How To Keep A Secret. Sarah Morgan

I was crying. Ed was drunk.

       We were both brokenhearted.

       Both of us in love, but not with each other.

      Choices, she’d discovered, had consequences.

      She stared hard at the floor, terrified that her sleep-deprived brain might confuse her speech with her thoughts. What if she made a mistake and said the wrong thing aloud?

      What if, for once in her life, she told the truth?

      “Ed and I knew we were going to be together forever.” Except that Ed had broken that promise and died. Why? He watched his weight and exercised. People like him didn’t die slumped over their desks. She felt cheated. Angry. Devastated. It took a sob from someone in the front row to remind her she was supposed to be talking. “It was romantic.”

      It hadn’t been romantic at all.

      It had been practical. Sensible. A decision made by two people who favored planning over impulse.

      She stared at the extravagant display of lilies at the back of the church and knew she’d never be able to have lilies in the house again.

      “Ed proposed to me on the beach at sunset.”

      There were murmurs of approval and sympathy from the mourners who were listening avidly. She wondered what they’d say if she told them the truth.

      There had been no proposal. At least, not in the traditional sense of the word.

      Ed had flung an arm round her.

       You’re in trouble. I’m in trouble. We both chose badly, which is what happens when you let your emotions make decisions. Let’s get married. I like you. You like me. That’s a better basis for marriage than love. Love is for poets and artists. Getting married because of love is like building your house on quicksand. You never know when the whole thing is going to collapse.

      She hadn’t been able to disagree with that.

      She’d been emotionally numb and frightened about the future.

      Lauren remembered Ed hugging her, telling her it was going to be okay, that they’d rescue each other, and the ache in her chest was almost unbearable.

      They’d done that. They’d rescued each other. But now he’d abandoned her.

      What was she going to do without him?

       They’d had a deal—

      “We married right away—” Her voice broke slightly and she cleared her throat. “When Mack was born I remember thinking our family was complete. Perfect. Our life together was perfect.”

      She glanced at Mack, who was seated next to Jenna, her features a frozen mask. Lauren’s heart broke for her. She’d done everything she could to give Mack a stable, secure family life but she hadn’t been able to save her from this.

      She choked out a few more words. How great Ed was as a provider, what a great friend he was and how much he would be missed.

      Standing at the front of the church, trying not to look at the sea of faces, she felt lonelier than she ever had in her life before.

      No one had ever told her that it was possible to be an adult and still feel as terrified as a child.

      She had a sudden yearning for home, for the community she’d grown up in.

      When her father had died, Lauren had flown home and stayed three weeks. The fridge had been so full of food, they hadn’t had to worry about shopping or cooking for the entire duration of her stay. Casseroles had appeared in their kitchen, along with homemade cake. Neighbors made a support list. Her mother was asked to write down anything that needed doing from mowing the lawn to emptying the trash and the tasks were divided between everyone. They’d felt enveloped by the community.

      Lauren didn’t feel enveloped. She felt alone and exposed.

      She sensed movement and saw her sister reach out and take Mack’s hand.

      Jenna, who had taken the first flight she could find so she could be by her side. She was wearing a navy coat and her hair was curling rebelliously in response to relentless English rain. Jenna, whose love and loyalty was never in question.

      And Lauren remembered that she wasn’t alone.

      She felt a rush of gratitude. Having her sister there helped her to stumble through the last few lines of her speech without blurting out anything scandalous.

      She kept thinking about that last conversation she’d had with Ed.

       She’s not the problem.

      What exactly had he meant by that? She didn’t know, and now she never would.

      Saying her own silent farewell, she walked back to her seat.

      She felt Jenna slide her hand into hers, as she’d done when they were growing up.

       Sisters always stick together.

      Lauren tried not to think about how she’d cope once Jenna left. Maybe she could persuade her to move in. There were schools in London. Jenna could teach anywhere and Greg wouldn’t struggle to find work either. Almost everyone she knew needed a therapist, even if they weren’t aware of it themselves.

      But she knew Jenna would never leave Martha’s Vineyard.

      Maybe she’d go back for longer this summer. In the past they’d been restricted by Ed’s need to be in London, but Ed didn’t need to be anywhere ever again. And if Greg was working then perhaps she, Jenna and Mack could spend some time together.

      She was about to lean across and tell Mack she didn’t have to speak if she didn’t want to when her daughter rose to her feet.

      She walked to the front of the church. For once her back was straight, as if she’d finally accepted her height.

      Since the night of the party she’d been even less communicative.

      Lauren told herself it was natural for Mack to be withdrawn. She’d lost her father. Lauren had already found a grief counselor who specialized in teenagers. She intended to call her as soon as the funeral was over, and she couldn’t wait for that moment to come.

      Lauren willed her daughter to have the strength to get through the next few minutes.

      There was an expectant silence broken only by the occasional cough and a muffled sob.

      Mack said nothing.

      The silence stretched for so long that people began to fidget. Expectation turned to impatience.

      Lauren felt a rush of fierce protectiveness.

      Why had she allowed Mack to do this? She was sixteen years old. It was too much.

      She was about to stride up to the front of the church like a mother hen reclaiming her chick, when the chick opened its mouth.

      “I’m supposed to say a few words about my father.” Mack’s voice was clear and steady, cutting through the tense atmosphere of the church.

      Lauren relaxed.

      Her daughter had aced drama. She could do this.

      “The problem is,” Mack said, “I don’t exactly know who my father is. You’d have to ask my mother about that. All I know for sure is that it wasn’t Ed.”