Can You Keep a Secret? (11 page)

‘So, what did you think? Was it worthwhile?’

‘It was great,’ Caitlin said, and she did seem chipper. ‘I really like that doctor. She was good. She gets what’s going on. She told me: “In my opinion, you have a phobia.” Meaning, an actual illness, like high blood pressure. Lots of people can’t fly for health reasons and that’s me. She gave me a certificate. I can use it to get my visa extended. It’s good news, Colby. I can stay.’

‘Your mother called.’

‘My mother? What did she want?’

‘To invite us to Thanksgiving.’

Colby had been buttoning his cuffs in the ensuite of their room at the Hilton. It was November 2001, and Caitlin still had not gone home.

‘My mother called to invite us to Thanksgiving?’

‘Yes.’

Colby came out of the bathroom, shirt buttons undone. He looked at Caitlin, sitting up in the hotel bed in her pink and baby-blue bra, with the room service breakfast tray beside her.

‘That’s odd.’ Colby shook his head, a little bewildered, and went back to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

‘So, can we go?’

Colby didn’t answer. Caitlin listened for the sound of brushing to stop.

‘I said, so can we go?’

Colby came out of the bathroom, towel to his lips.

‘I suppose we have to go, don’t we? You can’t really say no to Thanksgiving.’

‘I don’t even know what it is.’ Caitlin bounced on the mattress. Of course she knew, from TV and from reading the papers: it was an American family holiday. The first since 9/11 was being described as especially poignant: there would be many people missing from many tables.

‘I’m happy she’s asked us,’ said Caitlin. ‘I know you think she’s strange, but maybe all this has changed her. Maybe she’s thinking about family again.’

‘My mother hasn’t thought about family since the day my father died.’

‘She loves you.’

‘She loves bossing me around. She’d run my life if I let her.’

‘You’re all she’s got.’

‘She’s got that apartment, and it’s rent controlled. That’s worth quite a bit in New York. Now, let me go to work.’

Colby went out the door and Caitlin threw off the bedcovers, got dressed and headed down to the hotel foyer. She tracked down Carlos – Colby had asked the Hilton to take him on – and broke the news to him.

‘I’ve been invited to Thanksgiving at Colby’s mum’s,’ she said.

‘Well, that’s good news! Maybe she sees you as part of his family?’

‘I’ll have to get something to wear. Point me in the right direction.’ Carlos pointed Caitlin towards Zara. She bought a white woollen dress, a white woollen cape, and leather boots – clothes that she’d never need in a million years in Townsville – and when she put the outfit on, she knew that she looked good.

She played the evening over. How would it go? The celebration would be muted, because the memory of 9/11 was fresh and the US was at war. Still, the table would be set, probably with old crockery from when Colby was a boy. White plates with silver rims, crystal goblets and silverware. Reg would bring out a whole bird from the kitchen. Knives would be sharpened at the table. Pearl would wear an apron with a bow tied at the small of her back. Okay, maybe not, but it was nice to be asked and Caitlin would try hard to get Pearl to like her.

Then Thanksgiving came, and everything went pear-shaped. They rode the creaky elevator up to Pearl’s turret apartment. Reginald opened the door. He had the same frayed and faded uniform, and wore the same shoes with the one stacked heel. The table had been set, with Pearl at the head, and Caitlin and Colby opposite each other. The table was large, so there was at least a metre of space between each of them. Caitlin sat down, and the pad on the red velvet chair beneath her bottom shifted sideways. The seat was loose.

‘Reginald, you may serve,’ said Pearl.

Reginald nodded and went to the kitchen. Two minutes later, Caitlin heard a
ping
. Slices of turkey, already on
plates, were being heated in the microwave. Gravy was being poured, straight from the polystyrene cup into which it had been stirred. Caitlin tried to make some conversation. Pearl sat waiting and smoking.

‘So,’ Pearl said, when all three plates had been placed on the table, ‘happy Thanksgiving, I suppose.’

‘Happy Thanksgiving!’ Caitlin raised her glass.

‘Right,’ said Colby.

Colby got started and, in minutes, his meal had been devoured. Pearl ate next to nothing. She put her fork down and lit another cigarette.

‘My dear Caitlin,’ she said, ‘I hope you’ll excuse me if I ask a few questions of you?’

‘I don’t mind.’ Caitlin rested her own knife and fork.

‘Well, first of all – it’s been what, two months now since those attacks? How long is it, exactly, that you intend to stay?’

Caitlin was caught short. She swallowed and said, ‘To be honest, Mrs Colbert, I’m still not sure. I’ve got this fear of flying. I’m sure Colby – Lachlan – has told you about it. But I’m seeing a therapist and we’re working on it. It’s hard for people to understand but I am really frightened.’

Pearl put out her cigarette. ‘You’re really frightened.’

It was not a question, but Caitlin felt compelled to answer it. ‘Yes. When I think of getting on a plane, I just …’

Pearl tapped the base of her lighter against her cigarette
case. It was a silver case, with her initials lightly engraved on the lid. She looked over at her son. ‘You know she’s got you trapped.’

Colby put his fork down. ‘Let’s not do this. I just knew you’d do this.’

‘You know it as well as I do. Fear of flying! Plenty of people are back on planes.’

‘We’ve had this conversation,’ Colby said. That was news to Caitlin, who was still sitting there, stunned. ‘We don’t need to have it again. Let’s drop it.’

But Pearl persisted. ‘The longer she stays, the harder it’s going to be to get her to leave. I’ve told you that before. And now I’ve just asked her point blank when she’s going. And she hasn’t answered. Because she has no intention of going, do you, Caitlin? You’ve got your claws into my son and you have no intention of letting go.’

Colby stood up, furious. Caitlin sat frozen. Reginald limped around the table, clearing the plates.

‘What would you have me do?’ Colby asked. ‘Force her onto the plane? Drag her to the airport?’

Pearl lit another cigarette, and tapped it without looking at Colby. ‘No. I can’t see you doing that. That would be too sensible.’

Colby pushed his chair away from the table. ‘Alright. I didn’t want to do this today. I hadn’t even really made up my mind. But now I’m convinced, and you might as well know: Caitlin and I, we’re engaged to be married. That’s why Caitlin hasn’t gone home. I’m making her my wife.’

Pearl looked stunned. She turned to stare at Caitlin, who was even more stunned.

‘Well,’ Pearl said, finally. ‘Hasn’t she got you by the short and curlies.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘How on earth can you be getting married? You hardly even know each other.’

‘I’ve known Caitlin for two years.’

‘You’ve seen her three times in your life, and the first time she was serving the drinks.’ Pearl had barely smoked her cigarette but now butted it, and made room on her lap for Miffy, who had been lurking underneath the table in the hope of getting turkey scraps.

‘So that’s it?’ Colby said. ‘No congratulations?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Congratulations for what?’ Pearl stroked the dog’s head with a bony hand. ‘Congratulations to Caitlin, obviously, for getting her claws into you. And isn’t that lucky? Because, Caitlin, Colby has told me that you have no money. Your family has no money. Your mother is an invalid. Your father is some kind of island hill-billy. So, you’re not quite the catch, are you?’

Caitlin still had not said a word. Colby was standing. He took Caitlin’s hand and pulled her from her chair.

‘What, you’re leaving? Before the pie?’ Pearl picked a piece of turkey off her plate before Reginald could remove it, and dropped it by her feet. Miffy jumped down and hoovered it straight up.

‘Of course we’re leaving,’ said Colby, yanking Caitlin
towards the door. ‘If you can’t even be bothered to congratulate us, we might as well leave.’ He let the door slam behind them, and they rode down the elevator in silence. Caitlin had been struck dumb, and when they got out into the street she started to cry.

‘Oh please.’ Colby sounded exasperated.

‘But why did you say that?’ Caitlin asked. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on. Why did you tell Pearl that we were getting married? I know you’re sick of me.’

Colby took her hands in his. ‘I’m not sick of you.’

‘You are. I heard what you told Summer. On the phone, two nights ago. You thought I was asleep. You told her I would be going home soon.’

‘Yes. But I was being stupid. Let’s just do this. Let’s get married. Let’s just go now and get it done.’

Caitlin cried harder. ‘Stop it, it’s not a joke.’

‘I’m not joking,’ Colby said. His voice was rising. He lowered it. ‘Okay, Caitlin, it’s true. I didn’t think I was ready to settle down. If this – 9/11 – hadn’t happened, probably I would have let you go home to Australia. I’d have spent the next ten years dating women I don’t even like, and trying to make money. And what’s the point? There’s no point, not when you could get torn to pieces in a terrorist attack at any moment. So, forget what I said. Forget what my mother says. I love you. I want to marry you. I want to do it now. Let’s just go and get it done.’

Caitlin blinked. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I’m serious. Caitlin, please, marry me. Don’t make me get down on my knees. Just say yes, and let’s go and do it. Let’s just go and get it done.’

‘Now?’

‘Right now.’

But of course they couldn’t just go and get it done, not right then. It was Thanksgiving. A holiday. Plus, they would need a marriage licence. Passports. Other bits of ID. Then they’d have to wait another twenty-four hours, in case either of them got cold feet.

‘So, let’s do it Monday,’ said Colby, once all this had been confirmed, and so on the Monday afternoon, at the Town Hall, they got married. Colby wore a work suit. Caitlin held flowers dragged from a plastic bucket outside the nearest bodega. They exchanged rings bought from a place Colby knew on Park Avenue. He’d had the owner open up, just for them.

‘I really can’t believe this.’ Caitlin turned the gold band on her finger. It looked odd. So bright.

‘Believe it, Mrs Colbert. You’re my wife. And you know what that means: you’ve got no more problems. You don’t have to get on a plane. You don’t have to go home. From now on, I’m taking care of you.’

Did he mean it? Well, at that very moment, of course he did, at least as much as anyone means it, the day they take their vows.

As wedding nights go, it was pretty ordinary. Colby and Caitlin went from the Town Hall to the Hilton, where Colby had organised to have them upgraded to the Honeymoon Suite.

‘Since you’re already a guest of the hotel,’ the girl on reception had said, ‘I can offer a special rate. Forty per cent off the room, and a bottle of champagne on the house.’

Carlos accompanied them to the suite, eager to show them how the electronic lights and curtains worked. Colby tipped handsomely. Carlos winked as he backed out of the room, closing both of the double doors as he went. In less than twenty-four hours, Colby was back at work in the same building.

‘Hey,’ said Summer, shyly. She’d been home to Maine for the holidays. ‘Did you get away?’

‘No.’ Colby was already seated, but seeing Summer getting ready to perch on the edge of his desk, he stood up. ‘I’ve got a bit of an announcement,’ he said to the whole
room. ‘Just so you all know, I got married. Caitlin and I, we got married. Over Thanksgiving. I asked her; she said yes.’

Aaron Blatt was first to break the stunned silence. He stepped up and slapped Colby’s back, saying, ‘Shouldn’t you be on a honeymoon?! Not that I’m encouraging you to take a holiday, you know, I need you here!’

Colby steadied himself after the generous slap. ‘It’s all good. I’m fine. We don’t need a holiday.’

And it was all good, at least for a while. Colby settled back into work. Caitlin became less anxious. Carnegie and Associates moved from the Hilton to new offices downtown. Business steadily improved. Colby – and the firm – went back to making good money, and then great money, all over again. They began thinking about where to live. Caitlin refused to go back to Battery Park City. She wanted to live somewhere where boats bobbed serenely on the harbour; where Halloween was celebrated with gusto; where birds sang and trees dropped their leaves. So, one afternoon late in 2002, they hired a car from Enterprise on the Upper West Side and toured around some available properties in the leafy, lovely suburbs outside New York.

‘I could live in any of them,’ Caitlin said, but they settled, finally, on the gorgeous old Colonial at the top of Larchmont Hill.

‘It’s got a working fireplace, four bedrooms, two baths,’ the broker said, making ticks on her clipboard as she showed them around.

‘And where do these go?’ asked Caitlin, pausing at the bottom of a staircase that ran along one wall of the living room.

‘That goes up to the attic.’

‘An attic! I always wanted an attic.’

She went straight up the stairs and gasped. The attic had windows, and window seats, like she’d seen in story books. ‘I love this. It’s like
Flowers in the Attic.
’

‘Goodness me!’ the realtor said. ‘I hope not!’

‘Tell me about property taxes.’ Colby quickly changed the subject.

‘Well, that’s another good-news story,’ the realtor said, and by the end of the day, the deal was done.

‘Now I’ve got to furnish it,’ Caitlin said. ‘I don’t want anything from the apartment. It will all be ruined, and it will remind me too much of what happened. I wonder if Summer would help me pick out some new things?’

‘I’ll ask her,’ said Colby.

Summer agreed, taking Caitlin around to various shops she knew to get linen, towels and kitchen basics, and to place orders for the rest of the furniture.

‘Shopping for all these things, it’s really convinced me that what I should be doing is interior design,’ Caitlin said. ‘Colby says I’ve got an eye. And now I’ve got a taste for it.’

She did have an eye. As a child, Caitlin could take a feather, a twig, a dandelion, thread them together and glue them to a card, and it would look good enough to sell.

‘Your wife has big plans,’ Summer said, when she returned to Carnegie’s offices later that same day with an enormous bill for Colby to pay.

‘Tell me about it,’ Colby agreed, but he didn’t mind. Caitlin seemed happy. That was the main thing. He had been very worried about her. Also, they were alive. So many others were not. He often felt guilty about that: should he have tried harder to convince Robert to go to the gym with him that morning? Why had he survived when so many others had not? He still grieved – he would always grieve – for his friend and colleagues, although never so keenly as when Robert’s femur – just that, nothing more – was found, and identified using DNA taken from the sweat inside one of Robert’s baseball caps. Summer broke the news. She helped Robert’s parents plan the funeral, too.

Caitlin went with Colby to the funeral. While he talked about their trip to Australia in the lead up to the year 2000, she couldn’t stop thinking of the coffin, with nothing but that single bone inside. ‘You did well,’ she told him afterwards.

Less than a year later, Caitlin’s mother died. She was distraught, but refused to go to that funeral. ‘You have to go,’ said Colby. ‘She’s all you’ve got.’ Neither of them counted Caitlin’s father as family.

‘I can’t.’ Caitlin shook her head.

‘Because of the flight?’

‘The flight, but I just don’t belong there anymore. I live here now. I don’t want to go.’

Colby had learned over the years not to question Caitlin too closely about her life on Magnetic. She’d had a rough time – that was obvious from the way she shied away from questions – but she was married to him now, and whatever problems she’d had, they were surely behind her.

‘Mum’s got three brothers,’ Caitlin said. ‘They’ve done everything else up to now. They’ll have to do the funeral. And you know I can’t leave at the moment. I’m doing my course.’

She was doing a course – an online, interior design course. She had also started work on what Colby would soon be calling ‘the never-ending project’ of renovating their house.

‘I’m right in the middle of term,’ Caitlin said. Colby was amazed, but then thought, ‘No, that must be an excuse. She just doesn’t want to go.’ He asked Summer to pay the bill for the funeral, and to organise a wreath.

‘She’s not going?’ Summer asked.

‘She can’t. She puts on a good show, but she’s still fragile. She’s doing this course and if you ask her, she’ll say she’s at a crucial point. I’m not sure I believe that, but she is very busy. Not just online, but in the house. Right now we’re being tiled. And when I say tiled, I mean the whole exterior of the house is being tiled: one cream tile, one white tile, one cream tile, one white tile. I told her, the neighbours aren’t going to like it. She looked at me and said, “It’s
design
.” Then she got all upset because one of the workmen told her that all our neighbours call our place the Nougat House, as in, it looks like a block of nougat. Which it does, by the way.’

‘Poor Caitlin!’ said Summer. ‘But at least she’s got something to keep her mind off things.’

Summer had been keeping herself busy with Carnegie.

‘She earns more than the President,’ Colby had joked to Caitlin at one of the dinners he threw to celebrate one of her many promotions, from personal assistant to vice president. ‘And I don’t mean the US President. I mean she almost earns more than Aaron over there!’

Caitlin smiled thinly and looked away. Colby hadn’t noticed, or else he was used to a degree of jealousy among the women in his life, but then, shortly after that party in Summer’s honour, with the sound of champagne corks still popping, Caitlin began to talk about when they might have children. Before 9/11, Colby would have baulked. He was way too young. But 9/11 changed everything. Caitlin came off the Pill. They thought it might happen quickly, but nothing did, so she got an ovulation calendar, and when that didn’t seem to help she bought an ovulation test kit and a thermometer, and when that didn’t work, she started insisting on Colby coming home from work early so they could have sex every day – but still nothing happened.

Colby wasn’t all that bothered – they had plenty of time – but Caitlin decided to see a doctor.

‘I don’t understand it,’ she said. ‘I’m not overweight. I eat well. I exercise.’

‘Are you having sex?’ the doctor asked. He was about forty-five, with a grey goatee and a bright pink model of fallopian tubes on a steel stand on his desk.

‘Of course we are.’ Caitlin looked confused. ‘We’re trying to have a baby. Of course we’re having sex.’

‘But how often? Every day?’

‘Yes, every day.’

‘Good. Because those tests that tell you when you’re supposed to be ovulating, you can’t always rely on them. So, have a lot of sex. That’s my advice. And let’s run some tests. I’ll take your blood pressure. I’ll also need a urine sample.’

He held out a clear plastic jar with a screw-top lid. ‘See if you can get the middle stream. Let a little out, then catch the middle stream. Not too much. Let’s see what a sample tells us.’

Caitlin walked down the corridor to the toilet, with the plastic sample container in her hand, and there, on top of the cistern, left behind by some other patient, was a plastic test wand. She knew immediately what it was. She’d used plenty of them over the past few months. Except that this one was different: there were two lines in the window, and both were bright blue. Caitlin had been testing her pee for six months and she’d never seen two blue lines. She slipped the wand into her handbag. She peed into the sample jar and sealed the lid, then took it back to the doctor. He promised to have it tested. If there were any problems, the receptionist would give her a call. In the meantime, she should relax. She was young and healthy. Everything would probably be fine, if she just gave it some time.

Caitlin nodded. Her mind was elsewhere. She went home, showered and blow-dried her hair. She put on the
music system and waited for Colby. He came in late, loosening his tie and flopping on the sofa.

‘Why is it so dark in here?’ Caitlin had turned the dimmers down, and she had a vanilla candle burning. Colby searched around the couch cushions but couldn’t find the remote.

‘Do you want a drink?’ Caitlin asked.

‘Sure,’ he said, still searching.

Caitlin poured Scotch over ice, and handed him the glass. The lighting, the candles, now this drink – something was going on. Colby propped some pillows up behind his head and looked at his young wife. It had been a while since he’d seen her so mysterious and groomed.

‘You look good,’ he said.

‘I have news.’

‘What news?’ He shifted position so he was sitting higher.

‘Well,’ said Caitlin, ‘it’s this.’

From a pocket, she produced the plastic wand. It was bright white in the dark room, and shorter than a toothbrush.

‘What’s that?’ asked Colby, but of course he knew.

‘You know what it is.’ Caitlin smiled.

‘Well, what does it say?’ asked Colby, although of course by now he could guess.

Caitlin kneeled on the sofa beside him. ‘It says pregnant.’ She waved the wand from side to side.

‘You’re kidding. I thought the last one said no.’ Colby took the wand and squinted at it. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. Why do you look so shocked?’

Colby tried to laugh. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose I am shocked. I must have gotten used to things not working and now it’s worked!’

‘Aren’t you happy?’ Caitlin, still kneeling on the sofa, swayed her hips from side to side.

‘I am happy! Of course I’m happy,’ Colby finally said, exhaling. ‘Happy! Yes. Happy. It’s a shock, obviously. I thought we weren’t getting anywhere. But wow. Okay. Let me just get used to this.’

Colby didn’t have long to get used to it, though. A few weeks later, Caitlin rang him at the office to tell him she was bleeding.

‘I think it’s the baby,’ she said, although of course she knew it wasn’t.

Colby grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and said to Summer, ‘I’ll be right back.’ Summer was so shocked by the speed at which he was moving, and the look on his face, that she said, ‘Is everything okay?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, and was gone.

He tore across the George Washington Bridge, and took the front steps of the old house three at a time.

Caitlin was curled on the bathroom floor, amid white towels stained red.

‘Jesus Christ, Caitlin!’

Colby hitched the fabric of his suit trousers up, and got down onto one knee. Caitlin was curled up in the foetal position, quietly moaning.

‘Have you called 911?’

She shook her head, no.

Colby was punching the numbers into his BlackBerry.

‘Hello?’ he said. ‘I think my wife is losing our baby.’

Caitlin reached up and took the BlackBerry, saying, ‘No! I don’t want to go to hospital.’ She dropped it and the device clattered to the floor. Colby heard the voice on the line saying, ‘Hello? Are you still there, sir? You said your wife is losing a baby?’

‘No!’ Caitlin was on her knees now. ‘Please, Colby. I don’t need to go to hospital. I don’t need to go. Tell them no.’

Colby looked confused. ‘You have to go, Caitlin.’

He was holding her in his arms, her back against his chest.

‘No, no, no,’ she said. ‘You know I
hate
hospitals.’

‘But you have to go, Caitlin.’

‘I don’t have to go.’

The paramedics turned up, of course. They had traced the call. They came into the bathroom and asked Caitlin some quick questions: how far along was she? Six weeks. And had she had any cramping? Yes. Bleeding? Yes. Didn’t she think she should go to emergency?

‘I’m going to be sick,’ she said. She retched and spat but not much came out.

‘We’d very much recommend it,’ the paramedic said, but Caitlin knew better than to allow herself to be admitted, where tests might be done. She refused to go, telling Colby
she’d see her own doctor in the morning. In the meantime, she wanted a hot-water bottle, in bed. The paramedic shrugged. ‘She doesn’t have to go,’ he said. ‘If she’s not that far along and she feels okay. But she should have a scan to see that she’s definitely miscarried, and to do that she will have to see her own doctor.’

‘I can do that,’ Caitlin said.

‘I’ll come with you.’ Colby tried to sound reassuring.

‘I can do it,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t want an audience. I just want to put this behind me.’