Secret by James R. Edgerton
So, no, concentrating was not hard. What was extremely hard was thinking about mundane things like work. Or groceries. She had forgotten yogurt and bread on her Sunday grocery trip, which had forced her to make an extra trip for those items. She hated extra trips.
A kiss not even five seconds long and her heart was turned topsy-turvy.
"Great. Shall I pick you up at your house or do you want go from here?"
"Hmm," she pondered. "Just coffee?"
"At least coffee."
"Ah. In that case, pick me up at my place. Say 6:30."
"6:30?" he queried. "How about we do dinner first, then coffee?"
"Now it's dinner?"
"You don't want your date to drop dead while you are out with him, do you? Think of the paperwork."
Almost against her will she laughed at his joke. She would, she knew, laugh at almost anything he said that was even mildly funny. The fact that he actually had a pretty good sense of humor--though dry--made it irresistible.
Made him irresistible.
Impulsively, she leaned over and gave him a peck on his cheek. She blushed when she realized what she had done. She pulled away, turning. Why had she done that? Here at work! What would she think of her?
"Dinner it is, then!" he said enthusiastically.
* * *
"Ooh!" Ellen blushed as she heard Millie's voice behind her. "I saw that."
"You have no proof!" she insisted. Actually, in this day of cell phone cameras, Ellen was half afraid that her friend might indeed have a photo in evidence. She would die if a picture of her pathetic kiss showed up on Facebook.
"Nope. 'Fraid not. Next time, though. I take it there is going to be a next time?"
Ellen found herself blushing as she faced her friend. "Well, the next time is this evening."
"Good work, girl. Dating on a weeknight. Must be serious."
"Oh, it's serious," she said out loud. Internally she added, "If only I can figure out how to make it work."
* * *
"My folks both drink coffee," Kris said as they settled into seats opposite each other at a small table. There were a dozen places to sit scattered around the interior of the coffee shop. There was a pair of overstuffed chairs occupied by a couple in their fifties. The remaining chairs were at tables. A couple of girls probably just starting college were sitting with textbooks open in front of them. Two or three other tables were taken by couples. And one of the larger tables had a family of four gathered around it. The father seemed to be teasing his older daughter who looked to be about seven, though Ellen could only make out bits of what was being said. "I never really liked it. Tea was often served as an alternative, so I went that route."
"There seem to be a lot more choices these days," Ellen responded. Kris was dunking a tea bag filled with black leaves up and down in a thick paper cup full of hot water. She had never really understood the appeal of tea.
"There do. Used to be just black tea and some herb teas. At least readily available. Now there's black, white, green, and oolong. Not to mention an infinite variety of herb teas and even some medicinal ones. Given the choices when I first got hooked, I am a black tea person."
"Does the caffeine bother you?"
"Frankly, tea is my choice when required to drink a 'hot, social' drink. I tend toward root beer when not pressured by my peers--however delightful they might be," he added smiling at her. "So, I really don't get that much caffeine in my diet."
"You succumb easily to peer pressure?" she teased. From what she had seen so far, she tended to doubt it.
"It depends on which peers I am associating with," he said, flashing her another grin.
She liked his grin. And the fact that he chose to use it on her.
* * *
"You grew up near here?"
"Yeah," Ellen answered, hesitantly. She really didn't want to get into a conversation about her family, though she supposed it was inevitable at some point. There were positive memories of her family. None of them were recent.
Whether he caught the hint or had simply used the question as a chance to chat, he started talking about where he had grown up. "I grew up in the Seattle area. My folks actually had a house out on one of the islands in the sounds south of Seattle. It was pretty neat in some ways, but having to catch the ferry every day to get to school was a drag. Though when I got a bit older, my dad let me take a little boat across some days. That was usually fun."
"Doesn't it rain a lot there?"
"It is raining or drizzling all of the time. There are some breaks in the summer.
"Then around sixth grade, we up and moved to Oregon, where my folks still live.
"For about a year, I hated everything. My life. My folks. The world. I had had to leave my best friends. I had to leave a school where I was well-known. I moved to a town where I didn't have any friends and a school that seemed ... like an alien world. That was the worst two years of my life, and I never want to do those again. I eventually made a few friends, though none as close as those I left behind. Even in high school, where I managed to find a niche--drama and speech--I was not popular like the jocks and the cheerleaders, but I had some decent friends and got some recognition for my skills."
Kris's voice had grown ... distant in the last part. She didn't doubt that the facts were essentially correct, but she had the feeling that there was a lot of blood that watered the roses he chose to point out.
He continued, "I have a younger brother. 3 years. He is in his last year of undergraduate school, though he is thinking about graduate school.
"What about you?"
* * *
Ellen considered. She couldn't politely refuse to say anything. Especially since he had chosen to reveal something of himself to her. She could tell he was holding back. Why not? They hardly knew each other. Sooner or later she would have to discuss her whole painful past with him. Or she should just chop things off now. She could never justify keeping those sorts of things as secrets from a steady boyfriend to say nothing a spouse.
"I grew up near here. We moved a few times as my dad moved up the corporate ladder, but never further than the next bigger house. Around here that may be only a few miles. Until my folks got divorced, that is. My mom, brother and I lived in the old house for awhile. My father got a promotion that moved him about two hours away and into a lovely and yet bigger house. Not long after they split, Mom got sick. My father's payoffs weren't enough to cover the house, and with Mom unable to work, we had to move to an apartment. Mom finally died. I lived with my brother until I went to college. Then I lived on campus until I graduated and got my current job."
"Wow," Kris answered. "That's intense. I am very sorry to hear about your mother."
Ellen had forgotten that she had not told Kris about her mother before. She had kept avoiding for another time. Apparently tonight had been the other time.
"Thank you," Ellen responded politely. She wasn't insincere, however, even now the subject of her mother's death was filled with great pain. She couldn't be more than polite. She had no desire to cry.
However, the pain of her mother's death was totally swamped by the anger. Just thinking about her father's silent and emotionless distance as her mother had been dying brought her to an almost instant boil. Nor dared she admit even to herself in the dark of night the part she feared she had played.
* * *
"Are you and your father close?"
"Close?" Ellen asked, sarcasm and anger mixing in her voice. Somewhere deep in the innermost core of her being, a tiny, long forgotten voice cried, "He doesn't know! How could he know? It was an innocent question. Don't hurt him!" The tiny voice was lost in the rage like a handkerchief trying to hold back a thunderstorm. Rage poured out. "He was screwing around on my mother! I saw ..." Ellen's tirade almost stopped as she realized how for the second time in a few week's her secret had nearly been revealed.
Ellen saw Kris wilting under the tirade. She was hurting him. She couldn't stop herself.
"Then the cad had the guts to show up at the funeral and say nice things about the woman he had driven into the casket he stood in front of. And cry his big alligator tears. It was all I could do not to stand up and spit on him!
"And the day my mother died--that very day!--he asked me to call that glorified slut he married, 'Mom'. She's half the reason my mother died. How dare he sully the memory of my *real* mother by asking me to call that ... woman 'Mom.' I'd rather die.
"So, no. I would not say that we are 'close,'" she finished, nearly spitting the last word into Kris's face.
Even with the flood of words, the anger had not abated. She could feel the rage burning in her chest. Her hands were clenched, as was her jaw.
Ellen watched Kris's face. He looked like a fish out of water, flopping on the dock. Dying in a world of air that he was not designed to survive in. He didn't have a clue what had hit him. Even with the anger flooding her, she felt sorry for him. He hadn't deserved that. She wanted to take back the words. The bitterness. The petty sarcasm. However, she couldn't say so. She couldn't even separate her teeth.
As suddenly as it had come, the anger left. All that was left was the pain. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
Realization flooded through her. She had blown it. It was all over. Every male relationship she had ever ended in an angry fight. She had achieved 100% success. Or failure.
"I hope you are proud, father," she whispered through her tears.
She was afraid everyone in the coffee shop must be staring at them. She dared not look. She jumped up and fled, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
* * *
Ellen ran blindly into the street not looking for cars nor particularly caring what might happen if there were a car coming. Fortunately, the coffee house was not in a busy neighborhood. There were several cars down the road, however, she was across the street safely before they reached her.
She heard voices behind her. She thought she heard her name called, but she didn't slow.
It was hard to be certain in the dark, but she seemed to be in a park. It was not well lit. The path she was following was smooth and level.
What had she done? she asked herself over and over. Her breathing became ragged. She turned onto a side path, slowing to a rapid walk. A few moments later, she heard Kris calling her name. He was heading along the path she had been on. He had apparently not seen her change direction.
She quieted her breathing and stepped into a shadowy area.
"Ellen? Where are you? Are you OK?"
She didn't want to talk to him. Not right now. Maybe never.
"Ellen? Please. Let's talk. I didn't mean to upset you. Ellen?"
A part of her was tempted. Another part of her felt ashamed. She had attacked him angrily. And then she had run out. If she went back now, she would have to explain what she had done and why. Only she didn't really know, other than she just wanted to get away. To hide.
And hide she did. Kris wandered through the park calling for her, apologizing and begging as he did. Ellen admired his persistence, though for her own happiness she would have been happier if he had just let her be. Fully ten minutes passed before he gave up and returned to the coffee bar. Even then he stood looking in her direction for several more minutes before he turned away. She saw him walking toward his car, his head down.
* * *
She had had no plan, and her lack of planning became apparent as she realized that she was a few miles from her apartment. It was dark, and while not truly cold, she had only a light sweater on. She pulled the garment tight around herself, but the evening air soon had her shivering. The exertion of her walk warmed her just a bit.
Between streetlights, she kept imagining horrible things. The rustling of a leaf in the wind became a stalker. Something knocked down by a cat became a thug hiding to steal her money. Shadows became knifemen.
The only positive to the fear was that it drove away her tears. Her heart was beating rapidly from the long walk and pounding from imagined terrors all around.
She had no idea how long it actually took, but she managed to reach her apartment alive and physically unharmed. Emotionally she was a wreck. And the tears started flowing again as soon as she had the door closed and locked behind her.
* * *
There was a small white envelope on her desk. Her name was written in blue ink across the front. The lettering was not terribly neat. Reflective, Ellen thought, of a generation that types and doesn't write much with pen and paper.
Ellen hung up her coat on a coat hook and placed her purse inside of a desk drawer. She locked the desk drawer and tucked the key in her pocket. The whole time, while her eyes were strictly avoiding the envelope, her entire attention was focused on it. She felt a bit like a mouse near a snake. At any moment it might strike and her life would be over.
The envelope did not move.
In some ways that was worse. It meant that *she* must act. She must choose. She could not simply wait for the letter to open itself and read itself to her. Nor would it toss itself safely into the recycling bucket.
With a sigh, she picked up the envelope. The flap had been stuck down. She fumbled for the letter opener in the little container on her desk. A quick motion slit the envelope. She pulled out the enclosed paper and held it folded for a moment.
She had come this far. If she was not going to read the letter, she should have simply tossed the envelope. Or not come in to work at all.
"Dear Ellen," it began. "I was deeply touched by that bit of your story that you shared with me. I really don't have the words to say how deeply. I was honored that you chose to reveal it to me. Even, or perhaps especially, if the revelation went beyond where you had intended it to go.
"To have lost both your mother and your father, though in very different ways, must have hurt to the very core of your being. No, I don't understand. Not really. I know a little of loss, though my experience pales besides yours.
"I am very sorry that my question dredged up such deep pain. I had no desire to hurt you. And having stirred up such pain, I am sorry that I was not able to comfort you. I know I have not yet earned your trust. And hence you would have no way to know if I can be trusted to soothe or if I will cause yet more pain. I honestly hope that I am a person that can be trusted in such a way.
"You are a lovely woman: both inside and out. I have very much enjoyed getting to know you over the last few weeks. I hope that we can continue to get to know each other better.
"Sincerely, Kris."
Tears flowed freely from Ellen's eyes. One part of her wanted to check and see if anyone was looking. Another cared not a whit if the whole world saw.
Ellen's heart was in chaos.
She wanted to run from the building screaming in terror. Kris had seen far too much of her heart. He had seen into a tender corner of her heart. A spot where even a gentle touch might cause ripples of pain. An insensitive touch might kill.
And yet, she wanted to run and throw herself into Kris's arms. He had seen that bit of her heart, a tiny portion of the dark part, and *he* had not run screaming into the darkness. And had the bit of exposure, even accidental, burned away just a bit of the fear and pain? Oh, to be free of the secret once and for all...
She wanted to change her name and move to another state. Another planet. To forget Kris existed. To forget the danger he presented to her heart.
She wanted to put her arms around him, pull him tight, and feel his lips hard against hers. No safe little peck this time. She wanted his pas
There lay much fear in that direction. No. In that direction lay terror. To permit him to travel on that road would leave her vulnerable. For hidden deep within lay her secret. The secret that had killed her mother. Dared she share that with anyone? At some point along that road, the secret could no longer be hidden. Relationships had rules. She could not have all of him if she did not give all of herself.
But ... maybe, just maybe, she could have a little bit of him if she shared a little bit of herself. And, maybe, just maybe, he would prove to be the man her father wasn't.
Recovery
Two AM.
Ellen was not fond of the small numbered hours of morning. Especially when, other than for some very brief moments, she had not yet fallen asleep. Currently she was staring at the ceiling. It was too dark to actually see the ceiling.
Work had been a mess. She had been unable to concentrate. She had sent out three "final drafts" of one statement of work. The first two had typoes in critical statements. At lunch she had eaten a bit because she figured she needed the food. The sandwich, which she was pretty sure had been quite good, tasted like cardboard and sat heavily in her stomach.
All she could think about was Kris. Kris's smile. Kris's laugh. The warmth of his blue eyes. Eyes filled with concern as she had dumped her story on him. His dry humor.
She was confused about his ... avoidance of sex. Her other boyfriends had taken everything she had offered and asked for more. Demanded more. He hadn't. On the one hand, it was very nice. No worries about protection or getting pregnant. No need to fight him off. No hands where she didn't want them. And yet this was one man she *wanted* to ask for more.
So far, she had only one small kiss. She could still remember the gentle warmth of his lips on hers. She wanted so much more.
The problem was that different was ... different. She may not have liked having to "pay" for every date, but she had known what was expected. With Kris the old rules didn't apply.
And yet, she had developed one type of certainty. He was going to treat her with respect. He never demanded or even seemed to expect her to pay for anything. Not with money. Not with sex. Even when they had kissed, he had stolen nothing. She had given it freely.