The Deepest Secret

One second, out of trillions and trillions. Just one.

  “Go home,” Eve says. “I’ll finish this.”

  Charlotte nods and pushes herself up.

  A car whizzes past, blowing Eve’s hair up in a gust of exhaust. The long ribbon of asphalt stretches out in front of her. Charlotte is a distant figure. Eve scrabbles at the dangling paper, yanks it free, and drops it into the bag at her feet. A hundred down. Hundreds more to go.

  DAVID

  David stands frowning into the refrigerator, its shelves bare. When was the last time anyone bought milk? Or bread, for that matter? He’d come in from mowing the lawn to make a sandwich and found the dried end of a loaf of bread buried beneath an onion that had sprouted a thick green root. As he backs the car out of the driveway, he sees the new family leaving for church. It’s been years since he’s attended a church service. Eve refuses. She said she didn’t want to communicate with a God who would bless the world with sunshine only to condemn a child from ever seeing it. What about Melissa’s needs? David had asked, and Eve had answered, What about Tyler’s?

  It’s on his way back from the store that he sees someone walking along the side of the road ahead of him. For a brief disorienting moment, he thinks of Charlotte, running along the road that terrible stormy night. He draws closer and sees that it’s Eve.

  She turns as he pulls up alongside her. She’s gripping a bulging trash bag by the neck. He rolls down the window. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking down the flyers.”

  He’s gotten used to seeing them on the street signs and telephone posts. He’s begun to look through them as though they aren’t there. “Good idea. You need any help?”

  “No, it’s okay. I think I got them all.”

  “Well, jump in. I’m on my way home.”

  She opens the door and climbs in, bringing with her the smell of grass and heat. Her shoulders are pink with sun. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Grocery shopping. How’s Charlotte? Any news?”

  “The funeral’s Saturday.”

  He thinks about that. “Okay. I’ll try to make it.”

  She shakes her head and looks out the window.

  “I told you I’ve had to take on extra work now that Preston’s gone. I just don’t think I’ll make it home this weekend. I know I should have said something, but I thought I’d be further along.”

  “Okay.”

  They drive the rest of the way in silence. He pulls the car into the garage and switches off the engine.

  “Eve? David?” It’s Sophie, on the driveway behind them, peering in. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure,” he says. “Everything okay?”

  Sophie stands there in full sun, as though unwilling to come any farther. She’s got that broad-brimmed straw hat perched on her head, shadowing her narrow face. Her white shirt is long-sleeved, hanging loose over her brown slacks. Her gardening gloves are a discordant neon green. He goes out to meet her, with Eve. “You heard about that Peeping Tom, right?” Sophie asks.

  “Why? Have you seen him?” Eve asks.

  “No. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone.”

  Sophie gnaws her lower lip. “Not even a car that doesn’t belong?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Sophie exhales. “I’m thinking about putting in an alarm system.”

  “Good idea,” he says. After all, Sophie lives alone and her house backs up to the park.

  “The company I interviewed suggested changing my outdoor bulbs. They say the ones I have now aren’t strong enough.”

  She sounds defiant, and he wonders why. Then Eve says slowly, “Are you talking about switching to halogen light bulbs?”

  “Maybe.” Sophie’s misery is evident.

  He looks at the span of space between his house and hers. How many feet is it—twelve? Fifteen? Not enough.

  Eve puts her hand on Sophie’s arm. “What about Tyler?”

  “I know, but I figure if he goes out your back door and stays across the street—”

  “That won’t work,” Eve says. They don’t know how far UV travels. She’s consulted scientists about this. No one’s been able to give her a definitive answer. They know that UV diminishes as it travels through space, but at what point does it vanish completely? I wouldn’t take any chances, the dermatologist has warned them.

  “What if I only turn them on late at night?” Sophie says.

  Eve shakes her head. “You might forget and leave them burning all day. What about during the winter when the sun goes down early? Please, Sophie.”

  “I live alone. It’s different.”

  “How about installing more lights, then?” Eve looks at David. “We’ll pay for it, won’t we?”

  “Can’t Tyler wear that mask he used to wear?” Sophie says.

  “Sure.” He wants to stop this. Sophie’s made up her mind. She’s not listening anymore. Can’t Eve see that? Eve frowns at him, turns back to Sophie. “He won’t wear it. He says it makes him look like a freak.”

  “Let me think about it.” Sophie moves back, pulling away from Eve’s grip on her arm. “Okay?”

  “How about getting a dog?” Eve says.

  Doesn’t she see how ridiculous she’s being? “Sophie doesn’t want a dog,” he says, warning. “Come on. Let’s put away the groceries.”

  Eve’s not listening. Her attention is focused on Sophie, who’s edging away. “Halogen bulbs aren’t that much brighter. They really aren’t.”

  She’s talking to Sophie’s back. She whirls around to look at him, her face twisted with accusation. “Why did you do that? Why did you let her think it was okay?”

  “I didn’t let her do anything. This is America, Eve. People can choose what light bulbs they want to use.” He pulls the plastic grocery sacks from the backseat.

  She punches the button and the garage door lowers, squeezing out the light. “Tyler won’t be able to leave the house at all.”

  “Then he’ll just have to wear his mask.”

  “But he won’t.” Her voice sails up.

  “He will if he wants to go outside.”

  They’re sealed in darkness. He opens the kitchen door and she pushes past him. “There’s got to be a way I can stop her. Maybe I can sue?”

  “You sound like a crazy person.”

  She stops and looks at him, her hands flat on the counter. “How crazy is it to want to save my child?”

  All the cures she’s chased down over the years, the injections, the gel, some kind of blood treatment. The endless fundraisers. The hours hunched over a computer or staring into space. Everything, everything has revolved around keeping Tyler safe. “You’re not the only one, Eve. We’re all trying to protect him, but we have to be reasonable.” He opens the refrigerator to put the milk away.

  “How? How do you protect him, David? Tell me exactly what you’ve done to keep Tyler safe.”

  “Is that what you think? You think I don’t care?”

  She pushes the refrigerator door shut, bottles clanking, making him step back with surprise. “You don’t think. You let things slide. You take the easy way out. You don’t make the hard choices.”

  He throws up his hands. “Where the hell is this coming from? What do you call my decision to live away from this family? You don’t call that a hard choice?”

  She laughs, a bitter sound.

  He stares at her. Her face is contorted, unrecognizable. Unlikeable. “What do you want me for, Eve? You don’t let me touch you. You don’t talk to me. What am I to you?”

  She looks at him. He sees nothing in her eyes, no warmth, no love. She doesn’t answer.

  Later, they drive to the airport. He can’t wait to get back to DC. In all ways, it’s the opposite of how it should be. As they drive down the ravine road, they pass a line of police cars parked along the berm, uniformed officers walking up and down the shoulder, studying the ground. He glances at Eve and sees that she’s watching th
em, too.

  SECOND BASE

  “You know what second base is, right?” Zach spins around in Tyler’s computer chair. He’s wearing those cool shorts with all the pockets that go down to his knees. His mom’s offered to get him some, but Tyler can only wear them at home in his bedroom, so what’s the point?

  “Sure.” Tyler’s watched baseball on TV.

  “That’s how far I got with Savannah.”

  Oh. He should’ve guessed. Savannah’s all Zach ever talks about, her and Amy. Only now he’s not talking about Amy. He hasn’t said one word about her since hit-skip.

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah. I’m thinking about asking her to Homecoming.”

  Melissa went to Homecoming when she was a freshman. She’d worn a shiny red dress with sparkles sewn around the waist. She’d looked like a flower. “Cool,” he says again.

  “You’d have liked that movie. We got to rent it when it came out.”

  He and Zach have seen a million movies together. They can recite lines and get each other laughing before they’ve even said more than a few words. They’ve debated which are the Top Ten Movies of All Time, and whether The Mist sucked or was genius. Zach’s a good friend. Maybe he can help him figure out what to do. “Listen,” he begins, but Zach says, “Savannah’s got a friend. Tiffany? You know her.”

  Tyler shakes his head. He doesn’t know Tiffany.

  “Sure you do. She came over with everyone else when Amy was found. Hold on.” Zach swings around to Tyler’s computer. “I’ll show you her picture.”

  “I don’t want to see her picture.”

  “Sure you do. She’s super hot.” Zach taps keys, and the screen blooms from black to full color. “Dude. How come you’re watching this crap?”

  It’s the driving tutorial Tyler found, showing how to change gears. His parents both drive automatic cars, but Tyler thinks he’d like manual. “Why not?”

  “Because … you know.”

  Tyler wants him to say it. “What?”

  “Well, it’s not like you can drive.”

  “Who says?”

  “I don’t know. When can you get out of here? We can jump on the trampoline.”

  Tyler doesn’t want to jump on the trampoline. “Who says?”

  Zach frowns. “Jesus. What’s the big deal?”

  “Tell me.”

  “My mom, okay? She says not to talk to you about this kind of stuff.”

  Zach’s been watching what he says around him? “Your mom doesn’t know anything.”

  Zach looks mad. He’s going to say something mean, and Tyler wants to hear it. But all Zach says is, “Come on, man. Let’s do something. Wanna game?”

  Zach’s being careful. Like Tyler’s going to cry or something? “Get out of here.”

  “Seriously?”

  Tyler kicks the chair Zach’s sitting in, sending it rolling. Zach pushes himself up. “Whatever.”

  Tyler listens to the sound of Zach’s running footsteps on the stairs, the slam of the front door.

  When he goes downstairs, his mom’s at the sink, washing lettuce. “Hey, stranger,” she says, giving him a smile that doesn’t reach all the way across her face. She hasn’t really smiled in days. “Why did Zach leave in such a hurry?”

  “He had football practice.”

  “Really? At this time of night?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, it was nice to see him. I was going to ask him to stay for dinner. I could have given him a ride home.”

  “Maybe next time,” Tyler says, though he knows there won’t be a next time.

  The evening’s purple and filled with the green smell of cut grass and the sweet smoke of barbecuing. Voices come over fences; windows are opened to let out the sound of televisions playing. Holly’s standing on her front porch, talking to a man. “Who’s that?” Tyler asks.

  “Oh, those are our new neighbors, Mark and Holly. I’ve forgotten you haven’t met them yet. Want to say hi?”

  Mark the Cop’s bigger than he’d expected. His blond hair’s shorter than it was in his wedding picture, and his low voice rumbles all the way across the street to where Tyler and his mom are walking. Holly lifts her hands to her face and pulls back her hair. She looks unhappy. Are they fighting? “That’s okay.”

  Mark turns and goes down the steps. He nods as he crosses to his car. Holly sees Tyler, but she doesn’t wave or smile. She leans in the doorway with her arms crossed.

  “They seem like a nice couple.” His mom’s face is puffy, like she’s been crying again, but she’s smiling, hard. “They have the cutest little boys.”

  She’s already told him this, when she came back from asking them if they’d use regular light bulbs. “Uh huh.”

  Sophie’s in her front yard, crouching by the flowers around her maple tree. She’s wearing her floppy-brimmed hat tied beneath her chin and long gardening gloves. Her black hair falls over her shoulders. She looks like an old lady, nothing like what she looks like at night, dressed in black leather. She keeps her head down as she digs in the dirt, even though they’re walking right past her. Tyler’s mom doesn’t say anything to Sophie, either. She just keeps on talking to Tyler about those two little boys, Christopher and Cameron, even though it’s not Cameron, it’s Connor. Tyler glances behind him and sees Sophie watching them from beneath the brim of her hat. Quickly, she moves around so that her back is to them, and he can’t see her face at all.

  Dr. Cipriano’s unloading a box from the backseat of his car. It’s covered with plastic. When he sees them, he sets the box on the ground and flexes his muscles, makes a face for the camera. It’s a lame picture, but Tyler takes it anyway. “Nice to have those reporters gone, isn’t it?” he says, coming over. He’s wearing a short-sleeved green shirt and black jeans that look brand new.

  Tyler backs away. That thing in his basement is a python. No one’s allowed to have them. They swallow things whole—crocodiles, monkeys, deer, even people. He eyes the box on the driveway. He bets anything there’s a live, frightened animal inside.

  “I keep waiting for them to return,” his mom says.

  “Let’s hope they don’t. It’d be nice to have our street back to ourselves. I’m sure Charlotte hated it. How’s she doing?”

  Pythons can grow to be more than twenty feet long. They kill their prey by wrapping around them and squeezing. He realizes his mom’s looking at him. Dr. Cipriano, too.

  “Next month, right?” his mom asks.

  His dentist keeps an illegal snake. His mom has no idea. “Yeah.” She’s circled the date on the calendar in black—dental checkup.

  “See you then.”

  “Thanks, Neil.”

  Albert’s standing in his front yard, frowning down at the ground.

  “Hi, Albert,” his mom calls, and Albert looks over.

  “Hey. Got a minute? What does this look like to you?”

  So Tyler and his mom walk over and look down. It’s dark now, and hard to make things out. It looks like Albert’s pointing to a heap of small brown pellets. Tyler crouches, and his mom grabs his arm. “Don’t,” she says, and he looks at her with surprise. “It’s just cat food,” he says. It’s exactly like what Rosemary used to scoop out into Sugar’s bowl.

  “No, it’s not. That’s poison.”

  Tyler’s fingers curl to his palms. He’d almost touched it. But he’s wearing gloves, the way he always does.

  She’s looking all around the ground, toeing the leaves with her shoe. “It looks intentional.” Her voice is worried.

  “Nah,” Albert says. “Who would do something like that? Had to be carelessness.”

  “I don’t know, Albert,” she says, but Tyler sees her glance to where Mr. Farnham’s washing his car, rubbing the sponge down the hood. “But you’d better keep Sugar inside.”

  “I hate to do it. She loves chasing chipmunks.”

  “Listen to my mom,” Tyler says fiercely, thinking about that huge python curled up in its cage, doing nothing but watc
hing. “Rosemary would.”

  Albert looks at him. “I suppose you have a point. Oh, before I forget, tell Melissa congratulations. I see she got her license.”

  “I will,” his mom promises.

  Mr. Farnham is spraying his car with great arcs of water. Suds run down the gutter to the drain. It makes Tyler think of that last stormy night, when Amy died. Mr. Farnham waves, the way he always does, pretending they’re friendly. Tyler’s mom doesn’t wave back.

  They turn onto the bike path. “How come the Farnhams don’t have any kids?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t want children, or maybe they couldn’t have them. Your dad and I were lucky.” She puts her arm around his shoulders and squeezes. She’s smiling at him, and he pulls away.

  “What if one of them wanted children but the other one didn’t?”

  She sighs. “Well, that would be really sad for the person who wanted children. Why, Tyler? Have they said something to you?”

  It’s not a lie to tell her. “No.”

  Kids are playing football in the field. They’ve got lanterns rigged to light the area and his mom moves over to block him. Tyler and Zach used to throw around a glow-in-the-dark football his mom got him. Once Zach threw the ball too far and it landed in the creek, and they had to run after it, laughing the whole time, as it swept along in the current. Tyler wonders how long it takes to make a memory go away. He wants this memory to disappear and take Zach with it.

  They reach the playground. When Tyler was little, he used to think this place was just for him because no one else was ever around. He holds up his camera and focuses on the abandoned plastic bucket sitting on its side.

  “You used to love playing in the sandbox,” his mom says.

  He’d dig in the sand that looked hard in moonlight but wasn’t, and turn up the most amazing things. A matchbox car, a yo-yo, rubber balls, and polished pennies that gleamed like gold. It made him think the world was filled with treasure. Now he knows his mom must’ve done it, pulled the toys out of her pocket when he wasn’t looking and dropped them in. What a dumb little kid he’d been.

  “Let’s sit down for a minute.” There’s an empty bench facing the basketball court. “I need to talk to you about something.”