The Secret Keeper (3 page)

But over time, he became less and less forthcoming. When I asked him one night what they’d talked about that day, he just said, “Oh, everything and nothing. Poetry sometimes, though I’m embarrassed because I don’t know much about it. But mostly we talk about garden stuff.” 

I certainly didn’t suspect anything nefarious was going on, but I couldn’t understand—if he was supposed to work two hours, why he couldn’t just work two hours and leave.

Finally, on the Friday before Cory and Nick were coming for dinner, we’d made plans to go grocery shopping as soon as we got home, then take Joshua to Cap’n Rooney’s Fish Shack for dinner. However, Jonathan called at three thirty to ask me to pick up Joshua from Happy Day because he’d be a little late. I decided it was time to have a talk.

*

That evening, after Joshua was safely bathed, toothbrushed, pajama’d, Story-Timed and tucked in for the night, we went into the living room to watch a little TV before bed. I’d been thinking of what I was going to say and how to say it without overstating my case and without making him feel bad.

But before I could start, he said, “Is something wrong?”

So much for diplomacy. Why I answered “Nothing,” I don’t know.

He reached over and took my hand. “Come on, ‘fess up. I know you. Tell me.”

So I did.

“I’m glad you have that job with Mr. Bement, and I’m glad that you obviously enjoy it so much. But it seems like you’re spending more and more time there, and—”

“I know. Really. But he pays me for every minute I’m there, even for the time when we’re drinking coffee, though I’ve told him he doesn’t have to.”

That one tripped me for a moment. “I’m sorry? I don’t follow. I wasn’t talking about the money.”

He gave a deep sigh and squeezed my hand. “I know you weren’t. But, well, Mr. Bement is really a nice man, and he’s had a life I can hardly even imagine. But I can tell he’s really lonely, and he knows he isn’t going to be around much longer, and, well…so he talks to me, and I listen. I don’t think he has anyone to really listen to him.”

“What about his family?”

“Like I told you, I don’t think he has much to do with them except for a couple of his grandkids, especially that one grandson I mentioned, who’s a flight attendant for American, and he seldom sees him.”

“So, what does he talk about?” I’d asked before, of course, and gotten evasions.

He suddenly looked uncomfortable and dropped his eyes from mine.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but sometimes he—well, he’ll be talking about gardening and ordinary things, then it’s like his mind goes somewhere else, and he’ll start talking about things he worries about, and about people he never names. I wouldn’t know them if he did, of course, but I’d guess most of them are members of his family, and if they are, they don’t sound like nice people at all.

“Sometimes I’m not quite sure what he’s talking about, but he’s very serious about it, and it seems to be pretty important to him, so I’ll just listen. And sometimes, he’ll ask me to promise not to tell anyone what he tells me. Who would I tell, other than you? But I always promise.”

I was curious, but knew he would respect the old man’s wishes and not tell me. And it would be unfair of me to expect him to.

“Well,” I said, “it’s nice that he feels he can confide in you.”

He shrugged. “I suppose. I’m not sure why…why he tells me, that is. Maybe just because I listen. Maybe because he feels he’s been keeping things inside for so long he’s tired of them. Maybe because he wants to let someone know who he is and was before he isn’t anymore. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than it is to a close friend—and I don’t think he has many, if any, of those anymore. I hope you understand.”

“Of course I do.” 

“Anyway, I do feel guilty about being late getting home sometimes—I know it’s not fair to you and Joshua—but you’ll both be here for a long, long time. I don’t think Mr. Bement will be.”

“Is he ill?” 

“I don’t think so. But when you’re ninety…”

He had a point.

*

Saturday was a fast-forward version of our usual chore day, but we got it all done, including an only slightly truncated visit to the park for Joshua’s Saturday letting off of steam, and were home just before noon. A quick lunch, then the afternoon was devoted to housecleaning and getting ready for guests. Since this was Cory and Nick’s first visit, Joshua wanted to be sure everything was just so. 

We’d decided on a pot roast for dinner, and since a lot of cutting and peeling and chopping with sharp objects were involved, I volunteered to do it while Joshua, who always liked helping out, assisted Jonathan with watering the plants and feeding the fish.

So everything was ready when the doorbell rang that evening at six thirty.

Since I’d never met either of them, when Jonathan opened the door to a tall, butch-looking blond with a crewcut, and a slightly shorter brunette, both in their early thirties, I had no idea who was who. Extending his hand to the brunette, Jonathan said, “Hi, Cory. I’m glad you could make it.” Then he turned to the blond and said, “Nick.”

Well, that took care of that.

As they came into the room, Cory effortlessly signed the introductions as he talked, while Nick watched, smiling. After I’d shaken hands with Nick, I suddenly remembered enough to sign
Nice to meet you.
His face lit up, and he signed something quickly I recognized as
You sign?

“A little,” I said, trying to accompany my words with the appropriate sign. “Very little,” I added.

“That’s great,” Cory said/signed.

Joshua stood close by my side, watching in utter fascination. Nick looked at him and signed
Hello, Joshua
, finger-spelling the name very slowly as Cory interpreted. Joshua’s eyes moved from one to the other as though two magical beings had entered the room.

*

The evening went very well. Cory and Nick were both great guys, and I soon shared Jonathan’s opinion of Cory. He signed so fluidly and effortlessly, interpreting for Nick in sign and for us in words, that by halfway through dinner it seemed the most natural thing in the world, which, of course, it was. To both Jonathan’s and my great relief, Joshua was the perfect little gentleman all during dinner. Obviously, he’d been awed into his best behavior.

Nick had been born deaf. Both Cory’s parents and his sister were deaf, from whom he learned to sign, and he had a hearing brother five years older than he. Cory and Nick had met at Gallaudet College in Washington D.C. when Cory went to visit his sister who, like Nick, was a student there. Gallaudet is the country’s only college specifically for the deaf. Only a tiny fraction of its 2,000 or so students are hearing.

After dinner, Nick taught Joshua how to finger-spell “hi” and the signs for
yes
,
no
, and
thank you
. Joshua wanted to learn how to spell his name, but Cory said, “That might take a little while. Why don’t you have your uncle Dick teach you, and you can show us the next time we see you?”

When it was Joshua’s bedtime, we used a ploy that had worked successfully a couple times in the past, announcing that it was time for his shower, which he equated with being a grown-up. While it was much easier to put him in the tub, an occasional shower was a way of acknowledging that he was, indeed, getting old enough to do more for himself. We still turned on and adjusted the water for him, and stood outside the shower door to make sure he didn’t fiddle with the knobs and risk scalding himself. I did the honors while Jonathan, Cory, and Nick carried on the conversation.

The whole getting-ready-for-bed process went remarkably smoothly and with a relative minimum of objection, stalling, and balking. I returned to the living room after having overseen the goodnight to his parents’ picture, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and Story Time rituals.

Jonathan was telling Cory and Nick a modified version of how we’d met, omitting that it had been a very rough time for him and that he had been hustling to survive, and how Joshua had come into our lives. We, in turn, learned they had been together for four years. Nick was a statistician for a large corporation and had been transferred here from their Washington headquarters, and Cory worked for a nonprofit human services organization.

I asked how they liked living here after D.C. 

“We like it,” Cory said, signing as he did so. “We’ve met quite a few people, but most of them are deaf. Not surprisingly, it’s a pretty tight-knit community. You’re the first hearing couple we’ve had a chance to get to know here.”

The conversation went on to roam over a number of subjects, many of them revolving around the deaf community and the problems its members face on a day-to-day basis, of which most hearing people are totally oblivious, such as the dangers of driving without being able to hear the sirens of emergency vehicles approaching intersections.

We’re pretty invisible
, Nick signed.
And when the hearing find out we’re deaf, they usually don’t know how to act around us.
He grinned.
Cory loves it when they raise their voices on the assumption that if they shout, we’ll hear them. Or they talk very, very slowly thinking we can read their lips. Many of us can lip-read to an extent, but we don’t need people to speak in slow motion for us to do it.

It was a really nice evening, and both Jonathan and I learned a lot.

*

Mondays were one of Jonathan’s Bement days, but he didn’t call to ask me to pick up Joshua and was home when I got there. I assumed that perhaps our little talk the preceding Friday had had some effect.

“I didn’t go to work for Mr. Bement today,” he said.

“Oh? Something wrong? Is he ill?”

“I don’t think so. I went over there like I always do, but he wasn’t in the yard like he usually is, and before I could start to work, his housekeeper came out and told me to go home. She said Mr. Bement’s best friend had just died, and that he wouldn’t need me today. I felt terrible for him, but didn’t have a chance to talk to him to tell him so.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “I can imagine how hard it must be on him.”

“I don’t think I want to get old,” he said, and I went over to hug him.

“Don’t talk like that! You’ll always have me and Joshua.”

He looked at me, solemn-faced. “Will I?”

“Would I lie to you?”

*

Wednesday, he called Bement from Evergreen to see if he should go over and was told to come ahead, which he did.

“How is Mr. Bement doing?” I asked after our group hug as soon as I got home.

“He looks terrible. But I can’t blame him. I told him how sorry I was. But then right after I got there, his grandson came over. I know I shouldn’t say it considering how sad Mr. Bement is, but his grandson—he’s the airline steward—is beautiful!”

I grinned. “I think it’s a job requirement,” I joked, hoping to make him feel better.

“He’s about my age,” he continued, letting my observation sail over his head. “A little shorter than me. Jet-black hair and really light blue eyes. And nice, too.”

“Shall I move in with Tim and Phil?” 

He gave me a startled look, then grinned. “Only for a while.” 

“Uncle Dick’s moving?” Joshua asked, wide-eyed.

“No, Uncle Dick isn’t moving,” Jonathan replied. “We’re only playing.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” I said.

Jonathan looked at me. “Oh, no, you don’t! You’re not pulling that ‘bravely-noble-spouse’ number on me! You look all the time. I’m entitled.”

He had me there. “Granted,” I conceded. “So, what’s his name?”

“Mel. Mel Fowler, I think. I didn’t really talk to him all that much. He showed up just after I got there, and then he and Mr. Bement went into the house and I went back to work. I was really glad he came over, because I could tell Mr. Bement felt better as soon as he saw him. And he’s gay, of course.”

“Mr. Bement?” I asked with a straight face, causing him to look at me as though I weren’t quite bright.

“Uh, no. Not Mr. Bement. Mel. Mel Fowler. The airline steward. Mr. Bement’s grandson. Remember him?”

“Vaguely,” I said. “So, how do you know he’s gay?”

Again the same look. “Give me a break,” he said, and we exchanged grins.

*

Wednesday we got a call from Bob and Mario saying they were thinking of having a barbecue on Sunday.

“The weather won’t be cooperating too much longer,” Bob said, “so we might as well get one more in.”

When we—well, it was Jonathan who mentioned it—told him about our meeting Cory and Nick and said they were relatively new in town, Bob suggested we invite them, which Jonathan, of course, thought was a great idea.

“I think they’ll really fit in with the group,” he told me after he’d hung up. I agreed, and he didn’t even replace the receiver on the cradle before dialing their number. 

*

Friday night when I got home, and as I headed toward the kitchen after our group hug, I noticed a battered copy of
Sonnets from the Portuguese
on the couch.

“Mr. Bement wanted me to read it,” Jonathan explained, “so I couldn’t say no. It was nice of him to lend me his very favorite book. But I want to get it back to him as soon as I can, because I know he’ll miss it.”