The Secrets She Keeps by Deb Caletti

in the summer.”
    “How is it that I sort of forgot about Mathew?”
    “Lucky you.”

    I turned the fragile pages of Confidential, trying to find old Reno, then gave up. I tossed it back on the pile. “Tell me why you ate all the fortune cookies, how about that one?”
    “Your magnetic personality will bring you a new hobby,” she said. “Duane’s mother started hoarding, too, when she got Alzheimer’s.”
    Duane, that’s right. That was his name, the boyfriend from Montana, whose new girlfriend was probably enjoying those vases. I rose, stretched my legs. Wandered over to that big window that looked out over that bigger night. Tex woke up. He stared at me, alert and watchful.
    “Nash isn’t hoarding. Look how tidy the rest of the house is. She seems perfectly fine, that’s what’s strange. Maybe it’s a mission of some kind. Wouldn’t you need something like that out here? Still, why not just tell us? We’ve got to get into that room.”
    “Well, she’s not fine.”
    “Those papers, I know. It’s not right. It isn’t. The room is stuffed.”
    “Not the papers.”
    “What do you mean?” It was so dark out that window. Who knew what the snakes and wolves were up to in that darkness? Except for the white beam of the moon, shining down on the pool as if the pool were a silvery baptismal font promising renewal, it was only black and more black out there.
    “You didn’t know?”
    “What?” Why didn’t anyone ever tell me anything?
    “She’s dying.”

The moon shines down on the swimming pool. It makes the water look silvery-black and shimmery, as if a dip in it might save your soul. A leaf floats across, a small, glowing boat, a cupped hand. It hits the edge and spins.
    They don’t speak, but they are walking close together because of the dark path, and their shoulders nearly touch. Hadley has turned in early; her porch light is already off.
    “I’ll make a stop here,” Lilly Marcel says. The white dots of her dress are illuminated, too, tiny stars, as she heads off to the toilet.
    Nash waits. She can see the constellations in the sky. She rubs her arms against the cold. She doesn’t feel capable of protecting anyone. She wonders about soldiers and guards, and—wait—men in general, all of the people who are assigned to be strong. They must be just as scared as anyone else.
    The door of the shack bangs and Lilly is back. “Now the baby wakes up,” she says. “A night owl.”
    Nash likes this thought—a little swimming life, already equipped with habits and preferences. She follows Lilly to the cottage and up the stairs. Lilly has her hand on the knob of the door when they hear a long, high-pitched scream.
    Lilly grabs Nash and shrieks. The noise is the strangled cry of a woman getting her throat slashed, but it is not a woman. It’s a sound Nash has never gotten used to.

    “A rabbit,” Nash says. “It’s only a rabbit, caught by a hawk or maybe a coyote.”
    “Oh, my God. That is the most chilling thing I’ve ever heard.”
    It is. You know that fangs are sinking into the soft flesh of a neck. It’s horrible.
    “Get in here, fast.” Lilly grabs Nash’s arm and pulls her inside. She turns the lock.
    “Are you all right?” Nash asks.
    “I don’t know.” Lilly sets her palm to her chest. “Rabbits have it rough, don’t they. Jesus, where’s the light switch?”
    Their hands hit against each other on the wall, and Nash’s shin hits the bookshelf with an audible clunk. It’s the darkness and that scream, and now Nash’s poor shin, and they both start to laugh. They are holding each other’s arms and giggling madly from tension and the shared knowledge of their own false courage. A scream like that will set anyone on edge.
    Lilly wipes her eyes. “Oh, God, oh, God. Where is that light?” she sputters.
    Nash hits the switch. They squint at each other in the sudden brightness, and this is hysterical, too.
    Lilly takes a big breath, exhales. “Whew. There. All is