Mother of All Secrets(60)

A lot of air needed to be cleared before we could even discuss Isabel’s proposition for us. Or demand. I still couldn’t determine which it was. “Jenn, I confided in you,” Kira whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had been with him, too? What the hell? You honestly didn’t remember?”

“I truly didn’t. I was so drunk when it happened. And I’ve been so sleep deprived. My brain hasn’t been working since Clara was born, and this happened not even a couple of months ago. I honestly didn’t remember his face when I met him. I didn’t know it was Connor that night. I would have told you.” I think. “I’m so sorry.”

“It happened with him that soon after having Clara?” Kira added. “My God. I barely wanted to poop after having Caleb, let alone—sorry, it’s just—wow. How did—how did that happen?” Selena, too, was looking at me wide eyed.

My eyes welled with tears, and I was almost unable to respond. “You know what it was like with Connor—it was just as you described, Kira. Not what I had in mind. It wasn’t like I made the choice to sleep with him. God no. I was drunk, and it all happened so quickly—it’s so hard to explain. And once it got past a certain point, it was too late to undo it. Or at least, it felt too late.” I took a deep breath. “Also—I didn’t tell you this, but my mom died a few months before Clara was born. I’d been—I still am in a bad place. And things with the baby have been so hard . . . I wanted some kind of an escape that night, which is why I was out drinking alone, but I certainly didn’t want . . . that.”

“I’m so sorry about your mom,” Selena said. “I wish we’d known.”

“Dude, why didn’t you tell us? That’s terrible,” Kira said, squeezing my hand under the water.

“Just not ready, I guess,” I said. “I wish I had.” I really did. I already felt so much better, more supported, now that they knew. I was hoping the moisture on my face from the jacuzzi was hiding my tears.

Kira spoke again. “And Selena—you too? When did it happen? And when did you find out that he was married to Isabel?”

“Isabel had me over back when the group first started meeting, and I saw his picture in her house.” She drew up short, brought the fingertips of one hand to her lips.

“What?” I asked.

She slowly shook her head. “It’s just now, it occurs to me that she probably wanted me to see the picture, to see what I would do—she was probably studying my reaction to make sure I remembered him.” She closed her eyes, then opened them and looked back and forth between us. “God, I wish I’d just come clean then. Maybe none of this would have happened if she’d had more people willing to be honest with her and stick up for her earlier on.

“I was sick to my stomach when I recognized him.” She shuddered, remembering, and then downed a gulp of her wine. “But I didn’t say anything to her, when I realized. I didn’t want the situation to explode. I was scared that she’d be furious with me, or not believe me, and retaliate by telling Cameron. Or that she’d confront Connor and he’d find me—and of course, the last thing I wanted was any further interaction with him, ever. I didn’t want to jeopardize my marriage, my reputation by opening this can of worms. So instead I just kept it cordial but distant with her. And then when she disappeared”—she paused and looked at me—“I wanted nothing to do with any of it. As you know, Jenn. That’s why I got so . . . heated when you asked me to nose around with you. When you were so insistent that we should be doing something. Because I really didn’t want to do the one thing that I knew I probably should.”

“When did it happen?” I repeated Kira’s question. “With you and Connor?”

She heaved a sigh and looked off at the ocean. “It happened about a couple of years ago. Cameron and I were dating, but we were in a bad spot. I had found some texts on his phone from an old girlfriend. He insisted that texts were all they were, but I was pissed. I went out that night with a friend, to a hotel bar downtown. To be honest, I wanted to be hit on. I wanted to be reminded that I was hot. That other people would want me, too. That I had options. I was in a total screw Cameron kind of mentality. But I never actually wanted anything to happen.”

She inhaled deeply. “My friend went home. I stayed. I drank too much. But you know what?” She looked at us intently. “I didn’t drink that much.”

We paused for a moment, taking in the weight of her comment.

“I know myself,” she said, “and my limits. I’m well practiced at being careful. And I only had three or four drinks that night, over the course of several hours. And yet, I remember what happened with Connor only in flashes . . . I know I was upstairs in his hotel room, but I can’t ever remember agreeing to go up with him. I know we had sex, but I just can’t believe I’d . . .” She trailed off for a moment, face furrowed with hurt and confusion. “Drunk or not, it doesn’t seem like me. Like something I would ever, ever do. And the next morning, I was incapacitated. I felt like I had a concussion. I was bedridden for the next two days. And I always thought . . . I thought maybe he gave me something. But I convinced myself that I was wrong, that I was just looking for a way not to blame myself.

“I never said anything to anyone—I mean, for one thing, I didn’t want to have to tell Cameron what had happened—but I’ve always wondered. And now—knowing more about him, the kind of guy he is—I think my hunch might have been right.”