Barbara Delinsky - The Secret Between Us

Deborah didn’t need the reminder. It made her think of her failings, which brought the accident front and center again. She held her hair back from her face. “Why are you telling me now? Why in this awful minute when I have so much else on my mind?”

“Because,” Jill said, suddenly pleading, “like I said on the phone, you’re more human after last night, so I’m thinking that right now you’ll understand and still love me.”

Deborah stared at her sister. Jill had just added a complication to her already complicated life, but a new baby was a new baby. Reaching out, she took her sister’s hand. “Do I have a choice?”

Grace loitered just beyond the school fence, gnawing on her cuticle until the final bell rang. Then, clutching her jacket tightly around her, she ran down the path and, joining the other stragglers, dashed up the stairs, into the high school. Keeping her head down, she slipped into her homeroom seat and barely heard the announcements until the principal said that Mr. McKenna had been hit by a car, was in the hospital, and deserved a moment’s prayer. Grace gave him that and then some, but stole out of the room the instant the bell rang again and, squatting in front of her locker, tried to make herself invisible. Friends stopped for a few seconds to chat. Did you know that Jarred has mono? Why is Kenny Baron running for student body president? Are you going to Kim’s party Saturday night? Grace only rose when it was seconds before her first class. Megan and Stephie came up and flanked her before she reached the door.

“We kept trying to call you,” Megan hissed.

“Where were you?” asked Stephie.

“Kyle told me it was your mom’s car that hit Mr. McKenna.”

“Were you there? What did you see, Grace? Was it gross ?”

“I can’t talk about it,” Grace said.

“I thought I’d die when I saw your mom sitting outside,” Stephie muttered.

“How much does she know?” Megan asked Grace. “Did she notice anything?”

“No,” Grace said.

“And you didn’t tell her?” Stephie asked.

“No.”

“And you won’t tell her,” Megan ordered.

“No.”

“Well, that’s good. Because if word gets back to my parents, I’ll be grounded ’til fall.”

Grounded ’til fall? Grace could live with being grounded ’til fall. As punishments went, that would be easy.

Michael Barr was revered in Leyland. A family practitioner before family practitioners had come back into vogue, he had spent his entire career in the town. He was the doctor of record for three generations of local families, and had their undying loyalty as a reward.

He owned a pale blue Victorian house just off the town green. It was the same house where Deborah and Jill had grown up, and while Michael had always run his practice from the adjacent cottage, both structures had grown over the years. The last of the work, to the cottage, was done eight years before as a lure for Deborah to join the practice.

In truth, she hadn’t needed much encouragement. She adored her father and loved seeing the pride on his face when she was accepted into medical school and again when she agreed to work with him. She was the son he’d never had, and, besides, she and Greg were already living in Leyland, which made it convenient. Grace was six, born shortly before Deborah started medical school, and, by the time her residency was done, she was pregnant with Dylan. Her mother, a born nurturer, would have provided child care in a minute had Deborah and Greg not already employed the de Sousas. Lívia served as a sitter, Adinaldo a handyman, and there were de Sousa relatives to do gardening, roofing, and plumbing. Lívia still stopped by to clean and make dinner, and since Deborah’s mother died, the de Sousas did similar chores for her father. He wasn’t as enamored of them as she was, but then, no one could measure up to Ruth Barr.

Juggling her medical bag, bakery bag, and coffee, Deborah picked up the morning paper and went in the side door of the house. The accident would definitely be reported in the local weekly on Thursday. But in today’s Boston Globe ? She prayed not.

There was no sign of her father in the kitchen—no coffee percolating, no waiting mug or bagel on a napkin beside it. She guessed that he had overslept again. Since Ruth died, he had taken to watching old movies in the den until he was sure he could fall asleep without her.

Deborah set her things on the kitchen table and, not for the first time, wished her father would bend enough to accept a pastry from Jill’s shop. People drove miles for her signature pecan buns, SoMa Stickies. But not Michael. Coffee and a supermarket bagel. That was all he wanted.

She hated the thought of telling him about Jill’s pregnancy.

“Daddy?” Deborah called in the front hall and approached the stairs. “Are you up?”

She heard nothing at first, then the creak of a chair. Cutting through the living room, she found her father in the den, sitting with his head in his hands, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

Discouraged, she knelt by his knee. “You never made it to bed?”

He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes, disoriented at first. “Guess not,” he managed, running a hand through his hair. It had gone pure white since his wife’s death. He claimed it gave him new authority with his patients, but Deborah thought he was something of an autocrat already.

“You have an early patient,” she reminded him now. “Want to shower while I put on coffee?” When he didn’t move, she felt a twinge of concern. “Are you okay?”

“A headache is all.”

“Aspirin?” she offered meekly. It was a standing joke. They knew all the current meds, but aspirin remained their default.

He shot her something that was as much a grimace as a smile, but took her hand and let himself be helped up. As soon as he left the room, Deborah noticed the whiskey bottle and empty glass. Hurriedly, she put the bottle back in the liquor cabinet and took the highball glass to the kitchen.

While she waited for the coffee to perk, she sliced his bagel, then called the hospital. Calvin McKenna remained in stable condition. This was good news, as was, she discovered next, the absence of mention of the accident in the Globe .

Hearing steps on the stairs, she refolded the paper and poured coffee. She was spreading cream cheese on the bagel when her father joined her. He was his usual well-dressed self. Putting an arm around her, he gave her a squeeze, then reached for his coffee.

“Better?” she asked after he had taken several swallows.

“Oh yeah.” Other than bloodshot eyes, he had cleaned up well. “Thanks, sweetheart. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Not quite,” she said and took the opening. “Grace and I were in an accident last night. We’re both fine—not a scratch—but we hit a man.”

Her father was a minute taking it in, his face filled with concern, then relief, then uncertainty. “Hit?”

“He was just suddenly there in front of the car. It was out on the rim road. Visibility was really bad.” When her father didn’t seem to follow, she prompted, “The rain? Remember?”

“Yes, I remember. That’s awful, Deborah. Do we know him?”

“He teaches history at the high school. Grace has him.”

“Is he one of ours?”

One of their patients? “No.”

“How badly is he hurt?”

She related what she knew.

“Not life threatening, then,” her father decided as she had.