No Perfect Secret (9 page)

Anna sat on the edge of the wicker chair thinking: That’s what I’ve done. I wait to see what kind of mood Kevin is in before I let the tension go out of me. I listen to
Clara-Alice’s list of complaints and fears, and allow myself to sink below the earth’s crust. Shame on me. And maybe, just maybe—that was why the fun and laughter and passion had gone out of her marriage.

She was so deep in
to her interior thoughts she didn’t hear or see Lila come out onto the sun porch. “Anna? You in our world or off in the universe somewhere?”

“Where ever I was, I’m back.”

“Did you decide for or against—the Eastern Market?”

“I’m in.” Anna said. “We’ll make a day of it. Wear your walking shoes.”

“Huh? What other kinds of shoes do you think old women own—hip busters?”

Ann went to make war on her closet. No staid Librarian clothes today. She decided on a silk burgundy pullover with a decidedly risqué décolletage, a pair of slinky jeans (please God, let them still fit), a gold chain belt, gold loop earrings, and an armload of bracelets. At the bottom of her closet her hands fell upon a pair of sheepskin-lined pair of Ugg boots
—nope. Thirty-four year olds did not have to worry about broken hips. She chose instead a pair of knee-high butter soft leather boots with a modest heel. She added a navy wool car coat and laid it all out on her bed, then went to blow-dry her hair.

She did not need to define her eyebrows; she knew she was blessed. Her mother’s had been perfect and so were hers. She added a dollop of mascara to her eyelashes, a dusting of bronze to her eyelids, a brush of color to her cheekbones, and a smear of burgundy lipstick. She spritzed Dior into the air and stepped into it. She never wore Dior when Kevin was home. He swore he was allergic. God, but she loved it.

Clara-Alice and Lila were waiting in the living room, layered up in sweaters, coats, mittens and knit caps; purses and empty totes over their arms. Clara-Alice wore sensible walking shoes; Lila wore a pair of red, high-top tennis shoes. “Good God, Anna,” Lila exclaimed. “You are drop dead gorgeous!”

“I’m feeling Christmassy,” Anna said.

“Yes, well, if we run into Santa, you’re gonna have him drooling into his beard.”

“She looks like a slut,” said
Clara-Alice.

Anna’s jaw dropped.

Lila looked hard at Clara-Alice. “What the hell has got into you? This is your daughter-in-law! I can’t believe you said that.”

“I...I...
I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” Lila said, all five feet of her wound so tight she was sputtering. “We’ve been having coffee together every morning for what? Eight years? Nine? We play cards, go to the movies
—and you always find something snarky to say about Anna—and never an unkind thing to say about Kevin, but I’ve been here and seen him completely ignore you when you speak to him. I’ve even heard him complain about Anna’s cooking! Oh, and something else you say: ‘I have to iron Kevin’s shirts because he doesn’t like the way Anna mangles his collars.’”

Lila so perfectly mimicked
Clara-Alice that at any other time Anna would have laughed. This was not a laughing matter.
This was open war.

Clara-Alice
began to cry.

Anna went into the kitchen and leaned against the sink. Her heart was thudding. She could
not count the times—didn’t even want to try—that Clara-Alice had made an off-the-wall comment that had undone a nice day. But calling her a
slut
?

Lila came into the kitchen. “Anna, are you all right?”

“I will be. I just need a minute to pull myself together.”

“I’m butting in, so tell me to shut up if you want. I know what
Clara-Alice has been though. 9/11 was awful for all of us, but girl—Clara-Alice has milked it, and that’s shameful.”

Anna nodded. “I know she has. Things are
not good here right now, Lila. Kevin is in some sort of trouble at work. The stress is getting to us.”

“Good golly, Anna! Everybody has troubles of some sort.
Honey, my troubles would fill a freight car. I lost a lot of good friends during the Great War, and others to old age and so damned many awful diseases it gives me nightmares. I’ve outlived every single member of my family; my parents, my husband, my boy, my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins. None of that gives me leave to call people names—unless they deserve it, of course—which you don’t. Oh! I’m so
effing
mad!”

“Me, too, but I don’t want to let it, or her, ruin our day.”

“Well, then, don’t! Let me tell you about my mother-in-law. She was a Valkyrie—Mercy! Six feet tall and four feet around. She took one look at me—skinny as a stalk of asparagus and not even topping five feet—if I stood on my toes—and figured she’d have it all over me. When the Colonel got out of the hospital we were all in the kitchen cooking. I could see her stiffening up and getting ready to beat the war drums. I said, ‘Mavis, let’s step out on the back porch a minute.’ We got out there and I told her: ‘I didn’t become a nurse for nothing. You say one effing snarky word to me, or about me and I’m gonna sew your tongue to your bottom lip.’ And I would’ve, but she turned all mushy and sweet and stayed that way ‘til the day she died.” Lila brushed her hand up and down Anna’s back. “You’ve got backbone. What do you think it’s there for?”

Clara-Alice
came hesitantly into the kitchen, her chin quivering. “I’m sorry, Anna. I shouldn’t have—”

Anna exhaled. Lila had made her point. She couldn’t let this go. She just couldn’t. “I’m sorry, too,
Clara-Alice. But my tolerance level for your snit fits is somewhere in China right now. If you are that unhappy here, I’ll put you up in a nice hotel until Kevin gets home—then you two can talk it out and decide where you want to be.”
Where both of you want to be,
Anna thought, wondering if it would come to that.

Lila put a hand on
Clara-Alice’s shoulder. “I hope your ears were open because you just heard something you needed to hear.”

Anna turned away. She felt awful. She had never in her life spoken so to an elderly person.

Lila said, “Okay—what’s it going to be—are we gonna suck lemons all day or do Jingle Bells?”

Anna rolled her eyes heavenward, but gave a small laugh.
Whew
. “Jingle Bells. Sure. Let’s go.”

Usually when she hauled the old ladies around to the grocery store, or a movie,
Clara-Alice always took dibs on the front passenger seat. For the trip to the Eastern Market she climbed meekly into the back. As Anna pulled away from the curb, Lila snaked her hand over to her leg, and squeezed. “See?” she mouthed.

The Eastern Market’s pedestrian forecourt was crowded
—it appeared that every local and tourist had come out to enjoy the cold, sun-filled day. People of all ages milled about beneath the white canvas stalls of the vegetable, fruit and flower vendors. A dozen speed bikes encircled one of the tall white gothic columns which served no purpose except to please the eye. A few of the restaurants had even braved the winter weather and set out tables and umbrellas.

Anna loved shopping at the market
—no matter the time of year, lovely spring days with the cherry trees in bloom, dripping sweat in humid summers, or chill autumn evenings, it was a festive experience. It beat shopping at Safeway hands down.

The 136
-year-old market was the hub of the Capitol Hill neighborhood and the destination for organic produce, meats, poultry, and seafood. The delis were fabulous for cheeses, pastries, and one’s daily bread meant just that. Frothy cappuccinos went down like silk; students hooked up to free Wi-Fi in coffee and tea shops. In spring and summer there were concerts and art festivals. The restaurants in the area catered to every taste from French to Thai.

She pulled up in front of the
Eastern Market where arts and crafts and Christmas tree vendors lined the forecourt. Salvation Army bell ringers were doing a brisk business. “I’ll let you guys out here while I find a place to park. Don’t wander off!”

“Let’s meet at the donut stand,” insisted Lila, opening the passenger door. “I can smell them frying from here. My mouth is watering. C’mon,
Clara-Alice, Get your tush in gear!”

Anna finally found street parking, and the ten minute walk to the market took her past the condo complex where she once lived. She was smiling to herself, feeling the spirit, enjoying the ambiance which was akin to a big warm hug. Couples were strolling past, arms loaded with bunches of flowers, wines and breads, the fresh
yeasty fragrance perfuming the air. Singles hurried past, Bluetooth in ears, waving their hands around as if conducting invisible orchestras. Who knew? Perhaps they were. A young family of four was hauling their Christmas tree home on a big-wheeled red wagon. Now and again she found herself being stared at by a man—once even by a tattooed and pierced teenager. She winked at the boy and he turned red. Small things could bring such pleasure. Yet, in the far reaches of her mind she was thinking:
If things with Kevin and Clara-Alice don’t work out, I’m selling the house and moving back to Capitol Hill.

Lila and Clara-Alice
had wandered off. Anna stood in line to buy fresh poultry; selected wonderful cheeses, both local and from abroad, bought two loaves of crusty baked breads, some fresh crab meat from the Bering Sea, and a pecan pie. She was paying for a selection of flowers at an outside vendor when Clara-Alice and Lila reappeared.

“We’ve been looking all over for you!”
declared Clara-Alice. Her totes were overloaded, and hanging from both arms, as were Lila’s.

“So, I see,” Anna said.

“Oh, don’t be pissed,” Lila entreated. “We waited as long as we could hold out. We were just going to check out the deli, then the breads got our attention, then the Greek pastry... You know how it is in there.”

“I know. I followed my nose, too.”

“I’m played out,” moaned Clara-Alice. She was slightly out of breath, and her arms were sagging, no doubt from trying to keep up with Lila. “My feet are killing me. How far away did you park?”

“Not far. On the street by The B Spot.”

“Oh! I love their teas,” gushed Lila. “Let’s dump all this stuff in the trunk and take a load off our feet. Besides, I have to pee.”

“Why are we
stopping here?” Caburn asked. “It has the worst coffee in D.C.”

“Three reasons,” Helen said. “One, this is where I told my friends to meet us. Two, it has Wi-Fi so the owners are used to people hanging out for an hour or two, and I can get your notebook set up, and three, I’m in the mood for Thai iced tea.”

Caburn headed for the comfy sofa in the small shop. Helen stopped him. “Get that table over by the wall, and start unpacking this stuff.” She went to the counter, ordered her tea, and Caburn a coffee. He did as he was ordered. No matter how bad the coffee, he needed the caffeine. He was worn to a frazzle.

It had only taken twenty minutes at the bank to
arrange for him to bank online and he came away with a temporary password. In addition, the ATM card that had been living in his wallet as an unused credit card for two years had been activated. They had to wait in line at Verizon for forty minutes, and another twenty to set up an account and get the Verizon Wi-Fi gadget, then drive all the way outside the city to an Office Depot to purchase the laptop, which was called a notebook. Helen wouldn’t let him write a check at either Verizon or Office Depot. She insisted he use his ATM/VISA which was the same as a credit card, except the money came out of his checking account.

He was starting to doubt the wisdom of internet banking. He had been perfectly content living in the Twentieth Century with a checkbook. Before he came to D.C. he’d only ever used cash. He’d been raised pay-as-you-go and couldn’t find anything practical about charging stuff, then having to pay for it when the bill came in. Pay when you bought it and you were done. On the other hand, there was the Nesmith thing, and he needed to learn this stuff. The week of forensic accounting training he’d had early in his career was buried so deeply in his memory, he couldn’t dredge up a decimal point.

Helen plonked his coffee in front of him, then swept the empty boxes off the small table into the tote on the floor. She plugged wires into the notebook and the Wi-Fi gadget. “Plug these into the wall behind your chair,” Helen told him. “The Wi-Fi card needs to charge. We can use it while it’s charging, though.” In a minute flat she had his bank site on the screen, and turned the screen towards him. “Okay put in your temporary password.”

Caburn went through his pockets, coming up empty. “Maybe I left it in your car.”

“Look in your wallet, Frank. Geez. It’s with your ATM card.”

“Oh, yeah.” He spread the paper out on the table. Helen used her finger on the little pad to move the cursor.

“Now type it in that box where the cursor is blinking.” The screen changed.
Error
.

Helen sighed. “Try again. Three mistakes and you’re locked out, Frank.”

“You do it. I’ll watch.”

“Your account will come up. I’ll know how much money you have.”