How To Keep A Secret. Sarah Morgan
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Now what?
There had been a spate of car vandalism in the street, and the Wright family, who lived four doors down, had been burgled the summer before, but generally this was a quiet, safe area of London loved by residents and tourists alike. She’d certainly never had anyone in uniform standing on her doorstep. “Mrs. Hudson?”
“Yes.” Lauren smiled her best hostess smile. “How can I help?”
The younger of the two officers looked sick, as if he was suddenly wishing he’d picked any job except this one, and she knew then that this wasn’t about a neighborhood crime.
Her legs turned to liquid. “What has happened?”
The older policewoman took charge, her eyes kind. “Do you have somewhere quiet we can talk?”
Quiet? Lauren gave a hysterical laugh. “I have thirty guests in the house, all celebrating my husband’s birthday, so no, not really. I’m waiting for him to come home.”
One look at their faces told her everything she needed to know.
Ed wouldn’t be coming home tonight, or any other night. He wasn’t going to eat his cake, nor toast his birthday with champagne.
Ed wasn’t late.
He was gone.
Jenna
Envy: the desire to have for oneself something possessed by another.
ON HER QUEST to make a romantic dinner, Jenna stopped at the store on her way home and bought food. While she was there, she paused by the magazines and glanced at the covers.
“How to Get a Bikini Body.”
“Beat Those Cravings.”
Judging from the covers, she wasn’t the only one with a problem.
She glanced over her shoulder to check no one was looking and dropped two magazines into her basket.
“Jenna? Jenna! I thought it was you.”
Jenna turned the magazines over. “Hi, Sylvia.”
She’d been at school with Sylvia, but their lives had diverged. Jenna had gone off to college and Sylvia had stayed on island and proceeded to pop out children as if she was on a personal mission to increase the number of year-rounders. Personally Jenna was relieved when the summer people left. The roads were clearer, the beaches were empty and you didn’t have to stand in line for ages at the bakery.
She put field greens, tomatoes and bell peppers into her basket. “How are the children?” Why had she asked that question? The Dentons had six kids. She could potentially be here for hours.
She only half listened as Sylvia talked about the stress of ferrying the children to and from piano lessons, swimming lessons, art class and football.
I’d like that type of stress, Jenna thought.
Sylvia was still talking. “And poor Kaley was in hospital with her asthma again. Your mom was so kind. Visited every day. She’s great with the kids. And she loves babies. Isn’t it about time you and Greg started a family?” The way Sylvia said it suggested that producing babies was something Jenna might have forgotten to do in the day-to-day pressure of living their lives.
Jenna fingered an overripe tomato, wondering whether the pleasure of pulping it against Sylvia’s perfect white shirt would outweigh the inevitable fallout.
Probably not.
She dropped the tomato into her basket and made a vague comment about being busy.
“I must get home.” She grabbed a bottle of wine. She probably shouldn’t be drinking, but she wasn’t pregnant, so why not? Greg wanted her to relax, didn’t he? She’d rather drink wine than go to yoga, and after her earlier encounter with her mother she needed it.
“My Alice loves those stories you read to them, Adventures with My Sister. Could you tell me the author? Is it a series? I’m going to buy those books for her birthday. Her favorite is the story about them freeing the lobsters.”
“They’re not published,” Jenna said. “I make them up. I used to tell stories to my niece when she was little and somehow I carried on doing it with my class.”
“No way! Really? Well you should be writing books, not teaching. Where do you get all those wonderful ideas? You must have quite the imagination.”
“Thank you.”
That and a colorful childhood to draw on for inspiration.
“If you wrote those stories down, the whole class would buy them, that’s for sure.”
Write the stories down.
Why hadn’t she ever thought of that?
Author: a person who composes a book, article or other written work.
“By the way—” Sylvia’s tone was casual “—I was driving through Edgartown half an hour ago and I happened to see a pickup truck parked outside your mother’s house. Guess who was driving it? Scott Rhodes.” She lowered her voice, as if the mere mention of that name might be enough to get her arrested. “He looked as bad and dangerous as ever. I swear the man never smiles. What is his problem? I didn’t know he knew your mom.”
She hadn’t known that either. Thoughts of a new life as an author flew from her head.
What was he doing calling on her mother? And if Sylvia had seen him half an hour ago then that meant Jenna must have missed him by minutes.
Scott Rhodes?
She remembered the summer she’d first seen him. He’d been stripped to the waist and across the powerful bulk of his shoulders she’d seen the unmistakable mark of a tattoo. That tattoo had fascinated her. Her mother wouldn’t even allow her to have her ears pierced.
Scott didn’t seem to care what other people thought and that, to Jenna, had been the coolest thing of all.
She was aware that she cared far too much. She was a people pleaser, but in a small island community that ran on goodwill, she didn’t know how to be any other way.
Scott Rhodes, on the other hand, answered to no one but himself and she envied that. Even looking at him made her feel as if she was doing something she shouldn’t, as if by stepping into his space you made a statement about yourself and who you were. Danger by association. She expected to feel her mother’s hand close over her shoulder any moment.
Not that she’d been that interested. She was in love with Greg. Greg, who she knew so well he almost seemed like an extension of her. Greg, who smiled almost all the time.
Scott Rhodes rarely smiled. It was as if he and life were on opposing sides.
She’d been studying his muscles and deeply tanned chest with rapt attention when he glanced up and caught her looking. There was no smile, no wink, no suggestive gaze. Nothing. His face was inscrutable.
Scott worked at the boatyard and did the occasional carpentry job for people. He slept on his boat, anchored offshore, as if ready to sail away at a moment’s notice.
Why would Scott Rhodes be visiting her mother?
Hi, Mom, I hear you had the devil on your doorstep…
Aware that Sylvia was waiting for a response, Jenna shrugged. “My mother knows everyone. And she still plays a role in the yachting community. Scott knows boats.”
Sylvia nodded. “That’s probably it.” It was obvious that she didn’t think that was the reason at all, and neither did Jenna.
It nagged at her