Those Secrets We Keep

by Emily Liebert

Genres: Family Life; Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

On the surface, Sloane has the perfect life-an adoring husband, a precocious daughter, and enough financial security to be a stay-at-home mom. Still, she can't help but feel as though something-or someone-is missing. Hillary has a successful career and a solid marriage. The only problem is her inability to conceive. And there's a very specific reason why. As the wild-child daughter of old family money, Georgina has never had to accept responsibility for anything. So when she realizes an unexpected life change could tie her down forever, she does exactly what she's always done: escape. When these three women unite for a three-week-long summer vacation, tensions begin to mount, and they quickly discover that their secrets can't be kept forever.

Release date: June 2, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 336

Sample

ALSO BY EMILY LIEBERT

acknowledgments

chapter 1

Sloane gripped the steering wheel with clenched fists as her mind darted furiously from one direction to the next. Had she remembered to pack absolutely everything Maddie would need at sleepaway camp? She’d included enough clean underwear for four weeks without laundry and had reminded her to reapply sunscreen every two hours and always after swimming. Naturally, her daughter had rolled her eyes in response to what Sloane perceived as responsible parenting. Still, aside from time spent at Grandma’s house, it was Maddie’s first time away from home for more than a few days. Sloane couldn’t help but feel anxious.

Her unease had tripled since she’d left Maddie at camp, even though her daughter had shown no signs of separation anxiety. As she’d pulled away from Maddie’s cabin, watching her daughter’s wide smile grow smaller in her rearview mirror, Sloane’s stomach had roiled. It felt like another loss. Not the same kind of loss as the one she’d been struggling to recover from lately, but a significant loss nonetheless. She wasn’t sure why.

In springtime, when she’d filled out the enrollment paperwork, she’d been so full of anticipation for everything Maddie would experience on her own during summer camp. All the friends she would make. The new skills she would learn. And Maddie had seemed happy, possibly even overjoyed at the prospect of four weeks without her mother and father to answer to. Four weeks of freedom.

Shouldn’t Sloane feel the same way? No lunches to pack. No negotiations over appropriate attire for a pre-tween-aged girl to wear to school. And no threat of boys calling past ten o’clock at night to discuss “homework.”

Yet, as soon as the gate to Camp Pinewood had closed behind her car, she’d felt vacant. Fretful. Now she and Eddie would have the summer to themselves. They could go out to see a movie without having to secure a babysitter. They could eat dinner naked on the back porch if they wanted—not that they’d ever do something like that. They could have sex with the bedroom door open. Weren’t those the sorts of things that were meant to be going through her mind? Weren’t those the sorts of things that married couples whose only child would be absent from their lives for a whole month were supposed to anticipate with great excitement? Yet Sloane had to acknowledge that she felt quite the opposite. Her daughter’s departure had brought on a rush of unsettling emotions. Empty. Unfulfilled. If she was being honest, all the emotions were familiar companions. Things hadn’t been right for Sloane for some time.

Her mother had insisted on meeting for lunch as soon as she got back to Brookline. Sloane tried to seize on the idea of lunch with her mother as a distraction for her morose thoughts, but she would no doubt receive the third degree about how Maddie had taken to her new surroundings. She’d have to be careful not to let her misgivings show, lest her mother think there was anything wrong with Camp Pinewood. She’d indicated more than once that she thought four weeks was an awfully long time for a nine-year-old to be away from home but in typical fashion had conceded, albeit reluctantly, with a hearty dose of guilt, that it was Sloane and Eddie’s decision to make. “Who am I to say? I’m just her grandmother. What do I know?”

Of course the very last thing Sloane felt like doing at the moment, on the heels of a three-hour drive, was being on the receiving end of her mother’s barrage of questions. Thankfully, her mom had invited Sloane’s aunt to join them. With any luck that would divert the focus from her.

Sloane pulled into the parking lot of an off-the-beaten-path vegan restaurant, which must have been selected by her aunt. Apparently, they had the best tofu curry this side of South Asia. Period. Who could argue with that? She pushed in the front door and immediately homed in on her mother flailing her arms in the far corner to wave her over to their table. A blind man could have spotted her.

“How’s my baby girl?” Sloane’s mother swooped in, kissing her forcefully on either side of the mouth as she crushed her cheeks between her fleshy palms.

“I’m fine, Mom. That hurts.” She shuffled into the booth and reached for a napkin to eradicate the tangerine lip stain she’d undoubtedly been branded with. Twice.

“You need to put some meat on those bones.” Her mother surveyed her with one eye half-closed, taking in everything from her faded purple Crocs with their flattened backs to the Red Sox baseball cap she was wearing to conceal her day-three-without-washing chestnut brown hair. “Did you lose more weight?”

“I don’t know, Mom.” She did know. And she had. Ten pounds in the past month alone. Quite unintentionally. “I’m just stressed-out, I guess.”

“You kids these days and your stress.”

“I have a lot on my mind is all.” Sloane spread her menu in front of her face, intending it as a makeshift barrier. As if that would discourage her mother’s third degree. Margaret Allen was not one to be discouraged. Ever. As a devout Catholic—somewhat ironic in light of her overbearing and overfeeding tendencies; she would have made a great Jew—as well as a lifetime busybody, her claim to fame was that she hadn’t missed a Sunday at church in thirty-six years. Not even when she’d given birth to Sloane’s younger sister, Amy, on a Saturday afternoon. God couldn’t have forgiven that?

“I’m listening.”

“I’m not really in the mood to talk about it now.” Sloane fidgeted with the frayed corner of her menu.

“Well, fine. Then how’s my granddaughter? Did she cry when you left?”

“No, Mom. She’s nine.”

“So? You bawled for three hours when Daddy and I dropped you at day camp.”

“I did not.”

“You most certainly did.” She nodded, as if she’d never been as sure of something in her entire life. “Do they feed her at this camp?”

“No, they starve them.”

“Very funny. Maddie is skinny enough. I hope she doesn’t lose weight.” She paused. “I’m going to send her a care package with some of my brownies.”

“They don’t allow them to receive food in the mail, Mom.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s the rule.” Sloane shrugged.

“Well, it sounds like jail to me.”

“It’s not jail, Mom. Believe me, jail doesn’t cost a fortune.”

“Well, hello, ladies!” Sloane’s aunt floated toward them, her commanding voice drawing the attention of almost everyone in their vicinity, despite the fact that Annabel Winston was a woman whose presence needed no verbal introduction.

Today, she was bedecked in a caftan that looked more suitable for Woodstock circa 1969 than present-day Brookline, Massachusetts, with its swirling rainbow of colors and coordinated handkerchief-inspired headband—if you could really call the tattered piece of fabric tied across her forehead a headband. During Sloane’s childhood and well into her teenage years, her aunt had represented everything her mother wasn’t. She would descend upon their modest New England saltbox house bearing exotic gifts, such as the worry dolls from Guatemala she’d instructed Sloane to place under her pillow before going to bed to ensure a good night’s sleep.

Annabel Winston did not cook. She most certainly did not clean. She didn’t help with homework or wipe tears away when knees were bruised. But she did regale Sloane and Amy with tales of her mysterious and, typically, unpredictable travels around the globe.

All the while, Sloane’s mother would endure being sidelined, often rolling her eyes as her sister elaborated, possibly to the point of untruth. But Sloane and Amy didn’t care and their mother’s nagging cynicism served only to shine a brighter and more flattering light on their aunt.

“Hello.” Her mother’s lips pursed into a thin line as Annabel proffered three kisses on alternating cheeks and then signaled for her to slide over so she could squeeze into the booth next to her.

“Now let me get a look at my gorgeous niece. Stand up, stand up.” She gestured by lifting both hands in the air.

“Aunt Annabel,” Sloane moaned, but she couldn’t hide a smile. She got out of her seat and stood in the aisle, where she did a quick rotation at her aunt’s direction—one index finger held high, winding in a circular motion.

“Every inch as stunning as ever. You must have inherited my genes.” She nudged her sister in the side. “Right, Margie?”

Sloane laughed. Her mother absolutely despised being called Margie and had been known to bite the head off anyone who dared to mutter any version of a nickname without explicit permission.

It never ceased to astonish Sloane how very different her mother and aunt were. Same parents. Same DNA. Same Roman nose and olive complexion. Same zaftig thighs. But the similarities ended there. Nothing like Sloane and her sister, Amy. While they’d certainly pursued diverse interests growing up—Sloane had been head cheerleader and Amy had been head of the debate team—they’d always preferred the same clothing, food, friends, sometimes even boys. Amy had been the smarter sister, no doubt. Sloane had been the prettier one, but not by much.

“So, what’s good here aside from the tofu?” Sloane’s mother lifted her reading glasses, which hung around her neck on a thick, glossy gold-link chain, onto the bridge of her nose out of habit, even though they all knew she could decipher the menu just fine without them.

“What do you have against tofu?” Sloane’s aunt arched a bushy eyebrow.

“Well, for starters, it tastes like a soggy sponge.”

“Oh, would you stop! It’s good for you. And it wouldn’t hurt you to lose a few pounds.”

“I could say the same to you,” Sloane’s mother grumbled. “On the other hand, my daughter here is fading away to nothingness from all of the stress in her life.”

“Is that so, dear?” Sloane’s aunt turned to her, a look of genuine concern swathing her rugged face. “What’s troubling you?”

“It’s nothing really.”

“It’s never nothing.” She contemplated this. “Is it . . .”

There it was. The proverbial dot dot dot. As if saying her name would make it a final period.

“Amy?” Sloane filled in the blank and her aunt nodded somberly. “No. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.” She noticed her mother shift uncomfortably in her seat. She’d already compartmentalized things and closed off this particular topic of discussion. Apparently, she and God had worked it out. “I’m probably anxious because I just dropped Maddie at sleepaway camp for the whole month of August, and with Eddie working . . .”

“You’re concerned you’ll be a bored housewife?” her aunt blurted, not bothering to consider a tactful response. Nothing revolutionary on that front.

“That’s not exactly how I would have put it.” Sloane laughed. “But I guess kind of.” Nor was it nearly the whole truth.

Sloane had quit her job as a third-grade teacher nine years earlier when Madeleine was born. It was hard to believe almost a decade had passed since she’d nuzzled her colicky little miracle and watched the rest of the world fade into the distance. She’d gone from the workforce to force-feeding a newborn—who’d spit up nearly everything she’d ingested—without so much as an inkling of regret.

“That’s entirely understandable.” This coming from the woman who’d sooner be burned at the stake than bored.

“My friend Hillary and I have been thinking about taking a little trip or something, but I can’t go too far with Maddie being away from home. I’ve been meaning to ask if you have any ideas. Someplace we can both . . . clear our heads.”

“Not only do I have an idea.” Annabel hesitated for effect. “I have the perfect idea!”

“I’m all ears.” Sloane felt a rush of enthusiasm at the mere suggestion of an escape.

“My Lake George house!”

“I thought you were selling it?”

“I am. But it can wait until September. I’ll take it off the market for a few weeks while you stay there.”

“Are you sure?” Sloane nearly leapt across the table to hug her.

“Never been more sure. Gerome and I are leaving for Europe next week with no immediate plans to come back.” She winked at Sloane, who knew that her aunt said such things only to get under her mother’s skin. “So it’s yours. You can leave tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow? That’s amazing! I’ll have to ask Hillary. It’s okay to bring her?”

“Bring whomever you’d like, my dear.”

“Won’t Eddie join you?” This was Sloane’s mother trying to insinuate herself back into the conversation.

“No,” she answered abruptly, and then, thinking better of alerting her mother to any marital complications, cleared her throat. “I mean, maybe for a little, but you know he can’t take much time off from work, especially on such short notice.”

“He works for his father, for crying out loud!” Sloane’s mother countered. “Like he’s going to fire his own son.”

Sloane ignored her. “I really can’t thank you enough, Aunt Annabel. You have no idea how important this is to me.”

“Listen, I’m just happy you’ll get some final enjoyment outta that old place. She holds a lot of memories.”

“She sure does.” Sloane couldn’t help but think back to one glorious summer she and Georgina, her best friend from college, had spent there. Those were the days.

“And . . . that house is famous for its healing qualities.” Her aunt nodded sagely as she spoke.

“Is that so?” Sloane was dubious. While a getaway certainly sounded like a much-needed short-term antidote to her tumultuous emotions, it seemed highly unlikely that the house itself was capable of a permanent cure. Not that she was entirely sure what she was trying to cure.

“Oh yes. Enter broken. Leave fixed. Mark my words, my dear.” She stared off into the distance. “Mark my words.”

chapter 2

Back at home, Sloane dialed Hillary’s number as fast as her fingers would allow. “Hill?” she said as soon as she answered. “It’s me.”

“Hey! How are you?” Sloane could hear the shuffling of papers in the background.

“I’m good. Great, in fact.” She could barely contain her exuberance. “And I have amazing news!”

“That sounds auspicious. I’m all ears.”

“What would you think of coming with me to my aunt’s vacation house in Lake George for three weeks? It’s steps from the lake. Nothing too fancy. Still, it would be so relaxing. We could go to Shepard’s Park Beach and pick up wraps at Sammy D’s Cafe—and—”

“Sloane?”

“Yeah?”

“Take a breath.”

“Right.”

“It sounds fantastic! When are you planning to leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh, wow! I don’t know. . . .”

“Oh.” Sloane’s body drooped into a slump. “I know it’s really last-minute.”

“Just kidding! I’m in!”

“You are? Woo-hoo!!” Sloane pumped her fist in the air, evoking Arsenio Hall, and then, thankful there were no witnesses, laughed at herself for the awkward throwback gesture. “We’re going to have the best time ever! Three whole weeks away from everything!”

“Is Eddie coming at all?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t even told him yet. I was thinking it would be more of a girls’ thing, like we talked about.” Sloane bit her lip, praying that Hillary was still on the same page.

“Of course! It’s just that three weeks is a long time. Maybe Greg could come for the last week? Only if it’s okay with you. It’s such a nice offer, I wouldn’t want to impose. I know he’ll ask, though.”

“I’m sure we can arrange something.” Sloane attempted to mollify Hillary’s concern in a way that would not kill her own heady buzz.

“Maybe Eddie can come too and then the boys will have each other.”

“Maybe.” Sloane erased the thought from her mind, storing it away to be considered at a later date. “So, I’ll pick you up in the morning? I’m so excited we’re getting to do this.”

“That sounds excellent! I may call you later for packing advice.”

“Absolutely!” Sloane just barely managed to withhold a squeal. “And, Hill?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For coming with me. It means a lot.”

“Well, thank you for inviting me. I could definitely use some time away. No doubt about that.”

*   *   *

Sloane tucked one last bikini into her suitcase and let it thud shut. She heard the front door open and then the sound of Eddie’s footsteps ascending the staircase. He’d woken up early to go for a long run. She sucked in a gulp of air and murmured under her breath while exhaling, “Almost there. Almost there.”

Eddie came into the bedroom, his whole body hunched in an unfamiliar pose. When he saw Sloane’s suitcase, he closed his eyes meditatively, as if when he opened them it might not be there anymore. She’d broken the news of her getaway to Lake George as soon as he’d returned home from work the evening before. She’d said she needed time and space—something new to break up the tedium that had become her life. Although she’d left that last part out.

He’d been confused, rightfully so, and they’d spent the night in an awkward tango, talking about anything besides Sloane’s impending departure. Every now and again she’d catch him out of the corner of her eye, staring at nothing, until he’d notice her watching him and smile halfheartedly.

“I guess you’re really going.” He collapsed onto the black Eames chair in the corner of their room, next to the window, resting his elbows on his legs and hanging his head in between. Just outside, the swollen gray clouds threatened to burst over their already lush lawn as the sun backed farther away from the woeful mood indoors.

“I am.” She lowered herself onto the edge of their unmade bed.

“So that’s it?” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot.

Sloane wasn’t sure what to say. It upset her to see how unhappy he was over her decision to take a vacation by herself, yet she couldn’t tell him it was all going to be okay. Nor could she reassure him that she felt the same way about him as she had when they’d first started dating in their sophomore year. Eddie had been the captain of their high school football team and the guy every girl, including her sister, wanted to call her boyfriend. He’d been tall for his age and naturally well built, with the same olive complexion as Sloane’s and strikingly wise brown eyes that she was certain could see right through her and into the depths of her soul. Sure, she’d been popular, but that hadn’t been what had attracted Eddie to her. He’d told her that when she was around him, he couldn’t stop smiling. That she made him feel like a better version of himself. Little did he know at the time, she’d have gone out with him no matter what he’d said.

That was the thing about Eddie. He didn’t get how desirable he was, not back then and not now. To this day, they’d be walking down the cereal aisle at the supermarket and—despite Sloane’s presence next to him—women would come up to him and ask, for example, if he thought Cheerios were healthier than Special K, batting their eyelashes all the while. Admittedly, Eddie looked like he could be a personal trainer, but they were still blatantly flirting and he was entirely oblivious to it.

Why, Sloane had often wondered over these past several months, did she no longer see her husband in the same light as those other women did? She had at one time. She had for a long time. Through college. Through the first decade of their marriage. They’d been considered a sort of “golden couple”—all their friends had been envious of them because they couldn’t keep their eyes and hands off each other. And then things had changed all of a sudden. It felt like within the last year.

The problem was, Sloane couldn’t put her finger on what had changed. If only it were that easy. Then she could have gotten started on making things right again. But she felt lost and unsure. Why had they suddenly started growing apart? Why had she begun to feel anxious so much of the time? Rationally, she was well aware that she had what most women her age longed for—what they spent the first half of their lives working toward: a devoted husband, financial stability, and a healthy, beautiful child. So what was wrong with her? She’d asked herself a million times. She’d even thought about going back to work, but that didn’t seem like the answer.

Her mother was right. She really had nothing to complain about. It was just that Eddie’s naturally relaxed nature made it so easy to push him away when she was feeling like this. Part of her felt guilty for that and another part of her wanted him to push back.

It had gotten to the point where, on the nights that Eddie would call at five o’clock to apologize for having to work late, Sloane felt shamefully relieved. Relieved to eat Chinese takeout on the couch with Maddie while they watched The Bachelor or some equally mind-numbing show. Relieved that she could pretend to be asleep by the time Eddie got home, because the idea of having sex with him suddenly seemed like a chore.

They never fought. They never yelled. They never so much as raised their voices at each other. Still, lately Sloane couldn’t stop asking herself whether she was sure this life was meant to be her destiny. Whether Eddie was meant to be her destiny.

“It’s not it. It’s only a trial separation.”

“A trial separation?” Eddie leapt to his feet. “I thought you just needed a few weeks to unwind? To relax, since . . . you know.”

“Since Amy died?” He thought this was about Amy. Was it? Was that when the distance between them had started taking root? “I do. I mean . . . I don’t know, Eddie. Things haven’t felt right between us in a while. I told you that.”

“I know, but I didn’t think you meant it in that way.”

“In what way?”

“Like that the problem was our marriage.”

“I’m not sure what it is.” In part, it was the truth. But maybe not the whole truth. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but she did know that it had to do with them. Or her. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t care whose fault it is. I love you, Sloane.” He walked toward her and knelt at her feet, taking her hands in his. “I don’t want you to go. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix things.”

She couldn’t look at him. He didn’t deserve to be the target of her uncertainty. All she wanted was some space to try to sort things out, somewhere he wouldn’t be an easy target for her to lash out at in frustration.

“I love you too, but I need to do this. For myself. That may sound selfish to you, but it’s something I need right now, Eddie.”

“You could never be selfish.” Except that she knew he was wrong there. She could be selfish, even with her husband. She had been. So many times. He was just too devoted to notice. Often, she thought Eddie saw her the way he wanted to see her, through the rosiest-colored glasses. She could steal the pillow out from under his head and he’d think she was fluffing it for him.

“I wish that was true.” Sloane shook her head. “I have to go. I’m supposed to pick up Hillary in fifteen minutes.” She pulled her heavy suitcase off the bed, and immediately—like the gentleman he was—Eddie swiped it from her grip and followed her down the stairs to the same front door he’d walked through only minutes earlier, under the mistaken impression that his marriage was safely intact.

“Can Greg and I still come down for the last week?” They stood facing each other as he waited on her answer.

“That should be fine.” Sloane wasn’t sure how she felt about this particular detail, but now wasn’t the time to deliberate on it.

“Good.” He appeared temporarily reassured and leaned in to hug her. “I love you so much, Sloane. More than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too.” She said it for the second time before waving good-bye.

If only she were positive she still meant it.

chapter 3

“Sloanie? It’s me!”

“Georgina?” It was difficult to make out her voice through the intermittent static coming through the phone.

“Who the fuck else?” Sloane winced. Despite her delicate appearance, Georgina had the filthy mouth of a drunken sailor.

“Georgina, I’m in the car with Hillary.”

“Who’s that?”

“My friend Hillary. I’ve told you about her a zillion times. And you’re on speaker.”

“Mmmm. Don’t remember the name.”

“Can I call you back another time?”

“I know you’re not suggesting that this Hillary character is more important than moi?” Sloane could make out the familiar sound of Georgina taking a long drag of what was likely her tenth cigarette of the day. “Plus, I’m on my way out to dinner in a few.”

“Where are you?”

“London. Where else would I be?”

“Well, let’s see. . . .”

“Oh, lighten up, would you? What has you so grumpy?”

“Nothing.” Sloane heard the snappy tone to her voice. But it was definitely not something she wanted to get into with Georgina at the moment. “Anyway, as I said, Hillary and I are in the car, so I really can’t talk now.”

“Where are you going?” Why did Georgina always have to know everything?

“She’s coming with me to my aunt’s lake house for a few weeks.”

“That sounds splendid! Love that place. What a summer that was, huh?”

“I know. We’re really looking forward to it.”

“Well, count me in!”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’ll book my tickets tonight. I can be there tomorrow.”

“Hold on, I don’t even know . . .”

“What?” Georgina chortled, likely figuring that Sloane was teasing her. “You can’t very well tell me that you’re going to our house with someone else and not even invite me to come chaperone, silly girl.”

“Right, the thing is . . .”

“The thing is nothing. This is absolutely perfect! I’ve been looking for an excuse to blow this Popsicle stand as soon as possible. The timing could not be better.”

“Why? What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing. Why does something have to be wrong in order for me to want to vacation with my best friend?” Georgina was instantly defensive, clueing Sloane in to the fact that she was not being entirely forthcoming. “It’s just that Brits are so stuffy. And the incessant rain is insufferable. N