The Secret He Keeps Page 3

  Rachel opened the door to hear the bell chime. She hated that bell. It wasn’t so bad to know you’re the depressed, crazy lady who lives in town, but announcing it with a damned jingle bothered her. It was number four on her short list of annoyances. Being the crazy lady was number one. Her OCD tendencies promoted the numbering of lists in her head.

  Tommy waved to Rachel, with a Windex bottle in his hand. He was cleaning the yellow tiled wall next to the pick-up window. He tended to keep busy, no matter how many customers were in the restaurant. There was only a handful that day.

  Billie Jean stood at the far end of the counter, ten bottles of ketchup in front of her. She had a large funnel she’d placed into each bottle, squeezing out the red sauce from the larger container. From the stain on her blouse, Rachel saw it hadn’t been smooth sailing.

  “Hey sweetie,” Aunt Peggy called from behind the counter. “We’ve been trying to call you. Are you doing okay? Did your electricity go out?”

  Peggy came out from behind the counter to the dining room area. She wore her traditional pink uniform with white apron, double tied in the front. Her hairstyle matched the decor. Stuck in another era, it was teased into a blonde beehive and served as a pincushion to writing utensils: two pens stuck out on either side and one out from the top.

  “I’m fine.” Rachel’s voice was without inflection. Number three annoyance: being checked up on and in front of ten or so strangers. She sat at a table by the window, draping her coat on the back of the seat, and waited for Peggy to come closer to talk in privacy. “The power trucks are on my street, so I hope to have it back on within a day or so.”

  “Good. We’ve been concerned. Now what can I get you to eat?” She fished for her order book inside the apron pocket, grabbed a pen from her hair, and licked the tip.

  “I’ll take an egg sandwich and a side of potatoes, I guess. And a Coke to drink. Anything is better than dry cereal, huh? Gus is even boycotting Lucky Charms. Maybe I shouldn’t be so stingy with the marshmallows.”

  Peggy placed a tender hand on top of Rachel’s arm. “Honey, you can come over to our place anytime. You know that, don’t you? We’ve been staying in the rental on Sycamore Street until we get power again. It’s small, but it has an extra room if you want.”

  Rachel withdrew her arm from the table and tucked her hand underneath her leg. “That’s okay, Peggy. I appreciate all that you and Frank have done for me already. I would be in worse trouble had he not loaned the generator to me. It’s keeping my very necessary things going.”

  “Mrs. Monahan came in earlier. Asked if I knew when you were going back to work. Said her sciatica is acting up again.”

  “Tell her to go see Dane. He’s still there, you know.” Rachel was becoming agitated with people trying to force her into doing something she wasn’t ready to do. Her mother hinted last week about Rachel going back to the practice. “There’s no magic solution to sciatica, anyway. I’ve told her that.”

  “Honey, she just wants to see you again. You know how she’d make up a sickness just to go and talk to ya. It’s been lonely for her since her daughter passed from cancer three years ago.”

  “Join the club.” Rachel turned her head to look out the window. She didn’t want to talk about Mrs. Monahan, her practice, or people dying anymore. She just wanted her egg sandwich so she could go and get through the next hour with her therapist. She wondered whether she still had that bottle of vodka in her car.

  Peggy walked within earshot of the back to shout out Rachel’s order to Frank. It didn’t take long to cook her modest meal. After refilling her Coke once, Peggy placed the sandwich on Rachel’s table and left her alone to eat. Rachel stared out the window and took small bites. There weren’t many people out on the street that day to keep her attention focused on anything but the things she shouldn’t.

  Her mind drifted to Peggy and Frank on the day of her wedding. They stuck out from the others in her mind. Frank wore a gray suit and Peggy had on a pale-yellow dress that showed off her knees. She had never seen them out of their uniforms. For that fact, it was rare to see them anywhere but the diner. But on the dance floor that evening, light-years away, they had become rivals to the contestants on Dancing With The Stars. They knew routines Rachel didn’t even know: the hand jive, the Macarena, and the boot scoot. Rachel hoped all the stomping wouldn’t make that makeshift floor collapse.

  The mobile dance floor they rented from Party Store Plus was not like the one in the picture Rachel saw at the store. In it there was at least twenty-five people dancing under the canopy with the soft lights and freesia-wrapped poles. The one that the box truck delivered and set up barely looked as if it held more than seven couples at a time and seemed haggard from wear. There wasn’t anything she could do about it then. It was firmly planted with stakes in the middle of Craig and Rowan’s backyard.

  Rowan was Scott’s cousin. When she heard Scott had proposed to Rachel, she insisted on hosting the wedding. She and Craig lived in Groton, just outside of Mystic. Their house was an old farmhouse on two acres. They were still fixing it up from having just bought it a year before.

  The small, two-stalled shed—Scott referred to it as a barn when he described it to Rachel—sat on the edge of the property in the back. Two sections of a leaning fence remained where animals stayed penned by the previous owner, years ago. The yard had different species of grass where there used to be gardens planted. Rowan had Craig cut the lawn twice the week of the wedding.

  Rachel would have preferred to have had the ceremony in a church, the same as everyone else in her family who had gotten married, but she hadn’t adopted one in Connecticut yet. And with the money she just sunk into her new medical practice, along with paying off college loans, there was nothing else they could have afforded for the wedding.

  It turned out to be a magical night, no matter where it took place. All of her friends and family were with her, and Scott was now her husband. Rachel caught herself smiling as she remembered Scott dragging her out on the dance floor and hoisting her in the air. The song had just changed from Jason Mraz to something she couldn’t remember. Scott must have had a bottle of champagne in him by that point, because she recalled smelling the liquor on his breath when he shouted to everyone.

  “Can y’all believe it? I’ve just married Rachel Boyd, the girl of my dreams. Mother of my future children, love of my life.”

  Rachel heard the clanking of everyone’s glasses before she felt his lips on hers. Wet and warm with the taste of Asti Spumante. She closed her eyes, trying to feel the sensation all over again. His black, curly hair was messed up from all the carrying on he and the groomsmen were doing and his cummerbund was hanging on by one snap.

  The clanging bell chimed, but it wasn’t from champagne glasses. It was the cursed bell attached to the front door of the diner. Rachel looked up to see the guy from that morning walking in with a co-worker. It was hard not to notice the other guy; he wore a white cowboy hat and a big grin on his face. She sat up straighter in her chair and pushed a few potatoes on her plate, trying to act as though she didn’t see him come in.

  ***

  She was the first person John noticed when he walked in the restaurant. He walked past her on his way to the counter and grabbed a seat next to his buddy, Rick. While he took a menu from the silver-coiled holder, he casually situated sideways to steal another look, wondering why she was eating alone. What kind of husband did she have who wasn’t with her during a weather crisis like this? Not that she looked like the helpless type, but still.

  “What can I get you two?” the waitress asked, standing there, wetting the end of a pen with her tongue and flipping back a page on her order book.

  John quickly scanned the laminated menu. It was pretty basic: hamburgers, chicken fingers, or a grilled cheese sandwich. Or for two dollars more, you could order off the seafood side of the menu: crab cake sandwich, fish fingers, salmon patties, or fried shrimp.

  “I’ll take a cheeseburger platter with
an iced tea.” John replaced the menu to its holder.

  “I’ll take the same, but make my drink a Coke,” Rick added, searching for a place to lay his hat.

  The woman yelled out the order to the back and snapped the slip of paper onto the carousel with all the other orders. With one practiced hand, she spun the wheel and grabbed the pitcher of Coke with the other. After she filled a glass for Rick, she poured an iced tea for John. She plucked a lemon wedge from the bowl sitting beside the other full pitchers and dropped it in his cup.

  John had taken his first sip when he looked up and saw the pretty girl he had spoken to that morning was standing next to him, waiting to pay at the cash register.

  “Hello.” She pulled her large bag open and set it on the counter. It looked as if she had everything she needed in life inside it.

  “Hello,” he answered back. His voice changed like an adolescent teen. “I don’t think I introduced myself earlier. My name is John.”

  He stood up, and after wiping away the sweat from his palm onto his jeans, he held out his hand to her. She looked down, hesitating a second before she finally shook it. When he finally had a moment to hold it, he realized how tiny it was. Tiny and cold. The moment was fleeting and after the two-second skin-to-skin contact, she withdrew it and fumbled in her bag, searching for something.

  She stopped briefly from digging, her two hands still lost in the pink and brown bag, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry—of course—my name is Rachel. It’s nice to meet you. I’m a little out of sorts, I guess. This whole storm has me thrown off.”

  John smiled and sat back down. The barstool let out an embarrassing antique squeak.

  The waitress pressed numbers on the cash register. It vibrated the counter with each pound she made on the tall, white buttons. “That brings it to $5.00, Rachel.”

  “Peggy, I’ve told you before, I’m not accepting any kind of discount. Take this and have a good day.” She shoved a ten-dollar bill in the lady’s hand and yelled back to the cook. “Frank, thanks for the sandwich. Have a good day.”

  She turned to John while gathering the things she had pulled from her bag and put on the counter. A wallet, a pack of gum, a small black purse, and three pens. Each probably from a different bank or grocery store. “Enjoy your lunch and don’t work too hard.”

  He smiled, wanting to say something that would invite more conversation, but he had nothing. With a turn on her heel, she was gone. He watched as she pushed the noisy door open, the bell rang, and she walked past the large window.

  The waitress appeared with their platters, setting one in front of John and the other in front of Rick. It looked and smelled good. The sandwich was tall with a wide patty, lettuce peeking out from the sides, and a tomato resting between the two, almost the same thickness of the burger. The fries were broad cut. Not particularly his favorite, but it was hot, and John was cold. He shook out some ketchup on the side and began dipping his fries. He could feel his friend staring at him from the corner of his eye. “What?”

  “She was cute. Why didn’t you introduce me?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even go there, man.” He shoved two more fries in his mouth before he shook extra salt on the others.

  “Where am I going?” Rick opened the bun on his sandwich and took off the tomato, placing it on the counter beside his plate.

  “She’s married and even if she wasn’t, I’m not interested.”

  “Man, it’s time you get out there. Not every girl is Kelly.”

  The waitress with the beehive reappeared and refilled their drinks. Her eyes were ping-ponging from John to Rick, interested in their conversation. “Who’s Kelly?”

  John gave her a please-don’t-ask look. “Just a person.”

  “A really bad person. You definitely would not want to meet her,” Rick added.

  John nudged Rick underneath the counter. “What? She looks like a woman who would give you the same advice I’ve been trying to give you for the past four months.” Rick spoke directly to Peggy, ignoring his friend’s wishes to keep his business private. “Kelly was his fiancée. She cheated on him six months before their wedding.”

  Peggy grabbed her mouth as though someone came in and told her they ran over her dog. “You poor thing, you.” She rested her hand on his. “How awful.”

  “And now John won’t get back on the saddle and date anyone. I said if he doesn’t, he might end up alone. He’ll be one of those guys my church drops off a plate of food for every Sunday evening. Keeping their shades shut and barely mumbling a thank-you when you’re handing them the food.”

  “Good Lord, Rick! You know, you have an active imagination. You missed your calling to write plays or something. More like Greek tragedies. It’s only been six months. It’s not like I’m applying for Medicare next week. I have time.” He looked at the two of them staring at him as if he were getting ready to sneeze. “The girl is married, all right? I’d ask her out for coffee or something if she wasn’t. Probably.”

  “What girl?” The waitress was now fully engrossed with the conversation at barstools number one and two.

  “The girl who was just here. She paid you the check then yelled out to the guy in back, thanking him for the sandwich.”

  “Rachel?” Her flat forehead squeezed into ten tiny folds. “The girl who was just here?” She pointed to the empty space.

  “Yes.”

  Her face relaxed with a grin. It knew something he didn’t. “Rachel isn’t married. Well, not anymore. She’s a widow. Her husband died about a year ago, God rest his soul.” She closed her eyes and did a cross in front of her body. “I’m Rachel’s aunt. Well, actually I was her husband, Scott’s, aunt. But I claim her all the same. How do you know her?”

  John wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “I’m repairing the electricity on her street. I talked with her earlier this morning at her house. She’s got the Boston terrier.” He felt the more pertinent information he gave her, the more it was plausible that what he was saying was true.

  “Of course, everyone’s hoping the therapy is gonna help eventually but, I see a change in her already. She used to stay home all the time. Now she’s been getting out, and Harry Obermire said he saw her at the docks. Lord knows she hasn’t been there in a while.”

  “Therapy?” John had long forgot about his food and didn’t care about Harry Obermire. He was hanging on every word the woman had to say about the suddenly mysterious girl he just met.

  Peggy handed the other waitress a check from her pocket before finishing her story. “After her last accident,” she said the words with a wink and raised eyebrows, indicating that’s what they were labeling it, “her mother came up from Georgia and threatened to take her back with her if she didn’t enter into some kind of therapy.”

  “But you said that she’s getting better, right?”

  “Well, I think so.” She touched her chest. “There for a while I was sending Tommy, there,” she pointed to the busboy, “to drive her over food. But I think before long she’ll be back to normal. It took Jeannie Wallace two years before she came back to church after her husband, Merk, died. Now to see her play that piano to the hymnals, you wouldn’t think anything happened.

  “Rachel’s got to come to grips that it wasn’t her fault. The doctors all said to leave her alone, and she’d come around. She’d remember the whole thing and everything would get back to the way it was.” She wrung out a rag from underneath the counter and wiped the counter next to them.

  The smell of bleach was overtaking his cheeseburger.

  “I’m only telling you this because you seem like a nice guy. You’ve got honest eyes like my husband Frank, back there.” She pointed to the short order cook, wearing a white hat and throwing plates up on the silver shelf for pick-up. “Rachel needs all the friends she can get. She’s chased off most of her old ones with living behind a locked door and not returning phone calls. New faces could take her mind off things. And you ain’t too bad-looki
ng, either.” She winked at him with a twinkle in her eye.

  He smiled, hiding the corner of his mouth with his hand. “Well, thanks, I appreciate it. She seems like a really nice girl.”

  Peggy crossed her arms as a smile settled on her face. “She is. It would do her good to get out once in a while. Who knows, maybe you could ask her out and get her mind off things. I would’ve never said anything, but I saw the way Rachel acted with you. It wasn’t her normal brush-off. She actually told you her name.” She shook her head back and forth, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Oh well. Yell when you’re ready to pay.”

  John took a deep breath and stared at the Formica counter. He couldn’t help but think about everything the woman had just told him. Somehow he wanted to get to know the girl behind the guarded eyes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Possible Need for Therapy

  Unable to skip another appointment, Rachel pulled in the Westfield Office Park to check off another visit with Dr. Wheeler. There was a message on her voicemail that morning saying the office had electricity and was open. Rachel knew her mother would check whether she missed. She was just that type. When Rachel first got her driver’s license, her mother called the school every morning to make sure she wasn’t on the absent roster. The school secretary called Rachel to the office to let her mother know not to call between 8:30 and 9:00; it was her busiest hours in the morning.

  If Rachel missed another session with her therapist, she knew her mother would be on the next flight to take up residence with her. At least that’s what she threatened. And no one wanted that train wreck living in their guest room. Especially Rachel. The last thing Rachel wanted was to be fed pot pies and to have daily lectures for getting past something that had her in a chokehold. Why was it so hard for people to just leave her be? She had Gus, and as long as she had money in her savings account, she had funds to buy the wine and the pills. Three things to get her through the tough times. Through the twenty-four hours of the day.