Little Secrets Page 8

  “I’m kidding,” she says.

  “I’m not,” he says, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she laughs.

  She pushes her empty glass toward him. It used to have an amaretto sour in it, and she wants a refill. It’s the same cocktail she drank when she and Sal used to date. The only time she drinks it now is when Sal makes it for her, here, in his bar. Otherwise she sticks to red wine.

  “Another,” she tells him.

  Sal’s Bar—because yes, that’s what he named it—is dark and janky. It’s located near the football stadium, and it’s popular for two reasons: cheap beer on game nights (hard pass), and garlic Parmesan fries (extra garlic, please). It used to be called Fred’s Backyard, and back in college, they all used to come here to drink on the weekends, because old Fred treated them like they were in his backyard—he never carded. And then Fred dropped dead of a heart attack during Sunday Night Football.

  Sal’s father died three months later, and by then the bar was in shambles, badly managed by Fred’s sons and losing customers quickly. At Sal’s request, Marin and a bunch of friends took Sal to the bar after the funeral and reception, and after several tequila shots and a few rounds of Coors Lite, Sal approached the sons and offered to buy the bar from them. They didn’t take him seriously at first, annoyed at the drunken cockiness of the college kid with the loud friends. Sal explained that he’d inherited just enough money to buy it outright, in cash.

  A week later, the deal was done. He dropped out of PSSU once the papers were signed, and none of them were surprised; Sal’s grades were lackluster at best, and the only thing he’d resented more than his father was school.

  Sal Sr., a winemaker who’d studied in Italy under his father, would have hated that his only son had passed up working in the family winery to buy a bar in the city instead. Hated.

  It felt a bit radical back then, a twenty-one-year-old college dropout buying the bar they used to get drunk in after exams, but in hindsight it wasn’t any more radical than Marin marrying Derek right after graduation. It’s easier to make spontaneous, life-changing decisions when you’re young and fearless and have nothing to lose. Luckily Sal turned out to be a pretty decent business owner, and in a neighborhood where bars and restaurants come and go, Sal’s Bar is still here, still profitable.

  Marin and Sal were still technically together when he bought the bar, and she’d been against the decision. It seemed like another one of Sal’s harebrained ideas, and she was adamant that he should finish school. They fought a lot about it, but in fairness, they fought all the time. Fighting and sex were two things their relationship had a lot of. The sex, from what Marin remembers, was great. The fighting, not so much.

  They’re better as friends.

  “If I killed her, you think I’d do okay in prison?” she asks Sal. “I think I would. I’m a tough bitch. I’d probably run the place.” She downs the second cocktail faster than the first and taps the side of the glass. “Hit me again.”

  Sal stares at her, and she can tell he doesn’t like how she’s acting or how fast she’s drinking. He’s seen her like this before—out of control, on the edge of losing her shit—but never in public. She’s making him nervous.

  “I’m not driving home.” She rolls her eyes. “Relax.”

  In fact, that was the first thing she said when she got to the bar: that she’d be taking an Uber home, and that she needed a cocktail, or five. Sal, not assuming anything was seriously wrong, asked if her SUV was in the shop again.

  It was a fair question. Derek had bought her a Porsche Cayenne Turbo for her birthday three years before, and it’s been to the mechanic more than she’s been to the doctor. She has a love/hate relationship with that car. She was thrilled when she opened the front door of their house on the morning of her fortieth birthday and saw it parked in the driveway, angled for maximum impact, pearly white and glistening underneath a giant red velvet bow. A couple of the neighbors came out to see what all the fuss was about, but considering the neighborhood they live in, it really wasn’t that big a deal. It wasn’t even the first time that year someone on their street had received a car as a present, delivered in the exact same way.

  Marin learned two things that day. One, the dealer keeps the bow. Nobody needs a red ribbon the size of a hydrangea bush for any purpose other than gifting someone a car; besides, those bows are custom-made and expensive, so the dealer takes it back once the car has been delivered to the recipient. Two, nobody really buys someone else a car. Derek didn’t walk into the dealership and charge six figures to his credit card. He leased it for four years on her behalf. The car qualifies as a business expense, something she can write off, and it makes zero sense to own it when it’s a depreciating asset. But he paid the deposit and taxes up front (also a write-off), handled the paperwork, and chose the color. He knew she would love the pearly white, and he was right.

  This is what rich people do. If they can finance something, they will. It’s all about maximizing cash flow; debt is only a number on paper. It’s why she’s not sure how to feel about the Porsche. It’s like half a gift. They did get a cute photo out of it—one of the neighbors snapped a picture of them sitting on the hood looking like pretentious jackasses while Derek kissed her on the cheek. It was her most popular picture on Facebook that year.

  It’s now two in the afternoon. She should have gone back home to sleep after her coffee-shop stakeout this morning, but she drove around for a while, attempting to clear her head. Her thoughts are getting darker, and instead of scaring herself with them, she’s starting to find comfort in them.

  Marin is starting to imagine McKenzie Li gone. She’s starting to imagine making McKenzie Li gone.

  “I can’t believe you went to her coffee shop,” Sal says. “That’s some serious stalker-level shit right there.”

  “It’s not her coffee shop. She works at the Green Bean.” She taps her nails on the side of her glass again to remind him it’s empty. “We can go over there right now, if you want to take a look at her.”

  “Fuck no,” he says, and his face is as close to shocked as she’s ever seen it. “We’re not going there, and you’re not going there. Ever again. Okay? Stay away. Don’t talk to her. The first step to fixing your problem is understanding what, exactly, your problem is. Or in this case, who. This is all about the snake you married. If you want to kill anyone, kill him.”

  She’s listening, but she’s not hearing him. After another pointed look and another tap of her glass, Sal sighs and goes to make her another cocktail.

  Marin often wonders what would have happened with them, had she never met Derek. It wasn’t easy being Sal’s girlfriend. He’d had a tough childhood and was plagued by demons. Neither of which were deal breakers, by the way, but what she couldn’t get past back then was the lack of direction in his life. He was fun to be with, but aimless. He hated school, and he seemed to have no ambition, no goals beyond whatever he had planned for the weekend … and sometimes not even then. It drove Marin nuts.

  They had a big fight after his father died, after Sal bought the bar, and mutually decided to end things. It wasn’t their first big fight, or even their first breakup, but he was in a dark place and things were really intense. She needed space. She impulsively took off to Cabo San Lucas with a group of her girlfriends for the weekend, and that’s where she got together with Derek. They already knew each other a little; he was a friend of a friend, and there’d always been a spark, but she could never do anything about it because she had a boyfriend. But on that trip, she was technically single, and Sal and all his demons were two thousand miles away. It felt so good to be with someone who was in line with her, who was as ambitious as she was, who had a clear plan for what he wanted his life to be. The thing that attracted her to Derek the most was his drive.

  By the time the weekend was over, she knew Derek was the one. Knew it in a way she never felt with Sal. When she returned from Cabo, Sal wanted to get back together, and in truth, he had every
right to expect they would—fighting and making up had always been their pattern. But not this time.

  “I’ve met someone,” she told him. She hadn’t even unpacked yet. She had just gotten home, and it was late, and Sal wanted to come over. She suggested they meet at their favorite twenty-four-hour diner instead. The Frankenstein was three blocks from the apartment she shared with two other girls, and when she arrived, hair still wet from a quick shower, he’d already ordered for her. She always got the same thing. Eggs over easy, hash browns, bacon, wheat toast.

  “Met someone? Who?” Sal asked.

  She told him about Derek.

  “So you had a fling.” Sal winced. “The thought that you were with someone else makes me sick, but I guess I can’t get mad, because we were broken up. I can be hurt, though.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. But she wasn’t. Not really. It had ended for her the moment she kissed Derek.

  Sal grabbed her hand. “So tell him to get lost, and come back to me. Mar, it’s you and me. There’s nobody else for me but you. We can fix this. I know things got … weird after my dad died. But it can be better. I can be better.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go. “I want us to stay friends. But we want different things. You’ve got the bar now. And I’m with Derek, and we’re both done with school in a few months. Everything’s … different. And maybe that’s the way it should be.”

  Yes, things with Derek had moved fast. But when you know, you know. Sal was never meant to be the great love of Marin’s life. He could never fill her up completely, for reasons she could never articulate. Whatever X-factor was supposed to exist between them back then just didn’t. For her, anyway.

  Sal was shattered. He felt blindsided, and abandoned. It took Sal a long time to want to be her friend, and the transition from boyfriend/girlfriend to a platonic friendship was rocky.

  It was trust that saved them. He trusted her, and she him, and in some way, Marin has come to realize that trust is better than love. Love is unpredictable, and love hurts. Trust is reliable, dependable, and solid. Like Sal.

  He’s never liked Derek. Not then, and not now. At first she assumed it was because he blamed Derek for them not getting back together, but over time, it became clear that sometimes two people just don’t get along. And never will, no matter what you do. The two of them could not be more opposite. Derek is charming, and Marin can take him anywhere. Sal is rough around the edges, and she never knows who he’s going to offend. Derek loves the spotlight when it comes to work, loves giving interviews about his company, loves the publicity. Sal was once profiled in The Stranger the year after he bought the bar, and he cringed when one of the employees framed the article and hung it on the wall. The only reason it still hangs there now is because it’s good for business.

  Thankfully, neither Derek nor Sal has ever forced her to choose between them. The two men rarely see each other, and when they do, they’re polite. They can find something to talk about for an hour if they have to; sports, usually. They tolerate each other for her sake.

  Derek is the love of her life, but if she’s being honest, Sal’s the person she feels most herself around. There’s no pretense with Sal. Unlike her other old friends, he’s never punished her for jumping into a new tax bracket, for buying a bigger house in a better neighborhood, for succeeding. And unlike her new friends, he doesn’t turn his nose up at who she used to be, that she (and Derek) are self-made, that she sits on charity committees even though she’s technically “new money.” With Sal, it’s okay to be imperfect. She doesn’t have to have her shit together all the time, or ever. She probably depends on him for emotional support way more than she should.

  Who would have thought that who you love and who you feel safe with might not be the same person?

  The bar is near empty, and she sits alone with her third drink while Sal talks to one of his employees. Marin hasn’t seen her here before, so she must have been hired sometime in the last couple of months, which is how long it’s been since Marin last dropped by. She was a regular up until she started back at work, and usually came in around this time, after lunch but before the happy hour crowd.

  Sal’s probably sleeping with her. She’s exactly his type, with her dark hair, her round ass stuffed into too-tight jeans, and a low-cut T-shirt that shows off the benefits of her push-up bra. In a strange way, she reminds Marin of herself when she was younger, before she developed her sense of style. The new server keeps looking over, probably wondering who the hell Marin is, but she doesn’t need to worry. Marin doesn’t steal other women’s men, though part of her enjoys the fact that she can still make other women jealous. In any case, this fling with Sal won’t last more than three months. None of them do. And they won’t stay friends, because it always ends badly. As far as Marin knows, she’s the only ex Sal is still friends with.

  Three more amaretto sours appear, and alongside them, a huge bowl of fries doused liberally in fresh garlic, Parmesan, and the slightest hint of truffle oil. She smiles at the row of cocktails. Sal knows she’s determined to get drunk, and if he won’t let her do it here, he knows she’ll do it somewhere else. But he also knows she needs food. The fries are delicious.

  “See these?” Sal gestures dramatically to the amaretto sours, lined up neatly beside each other. “When those are done, you’re done, got it?” He settles onto the barstool beside her.

  She nods. When she finishes these drinks, he’ll have to peel her off the floor, which is exactly what she wants. But the free drinks come with a price. They mean she has to talk.

  “So what do you want to do?” Sal plucks a fry from the bowl. “Other than drink, that is. When’s the last time you slept? You need Ambien? I’ve got some in the back. Lorazepam, too. And good old-fashioned cannabis works wonders. I got some edibles that look like gummy bears—”

  “I’m exhausted, I know I look like shit. Stop offering me drugs.”

  He jabs her lightly on the arm. “On your worst day, you don’t look like shit. Is today your worst day?”

  “No.” She doesn’t even need to think about it. Her worst day was four hundred eighty-six days ago. Nothing before, or after, even comes close. Not until the day she gets that call telling her the exact thing she doesn’t want to hear.

  “Then buckle up, buttercup,” Sal says, and she snort-laughs, which is the reaction he’s hoping for.

  “I should leave him.” She can’t meet his gaze when she speaks these words.

  “Yes, you should.” He doesn’t even blink, and the shame washes over her like dirty bathwater. “Does Derek know you know?”

  She shakes her head. It’s easier to have this conversation not looking at Sal, so she focuses on the TV again, where someone wearing a red uniform just got knocked down by someone wearing a white uniform and is crying foul about it.

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Castro told me. She was following a lead. Discovered it accidentally.”

  Sal almost chokes on a fry. “The PI? She’s still investigating?”

  “I told you that.”

  “No, you didn’t. You said you hired her for a month, a year ago. You haven’t mentioned her since, so I assumed … Holy shit…”

  “Why does this bother you so much?”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” he says. “It worries me. I feel you’re…”

  “What? Say it.”

  He looks away, chewing on his bottom lip. She takes his chin and turns his face back toward her.

  “Say it,” she says.

  “It’s like you’re in exactly the same place you were when Sebastian went missing.” She takes her hand away, and he holds her gaze. “You haven’t moved forward. You’re … stuck.”

  “You sound like my therapist.” The fourth cocktail is hitting her, and her tongue is loosening. “Am I going to have to break up with you, too?”

  “You stopped seeing Dr. Chen?”

  “Not officially yet. But he also kee
ps saying I’m stuck.”

  “What does Derek think about that?”

  “Since when do you care what Derek thinks?”

  “I normally don’t. But you didn’t see him last year, Mar. After the … after the scare.”

  She’s learning that nobody ever likes to use the word suicide. People will use every other term they can think of to avoid saying that word. They’ll say, that time you tried to hurt yourself. Or, back when you were in a bad place.

  She tried to kill herself. She can admit it—why can’t anyone else?

  “I’d never seen him so scared.” Sal is chewing on a fry, and it’s like he’s talking to himself more than to her. A small bit of garlic rests on his lip, and she reaches forward, flicks it away. “He thought he was going to lose you. He was a fucking wreck. You didn’t tell him you stopped therapy, did you?”

  “In fairness, today’s the first time I canceled on Dr. Chen without rescheduling. I may go back. I don’t know yet.”

  He studies her. “So … what’s different about it this time?”

  This time. He means the affair. Because there was one other time, a long time ago.

  “She’s twenty-four,” Marin says. “And it’s been going on for six months.”

  “Fuck.” Sal draws the word out, and that’s how she knows it’s as bad as she thinks it is. Fuuuuuuck. He grabs another fry and munches on it furiously. This little gesture alone makes her feel a bit better. A true friend is someone who stress-eats with you even though the stressful thing isn’t happening to them.

  She reaches for her phone and shows him the nude selfie. “She has pink hair.”

  He takes the phone from her and looks closely at the photo, his eyes widening slightly. His jaw twitches, and for a second she assumes he’s angry. But then he chuckles.

  “This is funny to you?” she snaps.

  “I’m sorry.” He chokes back another laugh and hands her back the phone. “It’s just … the hair. The tats. It’s like he’s trying to find the exact opposite of you.”