Sarah Morgan - How To Keep A Secret

“We’re young and we haven’t been trying that long, Jenna.”

“Seventeen months, one week and two days. Don’t you think it’s time we talked to a doctor?”

“We don’t need to do that.” He eased away. “Think of all the great sex we can have while we’re making this baby.”

But it’s not working.

“I’d like to talk to someone.”

He sighed. “You’re very tense all the time.”

She couldn’t get pregnant. What did he expect?

“If you’re about to tell me to relax, I’ll injure you.”

He pulled her back into his arms. “You work so hard. You give everything you have to those kids in your class—”

“I love my job.”

“Maybe you could go to yoga or something.”

“I can’t sit still long enough to do yoga.”

“Something else then. I don’t know—”

This time she was the one who pulled away. “Don’t you dare buy me a book on mindfulness.”

“Damn, there goes my Christmas gift.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the mouth. “Hang in there, honey.” The look in his eyes made her want to cry.

“We’re going to be late for work.”

Twenty hyperactive six-year-olds were waiting for her. Other people’s six-year-olds. She adjudicated arguments, mopped tears, educated them and tried not to imagine how it would be if one of those kids was hers.

Every day at school she taught the children a new word. Definitions had a way of flashing through her head even when she didn’t want them to. Like now.

Disappointed: saddened by the failing of an expectation.

Frustrated: having feelings of dissatisfaction or lack of fulfilment.

“It would be easier if people didn’t keep asking when we’re going to have a baby.”

“They do that?”

“All the time.” She grabbed her makeup from the bathroom. “It must be a woman thing. Maybe I should stop being evasive. Next time someone asks me I should tell them we’re having nonstop sex.”

“They already know.”

“How?”

He grinned. “A couple of weeks ago you texted me at work.”

“Plenty of wives text their husbands at work.”

“But generally those texts don’t say Hey, hot stuff, I’m naked and ready for sex.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, except Pamela had my phone.”

“No!” She felt a rush of mortification. “Why?”

“She’s my receptionist. I was with a client. I left it with her in case someone had an emergency. I wasn’t to know you would be having a sex emergency.”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or hide.” Jenna covered her mouth with her hand. “Pamela was my babysitter. She still treats me as if I’m six years old.”

“We can rest assured she now knows you’re all grown up.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She handed me my phone back, but I have no doubt that our sex life will be the topic of discussion at the knitting group, the book group and the conservation commission meeting. If we’re lucky, it might not be on the agenda for the annual town meeting.”

“Do you think she’ll mention it to my mother?”

“Given that your mother is a member of both the book group and the conservation commission, not to mention numerous other committees on this island, I think the answer to that is yes. But so what?”

“It will be another transgression to add to a very long list.”

Jenna had once overheard her mother say Lauren never gave me any trouble, but Jenna —She’d paused at that point, as if to confirm that there were no words to describe Jenna’s wayward nature.

“Whenever I’m with my mother I still feel as if I should be sitting in the naughty corner.”

Greg gave a slow smile. “What happens in this naughty corner? Is there room for two?”

“She thinks you’re perfect. The only thing I’ve ever done that has won the approval of my mother is marry you! It drives me batshit crazy.”

“Batshit—” Greg arched an eyebrow. “Is that today’s word?”

“If you’re not careful I’ll tell her what a bad influence you are.”

“We’re married, Jenna. We are allowed to have sex wherever and whenever we like as long as we don’t get arrested for public indecency.”

“I know, but—you know my mother. She’ll sigh the way she does when she despairs of me. She’ll be wishing I was more like my sister.” Although Jenna adored Lauren, she had never wanted to be her. “My mother is the beating heart of this island. If anyone is in trouble she’s there with her flaky double-crusted pies and endless support. She’s closer to Betty at the store than she is to me.” And it was a never-ending source of frustration and hurt that she and her mother didn’t have a better relationship.

Jenna considered herself easygoing. She got along well with pretty much everyone.

Why did it feel so hard to talk to her mother?

“Parent-child relationships are complicated.”

Dysfunctional: relationships or behavior which are different from what is considered to be normal.

“I get that. What I don’t get is why it still bothers me so much. Why can’t I accept things the way they are? It’s exhausting.”

“Mmm.” Greg glanced at his watch. “Happy to deliver a lecture on the latest research into mother-daughter relationships, but I charge by the half hour and you can’t afford me.” He kissed her again. “Get dressed, or the next thing they’ll be discussing at the annual town meeting is the fact that their first-grade teacher was standing in front of the class wearing her dinosaur pajamas. Want me to cook tonight?”

“It’s my turn. And speaking of my mother, I’m visiting her later.”

“Thanks for the warning. Better pick up a bottle of something strong when you pass the store.”

“Visits were so much easier when my dad was alive.”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “He was always on the golf course.”

“But he usually wandered in at some point and he was always pleased to see me. Mom still thinks I’m a wild child.”

“It’s the reason I married you. I’ll see you tonight, and you can be as wild as you like.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Text me later to let me know how you are?”

“Only if you promise not to give Pamela your phone.”

“Or you could stop sexting.” He pulled her against him. “On second thoughts, don’t stop sexting. I like it and it’s great for my reputation.”

“Oh please—your island approval ratings are already through the roof.” She shoved at his chest. “Go.”

“I’ll see you later.” He scooped up his coat and car keys and made for the door. “Oh and, Jenna—”

“What?”

“Try to relax.” He winked at her and was gone before she could throw something.

Shivering in the blast of cold air he’d let into the house, she walked back into the bedroom and glanced out of the window.

Despite everything, he’d made her smile. He always made her smile.

Then she noticed him standing by the car, his shoulders slumped, and her smile faded.

He was always so upbeat about everything, but right now he didn’t look upbeat. Was he putting on an act for her sake?

She waited until he drove away, then swapped pajamas for her smart black pants. Last year they’d fitted perfectly but now they were tight around the waist and she knew that had nothing to do with being pregnant and everything to do with the fact she’d started using food as a comfort.

Greg had left coffee for her and she poured herself a cup, reached for the oatmeal and then changed her mind and took a cupcake from the tin instead. She’d made them the day before and decorated them with sugar icing. They were supposed to be a peace offering for her mother, something she could take to her book group, but she wasn’t going to miss one, was she?