Secret Lives (35 page)

October 6, 1952

I'm sitting in my room. It's the middle of
the afternoon and Kyle is asleep in the other bed, the bed he never
sleeps in anymore. It is the first sleep he's had in two days and I
am so relieved to finally see some peace in his face that I could
cry.

My poor brother. His life changed overnight,
and mine did not change at all. I am as much a virgin today as I
was yesterday.

Seth picked me up at seven and we drove
directly to his hotel. I wore my dungarees again and a wool
sweater. “I've been thinking about last night,” he said to me in
the car. “The way you ran out of the restaurant and the things you
told me about yourself.”

“
I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“
No, that's not it. But it opened my eyes
to how different you and I are.”

My heart sank to my feet.

“
I love the city,” he said. “I love to
travel. You love staying home.”

“
I'm only twenty-five, Seth. I'm not a
closed book. I can change.”

He smiled and reached over to hold my hand.
“Let's not talk about it now,” he said. “We have a wonderful night
ahead of us and even in pants you are the best-looking woman I've
ever laid eyes on.”

The lobby was empty when we got to the
hotel. I knew Kyle had some errands to run before he'd get there
and I was really sorry he was coming at all. It was unnecessary. I
felt fine.

Seth's room was beautiful, one of the more
expensive rooms in the hotel, I'm sure. The bed was a big four
poster with a matching armoire and dresser. There was just one
chair, so we sat on the bed to drink champagne and eat caviar on
crackers. I'd never tasted caviar before and it was revolting and
wonderful all at once. It seemed fitting to eat something new and
wicked-tasting on the night I was to be deflowered. I said this out
loud and Seth laughed his deep belly laugh. I had eaten quite a bit
before I realized I was at ease. Looking back I think it was the
champagne. I'll have to remember that. I can probably go places if
I get rip-roaring drunk first.

I don't feel like writing much about what
happened between us. We kissed a little. He asked me if I wanted
the lamp on or off and when I said “On,” he told me I was unusual,
that most girls like the lights off. “Most girls are modest,” he
said, and I shrugged and said what I've been saying all my life:
“I'm not like most girls.”

It would have been good. I felt so at ease
and so alive. He had taken my sweater and brassiere off and was
kissing my breasts when a knock came at the door.

Seth drew back and looked up at me. “What
timing. If that's your overprotective brother, I'll…”

The knock came again and Seth nodded toward
the little alcove where I could stand without being seen while he
opened the door. It was Warren Davison, one of the sheriff's
deputies we've known forever, who had come to give me a message
from Kyle. It seems that Kyle had been driving up Main Street
toward the hotel when a little boy ran out in front of his car.
Kyle hit him, and the boy was badly hurt.

“
A lot of busted bones, but the worst is
his head,” Warren said, his cheeks aflame since I was standing in
front of him holding my sweater to my chest. “Kyle says to tell you
he's all right, but he wanted to go to the hospital with the boy so
he won't be able to be here at the hotel like he said.”

After Warren left, Seth asked, “What's that
about Kyle coming to the hotel?”

“
Nothing,” I said.

Seth stared at me a moment before he
shrugged and started kissing me again, but now I couldn't
concentrate. I kept imagining how terrible Kyle must feel, and
Seth's hands were starting to feel like sandpaper on my skin.
Finally I stepped away from him.

“
I can't do this now, Seth,” I said. “I
can't get my mind off Kyle.”

Seth put his shirt back on. Any other man
would have been angry, and maybe he was a little. He didn't say
much as he dressed, but then he offered to take me to the
hospital.

“
No,” I said. I knew I couldn't survive
two minutes in the hospital. “Please just take me home.”

Both of us were quiet on the ride home. I
was feeling sorry for myself and for Kyle and for the little boy. I
should have insisted Kyle not come to the hotel. There was no need
at all.

“
I'm sorry, Seth,” I said when he stopped
the car in front of my house.

“
It's all right,” he said. “I guess I'd
feel the same way.”

“
I could come back tomorrow,” I
said.

“
I'm leaving for New York tomorrow,” he
said, and I wanted to grab him and hold him and beg him to
stay.

“
Will I ever see you again?” I
asked.

He nodded and leaned over to kiss me on the
cheek. “I'll write to you very soon.”

The sheriff brought Kyle home around
midnight. Kyle headed directly for the outhouse and I forced myself
to join him there, to hold his head while he vomited over and over
again until there was nothing left to come up. When he could
finally talk, he told me that the boy will live, but he is blinded
for life and he'll have casts on his legs for a long time.

I heated him some milk and put him in his
old bed in my room, but he couldn't sleep. He said he was afraid to
go to sleep, that he was afraid he'd have nightmares about the
accident. “He came out of nowhere,” Kyle said. “He just flew up on
the hood of my car. I could hear his bones breaking.”

“
None of it would have happened if you
hadn't been coming to the hotel for me,” I said.

Kyle sat up and looked at me directly as
though he was noticing me for the first time that night. “How was
it?” he asked. “You and Seth?”

“
Once Warren told us what happened, I
just couldn't go through with it,” I said. “I made Seth drive me
home.”

Kyle sighed and lay down again. “I ruined
your special night, Kate.”

“
Don't worry about it,” I said. “I can
lose my virginity any old time.”

October 13, 1952

Kyle visits the little boy—Freddy
Jenkins—every day. He reads to him from my books. Kyle is quieter
than usual these days. I keep expecting him to cry, but he hasn't
shed a tear. It's like something's hardened in him. He is scared
and shaky and sick, but he doesn't weep.

I told Matt about Seth. He was real quiet at
first and then he asked me if I planned to see him again. I told
him I have no plans, which is unfortunately true. I want to see
Seth so much. He said he'd write, but he's certainly taking his
time about it. I've thought of calling Waverly Books to try to get
his number. I never thought I would feel this way, like a typical
female, pathetically pining for a man.

October 20, 1952

Today I received a big envelope from Waverly
Books. In it was the photograph they're going to use on my book
jackets. It's one that Seth took of me in the pits, with my hair
braided over my shoulder. I look pretty and happy. I look like I'm
falling in love with the photographer.

There was a letter from Seth, just one side
of a page. He told me I am a special person. He will “always
cherish” the time we had together, but it's just as well we didn't
“finish what we started” that night because then I might have taken
our relationship too seriously. “Our differences are
insurmountable,” he wrote. He said he smiled when he developed the
pictures; he will always think of me fondly. He hopes Kyle is all
right, and that the little boy in the accident is recovering. And
that is the sum total of what Seth Gallagher had to say to me.

I won't cry over this although the tears are
begging to come out. I still think of calling him, pleading with
him to give me a chance to prove I can be different. But the truth
is, I doubt it myself.

Kyle asked to hear Seth's letter and I
finally read it to him. Kyle is so delicate these days, so full of
hurt and guilt. He listened to the letter, put his arms around me,
and did my crying for me.

–
32–

“Whatever happened to that little boy you
hit, Kyle?” Eden asked her uncle at lunch the next day. Lou was out
once again with her painting friend from Georgia, and Eden was
beginning to suspect that Lou's absences were designed to give her
time alone with Kyle.

Kyle scooped a spoonful of potato salad onto
his plate. “You've met him,” he said.

“I have?”

“Fred Jenkins. He's head of the Children's
Fund in Richmond.”

Eden stared at her uncle, openmouthed. She
had not made the connection between the victim of Kyle's accident
and the dynamic blind director of the Children's Fund she'd had
lunch with in Richmond. It sent a chill up her spine to see the
course Kyle had set for this man so long ago. “God, that's ironic.
He never mentioned a thing about it.”

“No, he wouldn't.”

She stood up and carried her plate to the
sink, then leaned over to give Kyle a hug from behind, resting her
cheek against his temple and, she knew, surprising him. “You had
some terrible experiences, Kyle,” she said.

He reached up to squeeze her hand. “I don’t
have much to complain about,” he said.

She straightened up and faced him. “I’m ready
for the next notebook,” she said optimistically, but Kyle’s eyes
held the same reluctance she’d seen in them the night of her
arrival.

“Soon,” he said. “You can have it soon.”

“All right. But after reading this notebook,
there’s one thing I have to know now. Did my mother ever take a
lover before my father?”

Kyle looked surprised and then he smiled.
“No, honey. Your father was Kate’s first and only lover.”

Ben drove into Coolbrook to pick up groceries
for dinner. He was going to make pizza for himself and Eden tonight
because it would be cheap. The trip to New York had nearly depleted
his funds, but it had been worth it. Except for that mishap in the
restaurant the last night, it had been a perfect trip. And that
incident was a blessing in disguise because it led Eden to tell him
everything she'd been holding inside half her life. She was lighter
now. Freed up. And the bond between them was stronger because of
what they knew about one another.

He bought mushrooms and green peppers in the
little store on Main Street. He picked up a pepperoni at the last
minute—an extravagance, but it matched his mood. He wondered how
the pizza would turn out in his old oven. It didn't matter. He knew
Eden would eat without complaint anything he made.

He stopped in the post office to check his
mailbox. It was nearly always empty, so he was surprised to find a
notice telling him he had a package. He turned the note over to the
woman behind the counter and waited, wondering who could be sending
him something. When he saw the package his heart sank. It was the
box he'd sent to Kim Parrish, the dollhouse furniture. It had not
been opened, the seal unbroken. Alex and Leslie's address had been
crossed out with a red arrow pointing toward Ben's return address,
along with the words Return to Sender. Damn!

There was a blue BMW in the dusty clearing in
front of his cabin. Ben parked his pickup next to it just as a man
stepped out of the car. Blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses. Sam.

Ben smiled as he jumped out of the pickup.
“Sam!” He pulled his brother to him, felt Sam's damp cheek against
his own.

“I was just about to leave you a note,” Sam
said. “I was afraid I was going to miss you.”

Ben grinned at his brother. “New car?” He
nodded toward the BMW.

“Yeah.” Sam set a hand on the hood, casually,
as if the car meant little to him. “Runs nice.”

Ben couldn't stop grinning. “It's great to
see you. What are you doing here?”

“I'm on my way to a conference in
Charlottesville and I thought I'd stop in and see how you're
getting along.” Sam reached inside the car door and brought out his
briefcase and a large tin which he handed to Ben. “Jen's macaroons.
Your favorite. She made them for you last night. What's in the
package?”

Ben thought of making something up. He hated
Sam to know just how bad things were for him. But instead he
shrugged. “A gift for Kim Parrish. I sent it to her but it came
back unopened.”

“Postal service is doing a great job these
days, huh? I can take it—” Sam stopped in midsentence and looked
Ben in the eye. “You mean Alex and Leslie sent it back to you?”

“Afraid so.” Ben opened the cabin door and
the stuffy hot air hit their faces. He set the package on his bed
and walked across the room to turn on the fan.

Sam shook his head. “God, I can't believe
they'd do that.”

“No big deal. So. Did you have trouble
finding this place?”

“It wasn't easy.” Sam looked around the tiny
cabin and Ben's cheeks reddened. He wouldn't be able to kid Sam
into thinking he was living comfortably after today. He moved some
pieces of dollhouse furniture from the sofa to the coffee
table.

“Have a seat. Want some iced tea? Beer?”

“Beer,” said Sam. “It's hot out there.”

“It's hot in here, too. Sorry.”

“You're making another dollhouse?”

“Yeah,” Ben said from the kitchen. “For
Eden's little girl.”

“I hope our baby's a girl so we can get a
dollhouse out of you.”

“How are the adoption plans coming?”

“Great. January or February. We've got the
nursery wallpapered and we're picking out a crib next weekend.”

Ben handed Sam his beer and sat down on the
other side of the coffee table, grinning again. “You look good,” he
said. Sam was one of those men whose looks only improved with age.
He had their mother's coloring—blond hair, green eyes—while Ben
favored their father. His mustache was fastidiously trimmed, his
hairline just beginning to recede. The glasses brightened his eyes
and gave him some credibility as a psychiatrist.