The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep

by Laurie Faria Stolarz

  It feels so good—opening up, letting myself get close. Part of me wants so much more, but this is about all I can handle right now as I work to smolder the very last of my burning flames.

  NOW

  61

  It’s not until after Garret drops me off that I notice the unmarked car parked across the street from my house. The officer gives me a subtle wave. I wave back before unlocking the door, pausing only to grab the mail and go inside.

  Aunt Dessa isn’t home yet. I lock up behind me and set the new house alarm, then put my things down on the table in the entryway, including Garret’s sweatshirt. I start to thumb through the stack of mail, hoping to find something from one of the art schools I contacted.

  I pause at a large manila envelope. My name and address are written across the front in black all caps. There’s no return address. The postage stamp shows it was mailed from Mexico City.

  I tell myself it must be junk, despite the handwritten lettering. I tear the flap open and pull out what’s inside. A booklet of some sort. A letter is attached to the front cover:

  Dearest Terra (whose name means earth),

  First and foremost, I’m sorry for not playing fair all those years ago in the quiet room with our secrets game. How I wish I still had a magical ring that could time-travel me back because I would do things a lot differently.

  If you still have interest in knowing my secret, you may be pleased to learn one of my future story ideas, that of a young boy who lives in a wilderness community with twenty-one members he calls his kindred family. One day, having seen where the elders hide the community’s stash of money, the boy becomes overpowered by that evil villain Greed. When the elders discover a sum of money is missing from the stash, they blame the boy’s blood-sister who’d already garnered herself quite a reputation for mischief-making. Fearful for himself, the boy does not correct the elders’ error. When he wakes up the following day, he discovers his sister is no longer there. Three strikes out, is all Chief Elder has to say by way of an explanation. The kindred family has no room for liars and thieves. The boy must live the rest of his life haunted by the mystery of what happened to his blood-sister and the part he played in her absence. His days will be consumed with stories he makes up to fill in the blanks. These stories torment him, so much so that he resorts to living in a fantasy world, one that protects him from his thoughts.

  Dearest Terra, how I would love to know what you think of this woeful tale. But unfortunately, I’ll have to imagine your response as our story has come to an end. You, my brave heroine, managed to climb out of a hole, face the villain, and still run free, having learned a lesson. Well done. However, I must confess, though it would have defied the archetype of hero, I’m sad, in this case, the villain didn’t win because it means we’ll no longer be spinning tales together. I’ll miss that probably more than you’ll ever know.

  The one consolation is that now that I know the ending of our story I can write about it. In the meantime, I thought you might like to have this one for your shelves.

  Your friend forever,

  C

  My heart breaks as I imagine a younger Charley living with the guilt of a lie he told, a secret he kept, and a truth he might never know.

  It’s no wonder we found each other.

  It’s no surprise we got lost in each other either.

  I pull his letter from the booklet, revealing a picture of William, the troll-like character from the Wishy Water Well. I flip through the booklet pages. It isn’t an illustrated copy, but it seems the story’s all here: The Forest Girl and the Wishy Water Well.

  My insides crawl.

  I recheck the door. Locked. Bolted.

  The house alarm has been set.

  I take a deep breath and count to twenty, trying to piece together what all of this means. Obviously, I’m the heroine. Obviously, Charley, the villain, has fled to Mexico (or so he’d like me to believe). And perhaps, a little less obviously, he isn’t going to come hunting for me again. Our story has ended.

  I’m safe.

  For now.

  At the very least.

  Epilogue

  The Forest Girl and the Wishy Water Well

  Once upon a time, there was a girl named Clara who lived on a farm, and every morning before school, Clara tended to her animals. She fed the chickens and cows fresh corn and grain. She gave the pigs and goats table scraps from breakfast. The pigs, especially, loved cereal and eggs. The goats favored the pumpernickel bread.

  Before she left for school, Clara sang cock-a-doodle ditties with Rudy, the rooster. She also played fetch with her farm dog, Mugford. Clara loved her animals, and they loved her just as much.

  When it was time for Clara’s lessOns, she grabbed her bag and walked three blocks to the Fox Run School. She sat in a classroom with fifteen other children of varying ages. One day, a group of girls pushed their desks together, toward the back of the room. Clara noticed that all the girls wore the same sparkling gold headbands. They also held matching red envelopes. Clara remained at the front of the room, looking on to see what was inside the envelopes.

  “What could it be?” asked Meredith, tearing her envelope open. Inside it was a card. The words You’re Invited were printed across the top. “What fun!” said Meredith. “I can hardly wait!”

  All the girls in Mrs. Tuttle’s class were invited to Sarabeth’s twelfth birthday party—all except Clara.

  Later, at recess, Clara remained hopeful that she too would get an invitation. While the group of girls played hopscotch and jump rope, Clara stood on the sidelines, awaiting a turn, but no turn ever came. When the bell rang, indicating the end of recess, all the other children rushed back inside the school, but Clara remained outside, drawing farm animals on a boulder with a piece of chalk, doubtful that anyone would notice her absence.

  As the hour ticked by, the sun drifted behind a cloud and the air became chilled, forming gooseflesh over her arms. Clara began to weep, saddened that no one inside the schoolhouse had come out to look for her.

  “Don’t be sad,” a squeaky voice announced. “It’s better out here.”

  “Who’s talking?” Clara asked. She looked all around.

  There was no one else in the schoolyard—unless one counted the butterflies, the bumblebees, and the chalk-drawn animals. Was it possible the voice had come from one of them?

  “Good guess,” the squeaky voice said as though reading her mind. “But try again.”

  Clara hopped off the rock and peeked just behind it. There, she saw a tiny orange man wearing a green-and-white-striped suit, a black top hat, and a pair of shiny black shoes.

  The man was truly tiny, no taller than a sand pail, and no wider than its shovel. Clara scooted down to get a better look. The tiny man’s eyes were his biggest feature, taking up most of his scrunched face. He extended his hand for a shake. Clara gripped it between her thumb and index finger.

  “And who are you?” she asked.

  “My name is William. I’m the minder of the Wishy Water Well.” The tiny orange man gave his long white beard a mighty tug.

  “Well, hello there, William. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Clara.”

  “Clara … what a beautiful name. Did you know that it means light?”

  “Why, no. I didn’t. You must be very smart.”

  “I am.” The tiny man giggled. “But I didn’t get my smarts from going to schoolhouses like this one. I’ve learned all I need to know from life’s experiences, and I’ve certainly had a lot of them. You probably would never guess this, but I’m one hundred twenty-two years old.”

  “You’re lying to me now,” Clara said. “No one is that old.”

  “You’ll learn soon enough. I’m not like other people.”

  “Well, I suppose not,” Clara said, noting his tiny shoes the size of shelled peanuts and his even tinier nose, like an ice scream sprinkle. “How did you get to be so old?”

  “It’s a long story—a very, very long one, indeed—but I’
d be happy to share it. Let’s you and I make a deal. You tell me your secret, and I’ll tell you mine.”

  “My secret?”

  “Yes, the reason you were so sad just now. If you tell me that, I’ll reveal how I got to be this ripe old age. Do we have ourselves a deal?”

  “Yes, I believe we do.” Clara’s face brightened. “I was sad just now because I wasn’t invited to Sarabeth’s twelfth birthday party, and all the other schoolgirls were.”

  “Good grief. I can’t believe such a thing! It’s such a pity, and I’ll bet that party would have been so much fun.” William balled up his fists and kicked a rock in frustration.

  “I just feel so excluded sometimes,” Clara said.

  “No doubt you do, dear girl-whose-name-means-light. But if you let me, I think I might be able to help.”

  “How?” Clara asked, desperate to know. “Oh, but wait. Weren’t you going to tell me your secret? How did you get to be such a ripe old age?”

  “All in good time, my dear oh dear. First, let us take a walk.” William led Clara away from the Fox Run School into the wooded area behind it. They walked and walked for several minutes, along a path bordered by willow trees and butterfly bushes. Eventually, William stopped at a log. He set a kerchief down and crawled on top of it so as not to dirty his handsome striped pants. The pair sat facing one another, surrounded by flowering cherry blossoms and lilac bushes. Pretty yellow finches flew above their heads, eager to feast on a patch of wild lavender.

  “So, let me tell you all about the Wishy Water Well,” William said.

  Clara squealed with delight. “I’d love to know all about it.”

  “It’s a magical place indeed,” said William. “If you drop three coins into the well, you will be granted your wish. You can have anything your heart desires.”

  Clara clasped her hands together at the mere idea of such a wondrous well. “Anything at all?”

  “Of course,” said William. “How do you suppose I got to be such a dear old man?”

  “Where is this well?” asked Clara. “Can anyone use it?”

  “Anyone who finds it can use it,” William said. “But finding it isn’t an easy feat. The forest keeps the well nicely hidden to protect it from those with ill intentions.”

  “What kind of ill intentions?”

  “Well, unfortunately, I’m sure you can imagine … not everyone desires a well-intentioned return. People can be quite selfish and sly. For example, there was once a stickly woman who no longer wanted to care for her ailing husband. She wished him gone so that she could have what she believed would be a more fanciful life.”

  “How awful.” Clara gasped.

  “Yes, it was indeed. But still the stickly woman dropped her three coins into the well and made that woeful wish. That very night, her husband passed in his sleep, and the stickly woman danced around the bedroom with delight.”

  “Oh, my goodness. How dreadful,” Clara said.

  William smirked, raising one eyebrow upward. “Yes and no. You see, just because the stickly woman’s husband’s body had been ailing doesn’t mean his mind had been ailing too. You see, he too had visited the well, days before, unbeknownst to his wife. Despite pain, muscle weakness, and a very high fever, he made the trek to the woods to search for the well, following directions he’d found in his wife’s recipe book. When at long last he found the magical well, he tossed in his coins and made his wish.”

  “What was his wish?” Clara asked.

  “Eternal life.”

  Clara frowned. “But he died soon after. Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Fear not.” William smiled. “The ailing man indeed got his wish. He died and was reborn into the charming gent you see before your eyes.”

  “You?” Clara gasped.

  “That’s right. Shortly after I was laid in my casket, I awoke to find I’d shrunken in size. No one else was around, but a contract lay at my feet, explaining that because my wish had counteracted my wife’s, I’d be given eternal life, but it would come with a price.”

  “What kind of price?”

  “I was to become the minder of the wondrous Wishy Water Well, which to me was far more of a privilege than a price.”

  “Wow,” Clara said. “That’s quite an honor. And what do you do as a minder?”

  “I collect the wishful coins and manage the overall operations of the well.”

  “That sounds so mystical.”

  “As I said, it’s a privilege. Now, what do you say we take a hike out to find this wondrous well. I heartily think we’ve jibber-jabbered here enough. Wouldn’t you like to have your wish, what you so desire?”

  “Oh, I really, really would.”

  “Well, then, shall we?” William extended his tiny hand to Clara to help her off the log, then led her farther into the enchanting wood to find the wondrous water well.

  Along the way, they passed through a grove of flowering cherry blossoms, as well as an alcove of blooming crab apple trees.

  “It’s deliciously beautiful here,” Clara said.

  “Indeed, it is,” William agreed, “one of the most enchanting places on Earth.”

  They continued their trek, following a winding creek and circling a frog pond. They also picked bunches of lilacs, tasted the sweetest of wild raspberries, and danced over water-tumbled stepping-stones. Eventually, they came to a cluster of berry bushes.

  William turned to face Clara; a wide grin crossed his scrunched-up face. “Here it is, oh, girl-whose-name-means-light. Welcome to the wondrous Wishy Water Well.”

  Clara looked all around—behind the tiny man, toward the bushes, and beneath the shrubs—unable to see any hint of a water well. “But where is it?” Her face scrunched up too.

  “Come,” William said, leading her a little farther. He parted the bushes, exposing the redbrick walls of the well.

  Clara came closer and ran her fingers over the tracks of cement—slowly, carefully—as though touching a sacred altar.

  “Have you never seen a water well?” William asked curiously.

  “I have,” Clara said. “But this one is magical.”

  “Indeed, it is,” he chirped. “Now, are you ready to make your wish?”

  Clara reached deep into her pocket and pulled out three shiny silver coins. “And nothing bad will happen once I make my wish, right?”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I mean, are there any negative consequences?”

  William scratched his head, considering the question a moment. “There are indeed consequences to any thought or action, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose,” Clara said. “But what does that mean as far as wishes and wells?”

  William grinned. “You’re a very smart girl—too smart, in fact, for that Fox Run School. There is most certainly a consequence, but it’s a small price, if you ask me, for achieving what you so desire.”

  “And what is that price?” Clara asked.

  “For every wish the well grants, you shall lose one day of your life.”

  “Oh my,” Clara said, clasping over her mouth.

  “But think of it this way,” William said. “How long do you plan to live? Seventy years? Eighty? Maybe even over a hundred. Subtract one day from whatever that number is—one less day to have your most desired wish granted.”

  “You do have a point.” Clara peeked inside the well, surprised to find that it didn’t look magical at all. It was just a long, dark tunnel that burrowed down at least twenty feet. “But there are no coins down there,” Clara said.

  “Because I’ve collected them all. That’s my job, remember?”

  “Oh yes, that’s right.” She smiled.

  “So, do we have a deal?”

  “We do.” She clasped her hands together in joyful anticipation.

  “Very well, then,” William said. “Whenever you’re ready, just close your eyes, make your wish, and toss the coins into the well.”

  Clara clenched the coins in her palm. “
Shall I say my wish out loud?”

  “Don’t you know the rule of wishing wells?” William teased. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone your wish, lest you risk it not coming true.”

  “Very well, then.” Clara closed her eyes and said her wish inside her head. I want to get invited to Sarabeth’s twelfth birthday party, she thought. After that, Clara tossed her coins into the Wishy Water Well.

  The following day at the Fox Run School, Clara found a bright red envelope sitting on her desk. With it was a sparkling gold headband, just like the kind that Sarabeth and the other girls wore.

  “How pretty,” Clara said, peering out the window, where the group of girls was playing a game of hopscotch. Clara tore the envelope open, elated to have received an invitation to Sarabeth’s birthday party at long last. “I can hardly believe it!” she exclaimed, beyond grateful for William’s help.

  That Saturday afternoon, Clara enjoyed herself at Sarabeth’s party. The group of girls played lots of games, including Memory Match, hide-and-seek, and Pin the Tail on the Garden Gnome. They drank pink lemonade from curly straws, ate barbecued spareribs with sweet and sour sauce, followed by chocolate cake with fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream. Sarabeth made a wish and blew out her candles, and the girls watched in awe as the smoke tendrils spun into pinwheels and floated up toward the clouds.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me,” Clara told Sarabeth when it was time to go home.

  “You’re most welcome. I’m dreadfully sorry your invitation wasn’t delivered with the others. It had gotten lost at the bottom of my bag.”

  Clara hid her surprise with a cheerful grin, but deep down she wondered if Sarabeth had been telling the truth about the invitation. Had it truly gotten lost? Had she not needed William’s help, after all? Still, she didn’t let it bother her much. She simply went about the rest of her day, at home, on the farm.

  The following afternoon, after Clara had finished feeding her animals, she took a hike to the rambling river, reminiscing about her time in the woods with William … seeing the pretty cherry blossoms and tasting the sweet wild raspberries.