The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep by Laurie Stolarz (summer reads txt) 📕

There’s a clamoring sound; I did that, dropped something on the floor. The doorknob rolls across the ceramic tile.

I’m in the bathroom. How did this happen? When did I come in here?

Katherine’s standing in front of a stall. “Sorry I scared you. Is everything okay?” She looks at the knob and then at the sink.

The faucet’s running. It seems I’ve done that too. “Yeah,” I lie, shutting the faucet off. When did I come in here?

“Feel like getting in a couple of extra hours of work? I could really use you at the circulation desk.”

“Yeah,” I repeat. “Sure. No problem.”

“Great.” She smiles. “Anytime you’re ready, just clock in.”

Once she leaves, I stuff the knob back into my bag and peek in the mirror, trying to get a grip. The skin beneath my eyes looks swollen and gray. When was the last time I got a solid four hours of sleep? Days? Weeks? I douse my face with water and search my bag for eye drops or a rubber band. No dice.

Downstairs, the clock-in room is just past the reference desk. I head straight for it, but on impulse, instead of going in, I make a beeline outside as my phone continues to buzz.

It’s a text from Aunt Dessa: Where are you? Come home. We need to talk.

And another text from Dr. Mary: Please let us know that you’re okay. We’re worried about you.

Plus, one more from Garret: Just FYI, I could be playing basketball, but instead I’m researching salt mines and can’t seem to stop. Please send help.

Once again, he manages to make me smile—despite the racing sensation inside my heart and my continuous efforts to push him away. I climb into my car and start the engine—Just while I think, I tell myself.

I’m not going anywhere.

Katherine is expecting me to work early.

I just need a moment to pull myself together—not to mention that Pineport, Maine, is way too far. It must be a two-hour drive, at best—in the dark, on a highway … The mere idea of going such a distance makes my heart pound and my insides squirm. It wouldn’t be smart for more reasons than I can count, including my lack of sleep.

But what if I stop for a coffee en route? I could also pick up something to eat. That’s what I should do: get myself a bite before I head to work. Katherine will understand if I don’t start right way.

I put the car in drive, proceed out of the parking lot, and turn onto the main road. My gas gauge says full. A sign for the highway points me to the right. What would happen if I took it? The traffic will be minimal, going north, at this late hour …

My palms slick with perspiration, I clench the wheel, telling myself I’m not going anywhere; I’ll simply turn back around and return to the library. But I take the ramp for the highway anyway.

NOW

45

It’s not until after about an hour on the road that my hands ease from clenching and I’m finally able to believe I can actually do this: drive to Pineport, taking the slow lane of the highway. There aren’t many cars out tonight. I pass by signs for rest stops and gas stations, telling myself that if anything bad were to happen, like blowing a tire, I could always find help. Plus, I have my phone and money if I need it. Everything will be fine. Everything is going to be just great.

My phone rings. It’s Aunt Dessa again. This time, I pick up.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“I’m in my car, driving.”

“Driving where?”

“I’m not going to be home for a bit.”

“That doesn’t answer the question. Where are you?”

“Hold on.” I set the phone down, click on my hazard lights, and check in the rearview mirror to make sure that all is clear. There are only two other cars behind me, both of them in the distance—one in the middle lane, the other in the speed zone.

I pull over to the side of the road, where I put the car in park and pick up the phone again. “I’m going to look for a friend,” I tell her.

“What friend? Where?”

“It doesn’t really matter.”

“Terra, why do we have to do this?”

I press my eyes shut, picturing my self-portrait at the bottom of a heap, drizzled with glue.

“You need to come back here,” she says.

I peek over at the starry doorknob and my mom’s yoga blanket on the passenger seat. Like faithful friends.

“You need to get some help,” she continues. “Your parents would want that too.”

“My parents would never give up on me.”

“And I haven’t either. Now, tell me where you are. Do you want me to come get you?”

“You keep secrets too, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have to go.” I click the phone off, half expecting her to call right back. When she doesn’t, I grind my head against the window glass and stare into the darkness, where the highway lights illuminate the pavement. My eyes fill with hot-wax tears. I scrunch up in my seat, wishing I were in the back, listening to Star Up and telling myself stories about rest stops and road trips.

What am I doing? Where am I going? Is it even worth going “home” when there’s nothing for me there?

I begin on the road again. Like in the well, my eyes eventually dry up. I tell myself, I’m in control. I always have choices. I can just go see.

More stories.

How many more miles?

When my phone rings again, about forty-five minutes later, it’s Katherine, likely wondering where I am. I let it go to voice mail.

The navigation app has me turn off the highway. A sign for Pineport points me to the right. I follow the directions through the center of what appears to be a cute, quaint town. Streetlamps shine over cobblestone streets, brick-front buildings, and pastel-colored storefronts.

I pull over again and try logging on to Jane. An error message comes up on the screen, alerting me