The Art of Keeping Secrets (17 page)

She made it to fifty when Annabelle sat next to her, said her name as though they were intimate friends.

Sofie stared at Annabelle Murphy in wonder and dull amusement. This woman had always seemed little more to her than a name—more a concept or picture than a person. Knox Murphy’s wife. The woman who had kept Knox from her mother and from her, a woman who only allowed Knox into their lives in small doses, none of them big enough.

The few words said between her and Annabelle replayed in Sofie’s mind as she lay in her own bed next to Bedford and thought of all the events that had occurred that day. Chaotic feelings swirled while sleep eluded her. She rolled over and stared at Bedford’s face as though he had brought all this upon her; then she rose, wrapped her robe around her middle and walked to the window. Moonlight spilled over the sidewalks and bushes in the front yard. He rarely slept at her condominium, and his presence there now filled the space to overflowing.

Sleep would not visit. She took her car keys off the dresser, tiptoed around the condo. Confusion and chaos always drove her to the water, to the research center. In less than ten minutes, she pulled into the empty parking lot. In the absence of streetlights, the stars shone as though the heavens had turned up their brightness.

She walked to the seawall. Although she couldn’t see them, she felt the presence of dolphins below her. She lay down along the length of the wall and listened for their cries and calls. “Hello,” she said in a whisper. The thought occurred to her that maybe they didn’t want their names to be known—that they didn’t want the human world to know they had individual souls. Hadn’t Sofie’s mother hidden her and Sofie’s real names for a reason? Why wouldn’t these brilliant animals do the same?

Sofie sat up, swung her legs over the wall and stared into the vast darkness. The crunch of gravel and the squeal of brakes caused her to turn around, stare over her shoulder. A squat dark car pulled into the lot and parked. A tall man unfolded himself from the front seat, looked around and then walked toward the research building.

Sofie sat on the edge of the seawall and watched the man place his hands on either side of his face and peer into the windows. She held her breath until he went to the south side, out of sight. She stood, walked to her car, sidestepping stones so as not to cause noise in this quiet, starlit night. Whoever he was, she didn’t know this man or his purpose for being at the research center in the middle of the night.

The car door squeaked as she opened it; she stood frozen, afraid he would come around the corner. She wanted to leave, call the police. She had never felt afraid here before, and she was unsure how to react now. The man didn’t return as she climbed behind the wheel, thinking she was a fool for not bringing her cell phone.

She released a long breath, started the engine. A knock on her window startled her so that she jammed the car into drive instead of reverse and rolled into the yellow concrete barrier in front of the tires. The man jumped back, laughed. Sofie stared at him through the driver’s-side window, tilted her head in confusion. She
did
know this man, and something in his face caused all fear to empty out of her in a rush.

He smiled at her and leaned down to the window. His face was full of a warm smile, stubble on his chin, tousled brown hair moving in the breeze. There was something safe and calm about him. She opened her door and stepped out, but didn’t say a word, just stared at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a voice she didn’t remember, but found familiar nonetheless.

“I think so,” she said, walked to the front of the car, looked at the bumper. “Just a scratch.” She turned back to him. “Do I know you?”

“Yep, you stole my crayons in first grade and blamed it on Chandler Hoover.”

Sofie’s mind reeled backward. “I didn’t . . . live here in first grade.”

“No, you lived in Marsh Cove.”

Memories came to her in random order, half-remembered like the words that were painted under layers of paint on her mother’s canvases: phrases and pictures that were covered up and masked.

The man tapped his chest. “I’m Jake . . . Jake Murphy.”

Her hands flew to her face, her mind registering that a single news story was causing an ever-widening ripple of events over which she no longer had any control. Her initial reaction was wrong—totally wrong. Jake Murphy meant danger, not peace. She backed away from him.

“Don’t you remember me?” He held his arms apart.

“Of course I remember you,” she said, glanced around the parking lot as though expecting to find someone there to help her.

“Don’t be afraid of me. I shouldn’t have followed you—don’t freak out. I went to your condo, then saw you leave. . . .”

Sofie nodded, trapped now with the keys still in her car. He rubbed his forehead. “Wow. You know, you look the same as I remember you. I mean taller, of course, and all that, but same cute face.”

She felt herself blush and hoped the meager starlight was not enough to let him see. “I have to go . . . please.” She stepped toward her car.

“Please, just wait.” He moved away from her even as he said this, as though he were trying to prove he wasn’t a threat.

“I can’t,” Sofie said.

“Okay,” Jake said, and strode off toward the water. Sofie meant to climb in the car, shove it in reverse and leave, but without thinking she followed him.

They reached the seawall and stood next to each other without speaking. Then Sofie turned to him. “You look just like your dad.”

“That’s what they say.” Jake ran a hand down his face. “We really weren’t much alike, though.”

“In what way?”

“Oh, in the things we liked and didn’t like. But we got along great.” He turned to Sofie. “I mean, we used to get along great.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. I really am. I loved him, too, you know.” Her words came as a surprise to her. She held up her hands. “Not like . . . that.”

“Did you know him . . . here?”

“Yes, he did some legal work for the underprivileged, helped . . . people.”

“Why here?”

Sofie battled within herself whether to tell him the entire truth, but the ingrained need for secrecy and safety held her tongue as surely as it ever had—as though her mother had locked the truth shut and taken the key with her. “I don’t know,” she lied.

Jake sat on the seawall, and then as Sofie had done only moments ago, he lay down along its length and stared into the southern sky. “Triangulum,” he said, traced his finger along the stars, and then lowered his hand to the right. “Pegasus.” Then to the right again. “Delphinus.”

Sofie sat down next to him. “How do you know the constellations?”

He craned his neck to stare up at her. “Oh, I don’t know all of them—just the Greek gods. I haven’t seen stars this bright since I went skiing in Utah last year. Are they always like this here?”

“Not always, but yes, we can see them better out here where there aren’t any city lights.” Sofie traced her finger along the same figure in the sky that he had. “Delphinus,” she said. “That’s the only one I know besides the Big Dipper.”

He took her finger and traced it along a path. “That’s Pegasus. He is a complicated constellation and sits right next to Delphinus. One story says he is the son of Poseidon.”

“God of the sea,” Sofie whispered, dreamlike, untethered from the logic of night and day.

“Yep, and Delphinus is the constellation Poseidon put in the sky to honor the dolphin that brought him his wife, Amphitrite,” Jake said.

Sofie picked up the story of redemption and love that she knew so well. “Amphitrite was hiding in a cave and wanted nothing to do with Poseidon when the dolphin Delphinus came and found her beyond the Pillars of Hercules, in the depths of the sea. Delphinus convinced her that Poseidon was the brightest of all gods and that she could be Queen of the Sea.”

Jake sat up. “And then Delphinus performed the marriage ceremony.”

Sofie traced the constellation again with her finger. “And Poseidon placed a constellation in the sky to honor the dolphin.”

Jake smiled at her. “There are nine stars just like there are nine muses.”

“Now that,” Sofie said, “I did not know.”

“Glad I could broaden your horizons,” Jake said.

Sofie released a long breath. “Some versions even say that dolphins were once men. . . .”

“We have all these myths about the dolphins. Do you think they have myths about us?” Jake asked with a laugh.

A sudden feeling of lightness came over Sofie; she could not remember the last time she’d laughed. Jake knew about her love of dolphins without her having to speak of it. What alternate world was this?

Jake pointed upward. “So, you’re into Greek mythology?”

“Nope,” she said. “Not at all. Just dolphins.”

Jake waved toward the building. “Thus the research center.”

She nodded, although she wasn’t sure he could see her. “Yes, I work here—for school. I go to UNC, but here at their satellite school. My major is marine conservation technology.”

“All about dolphins?”

“No, my studies cover all marine animals. . . . Dolphins are my side work. So . . . where do you go to school?”

“University of North Carolina,” he said. “Funny, huh? I went to the main campus in Chapel Hill—but I just dropped out for this semester.”

“Dropped out? Why?”

“I was in prelaw and hated it. History was my minor, my side work. But maybe I’ll make my side work my main work.”

She stood now with the sudden awareness that Bedford was probably awake, looking for her. Guilt filled the back of her throat with a metallic taste. “I have to go. . . .” What was she doing talking to this man?

“Sofie, will you please tell me why my dad would come here—if you know?” Jake stood with her.

She stared at him, wanting to do two things she didn’t understand: touch his face and tell him the entire story of his father. But she didn’t do either; she said goodbye and then took slow, deliberate steps to her car and drove from the parking lot with shaking hands and liquid legs.

When she looked in her rearview mirror, she saw that he was still standing where she’d left him, staring up at the night sky.

The lights were on in the windows of her condo. Sofie looked at the digital clock in her car: twelve thirty. She parked and ran back into the building, took the stairs two at time. When she entered the bedroom, Bedford sat on the edge of the mattress punching buttons on her cell phone.

She stopped short, stared at him. “What are you doing?”

He started, looked up at her. “Trying to figure out where the hell you could’ve gone in the middle of the night without your purse.” He pointed to the dresser, where her purse lay open. “Or your cell phone.”

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you. I went to the center, sat on the seawall. You know how I do that . . . nothing else.”

He placed her cell phone on the bedside table. “You scared me.” He patted the bed for her to come sit next to him. “You’re upset about something.”

“No, just work.” She sat and laid her head on his shoulder. What was she thinking, talking to Knox Murphy’s son about dolphins, myths and school? It was as if their encounter only moments ago had been a dream from another life.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” she said. “I’m tired now.”

Bedford laid her down and held her. Sofie rolled over and allowed sleep to come.

In her dream the dolphins were calling her name in their language, and Jake Murphy dove into the water with her to hear them. She jolted from her light sleep and stared across the room to her open purse and the shadows of gnarled branches from the live oak falling onto the dresser, floor and bed. She rose and waited for morning as she stared out the window to the east.

Bedford awoke at first light to find Sofie standing in the kitchen with a cup of tea. He rose and absently kissed her on the cheek, not caring that he’d missed her lips, then rushed off to his own home to get ready for his day,

Sofie stared at her condo as though last night’s conversation with Jake might have changed something, but everything was the same: the covered canvas; paintbrushes sticking out of a jar: the mussed-bed proof of her restless sleep beside Bedford. Her closet door was open, and Sofie stood in front of it, clothes hanging haphazardly. She slipped on a pair of jeans, a green tank top and a long silver chain necklace with a single peridot.

She grabbed her purse and headed out the door with the hope that routine behavior would return normalcy to her day, but she had the lingering feeing that her contact with Annabelle and Jake Murphy was already altering her life in imperceptible ways.

TWELVE

ANNABELLE MURPHY

Morning sunlight replaced the shadows of the previous night; the town emerged as a new place washed clean. Annabelle walked along the sidewalk checking addresses, looking down at her torn paper, then back up again to the numbers on the buildings. Jake hadn’t risen this morning no matter how hard she pounded on his door, so she had ventured out to find Liddy Parker’s address on her own. She needed to ask Sofie a few more questions—she didn’t want to scare the girl, just find out who was on the plane.

Annabelle stopped in front of a brick condominium building with a metal plaque stating that the structure dated from 1773. A flash of something Knox once said came to her. They’d been in Paris on vacation, just the two of them, drinking too much red wine, going to art museums and historic places, eating food they couldn’t pronounce and making love to the sound of Parisians on the street below.

Later, she and Knox had stood in front of a building with a plaque on it. He’d shaken his head, touched the date. “Eight hundred years old. And we think we have old buildings in South Carolina,” he said, kissed her on the lips and then they’d entered the café.

Now Annabelle ran her hand along the plaque on a North Carolina building, shook off the feeling that her Knox could have had another life in this building, another life in which she didn’t know where he went or why.