How To Keep A Secret. Sarah Morgan
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Was there a man alive you could be sure of?
“Mrs. Stewart.” His voice was somewhere between the rough, sexy drawl of a whiskey drinker and the low growl of a jungle cat. It occurred to her that if that voice hadn’t been attached to a man she’d grown to trust, it might have left her feeling uneasy, as would those narrow watchful eyes.
“Thank you for coming. It was good of you.”
“I was surprised to get your call. I thought it might be a mistake.” His handshake was firm but that didn’t surprise her. It had been his physical strength, among other things, that had saved the both of them that night.
“No mistake.” The mistakes, she thought, had been made long before. “You’d better come in. There’s something I need to say to you.”
Lauren
Party: a social gathering, for pleasure, often held as a celebration
LAUREN CHECKED HER list and made a final sweep of the house.
She knew the place looked good.
She’d poured her interest in interior design into her own home, and while Mack was in school she learned trade skills such as paint effects and upholstery. She filled notebooks with photographs and sketches and shopped for fabric and objects. Gradually she’d transformed their London home into an elegant space perfect for family living but also for entertaining.
Occasionally friends asked for her advice on decorating and Lauren was always happy to help. She had an eye for space and color and could see potential in the most run-down, tired property. It wasn’t luck or hard work that gave her the ability to see what others didn’t, it was an artistic talent no doubt inherited from her mother. Possibly the only trait she’d inherited from her mother.
And finally she had a qualification and could start taking on paying clients.
Her home was the best advertisement for her skills and abilities, and tonight at Ed’s party there would be people who might potentially give her business.
She’d already decided to set up her own company but had yet to decide on a name.
City Chic?
Urban Chic?
She took a final glance round the living room, satisfied that everything was exactly as it should be.
She heard the front door slam, signifying Mack’s return from school, and unconsciously braced herself.
Her daughter strolled into the room. Mack was tall and did everything in her power to disguise that fact. She was at that age where anything that drew attention was considered embarrassing and to be avoided at all costs, so she slouched to make herself appear smaller.
Lauren had green eyes, but Mack’s were blue. Her hair, even with hints of pink blending in with honey and caramel, was her best feature.
Lauren had a sudden vision of Mack lying in her crib asleep, then holding up chubby arms as an adorable toddler.
“Did you shorten your skirt?”
Noticing her mother, Mack tugged her headphones away from her ears. “What?”
“Did you shorten your skirt?” Immediately she regretted making that the first thing she said.
“No. I grew. It happens. I could stop eating, but then you’d nag me about that, too.” Mack opened the fridge and stared into it as if something in there had personally offended her. “There’s nothing in here.”
How could a fridge full of food be “nothing”?
“The caterers are setting up. There are bagels.” Lauren opened her mouth to tell her not to keep the fridge door open, and then closed it again. Did she nag? “How was your day?”
“I spent it at school. Enough said.” Mack split a bagel and toasted it.
“I had coffee with Ruth and Helen today. They mentioned an ancestry project you’re working on. Sounds interesting.”
“Interesting?” Mack spread cream cheese on the bagel. “I guess that’s one word for it.”
What had happened to her eager, enthusiastic daughter?
“Do you need help? You know our ancestors on my side of the family were whaling captains? Martha’s Vineyard played an important role in the whaling industry. Nantucket mostly provided the ships, but the Vineyard provided the captains and crews and other support.” Seeing that Mack was barely engaged in the conversation, Lauren stopped. She knew she was trying too hard. Maybe she should make it more personal. “Edgartown, where Grams lives, was one of the most important ports on the coast. The Captain’s House was built in the nineteenth century. Your grandparents spent a lot of time restoring it—” She broke off, aware that she’d lost her audience. She might as well have been having a conversation with the freezer.
Mack carried on eating, unresponsive.
Lauren slid onto the stool next to her. “Did something happen today?”
“No.”
Lauren felt a rush of frustration, and mingled in with the stress of it was sadness because she remembered days when Mack would come running in from school, all smiles, desperate to share something that had happened during the day. Look, Mommy, look at this.
Those days had gone.
“Mrs. Hallam called yesterday.”
“Yeah? I bet the conversation was thrilling.” Mack was careless, but Lauren saw her daughter’s cheeks flush.
“She’s concerned about you. About your grades. She wants us to set up a meeting.”
“Grades. That’s what this is about?”
“This?”
“When you hijack me in the kitchen, I know there’s something. I don’t know why you don’t come right out with it.” Mack put the knife down on the counter, smearing grease.
Lauren sat on her hands to stop herself from snatching the knife up and wiping up the mess. “I didn’t ‘hijack’ you. I want you to know you can talk to me, that’s all.”
“No, what you want is for me to talk to you whether I want to or not about a topic of your choice. Not the same thing.”
Parenting a teenager was like navigating a treacherous swamp. You took a step and hoped you’d plant your foot on solid ground, but it was equally likely you might find yourself sucked under.
“I’m worried about you, Mack. Not speaking up in class? You talk more than anyone I know. And you’re smart, and yet your grades are dropping.”
“I’m bored, okay? I’m sick of English. And history. What use are those? Why doesn’t my school teach computer coding or something interesting and useful that might actually lead to a job?”
Lauren kept calm. “Maybe we can find you a weekend class on computing if that’s what you’d like. But school is important, too. And studying. Our choices have consequences.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Mack gave her a hard look. “They do.”
Something about the way her daughter was staring at her didn’t feel right.
“Mack—”
Mack slid off the stool and slung her schoolbag over her shoulder. “Are we done here? Because I have a ton of homework.”
“We’ll talk about this another time.”
“Great. Something to look forward to.”
Lauren thought, I don’t have the patience for this. “Guests are arriving at eight. Dad will