Page 146 of Our Little Secret
“Pumpkin latte?” The girl behind the counter offered Brooke a steaming paper cup and a crisp white sack filled with her order of baked goods before she turned her attention to the next customer, a lanky man wearing a hat with earflaps and a too-tight jacket.
Brooke thought Gina had gotten it wrong about Leah. And as far as she knew, Sean Moore was out of the picture and Leah hadn’t married again. She’d barely had time. Then again, with her sister, anything was possible.
As for Labor Day, that was a whirlwind time. St. Bernadette’s had barely started for the year and Brooke had been on the phone with her daughter and the school almost every day while still navigating her new job. Neal too had been super-busy, flying to the Bay Area because of a new case.
As for Leah, who knew?
Still lost in thought, Brooke drove to the ferry and wedged her car in the last slot behind a battered pickup with plastic taped over the back window. The first flakes of snow were beginning to fall. She watched them melt against her windshield while sipping her latte. The ride across the water was a little rough, the water in the bay choppy, and by the time they docked on the island she realized she’d forgotten to pick up a lighter and laundry detergent, so she took a chance that she could find both items at Piper’s Landing, a small store located near the ferry slip.
The shop was small and compact, with wood floors that were from a previous century and two coolers that weren’t much younger. The limited shelves were filled with convenience items, but she was lucky enough to locate a small box of laundry detergent and a pack of disposable lighters.
Brooke paid for the items at the register where Hank Thatcher, son of the original owners, was working the register while watching a small TV mounted above the cereal racks. Currently a game show from the seventies was airing. “Hey,” she said as he handed her the purchases. “Thanks for returning Neal’s wallet.”
“What?” Near seventy, he was a tall, bearded man with an advancing waist and receding hairline. He favored flannel shirts, rubber boots, and jeans held up by suspenders. “Neal?” he said.
“Right. Neal. My husband.”
“Oh right. He was in here yesterday.” Hank nodded, as if remembering. “But I don’t know anything about a wallet.”
“He said he left it here but came back for it?”
“Huh.” Hank wrapped a meaty hand behind the back of his neck and looked out the window in thought. “Nope. Didn’t happen. I waited on him. I remember because he wanted cash back off his card and we don’t do that here. Never have.”
“Oh.”
“I do remember he bought coffee and drank it while he was on the phone for a while. Outside. Pacing on the porch there.” He nodded at the plate-glass window with its neon OPEN sign visible in reverse. “Then, when he got in his rig he talked for a while before he took off. I remember because he was still on the phone when he got out again and threw away his cup in the trash can by the door, there,” Hank pointed to the tall trash bin nearby. “Then he took off.”
“So how long was he out there on the phone?” she asked, trying to piece together what was happening, why Neal had lied.
“Geez, I dunno.” Scratching at his chin, he narrowed his eyes. “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, I’d guess.”
She remembered seeing Neal on his phone behind the open door of the woodshed. She hadn’t thought too much about it and told herself not to worry about it now. He could talk to whomever he wanted to.
But why lie about it?
For a second she thought of Jennifer Adkins, and her stomach knotted painfully as she sprinted through the snow to her car. Had Neal taken up with her again?
Or was it something else?
Something completely innocent?
She fired the engine and caught a glimpse of her own eyes in the mirror, eyes dark with suspicion. Because of the simple little deception. Her first instinct was to drive home and call him out, to demand to know what was going on, but she told herself to wait, not make trouble.
Their little family seemed more solid than it had been in years.
She didn’t want to ruin that, not with Marilee, not at Christmas.
With Leah coming to visit it would be tough enough.
She clicked on the wipers; the snow was falling steadily now, flakes collecting on the windshield.
The lies, she thought,it always came down to the lies.
Once home, Brooke found Marilee curled on the couch with a blanket, Shep at her side, a fire burning. Earbuds in place, blanket wrapped around her, Marilee was deep into her iPad, while coffee perked in the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Brooke called and Shep lifted his head, stretched, and yawned, finally deigning to climb to his feet and follow Brooke into the kitchen. Marilee too finally glanced up and smiled.
“Morning.”
