Our Little Secret

            The first time I met Mark was a Sunday afternoon. I was admittedly out of it. You know how it is when you want to enjoy your weekend, but tomorrow is Monday?

           There I was, sitting on the park bench at the neighborhood playset, my 11-year-old boy going up and down that tan and red playset. He’s a real energizer bunny, that one. That’s when I noticed him standing there. Mark’s imposing 6’4” frame was planted five feet to my right in his dark suit, shining mahogany shoes and deeply red tie. He was handsome. Strong jaw, blue eyes, his hair combed back perfectly without a single hair out of place. He looked like a lawyer, perhaps a politician. If I’m being honest, he was just one of those people you’re drawn to. I certainly was.

           I remember him pulling his jacket back and placing his hands on his hips, the way the English soccer coaches, or perhaps I should say football managers, do when you’re flipping through channels on Saturday morning and stumble onto a Premier League match. Then he looked over at me, tilted his head in the direction of the playset and said something.

           Honestly, I don’t remember what it was that he’d said word for word. Something about our kids getting along well. I remember looking back to the playset and seeing my boy playing with his little girl, I’d guess she was 9. They looked like old friends already, you know how children can be. They take to each other in an instant, no questions asked. It’s always hours later that a child looks at you and asks if girls have cooties. Or why people look different. Why did that little girl have two daddies? Why did that little boy’s shoes have holes in them? Don’t his parents love him?

           Aren’t kids something else?

           I stumbled over my words, trying to sound like the cool dad, like the man’s man. Anything to impress this man I felt so drawn to. He was like the cool kids from my school days, the ones we all wanted to be friends with, except none of us knew why. The ones that after college turned out to not be mysterious, just lacking character. Those ones.

           But Mark seemed different, he sat down next to me and we talked for what must have been an hour. It started off about the kids, then our wives, then the neighborhood in general. He’d just moved in down the street from me. I remembered seeing moving trucks a few weeks prior, and now for once I could tell my wife that I was the one that introduced myself to the new neighbor, not her. She wouldn’t believe me. She’d guess the truth. Something along the lines of “I’m sure Jerry…” as she rolls her eyes.

           The second time I talked to Mark He was out for a jog and I was walking the dog. He stopped to chat with me, and we got along well again. Soon he realized we’d been on about baseball season for a good fifteen minutes, that he’d be late to get home from his run. I apologized and he gave me the queerest look. I remember him asking why I did that. I couldn’t articulate a reason, just that I was sorry for keeping him.

           Mark had shaken his head and began jogging off when he slowed, looked over his shoulder and asked me if I wanted to come over to his place and watch the ballgame Friday. I can tell you this, I was shocked. I think I remember nodding so vigorously that I felt a little dizzy as he ran off.

           There I was, standing at his door, or at least the door I hoped was his. I think it was a green door and that there was a welcome mat under my feet. I remember having just wrung the doorbell and having one of those mini heart attacks.

           When she opened the door, I’m pretty sure my jaw literally dropped. I can’t tell you for certain if it did, but I can tell you what she was wearing. Imagine my surprise when a woman even more perfectly attractive than Mark opened that door in nothing but a swimsuit? It was black and contrasted her tan skin perfectly. Two pieces. Three triangles that each looked slightly smaller than they should have been. Held together by what could be described only as black string. And her smile. So white, shaped perfectly. Her shocking blue eyes and long blond hair were something out of a daydream. And she was smiling… at me.

           I’m sure I’d regained my composure by the time Mark walked up behind her and called my name. I remember the pang of guilt, or perhaps jealousy when his hand made a distinct sound against her bare skin. I remember being abashed as I watched her walk away to put clothes on, my eyes locked on her as if I were a 13-year-old boy. Mark only smiled knowingly.

           “She’s hot ain’t she?” He didn’t sound angry, I thanked God for that.

           “Yeah, yeah, she’s something else alright.”

           “Just keep your hands off her. Maybe I’ll let you watch if you behave.” The way he smiled and winked told me he was kidding. Or at least… I thought he was kidding.

           Later that evening when I left Mark’s house, I left with three things. A new friend. A crush on my new friend’s wife. And, a playdate for my son.

           It was a few days later when Grace came over to our house to play with Billy. She seemed like a sweet girl, but quiet. I noticed she never smiled, not even the awkward way I smiled. She was so polite though, always saying please and thank you, and never in that manipulative way.

           One of the times I went to check on them I noticed something on her thigh. Her shorts had ridden up, and there was an undeniable bruise. I remember I squatted down next to her as they played their board game and pointed at it. I think I asked her what it was, asked her if she was alright. Something like that. She tugged her shorts down and said it was nothing. She didn’t seem upset, just… detached? I’m not always the best judge of people. She seemed odd around me after that, and it bothered me.

           “Jerry, Friday night again?” Mark had asked when he picked her up.

           “Yeah, sure thing, uh, same time?” And that was that.

           This is when I ask you not to judge me. I was walking the dog later in the week and saw Mark’s wife Julie sunbathing in their back yard from another street. Again, the next day, I noted that at the same time, through the same two houses, you could see her. And so, a third day I took the dog for a walk at the same time hoping to get a look at Julie, but what I saw that day was not what I had hoped for.

           Friday came and went. It was an uneventful visit, and we ended it with plans again for the upcoming Friday. I continued to take the dog for a walk at the normal time, catching my peek at my new friend’s wife in her bathing suit. I went to work, went about my normal days. But what I’d seen bothered me, and I began to canvass Mark’s house. I would make excuses to take the dog for a second walk, I started to go for runs, I started to suggest family walks. Anything to get out and about, to check in on their house.

           Twice I saw expensive looking cars parked in the driveway, and once I saw the man who owned one of them. To describe him is difficult. How do you call a man both smug but nervous? How do you describe a man as looking powerful, while also thinking he looked indebted to his host? The man was a walking dichotomy. Everything about him didn’t belong there. He was supposed to be in an office high rise, or a white government building… not my neighborhood looking… shady? Trying to be inconspicuous?

           Have you ever seen someone and just known something was wrong? You couldn’t put your finger on it. You just felt a tug in a certain direction and helplessly you flung yourself into the unknown, hoping to land on your feet?

           That’s what I felt Thursday night when I snuck out of my house, leaving my sleeping wife and child. I felt pulled uncontrollably as I walked through backyards like some criminal on my way to Mark’s house.

           I don’t know what I expected to find when I got there and looked in the back window. Perhaps I expected to again see a naked man in Mark’s house. Perhaps I thought I would see Mark’s naked wife, or even the two of them in some sort of orgy. But what I saw horrified me.

           The next night when Mark opened the door and greeted me, I didn’t say a word. I just walked in. He asked what was wrong. Asked if I was ok. I remember sitting down on the couch in his front room and trying to find the courage to speak. I was terrified. Julie walked in, made her way to Mark and snuggled into his side. How could they be so happy? How could they do what they did?

           “Are you selling… your daughter?” I spit it out. Then I threw up in my mouth. I’ll always remember that taste. And then he laughed. He. Laughed.

           “Oh Jerry, I would deny it… but if you’re asking then you know. Yes. And she’s too bloody expensive for you to afford. Or is that not what you’re getting at?”

           I was aghast. Me? Do that? What was I? Some kind of pervert? How dare he!

           “No Mark,” I kept my voice from quivering, kept it strong. “I’m going to tell the authorities. This is over. You’re not hurting that little girl anymore.”

           “Really Jerry!? You sure about that?” I remember this all too well because I felt shocked, frozen. I thought he should be groveling at my feet for forgiveness, begging me to spare him. I was supposed to be the righteous savior, the man in power now. Maybe that’s all I’d wanted all along, to be better than a man that I believed was better than me.

           I think I just stared at him. I think I may have tried to speak, but if I did, my mouth merely moved, and nothing came out.

           “Jerry,” His hand was prominently placed on his adoring wife’s hip, his smile was wide, his eyes so damned proud. “Jerry, do you really think that someone like me doesn’t know what goes on in his own neighborhood? Do you really think I don’t keep track of my friends? Did you even bother to look up while you snuck around my house the other night? Whether you did or not, you failed to notice my cameras. You’re just the pervert that wanders around my house in the evenings trying to peep my wife. And I have proof. Whereas, you don’t. Who’s going to believe you?”

           I’m not proud of my memory, but I remember every word of this conversation. It’s ingrained in my mind. Was I willing to suffer these repercussions to save a little girl from… that? Was I willing to be the villain to be the hero?

           “I don’t care Mark!” I was so proud in that moment, so vain. I was going to get the best of him. I was so sure. But then he cut me off before my righteous soliloquy could even get going.

           “Well maybe you should Jerry! Because my lawyer has a list of people and a pile of letters that he keeps for me. In the case that he hears even a rumor that I’m in any sort of trouble, he’s to send every last letter out. And your wife is on that list.”

           My heart stopped. No. He couldn’t know. No one knew.

           “Oh Jerry,” Julie’s voice was sensual, like velvet, “We know all about how you cheated on your wife. Hold that thought Jerry, I can see the wheels turning in your mind. Not the first time. That was what? Three years ago? She almost left you and told you she would take little Billy and run away the next time you did it. And yet you went right back to your dirty little secret. We have pictures of you and Jenny…”

           She let that name hang in the air. My wife’s name is Claire. Jenny is… a friend. My reality came flooding down around me. I would lose my wife, my son, my family. My reputation would be ruined. Again. A man could make a mistake and live with it. But can a man make that same mistake a second time? Can he lose everything and live with that? Can he live with himself knowing he chose his dirty little secret over everything he claimed he loved?

           I’m not proud to say that I walked out of that house without another word. I was confused. I went straight home, my head down. The last thing I heard was Julie’s voice dripping with contempt.

           “Bye Jerry”

           I sat awake that night. I don’t recall all the thoughts I had in detail, just the general ideas. I know I thought about all I would lose. I thought about that little girl, what she must have gone through. How I’d never seen her smile, that I thought I knew why now. I thought of taking my own life. Anything to get out of this predicament. How could I do something that knowingly hurt my family? But I’d already done that, hadn’t I? How could I not go to the authorities? There was a little girl… a victim of unspeakable evil. How could I not help her? Save her?

           I sat awake thinking at the edge of our bed while my wife slept no more than four feet from me. I think I knew exactly what I would do by the time I stood up, but I’m not sure I can recall now. I know I stood up at exactly 2:13 AM on the dot. Because at 2:13 AM, just after the two had flipped to a three on my digital alarm clock, I heard the sirens.

           I ran outside into the street. At this moment I can’t recall doing this, but it must have been what I did, because the next thing I remember I was standing in the street looking frantically to my left and my right.

           I saw firetrucks down the street. It looked like they were in front of Mark’s house. My legs took my down the street at a sprint. I had to know what was happening. I could see the fire blazing. When I was halfway there I was able to confirm it was Mark’s house that was burning. So many thoughts coursed through my mind. I’m ashamed to admit I hoped my secret had perished with them in that fire, but it’s the truth.

           I stopped in front of the house in the middle of the street. The inferno was out of control, the firetrucks and firefighters were fighting furiously, but there was no hope. The whole house was enveloped. I took a few steps back. It was so hot, even this far away. I heard a noise behind me. I turned.

           There she was. Standing there in the grass between the street and the sidewalk, next to tree. Grace. She was like a miniature of her mother, so very pretty with her blond hair and her blue eyes. But she looked so grim as she watched the fire. I took a step toward her… then another. Then she turned her head and looked at me with cold, dead eyes. I felt a shiver run down my spine, felt my legs go weak. It was like swimming into two deep pools of… of what? They weren’t like ice. No, water has life. I don’t doubt she was dead on the inside. Two pools of… space? A vacuum. Completely empty. Then she smiled, a horrible, sweet little smile as she cocked her head ever so slightly.

“Can you keep a secret?”