Page 68 of Keeping Secrets

“Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers?” Rachel was looking down at her milkshake, moving the straw back and forth. She glanced up at him and down again. “I won’t make a habit of bothering you or anything. But if the po– if they contact me again, I’d like to be able to give you a heads up.”

“Sure,” he agreed. “We could do that.”

She pushed her phone across the table, and he plugged in his number. No last name, just Travis. She took the phone back and sent a message; a moment later his phone buzzed.

“There,” she said. “We’re connected.”

“I should get back to the Bottlenose,” he said once he’d finished his coffee. He pulled a twenty out and put it down on the table, enough for both drinks and a tip.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Rachel said as he got up. “Thanks for everything.”

He nodded and looked at her for just a moment, taking in the change in her. He could picture her selling flowers at the farmers’ market, going to college, living a good life.

Even if he ended up in prison or on the run, or simply living the rest of his days with the weight of this secret, that thought would always warm him. She was a good person, a bright light. And his rash action, ill-considered as it had been, had kept that life from being snuffed out.

He didn’t regret it. He couldn’t.

Now he just had to learn how to live with it.

CHAPTER 21

The library basement wasn’t far away from Frances’s spacious kitchen, just a short walk down the hill. But sitting there beneath the soil under fluorescent lights, it felt like another world. In less than a day, she had gone from the palace to the dungeon.

Keely knew that she should be grateful for her work at the library. It was a good, steady job, surrounded by books and people she enjoyed working with. But she hated – hated – being underground. And after the high of her second successful catering event, hours of tedious work in the library basement felt interminable.

It was worthy work, but her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t want to work with books, not really. She wanted to feed people. It made her feel purposeful and accomplished and happy.

What if she could do that all the time? What if she could turn her calling into a career?

Was that even possible?

She had no idea what shape that might take. There were a million ways to make a living making food, but she had no idea how to run a business. And while most people might tell her that she had to pay her dues first, she had no desire to clock into some restaurant kitchen and take orders.

She didn’t want to make just any food. She wanted to craft her own recipes and create things that made her soul sing.

She sat cutting thin sheets of plastic to size and wrapping hardcover books, trapping the paper jackets beneath a smooth layer of clear plastic sheeting. It was a challenge to fold the edges over just right, and her fingers were covered with slices - like papercuts, but worse.

When her phone rang, she sighed with relief and set her book to one side. Any excuse to take a break from the tedious process of plastic-wrapping these books. They were books she didn’t even want to read, dystopian novels for teenagers and large-print detective series for old men.

“Hello?” she answered without checking to see who was calling.

“Keely,” Sunday exclaimed, “how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” She sat back in surprise. Could Sunday have another job for her already? “How are you?”

“I am well, we are well, thank you. I am calling because we have a proposition for you.”

“What’s that?”

“We are wondering if you would like to cook for Frances on a regular basis. If you would like to be her personal chef.”

Keely was stunned into silence.

“It would be occasional family gatherings for which we would pay extra, but mainly you would be cooking meals for Frances herself. Small portions, you understand. You would not need to be there for every meal, but perhaps two or three times a week you could visit her and make enough food to last her until your next visit?

“Guillermo worries, you see, that his mother does not eat enough. We have tried various delivery services, but she always dismisses them before long. Her housekeeper cooks for her from time to time, but she tires of this also. She enjoys visiting the farmers market and cooking for herself, but again we worry that doing so on her own could go badly.

“Perhaps you could visit the markets with her as well, and help her carry things? Then she could feel involved with the meal planning, and we would not worry so. We are often out of the country, you see, and there is no family left in Pelican Point to care for her. We have offered nurses and the like, but she took offense.”

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