I Have a Secret (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Three) (2 page)

 “I’m sorry, honey.  I just needed a moment alone,” he said. 

“Everyone is looking for you,” she said.  “They want to know what happened to the life of the party.”

He rattled the ice cubes in his glass around and shook his head.  “You know I haven’t been worthy of that title for a very long time.”

She shrugged.  “You can’t help how people remember you, Mr. Prom King.  And I thought you should know your queen is getting lonely in there without you.”

Doug managed to crack a smile.  He hated to disappoint her.  “I need a few more minutes, okay?  And then I’ll come in.”

Trista wrapped her arms around him, stared into his eyes and whispered, “I’ll be waiting,” and then she brushed her lips across his and turned and went back inside. 

Doug winced when she touched him.  Not because her affections were unwanted, but because he knew how much he’d let her down over the years.  He hadn’t lived up to the man he should have been—not as a husband, a father, any of it.  And yet she stayed while he wasted away.  He knew he didn’t deserve her, and that made him feel even worse. 

So many times Doug tried to pick himself up again, for his wife and their kids.  But no matter how many twelve-step programs he went to, it always ended the same way, with one eyeball staring down the bottom of a bottle until he’d finished every last drop.  Most nights he woke up in his bed not knowing how he got there, and he’d turn and gaze upon Trista who was snuggled up next to him.  In those moments of serenity he vowed the next day would be different.  But when the sun rose and brought a chance to start anew, he was too weak and couldn’t get out the door without at least one drink.     

Doug turned back and stared out to the sea again, but the night had bathed the sea in black, and he couldn’t see much of anything anymore besides the mirrored glow of the moon across still waters.  He sighed; it was time to go back inside.

Beside the door a shadow emerged and gravitated in his direction.  Doug hunched over to get a better look, but his eyes played tricks on him, and everything was a haze.  “I’m coming in now, sweetie.”  

The figure halted.  Doug squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but the image in front of him was still a blur.  Several seconds went by and neither moved.  He shook his head back and forth at a rapid rate and tried to jolt back into reality.  And then it occurred to him—whoever lurked there seemed too tall to be his pint-sized wife.  

“Is that you, Candice?” he said.  “Because I’m still not interested.  I love my wife.  You have to stop this—right now.”

The figure shook its head but did not speak.

Candice was known in high school as the girl all the guys slept with, and being told no wasn’t part of her limited vocabulary.  Doug had resisted her for most of his senior year until one night when she showed up on his doorstep.  It was like she knew he’d been left all alone.  With his parents gone and Trista away at cheer camp, Candice pushed her way into his house.  Doug tried to say no, he wasn’t interested, but Candice tossed her head back and laughed while she unfastened the belt on her jacket, grabbed both sides and spread it all the way apart.  Doug gasped.  She was stark naked.  She let the jacket drop to the floor and took her pointer finger and curled it back toward her.  That was how she always got her man.  She had the best body of any girl at school—one that none of the boys could resist—and she knew it. 

Since the first day of the reunion cruise Candice had stalked him, showing up at the same excursions he was on with Trista and making obscene gestures whenever Trista glanced the other way.  The mere sight of her made Doug’s insides feel like they were on a continual roller coaster, and he just wanted to get off.  On the second night, Candice had even cornered him in the hallway and slammed him up against one of the guest rooms.  Doug had more than his fair share of drinks that night, but he’d managed to shove her off him before he stumbled down the hall to his cabin where Trista was waiting. 

And now, there they were.  Doug stared at the figure, sure it was Candice.  She stood, silent, like she was waiting for something. 
What kind of game is she playing now
…he thought?  “It is you, Candice, isn’t it?”

The figure shook its head and accelerated toward him, and for the first time in years, Doug wished he was in control of all his faculties.  The figure wore a long black robe with a mask that looked like they’d just attended a masquerade ball with Marie Antoinette.  Doug reached for the mask, but his hand swept the open air, not catching anything in its grasp. 

“Who are you?” he said.  “And what do you want?”

The masked person displayed a long, shiny object.  Doug panicked.  He tried to lunge to the side, but instead he stumbled backward, and the knife plunged into his chest.  Doug’s drink tipped from his hand and fell overboard into the icy depths below.  Before he had time to react, he felt another sharp pain to his abdomen, and then another.  He wanted to fight back, but he was drunk and helpless.  The third jab cut deep, slicing straight to the heart, and as the life drained from his body and the blood spilled out, staining the deck below, he managed to utter one single word: “Why?”

The figure withdrew the knife from Doug’s body, pulled him in close and whispered a single word—the last one he’d ever hear:
Revenge. 
He pressed his hands into his gaping wounds and slumped over, trying to stand, but it was too late.  Within seconds, Doug Ward was dead. 

If someone had asked me a year before whether I’d attend my twenty year class reunion, I probably would have said no.  And yet, there I was, clad in a 1920’s flapper costume with a smile welded on my face mingling with people who, for the most part, I no longer recognized.  At first it was weird to see everyone, but as the week went by I realized I was glad I’d made the decision to relive the youthful bliss of my high school days.  

The idea of taking a cruise to commemorate the anniversary appealed to everyone, about seventy percent of our graduating class showed up.  And they were as shocked to see me as I was to be there.  I looked around the room, staring into the diversity of faces.  Some familiar, some I hoped to never see again, and others looked back at me like we’d been friends all our lives, and yet, I had no idea who they were.  

Giovanni nudged me.  “You were here a minute ago, where have you gone?”

I turned to him and smiled.  “Just thinking about how nice it is to be here—with you.  And everyone else, but mostly you.”

He leaned forward and our lips met.  It didn’t matter where we were when he kissed me or how often.  I always got lost in the extra few seconds—the ones that turned a regular kiss into something much more meaningful. 

 “If you keep kissing me like that, we’ll have to go back to the room,” I said.      It was hard to determine what I found more attractive—the kiss or his vintage suit reminiscent of the days of Al Capone.  

Going back to the room appealed to him.  “I’m ready if you are.”

“I never thanked you for coming with me,” I said.  “It’s nice to have you here.” 

“It doesn’t matter what I’m doing.  I’ll always make time for you.”

“All right everyone,” a voice shouted through the overhead speakers, “time to break in this dance floor for the evening.”  The woman made a swooping motion with her free hand.  “Gather around people, don’t be shy.  Can we get our old prom king and queen out here to lead the way?”

To my left was Trista Ward, voted best everything a person could be voted for in school: Best dressed, best looking, most popular.  She set her glass of champagne on the table in front of her, spun around and frowned.  “Doug was out on the deck a bit ago, let me grab him.”

Several minutes went by with no sign of Trista or Doug.  The music rattled on and on to the beat of an empty dance floor until Candice Flaherty stepped up.  She pushed her way through all the costumed bodies, stepped forward and seized the microphone.  She whipped her half-naked body around and faced the crowd.  “Since those two lovebirds have decided to make us wait, how about we get the first dance started with the runners up?” 

Someone in the crowd laughed and one person shouted, “Wouldn’t that be you?”

“And Stephen…yes.”  Candice cupped her hand over her forehead and peered across the crowd.  “You out there, Stephen?  Don’t be shy, now.  I saw you earlier.  Where are you hiding?”

“She’s ah, an interesting one, isn’t she?” Giovanni said.

I smiled.  “It’s probably not hard to see why we were never friends.” 

Stephen, who stood a few feet away from me, stepped forward with a look on his face that said he was more than happy to acquiesce her request.  His wife, on the other hand, crossed her arms and huffed loud enough for the entire room to hear.  Stephen faced her.  “It’s just one dance, honey.  It’ll be over before you know it.” 

She replied, “It’s not the dance I’m worried about…it’s that woman.  She looks like she accepts singles on a stripper pole for a living!”

Stephen shook his head, “You have no reason to worry.  She’s just an old friend,” and with that, he walked over and took Candice’s outstretched hand.  Other couples followed suit, and after a moment Paula Abdul’s “Rush, Rush” blared through the speakers.

I glanced at Stephen’s wife.  Her arms were folded so tight she looked like she was being prepped to do time in a straitjacket.  She glared at Candice like she wanted to glue her to the pavement on the freeway and commandeer the diesel truck that steamrolled over her trampy body.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said.  “Candice flirts with all the guys, but she doesn’t usually get anywhere.  They all know what she’s like.”

She shrugged me off.  “Yeah?  You sure about that, because I’ve seen the way she’s looked at your man all week.”

“How’s that?”

 She winked.  “Like he’s next in line on the Candice-go-round, if you get my meaning.”

“I’m not worried,” I said. 

She scoffed.  “Honey, you should be.”

Giovanni raised a brow and excused himself to refresh our drinks.

“Trust me when I say if Giovanni is interested in a woman like Candice Flaherty, he’s got no business being with me,” I said.

She shook her head and laughed and stuck her hand out.  “I’m Rita.”

“Sloane.  Nice to meet you.”

“So, I take it this is your reunion then?”

I nodded.

Rita grabbed her drink from the bar and took a generous swallow of what appeared to be a Long Island iced tea.  A drink I never touched myself for fear I’d lose every sane thought to ever cross my mind.  “Did you go to school with my Stephen?”

I nodded, again.

“I’ve always wondered what he was like back then,” she said. 

“Same guy he seems to be now,” I said.  “Nice.  A little quiet, but a good guy.”

“
Still is…what about
her?”
she said with her finger pointed in Candice’s direction.  “What was she like?”

 Girls like Candice had always been after one thing: Attention.  She was loved by all the boys and hated by their girlfriends. 

“We never ran in the same circles in school,” I said, “but there were a lot of rumors back then about her, and none of them were good.” 

“Some people never change, and speaking of…” she said as she slammed her glass down on the counter of the bar, “I know a woman who has about two seconds to get her hand off my husband’s ass before I remove it for her.”

Rita lined Candice up in her sights and made a beeline through the crowd, shoving couples aside as she went.  When she reached Candice, an argument ensued, and from the way Candice reacted, it was clear she thought the whole thing was funny—until Rita slapped her across the face. 

Giovanni returned and handed me a drink.  “I feel like I’m on one of those reality shows people watch nowadays,” he said. 

“Feels like high school all over again,” I said.  “And something tells me if Rita and I had gone to the same school, we would have been great friends.”