The Sounds of Secrets Read online

  He stopped abruptly and leaned over, opening the car door for me. “Get in, and let me show you how a bunch of us party the night before a hike.”

  It sounded scary in a way, going to an actual American party. I’d seen all kinds of parties watching American reality shows, so that’s what I expected when Teddy pulled the car up in front of a small house on a dark street.

  Though unassuming from the outside, I could see that the house held a lot of people, and its foundation was practically shaking from the movement inside the building.

  “We’re in Boulder,” Teddy explained, even though I hadn’t asked. “CU. Big party school.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said, because I didn’t know what to say.

  “Okay, Mila reminded me to take care of you. So, no taking drinks from anyone—not even me—that aren’t sealed. No wandering in the dark. Just … stay near me, and you’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t even take a drink from you?”

  “I’m lumping myself with all the rest of the people you’ll meet. If you know not to take a drink from anyone, you’ll be good. These parties are usually fine though, I’ve never been to a bad one.”

  For the first time since I’d gotten back into his car, I suddenly wished I’d stayed back in my hotel room. The idea of that bed, all to myself, with not even a decibel of noise surrounding me, sounded so emotionally appealing that I could have cried. But Teddy was already outside of the car, rounding it to my door as he called out to someone who stumbled across the grass front yard.

  I stepped out of the car and took in my surroundings. The neighborhood was friendly enough, with houses built up close to one another, though not as close as I was used to in London. There were large oak trees scattered across most of the yards and brick facades that invited me in as I followed Teddy up the dark steps to the front door.

  He didn’t even knock, just strolled right through like he actually lived there. A few people called him out and he clapped hands with them if they were men. If they were of the opposite sex, he side-hugged them as he looked around. I understood his thought about being single the rest of his life; he appeared easily distracted around women.

  “Hey,” one woman, with a mouth most lipstick models would envy, said. She flashed bright white teeth as she sized me up. “You new?”

  I nodded and Teddy waved to me and motioned that he was getting drinks. “Yes. I’m just visiting.”

  “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, placing her hand on my shoulder in a friendly way. “You’re British? I love your accent.”

  “I like yours too,” I told her, and I meant it. Most American accents sounded a bit nasally to me, but her accent was clean, steady, even with her exuberance at hearing mine.

  “I have an accent?” she asked, her eyes wide with delight. “Oh, how I wish I could hear it from your ears.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “That probably didn’t make sense.” She stared into her blue plastic cup. “I’ve had a lot to drink tonight.”

  “I haven’t had enough,” I joked.

  “Drinks are in the garage, in the yellow-looking fridge. Help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the door that was opening and closing nearly every second as people came in and out of the darker room. “There’s some Coors, Cokes, wine coolers—pick your poison.”

  The only one of those I was familiar with was the Cokes, and I figured that’d be my safest bet anyway. “Hey, I have a weird question,” I told her, suddenly remembering that I hadn’t yet checked in. “Do you know if there’s a password for the internet here? I don’t have an international phone plan, and I’d like to send word back home that I made it.”

  “Oh, of course. Here,” she held out a hand for my phone, and after a brief hesitation, I handed it over. She tapped across the screen and then handed my phone back to me. “Just don’t go in the backyard or you’ll lose signal. The internet company sucks.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her a smile and selected my instant messaging app as I walked toward the garage. I pulled up Ames’ message thread and shot off a quick text, I’m here. Tired, but I’m at a party. I’ll stick to Coke, don’t worry. Love you all. Give dad a hug from me.

  I sighed as I clicked send, that tingle of homesickness pouring through me again. But I pushed it aside, reminding myself I was independent, that this might be the only time in my life I’d leave my country and live without boundaries.

  A dozen or so people milled around the fridge and as I approached, one of them offered me a friendly smile as he opened the door and gestured like he was a game show model at the offerings. “Pick your poison.”

  I grabbed the familiar red can and smiled back at him. “Thanks,” I said as I played with the top of the can, my nail digging under the tab and letting it pinch just the tip of my skin.

  “Hey, Lotte.” Teddy came up behind me and nudged me like we were old friends. “I see you’ve met the degenerates.”

  “Oh, fuck off, Teddy,” the fridge guy said. “Lotte? That’s an interesting name.”

  I nodded, looking between Teddy and fridge guy. “Short for Charlotte.”

  “But pronounced lah-tee,” Teddy said. He had a can of soda in his hands. At my look, he lifted it up. “I’m the DD tonight, gotta be good.”

  A worry I didn’t think to have was already immediately squashed. Teddy leaned against me, but it didn’t feel intimidating. He just didn’t seem to have much thought for other people’s personal space, and surprisingly, it didn’t bother me much. I popped the top off my can and fridge guy asked, “What are you doing in our part of the world?”

  All eyes in the group turned to me and I felt my cheeks warm. “I’m really just looking for an adventure.”

  “Oh?” The guy standing beside fridge guy looked me up and down.

  “Not that kind of adventure, Ryan” Teddy said, giving the guy a pointed look. “She’s Mila’s friend.”

  Understanding came over Ryan’s face. “Okay. Mila’s still in London?”

  “Yes. With my brother-in-law.” I hardly ever called him that. He was just Ames, or sometimes my brother—because he was the closest thing I’d ever had to a brother. How many brothers-in-law would pick up the pieces of our life the way he had? “They’re engaged.”

  “That’s right,” fridge guy said. “I remember her telling us about you. Well, welcome to Boulder, Lotte. I’m Garrett. This is Ryan, and Soren.” He waved a hand around. “And welcome to our humble abode.”

  “It’s a nice house,” I told him, and it was. So different in architecture from our flat in London, but it represented the homes I’d always seen on the telly, wide rooms and high ceilings.

  “Unlike most of our friends, we’re year-round renters,” Ryan explained. “We stay here during summer semester and just work—”

  “And party,” Garrett interrupted. He slapped the fridge. “You know, get it out of our systems before we go back to the grind full time.”

  I nodded like I understood, but I didn’t, not really. I couldn’t relate. But I gave him a smile anyway. “And … hike?”

  “Yeah, that’s tomorrow. We’re going up to Estes. Good time of the summer to go, before the tourists start flooding the state for Fourth of July in two weeks.”

  “I’ve never hiked before,” I admitted and took a sip of my soda. “Not a lot of mountains in London.”

  “Well, I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

  I didn’t think I was. I’d crossed the Tower Bridge a few times, walked across the glass floor and had felt little fear. I couldn’t compare that to hiking up a peak, but I imagined with it being a more gradual climb that I’d acclimate myself more.

  “What do you do in London?” Ryan asked.

  “I owned a dance studio, but I sold it. My family owns a little pub, so I help out there as needed.”

  “So, now you’re just aimless, wandering through our little country.”

  All the attention was starting to get to me. “I guess so.”

  “What kind of dance?” Ryan asked.
I was beginning to feel like I was being grilled. “Your studio. Was it ballet?”

  “All kinds of dance, though I preferred contemporary.”

  “My girlfriend’s a dancer,” Garrett said.

  “Oh yeah,” Teddy said with a nudge. “The girl you met in the house.” I remembered the girl who’d hooked my phone up with the Wi-Fi connection. “That’s Joss.”

  “Is she going hiking too?”

  “She is, but she’s not much for it. She’s mostly going to keep us all in line.”

  “She’s a dancer, but trained as an EMT,” Garrett explained. “So if we get bit by a snake, or sprain our ankle or whatever, she’s there with her healing touch.” Garrett laughed and then his eyes lit up at the sight of whatever was behind me. “Speak of the devil,” he said. “Come here.”

  Joss stepped into the garage and crossed the floor to her boyfriend. I found myself staring at her. She was much taller than me, with wild red hair that framed her face like a crown. “Were you talking about me?”

  “We were talking about tomorrow’s hike,” Garrett explained. He pointed to me with the beer he held. “Lotte here is a dancer, like you.”

  “No way.” She took a sip from her boyfriend’s beer and then turned to me. “What kind of dance?”

  “Contemporary, mostly.”

  “You’ve got the look,” she said, sizing me up. “I’ve got a few friends here, from my old high school pom squad.”

  “Pom squad?”

  “Like cheerleading,” Garrett said, and earned an elbow to the ribs from Joss.

  “We’re not cheerleaders. We’re dancers. Come on, let’s see if we can find them.” She linked an arm through mine and pulled me away from the guys, which was a brief relief but then, as I struggled to catch up with her long strides, a new worry formed: was I going to have to dance or something? Was this some kind of initiation?

  “Hey, Suze!” Joss bellowed.

  The house had filled up so much since I’d arrived, so we had to push our way through clusters of people standing around, drinking from blue plastic cups. Joss dragged me through the groups, stopping by the stereo for a moment to turn the sound way up.

  “Now,” Joss said, letting go of my hands to push her hair away from her face. “I’m not drunk, but I am rusty.”

  “Okay…” I didn’t know what she was getting at.

  “Show me what you got,” she said, as if I had been following along with her train of thought.

  “What?”

  “Here. I know there’s not a lot of space, but come on, show me some moves.” She squared her shoulders and faced me. “I’m serious, I’d love to see what you’ve got.”

  It felt like a tryout somehow and I stalled. “Why?”

  She gave me a sympathetic smile and leaned in. “Because you look about as comfortable as a prude in a whore house. And, if you’re anything like me, dance is where you really feel free. So, let’s do it.”

  I bristled. I wasn’t used to being around people who spoke as bluntly as these people did. They were encroaching on my personal space, pushing me to do things I wasn’t fully comfortable doing.

  But I knew that feeling comfortable was a safety net, and I’d left my country to escape that kind of safety. There was a fine line between safety and imprisonment.

  “Okay,” I said finally, and bent over to touch my toes briefly. Normally, I gave myself more time to stretch, to get fully limber. But this wasn’t a practice, it wasn’t a class.

  The sound melted into another, one with a kickier beat and I instantly recognized it as “Numb” by Rihanna.

  I could do this. This wasn’t unlike anything else I’d done a dozen times. Joss stared at me expectantly and when the beat dropped, I dropped down to squat and moved my body to the rhythm. Like a snake gliding in the air, I moved to the beat, shaking my chest as the title of the song repeated over and over and then when the beat hit harder, I stomped back and forth to the beat.

  Within seconds, I was back home, in my studio, just me and wide windows, music blaring so loud that nothing else existed. Just me and the music, my religion, freeing my limbs from the feeling of being captive.

  When Eminem’s voice kicked on, I opened my eyes and Joss was in front of me, dancing in tandem. Though our moves weren’t identical, they were similar enough that it gave me that high like I often felt when following one of my students’ leads, the music coursing through our bodies like it lived in our bones.

  She was smiling widely at me and she was right—letting my body move to the beat was so comfortable and natural. In a place so foreign, there was a deep comfort in letting go of my sensibilities and becoming a slave to the music that I loved so much.

  Every time I dance, I thought of my sister. Hours spent twirling in our living room growing up, impromptu dance performances using our dining table, dramatic stomping up and down our stairs. Music was one of the few things that tied me to her, and surrendering to it was like living in a memory with her for a little longer.

  I’d told myself just once dance, but as “Numb” melted into “Bang Bang” by Jessie J, I found myself continuing to move with Joss, like she wasn’t a stranger but someone who spoke the same kind of soul language I did. I was never more comfortable than when I was dancing.

  As some point, the back doors were opened and Joss, her friend Suze, and I kept dancing as long as the music played. I found myself laughing even as sweat streamed down my face, and I stopped caring about people looking. For someone as self-conscious as I was, there was something about not minding the weight of other people’s gaze that was truly a religious experience.

  It was the first time since I landed in the States that I didn’t ache to return home.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Come on Della,” I told her, completely exasperated by her shenanigans.

  “What?” she asked innocently, blowing on her nails.

  “You didn’t start painting your nails until I showed up. You knew I was coming at this time, but you didn’t think to grab the…” I lowered my voice even though we were alone in her flat, “pills first?”

  She shrugged, adjusting her position on the other end of the sofa we were sitting on. She’d worn a dress that was short enough to give me a glimpse of her knickers every so often, as if she was trying to tempt me. But this time, I wasn’t interested. Maybe a year before, I might’ve fallen into her clutches, but I’d grown tired of this song and dance she routinely put on for me. If she wasn’t my main provider of the painkillers I needed, I’d happily do away with her.

  “Don’t get so miffed, Sam.” She puckered her glossy lips and blew across her nails. She looked chuffed about holding me hostage in her company. Her long dark hair curled around her shoulders tantalizingly and she softly swung the hair away when she noticed I was looking.

  “I just came for the pills, Della. That’s it. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be here.” That was really a lie—Della enjoyed torturing me. Her Cheshire cat smile was more than enough proof of that.

  “What’s the big hurry? Got somewhere to be?”

  I didn’t have anywhere to be. But, in general, I was restless. I wanted something I couldn’t pin down. My drawing had stalled and it was if my head was full of asphalt. I needed to get out of the city, maybe go to the country for a bit. Walk a lot. Something to get out of the world that Della currently inhabited. To get out of my own head.

  Lotte had been gone for a fortnight, with only a couple words here and there about her time in America so far. Ames was distracted between the pub and the restaurant he and Mila were renovating, so I only got a couple one-word answers from him about Lotte.

  I thought about her all the time. Of how she’d looked, laid under me, her hair splayed out like a crown. Of those big blue eyes, full of tears as she climbed into the taxi. I didn’t really know what those feelings meant, but I’d drawn her hand fifteen or so times on random scraps of paper before tossing them all, realizing that I wasn’t coming close to how
it had actually looked when laid in mine.

  My thoughts turned to her so often that I was half tempted to sign up for one of those social media sites she was on, just to see how she was doing. I had no communication with her—at least this way I could see her adventures without Mila having taken pity on me and showing me herself.

  But every time I loaded up Facebook, I deleted the app immediately. I was afraid having that kind of accessibility to her would drive me further into madness.

  Was it just my guilt that ate away at me? The way she’d looked when I’d told her it’d been a mistake was seared into my memory, but there was something else there, something nagging me to make reparations for what I’d said to her; something that wasn’t born from guilt, but perhaps grew beside it.

  “So?” Della interrupted my train of thought, one sculpted eyebrow raised. “What’s going on?”

  It would be so easy to fall back into the thick of it with Della, to confide in her about Lotte. Easy, but dangerous. Like handing over my soul to the devil, really.

  “Nothing. I just want my pills and I want to be on my way.”

  “You’re going through them like candy, and they’re not easy to get you know.” She sighed and tipped her head back. “At this rate, you’re going to burn out before I can get you more.”

  The thought sent an icy shiver down my spine. “I’ll find someone else then.”

  She laughed and the sound made me grit my teeth. “You’re not going to find anyone else who can help you as much as I can.”

  She wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t need to validate her response anyway because she already knew she had that bit of power over me. “You’re the reason I need these anyway,” I told her, anger in my eyes as I looked at her. “If you hadn’t hit me with your car, I’d have been fine.”

  We never spoke about it. The incident that had driven my ex-girlfriend to the point of hitting me with her car after a night of angry yelling and fighting. I’d been a shit boyfriend, there was no doubt about that, but she’d been a crazy girlfriend, jealous and simpering and accusing me of doing everything under the sun. One night, I’d had enough and had left her flat—pissed off my arse—and had stumbled down the road. Della, after too many vodka tonics, climbed behind the wheel of her parents’ car to chase me down, but in the darkness and the blur of her vision, she’d hit me.