Little Secrets (ARC)

by Jennifer Hillier

  Marin says hello to everyone. Before she takes her seat, she selects a toasted coconut donut, exchanging a knowing look with Simon. It’s always interesting to see how long a new person will last. Many of them don’t even make it through their first meeting. The reality of living life this way is too much.

  The guilt is too much.

  “Who wants to start?” Frances asks, looking around the room.

  Jamie drops her head. Lila clears her throat, and they all subtly turn toward her, giving her the floor.

  “Kyle and I aren’t doing well.” Lila looks thinner than the last time Marin saw her; her undereye circles are more pronounced. She’s wearing jeans and a thick cable-knit sweater with a giant sequined raspberry on the chest. She likes to dress in “kitschy clothes” for the kid patients at the dental office. Her old-fashioned glazed donut is untouched, but she’s powering through her coffee, lipstick faded, the cracked lines in her dry lips exposed.

  “I don’t know how much longer we can pretend we’re okay. We fight all the time, and the fights are ugly. Screaming, punching walls, breaking things. He hates that I come here. He says I’m dwelling.” Lila looks around the room, exhaustion seeping out of every pore. “Do you guys think that’s what we do here? Dwell?”

  Of course that’s what they do. But Marin doesn’t say it, because it isn’t what any of them want to hear.

  Simon is on his second donut, and she’s predicting he’ll have a third before they leave tonight. He’s gained weight since he and Lindsay split, all of it in his belly and face, and he’s started growing a beard to hide the softening chin. His hair is a mess of kinky curls. There are several things Marin could do at the salon to soften those curls, but she has no idea how to offer her skills without sounding like a snob. She suspects they already think she’s pretentious, and showing up here tonight in the Chanel dress she wore to work probably doesn’t help.

  “So what if we ‘dwell’?” Simon asks. “It all has to go somewhere. The thoughts. The wondering. What are we supposed to do with it if we don’t bring it here?” He polishes off the last bite of his donut and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Lindsay thought this wasn’t healthy for her towards the end. She wanted to stop thinking about it, stop talking about it. She said sometimes she felt worse after group, because you were all a reminder that there will probably never be a happy ending.”

  They all heave a collective sigh. While it’s hard to hear, Lindsay is correct. That’s the thing with a missing-children support group. If you’re one of the rare few whose child is eventually found, you stop coming here. Alive or dead, your child is no longer missing, and therefore whatever support you might need, it isn’t this. It isn’t them. A breakup with the group is always inevitable, and it’s mutual every time. Especially if your child is dead. Nobody in group wants to hear about it.

  And if, by some miracle, your child is alive, then you stop coming because you don’t want the other parents reminding you of the nightmare you went through, the one they’re still drowning in every single day.

  Lila and Kyle’s marriage has been in trouble for as long as Marin has been attending group. Divorce rates for couples with missing children? Exorbitantly high. At least Lila and her husband still fight. Marin and Derek don’t. You have to care at least a little to yell at someone, and he has to care about you at least a little to yell back.

  “He’s been spending a lot of time with someone he met at a dental conference a couple of months ago,” Lila blurts. The blood rushes to her face, coloring her cheeks the same shade as the berry on her sweater. “A woman. He says they’re only friends, but there’ve been coffee dates and lunches, and when I asked if I could meet her, he got defensive and said that he should be allowed to have friends that aren’t also my friends. But I think . . . I think he’s cheating.”

  A silence falls over the group.

  “Nah, I’m sure he’s not,” Simon finally says. Someone has to say something, and Simon almost always speaks first, because long silences make him uncomfortable.

  “He loves you, honey,” Frances offers, but she sounds less than convinced.

  Jamie says nothing. She keeps her gaze down, twirling a lock of damp hair around her finger.

  There’s another long sigh, and when they all turn to Marin, she realizes she was the one who let out the exhale.

  “Maybe he is cheating,” she says. Simon and Frances shoot her a hard look. Marin doesn’t care. She can’t spew bullshit and lie to Lila and tell her things she doesn’t believe are true just to make the other woman feel better. Lila’s child is missing. The very least they can do is not try to talk her out of what she knows she knows. “You know Kyle better than anyone. If your gut tells you he’s cheating, then you shouldn’t ignore it. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

  A giant tear trails down Lila’s cheek. Frances passes her a tissue.

  “I should have known something was up,” she says. “Kyle hates making new friends. So do I. You all know what it’s like talking to someone new.”

  All of them nod, including Jamie. They do know. New friends are the worst. They don’t know your history, so right off the bat you’re forced to make a choice. Do you want to pretend you’re normal and that your child isn’t missing, which is exhausting? Or are you willing to tell them all about it, which is also exhausting? There’s no halfway point, and either way you go, it sucks.

  Lila is overcaffeinated; Marin can tell by the way her leg is bouncing up and down. “I don’t have proof. It’s just a feeling.”

  “Are you going to confront him about it?” Marin’s tone is gentle.

  “I don’t know.” The other woman’s thumbnail is buried in her mouth, and she’s gnawing on it like a puppy with a bone. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can even get angry. We haven’t had sex in two years. Shit, maybe three, I can’t even remember the last time. If I bring it up, he’s gonna deny it. And we’re gonna fight. God, I am so sick of fighting.”

  “You’re married,” Frances says sharply. “Sex with someone else is never part of the deal, I don’t care how long it’s been.”

  “Men do have needs, though,” Simon says.

  “Don’t be a douche.” Frances reaches over and smacks him on the thigh. Marin’s glad she did, because she would have punched him.

  “Ignore Simon,” Marin says to Lila. “Whatever needs men have, it’s not okay what Kyle is doing. But you don’t have to bring it up until you’re ready.”

  “What if I’m never ready?” Lila’s eyes begin to well up. “What if I want to stick my head in the sand and not deal with it? I have enough to deal with, you know?”

  “If you think he’s cheating, you should leave him.” Frances speaks bluntly. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

  “But we work together.” The tears are coming out faster now, cutting trails through her foundation and faded blush, and she swipes at them, which only makes it look worse. “We have two kids together. It’s not that simple, Frances.”

  “All’s I’m saying is that you shouldn’t stay married to someone who betrays you.” Frances crosses her arms over her chest, something she does when she believes she’s right. “You’re better off alone. No offense to our sweet Simon here, but I figured out a long time ago how to make a life without a man.”

  Yeah, and what a life it is. Lila and Marin trade a sideways glance; they’re both thinking the same thing. Frances has a support group and a donut shop, and that’s about it.

  “What if I don’t want to ‘figure it all out’?” The thumbnail is back in Lila’s mouth. “What if I don’t want anything to change? What if this is . . . as good as it gets for me? What if this is all I deserve?”

  “Bullshit,” Simon says, but the resigned look on his face doesn’t match his forceful tone.

  Frances has nothing to add, and frankly, neither does Marin. She’s too tired for a pep talk, and she doesn’t have the energy to convince Lila of something she hasn’t been able to convince herself of. T
hey all know exactly what she means. Everyone in this room lives every single day with the burden of what they’ve done: they didn’t protect their children. As parents, above all else, that’s the one fucking thing they’re obligated to do.

  So, no, they don’t deserve a good life. Not if their children aren’t okay.

  “Be kind to yourself.” It’s the best Marin can come up with, and as soon as the words are out, she winces. They’re so trite, so shallow. She knows better than to spew words taken straight out of an inspirational meme, and Lila pounces.

  “Oh, like you?” she says, and Marin blinks. “Why do you stay in your shitty marriage? You and Derek barely speak. When’s the last time you guys had sex? And you . . .” She turns her glare to Frances. “You haven’t been married since the Stone Age, and everybody you do speak to is sitting in this donut shop right now. You’re not exactly a shining example of what I want my life to be in twenty years.”

  “Lila, come on,” Simon says, reaching for yet another donut. His third, by Marin’s count. “That’s not nice.”

  “Oh, and nice is working for you?” Lila’s voice grows louder. “Where has nice ever gotten you, Simon? Your wife left you and you’ve gained twenty pounds from all the donuts you eat when you come here.” She turns to Jamie, who seems to shrink once Lila’s gaze lands on her. “You sure you want to be here? Because this is your life now, too, and there’s still time to stay in denial if you need to.”

  “Hey,” Marin says, raising her voice. It’s one thing for Lila to snap at her and Frances. They can handle it. Simon, on the other hand, is way more sensitive, and when he cries—which he will—it’s awful for everyone. And a new person should never, ever be subjected to this. They’re having a hard enough time already. “I get that you’re angry, but quit taking shots. We’re all on your side.”

  “But I don’t want to be on this side.” Lila’s voice is shaking. Her hands are, too. “I don’t want to be here, on this side, with you people. Don’t you get it? I don’t want this to be my life. And I really don’t want to hear it from you, Marin, because if Derek isn’t cheating on you now, he will be. That’s what men do.”

  “Whoa whoa whoa!” Simon holds up two chubby hands, and it’s the loudest Marin’s ever heard his voice. “Let’s take a time-out, ladies.”

  “Oh, fuck off with your ‘ladies,’” Frances says, standing up. In about a minute, she’s going to need a cigarette. “Lila, honey, put up with it or don’t put up with it, but for god’s sake, stop screaming at us. All’s I’m saying is, you have a choice, okay? And you’re entitled to make it. But staying married to a cheating husband because you blame yourself for your kid getting snatched is punishing yourself and your other kids. What happened with Devon isn’t your fault.”

  “I was late picking him up.” Lila’s voice breaks. “I was late, and if I hadn’t been, his father wouldn’t have been able to take him, and my son would be home with me and safe.”

  “Yeah, well, the teachers should never have let him go.” Frances is agitated. She pats her pockets, checking for her cigarette pack.

  Simon finishes his third donut and wipes more glaze onto his jeans.

  “But I was late,” Lila repeats. “I was late and it’s my fault.”

  “Yeah, you weren’t there when Devon got taken,” Marin says in a quiet voice. “But I was when Sebastian got taken. I was there.”

  “Sebastian was four, Marin. Kids wander.” Simon sounds as exhausted as he looks. “Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time they just get lost and are found again. It wasn’t your fault. He’s gone because someone took him. A kidnapper took him.”

  He turns to Lila, who’s bawling in silence. “And your ex is a kidnapper, too. You thought Devon was safe at school. Because the school’s job is to keep him safe. And he was, up until that day. You being late didn’t change anything. If you’d shown up on time, his father would have stolen him a different day.”

  They all sit with that for a few seconds. It’s nothing they haven’t told themselves before, but hearing it out loud helps, if for only a little while.

  Marin glances at Jamie, who’s been nonreactive to everything that’s been said so far. It makes her wonder what cocktail of antidepressants the new member is on.

  “Ten-minute break,” Frances announces. She disappears out the back door with her cigarettes in hand before anyone can say anything.

  Simon heads to the men’s room. Lila, sniffling, makes a beeline for the ladies’ room. Marin has to use the toilet, too, but there’s only one women’s bathroom and she knows Lila needs a moment alone to get herself together. Jamie stands up and stretches, then wanders over to the table where the donuts are, perusing the options and picking out a maple bar. Will it be her favorite? Marin wonders. Will she stick around long enough to even have a favorite?

  Because this group is awful. What was the term Sal used again? Oh, right. Self-flagellation.

  Simon is right about kidnappers. When Sebastian was barely three, he ran away from her once at the Wonderland amusement park on Fourth of July weekend. After the world’s longest five minutes, a stranger walked him back to her. Because the stranger saw that a little boy was lost at a busy park, and he took it upon himself to help the child find his mother. Because that stranger was not a kidnapper, or a pedophile, or a murderer.

  The stranger who took Sebastian, on the other hand, was a kidnapper. Whether the stranger found Sebastian wandering and decided this was their chance to steal a small child, or whether this was planned in advance, the stranger was a kidnapper because they didn’t bring Sebastian back. That’s the difference.

  It’s still hard to make sense of it sixteen months later. Sebastian was only four, but he was a smart kid. Both Marin and Derek had talked with him again and again about the dangers of talking to strangers, about not taking toys or food or any kind of gift from someone without checking with Mommy or Daddy first. He learned about it in preschool; it was discussed at home.

  But it was Santa Claus. Kids are taught to love Santa, to speak to him even if they’re intimidated or frightened, to sit on the goddamned jolly old elf’s lap and tell him what they want for Christmas. In turn, they’re rewarded with a candy cane. They’re given a treat for confiding in a stranger.

  When Lila gets back, her eyes are red and swollen, but she’s calm. She gives Marin’s arm a squeeze as she heads to refill her coffee, and it’s her way of saying sorry. Marin gives her a smile, which is her way of accepting the apology. They know each other’s silent gestures; they do this every month.

  When Marin gets back from the bathroom, Frances is again in her seat, and she begins talking about the nightmares she’s been having about Thomas. She’s talked about them at the last few meetings, and it sounds like they’re getting worse, causing her to wake up in the night, moaning and sweating, her stomach in knots.

  “I saw him last night and it was like half his face was beaten to a pulp.” Frances trembles as she recounts the dream. “His eyeball was hanging from his socket and his cheekbone was exposed, like the skin had been ripped off—”

  “Frances—” Lila shuts her eyes, but Simon shushes her. Jamie leans forward, appearing fascinated.

  “—and he was reaching for me, and I grasped his hand, and it was cold.” Frances’s face crumples, which alarms all of them. She’s normally very stoic. She hardly ever shows emotion, let alone grief. “I feel like . . . I feel like he’s trying to tell me he’s dead. And that I should let him go.”

  “Frances.” Lila says this again, slowly, breathy. “Frances, no.”

  And there it is. They’re about to lose Frances.

  Hope lasts only so long, can carry you only so far. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes it’s all you have. It keeps you going when there’s nothing else to hold on to.

  But hope can also be terrible. It keeps you wanting, waiting, wishing for something that might never happen. It’s like a glass wall between where you are and where you want to be. You can see the l
ife you want, but you can’t have it. You’re a fish in a bowl.

  “Nine years I’ve been waiting.” Frances’s voice is shaking. “There’s no reason to think Thomas is ever coming back. Maybe he did run away. Even if I could accept that he left by choice, he wasn’t a strong kid. He was only fifteen. He wasn’t street smart. He wouldn’t have lasted this long on his own.”

  Frances is heaving. Her eyes are dry, but if crying weren’t defined by the presence of tears, then it would be fair to say that Frances is weeping. “And he would have called me. He would have let me know he was all right. He would be twenty-four years old now. Twenty-four. In my dreams, he’s still fifteen. He never grew up. I don’t know how much longer I can . . . I can . . .”

  Lila bolts out of her chair and gets to Frances before Marin can, embracing the tearless, sobbing woman tightly. Marin wraps her arms around both of them. She feels Simon behind her, but when she looks over her shoulder, she realizes it’s not Simon, but Jamie, the newbie, crying silent tears of grief and solidarity. Simon joins in a few seconds later.

  Final acceptance is tough, whether you get news or you come to it on your own. But maybe now Frances can begin to heal.

  When they all pull apart, Marin’s eyes meet Simon’s. She can tell what he’s thinking. They’re going to have to find a new location for their stupid, pointless, so-called support group. When the meeting ends a few minutes later, the four of them say goodbye to Frances and head outside. Jamie’s car is beside Marin’s, and they click their fobs at the same time.