing Mary to us,” said Phil.

  “It was my pleasure. She’s not much of a talker. Susan tells me she hasn’t spoken much since the accident.”

  Phil looked back at Mary. She’d clasped her hands together and stared at the floor. What was she thinking? This was not the girl she’d left in Iowa.

  Behind them, Miller appeared, carrying several bottles of Coca-Cola. “What have we here? Is this Mary?” He smiled at her, showing his teeth. Heavens, he was charming when he chose to be. Mary elevated her gaze to look at him, and a slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Suddenly, there she was. The Mary she remembered. “I’m Miller. A friend of your sister and of Teddy, and now hopefully of you.” He handed her the bottle of Coke. “I bet you’re thirsty.”

  She nodded, taking it from his outstretched hand. She took a tentative sip, then smiled.

  “Yes, they’re very good,” said Phil. “But you can’t have them all the time. Right, Teddy?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “And you, young lady?” he asked Holly. “Would you care for the other soda?”

  “I would give almost anything for it,” she said, laughing.

  “I’m Miller Dreeser.” He handed Holly the bottle. “Welcome to California.”

  “Thank you.” Holly performed a hint of a curtsy and gave him a dazzling smile worthy of a magazine advertisement.

  Miller focused once again on Mary. “Don’t feel like talking?” he asked her.

  She shook her head, then took another sip of her Coke.

  “Well, there’s no reason to talk if you don’t feel like it,” he said. “Did your sister tell you she lives in a cottage by the sea?”

  Again, Mary shook her head.

  “We’re going there now. You can play in the sand with Teddy here.” He turned back to Holly. “May we take you somewhere?”

  “No, thank you. I’m catching the next train to Los Angeles.” />
  Miller reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is for your trouble, Miss Moore. It should get you started in your new city.” He tapped the edge of the envelope into the palm of his hand. Phil imagined a puppeteer, controlling his subjects with the flick of his wrist.

  Holly blushed. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary. Susan already gave me the money you wired for our fares.” She was charmed by Miller. It was this way he had of making his subject feel like they were the only person in the world. Why was she not charmed in this way? Her life would be much easier if she loved him, if she craved his attention. Why was she immune when others were not?

  “This is a little extra to say thank you for your troubles. I imagine traveling across the country with a child wasn’t a party. Anyway, everyone could use a little extra cash.”

  “Well, thank you then. It will help. I don’t know a soul there. My parents say Hollywood’s full of nothing but the devil in fancy clothes. They think I’ve lost my mind.” Holly held the envelope loosely; she had the good manners not to look inside, but Phil knew she must be itching to see how much he’d given her.

  “We should be off now,” said Phil.

  “Mary, I’ll miss you.” Holly stooped, holding out her arms to the child. Mary hugged her, laying her cheek against Holly’s shoulder for a moment before letting go. Then, Mary held out her hand to Phil, looking up at her with solemn eyes.

  Phil, settling Teddy on her hip, took her sister’s hand. They made their way through the crowd.

  **

  Miller insisted they stop at his favorite diner on the way out of town to have a meal and some ice cream. They sat in a booth by the front window. Miller and Phil on one side, the children on the other. They ordered hamburgers and milkshakes. While they waited, Phil told Mary about the cottage and the beach. “We’ll have the rest of the summer to play and swim. Would you like that?”