Secret Lives (8 page)

–
6–

Sugar Hill was Ben's favorite restaurant in
the area. He liked the rustic atmosphere, the woody smell. It was
always dark inside, which helped him feel anonymous. There was a
dance floor in the center of the tables, and the bar stretched the
length of one wall.

He sat at a dark corner table, watching the
door, trying to recall if he'd eaten dinner with anyone other than
Kyle and Lou or Sam and Jen in the last year and a half. He had
not. Unless he counted prison, but his dining companions in jail
had hardly been his choice.

So he was justified in feeling nervous. He
stood quickly when he saw Eden at the door. She hesitated,
adjusting her eyes to the dim light. He walked toward her. She wore
her dark blond hair pinned up, as she had that morning. Her throat
was long and slender, like the rest of her, but she had a solidity
that appealed to him. Probably because it was the antithesis of
Sharon's fragility. She looked as if she could handle whatever
might come her way. She would not spook easily.

Again, he was struck by how unrecognizable
she was. Good. He didn't want to draw attention to himself in
here.

Eden smiled when she saw him and took the
hand he held out to her. He led her to the table, got her seated
with a menu.

“What would you like from the bar?” he
asked.

“Wine,” she said. “Something white.”

He ordered Eden's wine and his beer at the
bar. As the grinning bartender handed him the drinks he winked at
Ben and said, “She's a little old for you, isn't she?”

Ben turned away without comment. On another
night he might have said something in return, something sharp to
defend himself. But he didn't want to start this evening that way.
Ignore it, he told himself. Don't let it get to you.

But by the time he'd set Eden's wine in front
of her and taken his own seat, his knees were shaking. That one
line from the bartender had thrown him off balance. He was not as
anonymous in here as he would have liked. He sipped at his beer,
wondering if all eyes in the room were focused on him and Eden.

“Do you come here often?” Eden asked.

He nodded. “In a rut, I guess.”

The older waitress, Ruth, appeared at their
table, her orange lipstick creeping outside the line of her lips.
“You want your regular?” she asked Ben.

“Uh, no.” He was in a rut. “I'll have the
crab cakes tonight.”

He felt hot and knew the color was rising up
his neck to his cheeks. If the bartender knew about him, Ruth must
as well.

“I'll have the stuffed flounder.” Eden smiled
innocently up at Ruth.

He was certain Ruth gave him a curdling look
of disgust as she headed back to the kitchen. He never should have
brought Eden here, should have suggested someplace farther out
where no one knew him. But there was dancing here. Nearly every
night he watched other couples dance, wondering if he'd ever have
the chance to hold a woman in his arms again.

“Do you like to dance?” he asked.

“Love it.”

“The band will start up in a little
while.”

She nodded, lowering her eyes as she sipped
her wine.

“What did Kyle think of your pottery?”

“He thinks you planted it for me to
find.”

“Did he wash it off for you?”

“Yes. And I painted the little numbers on the
back.”

He swirled the beer in his glass, annoyed at
his discomfort. He'd felt fine with her this morning, once he
realized Kyle had not told her about him, but he could not shake
the feeling that his every move here was being scrutinized by the
other diners, by the staff. He would have to keep any conversation
on her and off himself.

“You look deep in thought,” she said.

“I was trying to think of a question to ask
you that I don't already know the answer to.”

She laughed and the diamond she wore at her
throat shimmered in the light from the dance floor. “Tell me what
you know and we can work backward.”

“Well, you split up with your husband nearly
a year ago.” His cellmate had been reading the National Enquirer
and there it was on the front page. A picture of a dark-haired man
arm in arm with a redheaded woman, the caption in capital letters
proclaiming something like EDEN RILEY CRUSHED BY HUSBAND'S AFFAIR
WITH PENNSYLVANIA TEACHER. There was a small picture of Eden in the
lower-right-hand corner, her face contorted with emotion. Probably
something they pulled out of one of her movies and stuck, out of
context, in the paper. Sitting there on his bed in his cold
cinder-block cell, he felt sorry for her. He knew what it was like
to have your life picked apart by the masses.

“A year next month,” she said. “How about
you? How long have you been divorced?”

“We separated about a year and a half ago and
were divorced this past January.” He couldn't let her question him.
“Your husband was a lawyer, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“You're lucky you got custody.”

“He put up a valiant struggle.”

“I'm sure he did. Lawyers aren't my favorite
people.” He stared at his beer. God, he sounded like an idiot. “You
must know people around here from when you were a kid,” he
said.

“Not many. No one I'd care to see.”

“How old were you when you moved in with Kyle
and Lou in New York?”

“Thirteen.”

“And your grandparents took care of you
before that, right?”

“My grandfather and his second wife. You do
know my life story, don't you?”

“Kyle and Lou brag a lot. And they're in love
with Cassie.”

Her face brightened and he knew he had found
the right topic. Her beautiful white teeth flashed in a smile as
she told him about her daughter. Only problem was, he couldn't
listen. It was too hard to hear about a four-year-old girl. He
wanted to say, Bliss does that too, or, Yes, I know exactly what
you're talking about, but he couldn't. Instead he tuned out her
words and focused on the warm blue of her eyes.

“Cassie will be here in July,” she said.
“Will your daughter visit you this summer? They could play—”

“Shhh!” He quickly covered her hand with his
as Ruth set their plates in front of them, and he held her silent
with his eyes until the waitress walked away. “Sorry,” he said as
he took his hand away and picked up his fork. “No, not this
summer.” Not any summer.

Eden frowned at him. “Is something
wrong?”

“No.” He cut a wedge of crab cake, neatly,
with great concentration. He couldn't look at her, and he was
relieved when she finally lifted her own fork and began to eat. How
had he managed to kid himself into thinking he could ever have a
normal relationship with a woman again? And Eden Riley? Christ,
Alexander. He'd thought about her all afternoon, hoping there could
be something between them—something short, a brief connection. He
wasn't asking for much. When she said she and Michael Carey were
just friends, wasn't she telling him she was interested? Fool. This
woman was an Academy Award–winning movie star. Every person in this
restaurant would recognize her name. She wore an enormous diamond
around her throat. Her daughter went to what sounded like an
exclusive day-care program. She lived in a beautiful house on the
ocean. He could picture it—hot tub, parties in the balmy California
air. He saw her again in that hotel room scene with the darkly
handsome Michael Carey. How ridiculous that he'd thought she could
be interested in him. At one time he might have stood a chance, but
not now. He made barely enough to keep a head of lettuce and some
cheese in the refrigerator and a leaky roof over his head. He
wanted to tell her about the house he and Sharon had owned, the one
he'd designed himself. He wanted to tell her he'd had a job that
earned him the respect of the entire archaeological community. But
then he'd have to explain why he'd lost it all.

She had eaten a third of her flounder when
she set down her fork. “Ben, I'm not sure what's going on here but
you look as though you'd rather be just about anywhere but here
with me. We don't have to drag this out, okay? Let's call it a
night.”

“No.” He grabbed her hand again, panicked.
“I'm sorry. I have a lot on my mind, but I don't want to leave
yet.” The band was starting to play. He liked this band. Old rock
and roll, of a sort. They made every song sound as if it had a
little country in it, but that was okay. He watched another couple
walk onto the dance floor. “Let's dance,” he said, getting to his
feet. If they moved they wouldn't have to talk.

The band played an old Doobie Brothers song.
It was fast, and Eden moved easily with him. He was glad to see her
smiling again as they spun around the floor.

The next song was slow and Eden didn't object
when he pulled her close. The musky silk of her hair brushed his
cheek as she moved her arms from his shoulders to around his neck,
surprising him, scaring him. He shut his eyes against the stares of
the other diners. During this past year he'd wondered if he'd ever
make love again, if any woman would consent to have him. He was not
even certain he still had the physical ability. He never would have
guessed that an affront to his sexuality could take such a toll on
him. Could he ever feel normal again? Could he ever touch or be
touched without shame and guilt, no matter how unreasonable those
feelings were?

Maybe Eden…God, she smelled wonderful.
Entirely too good. He tried to think about the pottery she'd found
that morning, the shape of Sugar Hill's bar, the words of the
music—anything to keep his erection in check. But when he feared it
had grown firm enough for her to feel, he pulled away from her,
abruptly, leaving her staring at him as she lowered her arms to her
sides.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“Let's sit down.” He led her back to the
table, his hand light on her elbow.

She sat down and reached for her purse. “I
think I'd better leave.”

“No, Eden, please don't.”

“Do you think you have to entertain me
because I'm Kyle's niece?” Her cheeks were red.

“No!”

“That's what I think. You don't seem to want
to be here with me. That's fine, but please don't use me to make
points with Kyle, or to show me off, or…”

“That's not what I'm doing.” He felt wrongly
accused. It was a feeling all too familiar.

“I'm going to leave. I'll see you at the site
in the morning.”

“Let me walk you out.” He didn't want
everyone to see her walk out on him.

At her car he set his hand on her shoulder
and turned her toward him. “This was my fault,” he said. “It's been
a long time since I've been out with a woman and I wanted it to go
well so much that I screwed it up.”

“I'll see you tomorrow.” She got into her car
and sprayed gravel behind her as she made her escape from the
parking lot.

He drove slowly up to his cabin. He undressed
and then, because it smelled like Eden, laid his shirt on his
pillow before getting into bed. He'd forgotten to turn off the
bathroom light and he thought of the pills on the sink, but he was
too tired to do the idea of suicide justice tonight.

In the faint light from the bathroom he could
see the photograph of Bliss stuck in the frame of his scratched
dresser mirror and he rolled over to face the wall, away from the
picture, away from the past.

–
7–

Ocotber 2, 1941

Mama is dead.

I look at those words and can't believe
they're real. Kyle found her and I know it was bad for him. We both
heard the shot. It was late last night and I was sleeping so deeply
that I thought I was dreaming. I thought Mama finally shot herself
an Indian but then I heard Kyle get out of bed and run into the
hall. I got up slowly, like something was holding me down, telling
me it was for my own good not to rush. By the time I got to the
parlor Kyle was blocking the door to keep me out. He seems to have
grown overnight and his shoulders nearly filled up the doorway. His
lantern glowed from the room behind him and his face was shadowy,
but the little moonlight there was in the house was all in the
white of his eyes and they were big and round and scared.

“
What happened?” I whispered, trying to
push past him into the room, but he held my arms.

“
Don't come in,” he said. “It's Mama. She
shot herself.”

“
Dead?” I asked.

Kyle nodded and stepped aside because Daddy
came into the hall then and wanted to get into the parlor. We
listened to hear his reaction but there was none. A more silent man
there's never been than Daddy. I wanted to see her to know for sure
she was dead, but Kyle wouldn't let me past.

“
It's her head, Kate,” he said and I
noticed Kyle was not looking in her direction neither. I couldn't
imagine what the shotgun would do to someone's head.

I guess I am not a good person because I
wanted to laugh. It shames me to write that, but it is the truth
and this is the only place I can tell the truth. It was hard for me
to keep from laughing. Only Kyle's scared eyes kept me from doing
it. I wanted to say, “Oh Kyle we're free!”

Then Daddy came out. He stood in the
hallway, his head hung down, then he looked over at me.

“
She's never been right since the day you
come to us, Katie.”

I was shocked, but I could see he wasn't
angry with me. His voice was soft and he actually touched the side
of my head, something he never done before.

“
Don't blame yourself, girl,” he said.
“Weren't your fault. It's best she done this. Now she has peace.
Now y'all have peace."

Kyle and I stayed home from school, but I
came here to my cave and Kyle did whatever needed to be done in the
parlor. I asked could I help, but he said no, he didn't want me to.
He came here a while ago and told me everything he saw and it is
all too horrible to write here. The destruction she did to herself
is not fitting to put on paper. But I made myself listen to Kyle
because he said he just had to talk about it. He sat on the settee
he helped me cart from the Smith's house and his voice was one
tone, never rising or falling, just steady, telling me one horrid
thing after another. His eyes looked changed from seeing what he
did and I wished Daddy had not said it was my birth that brought
all this on because I felt to blame for the sorrow in my brother's
face.