Our Little Secret(46)

“They’re bringing the jar in. We’ll take a look then, shall we? At the very least, it’ll be a nice walk down memory lane.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“I was wondering when you’d ask.”


We’d come so far together, I didn’t want Novak to leave just yet. It’s strange, the attachments we form in spite of ourselves. And besides, I hadn’t told him enough of the story. I hadn’t even told him about the big fight; I knew he’d want to hear about it. I picked up from a few days before the first weekend in June, when HP told me that Saskia’s book club and his baseball game were both the coming Saturday.

“I don’t mind watching Olive,” I offered. “I’ll just be here reading anyway.”

“No Freddy this weekend? That’s a drag.” HP rinsed a dinner plate and handed it to me to dry and put away.

“I’m meeting him next weekend in Boston. He’s paying for everything. This Saturday he’s at a conference in Virginia.”

“Of course he is. Up there, left-hand side.” He nodded at a cupboard and then pointed with his elbow, his hands still in the water.

“It’s on smuggling opiates undetected across borders.”

“That’d be cool if it was anyone else. That guy couldn’t do anything undetected.”

I glanced sideways at HP. “I think Freddy’s just expected to know about it; I’m sure he hasn’t done it himself.”

“Yeah, well.” HP swirled the sponge over another plate. “I get the feeling he probably has some firsthand experience with illegal activity that he hasn’t disclosed. You can’t work with chemical warfare and remain completely innocent.”

I weighed what he said but didn’t speak. Upstairs Saskia’s footsteps creaked on the floorboards outside Olive’s bedroom, and HP looked up at the ceiling.

“Nobody’s innocent anymore.” I slowly clipped the old cupboard door closed. “It doesn’t matter what job you do: it’s a rite of passage.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’ve all gotten older. It’s impossible to do that without taking damage, or causing it.”

He turned to face me then, his arms hanging by his sides. Suds dripped from his fingertips onto the tiled floor.

“I can’t ever tell what you’re getting at lately.”

“I’m not getting at anything.”

“You’re just . . .” He threw out one hand so that small drops of water splattered against the wall. “You’re so negative about everything. Sometimes you’re a real downer.”

“HP, in my experience—”

“Oh, change the tune. Seriously. All you know are death marches.”

I stepped with my hand on the kitchen door. “I can’t believe you think that about me.”

“You’ve been churning out misery for a decade. Can’t you see that we feel sorry for you? All of us?”

All of us? What was that supposed to even mean? With his back to the door, he couldn’t see my eyes burning into the back of his skull. I kept my voice level. “If I’m so difficult to be around, do you even want me to babysit?”

“Yes. Olive likes you. We decided long ago to include you in our family, to take the high road, to try to help you. But it would be a lot easier if you didn’t act like Eeyore in Olive’s Winnie-the-Pooh book.” Despite the wisecrack, he didn’t turn around. I slinked out and on the way up the stairs passed Saskia.

“Going to bed already?” Shadows from the landing window wisped across her composed face; even at night she glowed. “Are you okay?”

I laughed. “HP and I had a fight. He’s being an asshole. It’s nothing.”

She sighed. It sounded maternal and made me gag. “Well, sometimes that happens. It’s best to just sleep it off and it’ll all be all right in the morning.”

“You talk like you know him better than me,” I said.

Her face screwed up into a question mark. “I’m his wife. Of course I know him.”

“Do you know about Thomson?”

Her eyes shot up as if jolted.

There it was. Real, faltering doubt. HP hadn’t told his wife about his poor dead brother. She looked about to cry.

“Listen,” I said. “Forget about that. All I’m saying is that wives, husbands—for a lot of people it’s nothing but a job description and there’s always the hope of promotion.”

Saskia placed her arm carefully on the railing and moved down one step past me. “Is this what you and Hamish were fighting about—you bringing up the institution of marriage again?”

“No. HP and I were disputing more important things.” She still wouldn’t walk all the way down the stairs. “Look, everything’s fine. Apparently, it doesn’t matter what I think or what I say.”

“Maybe stop talking all the time, then,” she snapped.

“Excuse me?”

She lifted her chin. “Just shut up a little bit. Nobody would mind.” It took everything she had to say it. It was like a choir girl swearing in church.

I reached down and patted her on the shoulder. “That’s more like it, Saskia! Good for you. At last you show up to the fight.”