House Of Secrets (3 page)

I must have been as pale as I felt, because when I turned to face Mark, he was up and across the room in a matter of seconds.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.

I put the cell phone down on the desk and shook my head. “My father . . . he . . . well. It’s hard to explain. He’s called a family meeting of sorts. I’m supposed to fly to Seattle tomorrow.”

“Seattle?”

For reasons beyond me, I found myself spilling out more information than I’d ever intended. “We . . . Dad has a summer house in Bremerton. We haven’t been back there—well, since I was twelve. Dad said he had something important to tell us.” I couldn’t imagine what it might be, but the very thought of it left me trembling. Was he sick? Getting married?

“Are you all right?” Mark put his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just surprised, is all. My father isn’t really the type to pull these secret get-togethers. It has me somewhat concerned.”

“Did he sound like something was wrong?”

I shook my head. “No, in fact, he sounded . . . what can I say? Happy, excited?”

Mark smiled. “Then don’t borrow trouble. Maybe it’s something really good.”

I looked at him oddly, eyebrows raised. Something good? In the Cooper family? “I’m sorry, Mark, but I think you’d better go. I’ll need to pack, and I still have to finish this edit tonight. I’ll send it in before I go. If you have another project ready for me, please just email it. I promise to keep up with the work no matter what happens in Washington or how long I’m gone.”

“Really, Bailee, are you sure you wouldn’t just like some time off?”

“No!”

He almost flinched at the sound of my harsh reply. His left brow lifted slightly, and he narrowed his gaze, question marks filling his expression.

“I’m sorry, Mark. I’m just trying to sort everything out in my mind. There’s so much to do to get ready. I need to talk to my sisters too.”

He seemed reluctant to let the topic drop, but I was grateful when he didn’t ask anything further. “I guess I’ll see myself out. You’re sure you can’t take an hour out for dinner? You have to eat—”

“I’m sure,” I said, moving toward the door. “I’m sorry, Mark. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He paused and studied me intently. “If you want to talk about this . . . I’ll be there for you.”

“Thanks,” I replied, opening the door and practically pushing him through it. But I paused and our eyes locked for a long moment. “I’ll be in touch,” I said softly.

I closed the door and rested my head against it, suddenly weary. I wanted to call Dad back and tell him that I wouldn’t be joining them. I wanted to tell him I could never go back to that place—to those memories. My therapist had been urging me to make just such a trip, but I hadn’t been able to convince myself. Now it seemed the decision had been taken out of my hands. Could I really refuse?

I leaned hard against the door and slid to the floor. At last I was being drawn back to that house of secrets—to those hidden memories of loss and sorrow. For so long I had fooled myself into believing the past would never catch up with me. But now the moment of truth had come . . . and if there was a hell, I just knew that demons were dancing in delight.

Y
esterday I was arguing with Mark in Boston, and now I was waiting in a rental car to pull onto the ferry for Bremerton. A misty rain fell, putting a chill in the air and sending me back to a time I’d hoped to forget.

“Momma, does it always rain here?” I’d asked my mother. In my mind’s eye I was standing at the window in the ferry lounge. Water streaked the window and obscured my view.

“I don’t know,” she told me. “Seems like every time we come here it rains. Maybe God is just as sad about it as I am.”

I never knew why she was so sad about going to Bremerton. It seemed to me that the area, despite the rain, was beautiful and summers far nicer than some of the other places we’d lived. Momma didn’t like being what she called “displaced.” I never understood that either.

“The ferry is docking,” Piper said as she opened the car door. She and Geena had gone for a little walk while I remained in the car.

Geena climbed into the front seat while Piper got in back. “They said it will take an hour to get over to Bremerton. Couldn’t we have just driven it?”

“With traffic and the distance it would have taken longer,” I told her. The cars began to disembark the ferry heading into Seattle. It would only be a few minutes before we’d be able to drive onto the
Kitsap
and head to Bremerton.

“I always liked the ferry ride,” Piper said. “I used to pretend it was a great ship taking me far away.”

The cars began to inch forward and in no time at all they had us loaded. The marine highway was extremely efficient, I had to give them that much.

“Are you coming upstairs with me?” Geena asked. “I want to get something to drink.”

I looked at her for a moment and shook my head. She looked nothing like a lawyer or professional of any sort. Instead, wearing black skinny jeans tucked into ankle boots, a mottled red-print tee, and blazer, Geena looked more fashion model than studious lawyer material. She wrapped a black scarf around her throat and turned to Piper.

“How about you?”

“Sure, I’ll come,” Piper said, opening the door with care. “If I can squeeze out. They sure park us in here tight.”

“I’m just gonna sit here and doze,” I told them. “You can bring me some coffee.”

I reclined the seat and settled back. Frankly, I had a twinge of guilt for not going with them. I’d always felt a strange need to protect them—to watch over them. Dad used to say it was because I was so sensitive, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something more. Why should a child feel it was her responsibility to take care of her siblings—of her family? I couldn’t remember ever being free from that thought. Now, as we headed ever so slowly from the harbor, the sensation of guilt coupled with duty left me feeling exhausted and wary. The days to come were ones I dreaded. But like a fatal attraction I was drawn to see them through.

Funny, the thought of “fatal attractions” brought me back to Mark. We had worked together for so long now that we could very nearly read each other’s minds when it came to the projects at hand. I couldn’t help but think of the time when he took me with him to Long Island, where we met with some Kennedy cousin or in-law. She wanted to write a book about being a nobody in a family of somebodies. Mark and I listened to her thoughts on what she wanted to write and almost immediately had the same idea for how the book might come together. That happened a lot.

We liked a lot of the same books—the same foods. I had little trouble talking to him about anything . . . so long as it wasn’t personal. We could discuss history, politics, movies, and of course books, and never feel a moment’s unease. But just let the conversation drift into personal experiences . . . family . . . relationships, and I was lost. I tried to imagine myself explaining my trepidation about this trip. How could I open the crypt to the family skeletons and not expect Mark to go running in the opposite direction? He was a good man, but he wasn’t perfect. No one was. Well . . . Mark would try to remind me that God was perfect, but even God turned away that night fifteen years ago.

Closing my eyes, I tried not to think of those last days at the summer house, but I couldn’t help it. I could see it all as if it were yesterday.

“What’s Daddy doing?” Geena had asked.

We girls were gathered on the upstairs landing that overlooked the open downstairs living area. “He’s making Momma her cocoa,” I told them.

“I want some,” Piper said, her six-year-old voice a little louder than I would have liked.

Of course, given the fact that Momma was playing her rock music as loud as the stereo would allow, I didn’t figure Dad would hear us.

“We’re supposed to be asleep,” eight-year-old Geena said.

Just then our father crossed the room to switch off the music. I fully expected our mother to complain, but there wasn’t as much as a word. I couldn’t tell if she was even still in the living room. Maybe she’d gone to bed.

Without the music playing, however, I could hear another sound. It was our father and he was muttering and talking to himself. He was also crying. At least that was what it sounded like. I heard him sniffing and saw him wipe the back of his hand against his eyes.

“Why is Daddy crying?” Geena asked in a hushed whisper.

So it wasn’t my imagination. He really was crying. I’d never seen this before and it scared me. Something must have been very wrong if he was that upset.

“I have to do this for the girls.” His words were as clear as those Geena had just spoken. I shook my head and leaned closer to the rail.

“It’s for them. They will be safe.”

He took a prescription bottle from his pocket and opened it. I was mesmerized by the scene. What was he doing? What did he have to do for the girls—for us? I suppressed a yawn and watched as he crushed the pills and sprinkled them in the hot chocolate.

“What’s he doing?” Piper asked.

I pushed her back and put my finger to my lips. Returning my attention to the scene below, I watched as our father mixed the medication into the drink. I was old enough to know that something was desperately wrong. I wanted to go to Daddy and offer him whatever comfort I could, but instead I sat frozen in place.

“It has to be this way. I must be strong and see this through,” our father said. He put the spoon aside and squared his shoulders. He stood completely still for a few moments. I guessed that he was calming himself and getting his tears under control.

“Tony? What happened to the music?” our mother questioned. She sounded far off, and I figured she was probably in the master bedroom. “Tony, you know how important it is.”

“I was afraid it would wake the girls,” Daddy called back. “I fixed your hot chocolate while you were showering. It’s ready if you want it.”

Momma said something I couldn’t understand and Daddy picked up the cup and moved out of sight. I punched Geena lightly.

“We need to go back to bed.”

I hoped that Daddy wouldn’t hear us scurrying across the floor. I waited until Geena and Piper disappeared into their rooms before heading into mine. What was going on? What had we just witnessed?

The scene faded from my thoughts and I tried to open my eyes, but my lids felt like they were weighted down. I could hear my mother humming as she often did. She told me this was to keep the FBI from reading her mind. She said they were trying to find her—to use her against her will to help them solve a crime. I couldn’t remember the first time she’d told me this, but it seemed I’d always known it.

Now I was walking down the stone steps to the beach. My mother’s humming grew louder. I called to her—at least I think I did. Everything seemed so confused and obscured. A hazy darkness seemed to settle over my vision as I lifted my gaze to the water.

“Bailee?”

I opened my eyes to find Geena tapping on the window and calling my name. I unlocked the door and she slid onto the seat.

“Here’s your coffee. It tastes pretty strong so I put quite a bit—” She stopped in midsentence. “Are you all right?”

I shook the scene from my mind, straightened, and put the seatback upright. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I cast a quick glance behind her. “Where’s Piper?”

“Restroom. What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “I was just thinking back to that night.” I took the coffee from Geena. “I closed my eyes and that’s what came to mind.”

“I suppose it’s only natural.” She looked out the front windshield to the back of the SUV in front of us. “Why do you think Dad’s arranged this?”

“No idea.” I sipped the coffee and grimaced. It was strong even with the cream Geena had thoughtfully added.

Geena turned to lean back against the door. She fixed me with a hard stare. “You don’t suppose he’s going to tell us the truth, do you?”

It had crossed my mind. “I don’t know. I suppose better late than never, but I can’t imagine he would.”

“Piper thinks he might. We were talking about it on the way to the airport.”

I tried to put it all in perspective. “But why now? Why after all this time would he finally be willing to talk to us?”

“Maybe he’s feeling guilty. Maybe he plans to come clean.”

I couldn’t imagine the family secrets being laid out on the table—not even for us. Piper popped out several vehicles ahead. She seemed to have lost track of where our car was. I leaned out the open window and waved.

“Over here, Piper!” I called. She heard me and made her way over.

“He didn’t sound guilty,” I said, turning back to Geena. “He sounded strange—not at all like himself.”

“I know what you mean. He did lack that businesslike determination when I talked to him on the phone. He almost sounded—”

“I couldn’t remember what kind of car we rented,” Piper declared as she got into the back seat. Neither Geena nor I said a word. She looked at us and the smile faded from her expression. “You’re talking about it, aren’t you?”

“
It?
Have we really reduced that night to nothing more than
It
?”

Piper crossed her arms and sat back. She looked irritated. “I don’t know why we have to be quiet about that night. It’s been fifteen years. We ought to be able to ask Dad to explain what happened.”

“We ought to be able to do a lot of things,” I replied, feeling more frustration than I cared to admit. Piper had been so young and all I had wanted to do was protect her. I still felt like that was my number one job in the family.

Geena, ever the realist, glanced over her shoulder at Piper. “Our father killed our mother. What’s to explain?”