Little Secrets

  But that’s why she had the flashlight. Ginny clicked the button. The blue-white light flashed rapidly, like a strobe, before she clicked it again to put it on the regular setting. A steady beam of bright light shone ahead of her, looking almost solid with the dust she’d kicked up swirling in it.

  Ginny held the flashlight in her palm and slowly waved the light from side to side. “Whommmmm. Whommmm.”

  Lightsaber.

  The effect was ruined when the light bent along any objects in the way, but still it was good for a giggle as she oriented herself. She swept the room with the flashlight. All the corners the light from the bulbs wouldn’t reach, even if they were all lit.

  The furnace was in the far corner, in a little jig-jog that upstairs was part of the dining room. Ginny flashed the light above her, into the ceiling joists. She remembered too late the sound of nails and claws, and screamed when the shivering shadows tossed a pair of bright eyes at her, a flash of teeth.

  Seconds later, of course, with her heart pounding and palms sweating, she had to laugh. It wasn’t a raccoon—or worse, a rat—but a child’s stuffed toy shoved into the space between the rafters and close to the silver ductwork.

  That was creepy and gross, but not terrifying and not as weird as some people might think. She could remember as a kid hanging out in her grandma’s basement with Peg and Billy and their cousins, trying to scare each other with stories or playing hide and seek. As a teenager, Ginny’s uncle Rick had built a rec room of sorts in the basement, using spiffy 1970s paneling and cast-off furniture he and his friends had salvaged from the garbage. There’d been plenty of weird things tucked into the rafters of Gran’s basement, including the gape-mouthed plastic face of a decapitated blow-up doll Peg and their older cousins had convinced her was a “princess mask.” Compared to that, a kid’s teddy bear was hardly strange at all.

  To her right was the concrete wall that had been repaired in the long-ago fire. It was just as dirty and hung with cobwebs as the other walls, but of slightly different brick. Sean had stacked their ski equipment along it but left bare the metal shelving unit she’d meant him to use. Ginny shook her head, biting her tongue and refusing to let herself get worked up over it.

  The furnace kicked on with a rumble when she approached. That had to be a good sign, right? She didn’t know much about furnaces, other than how to change the filter, but the repairman had mentioned that Reset button and whatever he’d done to it had worked, at least for a little while, so it seemed like it was worth a try again.

  Over in this corner, the bulb had not just blown, it was missing entirely. Ginny touched the chain and set the fixture swaying anyway as she passed, but she used the flashlight to look over the furnace. She regretted, now, playing the role of little wifey while Sean went with the repairman to check things out. She’d always made it a point in the past to be aware of everything, the basics of what she considered necessary adult skills. How to change a tire, balance a checkbook, change a fuse, mix a basic cocktail. In the days before she’d gone to a Mac, how to defrag a computer. Yet when the repairman was here, she’d hidden herself away in the kitchen like some sad parody of June Cleaver, complete with apron and bare feet.

  What the hell had happened to her?

  A sudden sob threatened to strangle her, but Ginny forced it back. No crying. Not here in the dim and dirty basement. Christ no. She wasn’t going to lose it. She bit her tongue and rubbed the sore spot against her teeth until the urge to cry went away enough to ignore.

  The Reset button. Where would it be? She shone the light over the entire furnace, but there was no helpful marking. The furnace itself still rumbled comfortingly but also deceptively.

  “Let me heat your house,” the furnace’s rumble said. “Or, you know, make you think I’m going to. But then you wake up freezing your tits off while chocolate melts in your cupboards.”

  Just to the left of the furnace was a small window set high in the wall. It opened into a well framed with a half circle of metal and a patch of gravel at the bottom. She could see nothing through it, but some pale light filtered through, enough that when she went around the side of the furnace she could click off the flashlight.

  And there it was. At least, she assumed the switch on the side of the furnace, tucked between two sections and just above the place the filter nestled, was the right one. What else could it be?

  What’s the worst that could happen, Ginny thought, and flicked it off.

  At that moment, the light from the window cut out completely, leaving her in shadow. Ginny turned, the flashlight tumbling from her fingers as she spun. Framed in the window was a face, eyes wide and mouth yawing.

  It screamed, shrill and high and piercing. The sound ripped at her eardrums and set the hair on the back of her neck on end. She dropped the flashlight, screaming herself, louder and more frantically than when the stuffed bear had startled her.

  The face disappeared. More screams echoed. She heard the faint rustle of feet in the leaves.

  Ginny collapsed against the furnace, no longer rumbling, and let herself dissolve into relieved laughter. She pressed a hand to her heart to slow the beating. The other went between her legs, praying she hadn’t lost control of her bladder. She seemed safe enough there, though there’d been a moment when she was sure she was going to piss herself. At least she’d managed to avoid that.

  It was one of the kids from next door, the face in the window. For whatever reason, they’d been peeking in her windows. Well, they’d had a scare, hadn’t they? Maybe it would keep them away from her house, she thought, even as she laughed again at how they’d terrified her too.

  She bent slowly, carefully, to find her flashlight, but it had rolled away somewhere. It was gone. She’d have to look for it later, in the brighter daylight or at least when she’d replaced all the burnt-out bulbs, but for right now her bladder was protesting the strain she’d put on it. She’d be lucky to make it upstairs.

  Somehow, with her knees knocked together, Ginny made it to the bathroom in time to avoid an accident. Washing her hands, she caught sight of her reflection and laughed again at the memory of the neighbor boy’s terrified face. Of her own fear. She laughed, loud and long.

  And then she was weeping, both hands gripping the porcelain while she bent forward, helpless against the onslaught. Her shoulders heaved. Sobs racked her. She opened her mouth and almost expected to puke, that was how fierce the tears burned, but, instead, snot and saliva dripped into the sink. Fat, hot tears splashed. Her fingers curled and gripped, tight and tighter, because if she let go of the sink she was surely going to fall onto the floor.

  It didn’t pass with ease, this sudden burst of grief, this madness. It didn’t fade or taper off into sniffles. It ended abruptly, like someone had slapped the hysteria out of her, and it didn’t leave her feeling better, the way tears were supposed to. Everything about her face felt hot and swollen, and when she dared to face her reflection again, she looked how she felt.

  Ugly.

  With a determined shake of her head, Ginny gathered up the sorrow and the crazy, and she folded it like origami. She pushed it away, pushed it aside. Pushed it inside.

  Deep inside.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “What the hell were you doing in the basement anyway?”

  As predicted, Sean hadn’t been amused by the story she spun as humorous so she could forget how it had ended. Ginny sighed and pushed her fork through the spaghetti noodles and sauce. It was a lackluster dinner, at best. Overcooked pasta and sauce from a jar, garlic bread she’d cobbled together from some leftover hamburger buns and garlic powder. She wasn’t hungry anyway.

  She looked at him across the dining room table. He seemed so far away, compared to their seats at the old table in the kitchen, but she figured if he was going to surprise her with this ugly table, she could insist they use it. “I told you. I was looking at the furnace
.”

  “If the furnace isn’t working,” Sean said, “tell me about it, and I’ll call the repair guy to come back. We paid him enough, he should make good.”

  Ginny frowned. “I can call the repair guy. I’m not helpless.”

  Sean said nothing, just dug his fork into the pile of noodles on his plate and slurped them up. Sauce splattered. He washed down the mouthful with a swig from his glass, then forked a bite of salad. He chewed. Loudly.

  He’d always eaten that way, openmouthed, slurping and smacking and crunching. It suddenly repulsed her. Stomach twisting, Ginny broke off a piece of bread and forced herself to nibble it. She hadn’t eaten all day.

  “And you should’ve told me yesterday.” He pointed at her with his fork.

  He had sauce around his mouth. Once upon a time, she’d have leaned to wipe it with the corner of her finger and tucked it in her own mouth. The thought of that, tasting something from his skin, suddenly repulsed her more. Ginny swallowed convulsively.

  “You weren’t home until late last night. I didn’t think about it.”

  He’d come home after she was already in bed. He’d smelled again of cigarettes and liquor. He’d wanted to make love. They’d done it in the dark, without words, his hands roaming over the changing mountains and valleys of her body. It had been like making love to a stranger, which was why she’d been able to come and why she’d gone to sleep with silent tears soaking into her pillow after.

  “Did you turn the furnace back on?”

  “I…” Ginny hesitated, “…I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

  “No wonder it’s so frigging cold in here.” Sean frowned. “I’ll take care of it after dinner.”

  “Fine. Thank you.” The words sounded stiff and ungrateful, but what did she have to be grateful for, exactly? Making her feel like an idiot? Or that he might actually complete this chore, instead of merely promising to do it?

  “So,” he said after a few minutes of nothing but the sound of silverware clinking on the plates, “how was your day?”

  “Fine.”

  He leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin; bits of paper clung to the scruff of his goatee. He didn’t notice. Ginny had to look away.

  “Just fine?”

  “Just fine,” she told him. “How else would you expect it to be?”

  “Did you paint today?”

  She frowned. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Said that way, it could be a genuinely curious inquiry. Or it could be a dig. Either way, she had no answer for it, no good answer that wouldn’t lead to more questions.

  “I didn’t feel like it.”

  Sean wiped at his mouth again, this time with his fingers. It was the gesture of a man trying to hold back words with his hand, but he didn’t try hard enough. “Why not?”

  “Christ, Sean. I don’t know. I just didn’t.” Irritated, Ginny stood to take her plate into the kitchen.

  She’d baked cookies earlier today when she was not painting. She’d dusted the living room and changed out the towels in the bathroom She’d run a couple loads of laundry. She’d read half a book. She’d napped. She’d watched a couple hours of television. She’d paid some bills. She’d done a lot of things that were not-painting, so why was she letting him make her feel like she’d squandered her day, when he was the one who kept telling her to relax?

  “I just thought, you know. With all your time you’d be getting back into it by now.”

  She turned from the dishwasher. “All my time?”

  “Yeah. All your time. I don’t have all the time you have.”

  Both her brows went up. “Everyone has the same amount of time, actually.”

  “Not actually.” His half smile was supposed to charm her, but it didn’t look genuine. “Some of us die before the rest. So technically—”

  “I was busy,” she cut in. “And I didn’t want to paint. Okay? I just didn’t feel like it. You act like it’s some kind of crime.”

  “It’s just that I wouldn’t have bought all that stuff for you, if I’d known you weren’t going to use it. I’d have spent the money on something else. In case you didn’t notice,” he added in a tone more sarcastic than she’d ever heard from him, “we’re not exactly floating in extra money.”

  “I never asked you to buy it!”

  Sean didn’t say anything at first. They stared at each other across the kitchen until he dropped his gaze. Scuffed his toe on the floor she’d spent a good forty minutes sweeping today. Muttered something.

  Her senses of touch, smell, taste had heightened in this pregnancy, but her hearing apparently hadn’t. “What?”

  He looked up at her, somehow defiant. “I said, ‘you used to like it’. You used to love it. But when I try to help you with it, all of a sudden, you don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

  Her jaw dropped. She turned to the sink to wash her hands so he wouldn’t see them shaking. “Wow. What a selfish, self-absorbed thing to say.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She ran the water too hot, but refused to flinch as she rinsed away the soap. Her skin went red. She didn’t turn to look at him. “Why would you think my painting has any goddamned thing to do with you at all?”

  “That’s the trouble,” Sean said. “It doesn’t have any goddamned thing to do with me, and it never did.”

  Time ticked past, one second at a time, the way it always did. An eternity passed in the span of one, two, three breaths. Ginny swallowed her words and refused to let his become bruises.

  “I’m going to take these cookies over to the neighbors,” she said finally when it became apparent that Sean was neither going to speak nor leave the kitchen until she did. “It’s about time we met them anyway, and I want to make sure the kids are okay.”

  “Tell them to stay the hell out of our yard.”

  The vehemence was so unlike him, it almost made her turn. Ginny kept herself still. She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see his face. She was afraid of what he’d see on hers.

  “I’m going to take care of the furnace.”

  She waited for the sound of his footsteps moving away before she turned. Then she pressed her fists to her eyes until colored sparks danced. She drew in a few deep breaths. She didn’t cry.

  Ginny took the cookies out the back door, across the grass but not through the hole in the hedge. She walked all the way around to the sidewalk, then up the neighbors’ driveway. She knocked on the front door, her knuckles stinging in the cold air.

  The woman who opened the door looked surprised and a little suspicious, even when she saw the platter in Ginny’s hand. She looked younger than Ginny by about five or six years, her hair in a messy topknot and faint lines of exhaustion around her eyes. She had a baby gnawing its fist on her hip, a spit rag tossed over her shoulder. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I’m Ginny Bohn. From next door.” Ginny twisted to point.

  The woman looked at her belly, obviously just noticing the bump. “Oh God. Yes, of course, come in, please! I’m Kendra. This is Carter.”

  She waved the baby’s fist in Ginny’s direction. “Oh, cookies. Yum, thanks.”

  Ginny followed her into the house and down a hall to the kitchen. This house was newer than theirs, laid out more like a raised ranch than an expanded bungalow. It was bright and airy, decorated with furniture from IKEA and plenty of childish artwork. Also, toys all over the place she discovered when her toe nudged a couple of matchbox cars.

  “Oh God. Sorry. Sorry,” Kendra said as she settled Carter into a heavy plastic high chair and set a rubber hammer in front of him. “No matter how many times I tell him… CARSON!”

  She turned to Ginny, who was still holding the cookies. “Oh, let me take them. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Oh no. You’re probably
off that for now. I had to quit it when I was pregnant, even decaf gave me heartburn, I couldn’t stand it. I could make some hot tea?”

  “That would be great, thanks.” Ginny slid into a chair at the table across from the baby.

  Peg had been frazzled like this when her kids were smaller, and Ginny had no trouble imagining herself equally so. She put the cookies on the table and smiled at baby Carter, who gave her a solemn, somehow accusatory stare in return.

  “You have three?” Ginny asked.

  Kendra put a kettle on the stove, then turned. “Oh yeah. Three monsters. CARSOONNNNNN!”

  There came the pounding of feet on the stairs. A minute later, Carson skidded into the kitchen on sock feet. Red cheeks, tousled blond hair—that was the face she’d seen in the window, all right. Close on his heels was his sister, hair in pigtails but otherwise a smaller version of her brother.

  “You can’t tell they’re related at all,” Ginny said lightly.

  Kendra laughed. “They take after their dad. I swear we had a third just so I’d get one that looked like he belonged to me.”

  The baby in the high chair didn’t seem excited by this. His face scrunched up in silent despair. His mother sighed and rubbed the top of his head, waiting a full five seconds before the first wail hit. She looked at Ginny with a faint smile of apology.

  “He’s…cranky.”

  “He’s a cutie. And these two,” Ginny said, still keeping it light, well aware of how protective her sister could be about her children, “I think I already know. Carter and…?”

  “Kelly,” their mother offered with a curious look that became suspicious again, this time leveled at the children. “What did you guys do?”