Secrets Between Them

Nick’s entrance immediately brightened the mood of the room. Jennifer didn’t think she was the only one who felt it. Even Ruth managed a smile and a word of welcome.

He helped himself to coffee, then sat at the one remaining place setting. Jennifer passed around glasses of smoothie and when she reached him, he touched her arm.

“When are you free?” he asked.

She felt the blood shoot up to her face. “I need to clean the kitchen and wash a few loads of laundry.” The Waterton’s room had to be prepared for new guests. “Then I have my morning yoga class. I’m finished around eleven-thirty.”

Most afternoons she gardened. But today, she would make an exception.

“I saw the sign to the yoga studio on my drive from the ferry. Orange-and-blue colored building?”

“That’s the one.”

“How about I pick you up and we go on from there?”

“That would be fine.” Fine? Talk about an under-statement. She couldn’t remember when she’d looked forward to something as much as this. She’d had so much fun talking to him last night. Once they’d gone to their separate rooms, she’d stayed up for hours replaying their conversation. After his awkward question about the forget-me-not song—she always hated when that subject came up—they’d discussed travel. Nick had been to a lot of places. Not overseas, but he’d visited almost every state, as well as much of Mexico and Central America.

She’d drunk in every story, every detail.

“Pancakes are ready,” her father announced, bringing a laden platter to the table.

The pancakes were thinner than usual, with crispy edges. A little concerned, Jennifer went to the stove and sampled one of the pancakes still on the griddle.

She couldn’t tell what was wrong, but it didn’t taste right. She glanced back at the table and watched as Nick lifted a forkful of pancake to his mouth. He chewed, then stopped. A look of mild surprise crossed his face. He reached for his cup of coffee.

“These are different,” Steve Waterton said.

“They certainly are.” Ruth pinched her mouth and set down her fork.

“I did a little improvising today,” her father said proudly, clearly taking the comments as compliments. “Tossed in a few splashes of white wine. What do you think?”

Jennifer’s gaze shot to the spot on the counter where she’d left the bottles after her late night conversation with Nick. There’d been about a third of a bottle left when she went to bed, but now both bottles were empty.

At the table, everyone was silent for a moment. Nick scooped more pancake onto his fork. “Very Parisian,” he pronounced.

“They say you can add white wine to anything,” her father said.

Obviously he’d been watching too many cooking shows.

“That may be true, but I hope you didn’t add any to the coffee.” Ruth picked up her mug and sniffed the steaming liquid suspiciously.

Her father laughed and Jennifer forced herself to join in, though she strongly suspected Ruth had not meant her comment as a joke.

“Eat up,” her father said. “I’ve got plenty more in the kitchen.” He joined her by the griddle, picked up the spatula. “Why don’t you sit down at the counter and eat, too, Jennifer? I’ve got this covered.”

She’d been about to suggest she defrost some muffins she kept in the freezer for emergencies. But she could just imagine how her father’s face would fall if she did that. He was so pleased with himself, with his efforts to save her the trouble of preparing breakfast for once.

His intentions were good. But why, oh why, couldn’t he have followed the recipe that she, and her mother before her, had been using with great success for the past thirty years?

“Thanks, Dad. I’d love some pancakes.”

He carefully flipped three onto a plate and handed it to her. “You work too hard, Jennifer. I should handle breakfast for you more often.”

“…NINE AND TEN,” MOLLY Springfield finished counting, then curled her spine up from the yoga mat and rested her palms on her knees. “That’s it for this morning, everyone. Please take your time coming up from the floor.”

Molly moved to the back of the room where she gradually brightened the lighting and lowered the thermostat to normal room temperature. She toweled off her face and the back of her neck, then slipped a light, hooded jacket over her bright red sports bra.

A few of the participants were rising now. One of the first, as usual, was Jennifer. She had a lithe body and the postures came to her easily. But she tended to approach each session like a workout, rather than the spiritual refresher it was meant to be.

Observing Jennifer roll up her yoga mat quickly and efficiently, Molly reflected that if anyone needed the relaxing, calming effects of yoga, it was Jennifer. She was always rushing, always busy, too thin, too stressed. She ran the family business practically on her own and had to look after not only her elderly father, but now her aunt, as well.

Then there were her volunteer projects.

Jennifer never turned down anyone who asked for a favor. She was so kindhearted. Too kindhearted. A few times now Molly had tried to convince her that she took on too much, but she wouldn’t listen. Still, Jennifer was her best friend on the island and Molly did not intend to give up on her.

A gray-haired grandmother of five smiled up at Molly from the floor. Agnes was still fully reclined on her mat, looking refreshed and relaxed. “That was great, Molly. My hips feel so much better since I started coming here.”

“I’m glad you made it out today, Agnes.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Especially now that all the kiddies are back in school.” Agnes rolled onto her side, then gently eased her body into a sitting position. She’d had surgery three months ago, but you’d never know to look at her now.

Though she’d been the first up from the floor, Jennifer waited until all the others had left before she approached Molly.

“Thanks, I needed that.”

“Can you stay for a cup of tea?”

Jennifer’s cheeks, already rosy, seemed to go hotter. “Not today. Sorry.”

“Errands?”

“Um…” Jennifer fussed with the zipper on her sweatshirt.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

“No. No.”

Molly followed her friend out of the renovated garage to the garden. Across the street the Kincaid’s beautiful Victorian home was a familiar, benevolent presence. Molly waved at Justine Kincaid who was sitting on the front porch in a rocking chair. It looked like she was nursing six-month-old Erica. The two of them were alone this week, as Harrison had taken his daughter Autumn to Seattle for the week.

Molly focused on Jennifer again. Sometimes a blunt question was the only way to find out what you wanted to know. “So why can’t you stay for tea?”

Jennifer’s gaze shifted to the side. “It’s just that I have this new guest who wants a tour of the island.”

“I hope you’re charging for your services.”

Jennifer looked at her blankly.

“Come on, Jenn. If you’re going to give up an entire afternoon to show this guest around the island, you ought to be properly reimbursed for your time.”