By Margaret Camille Berliant

I keep a secret wrapped tightly in my arms. I could only share the secret with my best friend, Addie, but she is gone for the summer to see her father. Her parents are divorced. I only just learned that moms and dads could do that, split up and leave their kids all akimbo.

Without Addie, I feel alone, floating, like that time I went to the pond and drifted on my inner tube to the middle of the water. Squinting into the distance, there was my father, a smaller and smaller figure on the shore. The periodic waves riffled by the wind made it feel as though I were drifting away.

My secret has a life now, a life it took on at that pond. Maybe it was a seed before this, but it sprouted last Saturday, and now its tendrils wrap around my leg, climb up to my waist, and encircle my neck. The secret has a hold on me. Its prickly branches grab my throat, and I feel as though I am choking.

Daddy and I go fishing together on Saturdays in the summer. It’s our special time. Mama stays home, relieved, a day to sleep in, linger over coffee and sneak a cigarette. I always smell that cigarette smoke when I return for lunch. I guess we all have our secrets. But what happened last Saturday was different. For the first time, Daddy said I had to stay home.

Daddy, why can’t I go fishing with you today?

Not today, baby.

Aw come on, Daddy, I did all my chores. Please?

The pond was a mile walk through the woods, the banks surrounded by rushes, the orioles bobbing on the branches where they clung. Once we even saw a swan protecting her nest. Daddy had pulled me away by the arm. Stay away from that swan, Lorelei, he’d said; those swans can be vicious protecting their young. You never know what they’ll do.

That Saturday, I begged, but his face was set. Daddy, please, please take me fishing. I want to catch that big bass we let slip away last week. My voice was pleading, which reminded me of my mother. Sometimes I heard her voice in the night, whiny and high pitched. James, Lorelei is ten now, let’s have another baby, please. I never heard my father respond.

I knew Daddy’s mind was made up. I could tell by the hunch of his shoulders, and the way he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I padded off to my bedroom and got under the covers.  

A while later, Mama knocked on the door. I’m going to the grocery, you wanna come sweetie? 

No, had come my response from under the blanket.

Okay then, stick close to home. I’ll bring you some Pop-Tarts.

The minute I heard the car start and the dust kick up from our dirt road, my plan had been hatched. I grabbed my gear and my lucky red baseball cap and started down the deer track to the pond. It was strange not to have Daddy’s big feet ahead of me making those deep footprints on that well-worn trail. 

When I came to the clearing, I saw the pond ahead. A big dark cloud skittered across the sun, creating shadows all around. It’s not that I was scared; I’m not generally a scaredy-cat, but the clearing felt different that day. The air was charged, electric like a thunderstorm brewing. The pond took on the color of the graying sky.

Sitting where the old oak log lay, was our perfect picnic spot. Sometimes we ate Twinkies there and Daddy brought a thermos of coffee with lots of sugar, and I got an Orange Crush. Daddy was sitting there, sitting on our log. Next to him on the log was Mr. Wyatt, our closest neighbor.

I was spitting mad. So, Daddy met him to fish, and not me. They hadn’t even cast their lines yet, not like me; I always got right down to it and had my fly out before Daddy finished whistling his favorite Johnny Cash song. From behind a bush, I watched the two men. I saw Mr. Wyatt reach out to my Daddy, wrap his arms around him like the kudzu that clung to the barn. Then he gently held my Daddy’s face in both of his hands. He kissed my Daddy. I saw Daddy’s eyes close and heard a low hum, slow and pleased, like when he ate Mama’s roast beef dinner after church.

I turned and ran silent as a deer, toward home, my lucky red cap flying into the bushes. I didn’t know what to think about what I had seen, and inside, my stomach felt all clenched up, like the time I ate too many Twizzlers. I’ve eaten and slept and watched TV with my secret wrapped tightly inside of me. Mama wondered why I didn’t want to play cards, and why I was so quiet.  I was afraid if I started talking, my secret would come roaring out. Daddy worked all week but left extra early, and I was sure to be in bed when he got home.

Now it’s Saturday morning again. Daddy wakes me up just as the birds start their racket, like nothing ever happened. I hear the creak of my bedroom door, and his boots walk across my braided rug. I smell his breath, woodsy and warm and know he’s standing over me, but I close my eyes tight and pretend to be sleeping. He gently shakes my shoulder. Come on, Lorelei, wake up. The fish are waiting for us.

I open my eyes. Daddy looks down at me, his hands behind his back. He somehow looks older, and his eyes are sorrowful. He takes his hands out from behind his back, and I see in his right hand my red baseball cap. Let’s go honey, he whispers. He hands me that cap, like an offering.