L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

nonchalant, normal. You don’t know anything because you never read the notebook.
“Hi there. Start with coee?” I asked, my lips pulled tight across my teeth, my heart
bashing against my rib cage.
“Yes, please,” said Pauline, avoiding eye contact with me and looking directly at the
red-haired woman. “You?”
“I’ll have green tea. And a couple of menus, please,” she replied, staring back at
Pauline.
I felt a rush of shame. They knew something. They knew I knew something.
“O-of course,” I stammered, turning to the table.
“Wait. I was wondering …”
My heart leapt to my mouth.
“Yes?” I said, turning back, hands shoved deep in my front pouch, shoulders up at my
ears.
It was Pauline who’d spoken. She was as nervous as I was. Her companion’s face,
however, was serene, supportive. I sensed a slight nod urging her on. I noticed the
redhead also wore one of those beautiful gold bracelets, the same brushed pale nish
and dangling charms.
“Did I forget something here the other day? A small booklet. About the size of this
napkin. Burgundy. It has my initials on it, P. D. Did you nd it?” Her voice was
quivering. She looked on the verge of tears.
My eyes darted from hers to the calm face of her companion.
“Um. I don’t know, but let me check with Dell,” I said, way too brightly. “I’ll be right
back.”
I walked stiy back to the kitchen, punched the door open and stood with my back
against the cool tile wall. All the air was gone from my lungs. I looked over at old Dell,
who was cleaning the big pot that she’d used for the chili special. Though she kept her
nearly white afro shorn close to her skull, she always wore a hairnet and a professional
waitressing uniform. I had a lightning bolt of an idea.
“Dell! You have to do me a favor.”
“I have to do no such thing, Cassie,” she said with her slight lisp. “Use your manners.”
“Okay. Really fast. These customers out there. One of them left something here, a
small notebook, and I don’t want her to think I read it. Because I did. I mean, not all of
it. But I had to read some of it. How else would I know whose it was, right? But it was
like a diary, and I might have read too much of it. And it was personal. Very. But I don’t
want them to know I read any of it. Can I say you found it? Please?”
“You want me to lie.”
“No, no, I’ll do all the lying.”
“God, girl, sometimes I don’t understand young women today with all your dramas
and stories and such. You can’t just say, ‘Here, I found this’?”
“Not this time, no. I can’t.”
I stood in front of Dell, hands clasped pleadingly.
“Fine,” Dell said, waving me away like a y. “So long as I don’t have to say anything.
Jesus didn’t raise me to lie.”