The Secret Keeping Read Online Free PDF Page A

juke was extra special loud, competing with her thoughts. She stood in the doorway, smiled back and then caught sight of Joe menacing the place with criminal looks and winking at her. She pretended not to see him and searched the room for her friends.
    “Lydia!”
    Her friends finally saw her and they hooted and howled out unseemly hellos. The seating arrangements had changed. She wondered how it had happened that they were now sitting closer to the center, in the blond’s half of the room. Lydia glanced suspiciously toward the waiter, but he seemed to be unaware of her.
    She doubted the woman would be able to enjoy her book tonight and she grimaced as she made her way through the crowd to the noisiest table on the planet.

    “Boo! Hiss!” came a rowdy greeting from her friends.
    “Very nice.”
    “I am shocked, Liddy. Shocked I tell you. I think you did this to get even with us for last Friday. We’ve got a bottle…here…oh…ask the waiter for a glass…waiter! Waiter!”
    Frank’s was energized in a way that promised spring was near. Maybe that’s why they were moving closer to the windows, anticipating summer on the patio again. For days now warm winds had been blowing in from across the sea. They lingered there, down by the waterfront, where Lydia could be found from time to time lost in her lunch hour searches for a good book. The heat came from down there. She was sure of it.
    Deep beneath the water it lurked, perhaps all winter, simply waiting for an opportunity. It was finally near.
    “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Del.”
    The waiter appeared with a glass and she thanked him.
    “Liddy, sit down and drink.”
    She sat.
    “Won’t be long now,” the waiter said cheerily.
    “What won’t?” she asked.
    “Spring!” he declared, leaving the table with a broad grin.
    From there he went directly to the window seat. Lydia observed the two of them lowering their heads together. Not about the menu, their conversation lasted only a few minutes before she saw him leaving again, the blond casting a furtive glance after him. What a busy man, Lydia thought. What’s going on? Nothing, he seemed to be saying. She turned back toward the blond. Look up. Look up. Yes, smile. Yes! Green eyes.
    Smile back at her, fool. Show her you have all your teeth, as daddy would say. Daddy? What in the world am I doing? Is she naturally blond? Yes, naturally blond. Accessories? None. No jewelry at all, save a thin gold watch on the left wrist. Nothing on her fingers, either. No ring. It was warm in the center of the room, cooler by the wall, Lydia suddenly noticed. About my age. Beautiful hands. Writers hands? Lydia studied them wrapped around the book. Can’t tell. Or was she a musician? Artist? She squinted but couldn’t make out the title. Green eyes, nice. A navy blue tailored pantsuit. Heels. No, definitely not an artist. Probably not a musician, either. Who in the world is this woman? What in the world is she doing here?
    There was the waiter again, returning with a drink that had been sent by the guy at the bar pantomiming a toast to the blond. No time for a drink. She had a harried look tonight. Lydia analyzed her face as she paid her bill, collected her things. One last smile?
    Yes. And then the blond with no ring was leaving, passing near Lydia’s table, the right hip swaying upward, the left shoulder dipping gently down. She moved rather than walked. Or flowed–god, the woman flowed just like water! Thirty fluid steps to the coat check. Lydia trailed her with her eyes until she was gone and then searched for the waiter.
    He was mixing drinks.
    I’m out of my mind. Would it be improper to ask the waiter for that woman’s name? Was there an emergency or something; why was she leaving? She should ask him for that woman’s name. Lydia weighed it carefully, contemplating the vacant table with butterflies, trying to understand why the room seemed so empty. Was she planning to meet someone tonight, perhaps?