Page 20 of Little Secrets
Sal was shattered. He felt blindsided, and abandoned. It took Sal a long time to want to be her friend, and the transition from boyfriend/girlfriend to a platonic friendship was rocky.
It was trust that saved them. He trusted her, and she him, and in some way, Marin has come to realize that trust is better than love. Love is unpredictable, and love hurts. Trust is reliable, dependable, and solid. Like Sal.
He’s never liked Derek. Not then, and not now. At first she assumed it was because he blamed Derek for them not getting back together, but over time, it became clear that sometimes two people just don’t get along. And never will, no matter what you do. The two of them could not be more opposite. Derek is charming, and Marin can take him anywhere. Sal is rough around the edges, and she never knows who he’s going to offend. Derek loves the spotlight when it comes to work, loves giving interviews about his company, loves the publicity. Sal was once profiled inThe Strangerthe year after he bought the bar, and he cringed when one of the employees framed the article and hung it on the wall. The only reason it still hangs there now is because it’s good for business.
Thankfully, neither Derek nor Sal has ever forced her to choose between them. The two men rarely see each other, and when they do, they’re polite. They can find something to talk about for an hour if they have to; sports, usually. They tolerate each other for her sake.
Derek is the love of her life, but if she’s being honest, Sal’s the person she feels most herself around. There’s no pretense with Sal. Unlike her other old friends, he’s never punished her for jumping into a new tax bracket, for buying a bigger house in a better neighborhood, for succeeding. And unlike her new friends, he doesn’t turn his nose up at who she used to be, that she (and Derek) are self-made, that she sits on charity committees even though she’s technically “new money.” With Sal, it’s okay to be imperfect. She doesn’t have to haveher shit together all the time, or ever. She probably depends on him for emotional support way more than she should.
Who would have thought that who you love and who you feel safe with might not be the same person?
The bar is near empty, and she sits alone with her third drink while Sal talks to one of his employees. Marin hasn’t seen her here before, so she must have been hired sometime in the last couple of months, which is how long it’s been since Marin last dropped by. She was a regular up until she started back at work, and usually came in around this time, after lunch but before the happy hour crowd.
Sal’s probably sleeping with her. She’s exactly his type, with her dark hair, her round ass stuffed into too-tight jeans, and a low-cut T-shirt that shows off the benefits of her push-up bra. In a strange way, she reminds Marin of herself when she was younger, before she developed her sense of style. The new server keeps looking over, probably wondering who the hell Marin is, but she doesn’t need to worry. Marin doesn’t steal other women’s men, though part of her enjoys the fact that she can still make other women jealous. In any case, this fling with Sal won’t last more than three months. None of them do. And they won’t stay friends, because it always ends badly. As far as Marin knows, she’s the only ex Sal is still friends with.
Three more amaretto sours appear, and alongside them, a huge bowl of fries doused liberally in fresh garlic, Parmesan, and the slightest hint of truffle oil. She smiles at the row of cocktails. Sal knows she’s determined to get drunk, and if he won’t let her do it here, he knows she’ll do it somewhere else. But he also knows she needs food. The fries are delicious.
“See these?” Sal gestures dramatically to the amaretto sours, lined up neatly beside each other. “When those are done, you’re done, got it?” He settles onto the barstool beside her.
She nods. When she finishes these drinks, he’ll have to peel heroff the floor, which is exactly what she wants. But the free drinks come with a price. They mean she has to talk.
“So what do you want to do?” Sal plucks a fry from the bowl. “Other than drink, that is. When’s the last time you slept? You need Ambien? I’ve got some in the back. Lorazepam, too. And good old-fashioned cannabis works wonders. I got some edibles that look like gummy bears—”
“I’m exhausted, I know I look like shit. Stop offering me drugs.”
He jabs her lightly on the arm. “On your worst day, you don’t look like shit. Is today your worst day?”
“No.” She doesn’t even need to think about it. Her worst day was four hundred eighty-six days ago. Nothing before, or after, even comes close. Not until the day she gets that call telling her the exact thing she doesn’t want to hear.
“Then buckle up, buttercup,” Sal says, and she snort-laughs, which is the reaction he’s hoping for.
“I should leave him.” She can’t meet his gaze when she speaks these words.
“Yes, you should.” He doesn’t even blink, and the shame washes over her like dirty bathwater. “Does Derek know you know?”
She shakes her head. It’s easier to have this conversation not looking at Sal, so she focuses on the TV again, where someone wearing a red uniform just got knocked down by someone wearing a white uniform and is crying foul about it.
“How’d you find out?”
“Castro told me. She was following a lead. Discovered it accidentally.”
Sal almost chokes on a fry. “The PI? She’s still investigating?”
“I told you that.”
“No, you didn’t. You said you hired her for a month, a year ago. You haven’t mentioned her since, so I assumed… Holy shit…”
“Why does this bother you so much?”
“It doesn’t bother me,” he says. “It worries me. I feel you’re…”
“What? Say it.”
He looks away, chewing on his bottom lip. She takes his chin and turns his face back toward her.
“Say it,” she says.
“It’s like you’re in exactly the same place you were when Sebastian went missing.” She takes her hand away, and he holds her gaze. “You haven’t moved forward. You’re… stuck.”
