Free The Art of Keeping Secrets by Patti Callahan Henry Page A

the hell my husband took a trip with two years ago?”
    “Newspaper articles seem to bring out answers. . . . Someone will call. Someone knows.”
    “Yeah,” Annabelle said. “And it’s not me.”
    “No, it’s not, is it?”
    Annabelle hung up the phone, poured herself another drink and walked to the living room, sat on the couch and stared out the window. Keeley ran the upstairs shower. A complete sense of uselessness took over, and Annabelle lay down, closed her eyes. It didn’t matter how hard she attempted to hold their family together. It was now coming apart at the weakened and ill-stitched seams.
    When a pounding on the front door wouldn’t stop, Annabelle roused herself. It was dark outside, the front porch light spilling into the room. The aftertaste of gin had soured in her mouth. She had no idea what time it was.
    The clock on the far wall hid in shadow, her watch was somewhere in the kitchen and she was still in her bathrobe. She stood, hollered to whoever was at the front door, “Hold on.”
    She ran to her room, threw on a pair of jeans and a beige tunic, clasped her half-wet hair behind her head and hurried back to the front door without ever looking in the mirror. Shawn stood on the other side of the door “Hey,” he said, smiled. “Were you asleep?”
    Annabelle opened the door. “Can’t fool you, can I? Come in. I’m sure you’re here to check on me, find out if I’m okay after that article. Well, I’m just fine.”
    “Yeah, fine and drunk.”
    “I’m not drunk.” Shawn wavered in front of her eyes.
    “Oh, okay . . .” He took her hand and they walked to the living room, sat down. “So this really sucks.”
    “Well, yes, Shawn, that is a very adult description.” Annabelle rested her head on the back of the chenille couch.
    “ I sound juvenile?” he teased.
    “I have screwed up so many things. I am falling apart. I have got to let this go—drop it. You know?”
    “Why?”
    “Okay, I’ll list the multiple reasons. I will soon be kicked out of every volunteer organization in Marsh Cove; I will lose my job; the church will have a sign on the front door that says ‘Annabelle, Go Home’; Keeley will run away and join some cult.”
    He laughed at the last comment. “Okay, I think you’re overreacting now, don’t you?”
    “No, I don’t. Shawn.” She stood and motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen, where she put her glass in the sink and leaned against the counter. “I really cannot let Knox’s death consume my life again. God, just when I had begun to move forward.”
    He came to her, put his arm around her shoulder. “What can I do?”
    “Let’s go get something to eat like regular people, okay?”
    “Belle, it’s midnight.”
    “Oh, is it really?” She squinted at him. “Why are you here so late?”
    He shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep and then I saw the article and I thought you might need a little company. All your lights were on, so I thought you must be up.”
    “Do you have something to tell me?”
    He stared at her for a long moment, then placed his palm on her cheek. “No, I don’t have any idea whatsoever who was on that plane, okay?”
    “Okay . . .” Annabelle touched his hand on her face, and he quickly removed it. “Doesn’t Pizza Plus have twenty-four-hour delivery?”
    “I guess it does.” Shawn picked up the phone.
    Annabelle sat on the bar stool. “Shawn, do you think Knox cheated on me? I mean, really cheated—not just some unfaithful thought or flirting, but a girl on the side he snuck off with, needed and loved, and then he returned to his family. Is that even vaguely possible?”
    Shawn lifted the Hendricks’ bottle. “Annabelle, that is this bottle talking, not you.”
    “I asked you a question.”
    Shawn ordered the pizza and then sat down next to her. “No, he couldn’t have cheated on you. He wouldn’t have been able to tolerate himself, living and loving his family and friends like he did.”
    “People do it