Little Secrets Read online

  She had mentioned it, yes. After they’d bought the fainting couch she’d looked at a few of the dining room sets in the same antique shop. They’d been sleek, Art Deco, with designs of inlaid wood and matching buffets that had beautiful and ornate drawer handles. Nothing like this square, sharp-edged, utilitarian wooden monstrosity. This table wasn’t an antique, really. It was just…old. And well used, she thought, noticing the carved initials along one short side. CMM. Someone had been naughty.

  “From the basement, Sean? Really?”

  He looked at it. “You can polish it up, it’ll be great. But if you don’t like it—”

  “No,” she interrupted him. “No. It’s fine. We need a dining room table, and this way I can take my time looking for something. Someday.”

  Until then, they could use this table, even if it was ugly. Even if it wasn’t what she wanted. She could make the best of things.

  He settled his hands on her hips to pull her close for a kiss. “Have I told you how awesome you are?”

  He had, many times, which only made her feel worse about hating the table he’d so obviously been happy to bring her. Ginny pushed onto her tiptoes, just a little, to kiss him back. “Hmm. Because I ply you with sweets?”

  “You’ll make me fat.”

  “Then I won’t have to worry about any sexy, young chicks chasing after you,” she teased, patting his flat, hard stomach. Sean never had to work out.

  He looked at her seriously. “You never have to worry about that, Ginny.”

  She’d meant it only as a joke, but his reply was so solemn it set her back. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again. “I love you.”

  He nodded, eyes searching hers. “You do?”

  “Of course I do,” she told him, uneasy with the intensity of his expression. “Of course.”

  “Good,” Sean said. “Let’s eat brownies.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The smell. It was repulsive. Thick and cloying, the unmistakable stink of rot.

  Ginny sniffed the air, then again. “Ugh. God. Sean, you need to check the glue traps.”

  “I did, yesterday. Nothing.” He rattled the paper instructions for the TV stand with a growl. “Insert rod A into slot B. What the hell? There is no slot B.”

  Ginny sniffed again, walking slowly around the living room, which was still cluttered with a few boxes, even though it felt like they’d been unpacking forever. Sean had decided this was the weekend to put together the new television stand he’d insisted they needed for the new flat screen. He’d been cursing at it for the past hour and a half.

  “Can’t you smell that?”

  He sifted through a bag of small metal parts and plucked out a screw, then cursed some more when it didn’t fit into the right hole. “No. Smell what?”

  “I smell it.” She sniffed again, nosing along the wall and over the vent. “I can’t believe you can’t smell it. Something died in the walls, Sean. I’m sure of it.”

  “I thought you told me the exterminator said mice wouldn’t smell that bad.”

  “I know what he said, but I’m telling you, I smell something disgusting. It’s…” She leaned over the vent blowing warm air that was nowhere near hot, and grimaced. She pulled her sweatshirt sleeve over her fingers and held it over her mouth and nose. “It’s stronger when the heat’s on.”

  “Could be something in the ductwork.” Sean shrugged, clearly unconcerned as he struggled with the TV stand’s legs. “God dammit. Why do they have to make these things so hard to build.”

  “We could’ve paid someone to put it together in the store,” she reminded him, and wished she hadn’t when she saw the set of his shoulders.

  “They wanted to charge a hundred bucks for set-up and delivery.”

  “I know they did.” But if they’d done that, they could now be watching a movie together or doing something else instead of this.

  “I can do it anyway.”

  She sighed. “I know you can.”

  The smell, thank God, had faded. Or she’d become immune to the stench. Either way, she could breathe with the filter of her sweatshirt. She watched him for a few more minutes, but knew better than to offer her help.

  The next time the heat kicked on, though, the smell was back. She coughed from it, and Sean gave her a curious look. Ginny waved a hand in front of her face.

  “You really don’t smell that?”

  Sean stood and took a long, deep breath. “Yeah. I smell something. It’s faint, though.”

  “Please check those glue boards again. I’m sure something’s dead on one!”

  He sighed. “Sure, babe. Can I finish this first?”

  Her look must’ve been answer enough, because Sean let out another sigh and hung his head. Without another word, he left the living room. She heard the slow tread of his feet on the stairs, in the hall, and finally into the nursery. She heard the creak of the cubbyhole door opening. More footsteps in the hall, then in their bedroom. She couldn’t hear the cubbyhole door in their closet opening or closing. He came down a few minutes later with empty hands.

  “I told you. Nothing. I mean, the guy said he didn’t see any signs of anything, right?”

  “I still hear things,” Ginny said stubbornly. “In the walls. I told you.”

  Sean sighed and came closer, rubbing her upper arms to soothe her. “I’m sure you do…”

  “I just heard it the other night,” she pointed out. She did not add that she’d heard it while she was wakeful, unable to sleep, and he was snoring away.

  He hugged her, stroking her hair. His shirt was damp. He smelled of sweat; she had to turn her head.

  “All I can say is, I checked the traps. He said he’d be back to check the bait boxes. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So,” Sean said, “the next time he comes, ask him if he can smell it.”

  “Fine,” she said, though it wasn’t fine at all.

  He worked in silence while she flipped through a couple of magazines. When he’d finished, he stood and waved at it. “All done.”

  “Looks good.”

  Shit, now they’d been reduced to single syllables. Ginny sighed. “You want some help hooking up the TV and stuff?”

  “No. I got it.”

  She went to the kitchen while he worked and made him an ice-cream sundae as a peace offering. She took it to him in the living room, then stood and shivered while he ate it. He offered her some, but she shook her head.

  “I’m freezing.” Ginny rubbed her arms and went to the vent in the floor, feeling a waft of lukewarm air. “The kitchen’s sweltering. I don’t get it.”

  Sean sighed and handed her the empty ice-cream bowl. “I’ll call the repairman again tomorrow. Okay?”

  Ginny looked at the bowl, then at him. “Yeah. That would be great.”

  Sometimes, he did get it. Sean got to his feet and hugged her, acting like he didn’t notice that she’d turned her face when he tried to kiss her. “Can’t have my honey being cold, can I?”

  “It’s just that it should work,” Ginny said. “It’s supposed to be an almost-brand-new system, right? We just had the guy out here to check it out. It should just work.”

  “Lots of things should just work, but they don’t.” Sean looked at the TV stand.

  Ginny knew that was certainly true. Marriage was one of them. Or maybe it was the other way around; marriage shouldn’t work but did.

  She looked toward the kitchen, then the bowl. “You want anything else?”

  Sean, engrossed in his task, just grunted.

  Ginny took the bowl into the kitchen and put it into the dishwasher. She stretched, slowly, droplets of sweat pearling on her forehead. The kitchen was still so stinking hot. The clock on the microwave blinked from their last power outage, and as she set it to the correct time, she noticed two t