Every Single Secret(5)



He was very still. “I don’t want to do anything without you. But if we don’t figure this out, Daphne, I don’t . . . I don’t know what’s going to happen to us.”

“So you’re saying . . .” My voice was shaking. “You’re saying it’s the therapy or we’re finished?”

He cleared his throat carefully. “What I’m saying—”

“Heath—”

“—is I don’t know if the way we’re living—the way we’ve chosen to relate to each other—is sustainable for the long term.”

These weren’t his words. They were something a therapist had said to him and now he was repeating back to me. But it didn’t matter where the words had come from. It was clear—Heath wanted to deal with his past. Bring it out into the open. And then—as surely as thunder followed lightning—mine would be next.

The dark, crowded bar felt airless. Like it was gradually shrinking and I would be crushed if I stayed. I lifted a finger to the bartender. “He’ll have another one.” I dropped my credit card back in my purse, then faced Heath. “Drink it slow. When you’re done, come home, and we’ll talk. And whatever you do”—I slipped off the stool—“never, ever make me come looking for you again.”

As I pushed my way back through the crowd, a cross between Joan of Arc and Beyoncé, I burned with humiliation and defiance. I could feel Heath’s eyes on me. And the eyes of the blue-lashed girl. I hadn’t been able to resist striking first. Paying her tab for the night, and thus sending her an unmistakable message: Don’t mess with me; don’t mess with my man.

If the system had taught me one thing, it was that acting tough was a perfectly good substitute for actually being tough. Just like this bar and the people drinking away their Saturday night in it. Heath’s basketball buddy, the girl with the blue eyelashes, the laughing bartender. We all acted like a bunch of badasses with nothing to lose. But I knew it was a lie.

I was a lie. I was weak and I was scared. Losing Heath, losing my soul mate, would be like watching a sand castle that had taken twenty-eight painstaking years to construct be swept away by a single wave. It would end me, if not in body, then in spirit.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Outside the bar, I found a trash can and watched the cashews fall from my hand. I wiped the salt off my palms and stood there for a minute, thinking over my plan.

I would go with Heath to the retreat. Play the supportive fiancée while he met with the doctor and searched for his elusive closure. And in the meantime, I would do some digging of my own, try to get out in front of the situation. If I could somehow figure out what was causing Heath’s nightmares before this Dr. Cerny did, maybe I could cut this process short and get us home where we belonged. Get everything back to normal.

I did have something to start with, something I hadn’t given much attention to when it first happened because I’d been so rattled. Now I realized it was a clue, if only just a seed of one. Words Heath had said during one of his bad dreams, his voice raw and ragged with terror.

Break the mirror, he had chanted over and over until it reverberated in my brain. Break the mirror.



Chapter Two

Sunday, October 14

Five Days Before

The house lay at the end of a rutted gravel road that seemed to stretch on endlessly, rising, switching back, then rising again until I felt nauseated. It stood in a cove of dark pines, its steep crimson gables and stained-glass windows regarding our arrival with a stern expression.

A house with eyes.

I wasn’t being paranoid or dramatic. Like Heath had said, the cameras were actually part of the deal at Baskens Institute. Couples attending the famous Baskens retreats were not only paying for therapy sessions but also for the privilege of being observed while they twiddled their thumbs or engaged in their everyday spats. A bunch of lab animals, paying for their own exploitation.

I unfolded myself from Heath’s battered Nissan. The air smelled of moss and rotted wood and was at least ten degrees cooler than down in Atlanta. A cloud blotted out the sun, dousing blue sky and green forest in an inky gray, then moved on again. I shivered in the sunlight and thought of my iPad, which I’d tucked safely under the mat in the back seat. Heath hadn’t seen me hide it. I hoped it would be safe until I could retrieve it later.

“Where do you think the cameras are hidden?” I polished my cloudy glasses on the scrunched-up sleeve of my sweater. Ours was the only car in the circular drive. I wondered if the other two couples attending the retreat had flown in and been shuttled up the mountain. I hadn’t heard anything about them.

“They’re inside the rooms. Not out here.”

Heath climbed out, popping his neck and stretching. The drive from Atlanta had only been three hours, but in his tiny car it felt like twelve. The Nissan, an unfortunate iridescent royal blue, was a holdover from his college days that he swore he’d never give up, no matter how important the job he happened to have. His holding on to the old car was just one of the things I loved about him. He didn’t judge things by their outward appearance; he saw below the surface.

In the bright mountain sunshine, Heath sneezed twice in quick succession.

“Bless you,” I said.

“Something’s blooming.” He went around to the trunk.

Everything was dying as far as I could see, fall’s brown and red and gold emerging on the hillsides. A series of terraced lawns bordered the western side of the house, dropping out of sight down the slope of the mountain. Dense forest flanked the rear and eastern sides. Farther off, higher up on the shoulder of the mountain, I caught a glimpse of a thin waterfall tumbling between granite rocks.

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