The Art of Keeping Secrets by Patti Callahan Henry Read Free Book Online Page A

an apt description of her own belief that if she could call a dolphin by name and also understand his name for her, the abyss between them would be crossed.
    A single flash shot across the sky and water—lightning. John grabbed her arm. “Get under cover in the cockpit, Sofie.” Rain fell in a sudden, sharp downpour as though gravity were pushing the rain into her face harder than necessary.
    She felt the ache of isolation. After the dolphins left her, she often felt even more alone than before, as though they opened that empty space inside her. They seemed, she thought, to lower her emotional barriers so that when they were gone she was more aware of her own needs.
    Being with the dolphins was the only time when she thought: This, now, this is what I was made for.
    John poked his head down into the cubby of the boat. “We’re getting ready to drop you off at the research center.”
    “Got it,” she said.
    “Come on up. We’re pulling up to the dock.”
    Sofie went up on deck, sat on the wet bench in the back, lifting her face to the rain and shivering. The Marine Research Center was situated on a massive outcropping of rock that edged into the bay like a floating fortress. John tied the boat to the cleats while Sofie unloaded her gear and recording equipment.
    Sofie liked John and felt comfortable with him, but often she grew uneasy when men paid her too much attention. Her mother had taught her, long ago and early, not to trust men, to avoid eye contact at all costs, and to confide in only the few men they already knew. Sofie’s deeply ingrained lessons were hard won and firmly entrenched.
    She grabbed her overstuffed bag and headed back toward the research center. “Thanks, John. See you tomorrow.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” he called after her.
    She crossed the parking lot, pushed open the door with her foot and entered the center, where moist, artificially cooled air caused her breath to catch. She made her way to the locker room, showered and changed before sitting down at her computer. She needed to transfer the recordings to a hard drive and enter the statistics she’d logged.
    Now that she was back at her desk, she felt safe from emotions she didn’t want to admit.
    The phone rang; she grabbed it and Bedford greeted her with his warm voice. “Hey, darling, just making sure you weren’t out on the water in this weather.”
    “Nope, here at my desk,” Sofie told him, clicked open a document.
    “I’ll come get you around six o’clock for dinner, okay? I need to talk to you about something. I thought we’d go to Benittos.”
    “What do you need to talk about?” Sofie’s fingers paused over the keyboard. Had she done something wrong?
    “Nothing big, baby. I’ll see you soon.”
    Sofie hung up the phone, and closed her eyes. She loved Bedford; he made her feel secure, cared for. The few times she became overwhelmed by his demands, she reminded herself of the utter and total panic she felt when she imagined leaving him, or when he threatened to leave her. She still hadn’t told him many things about her life, and maybe if she confided in him, she could cross that bridge of lonesomeness she often felt when she was with him.
    Bedford Whitmore was forty; she was twenty. She’d first noticed him two years ago when he strode onto the dock of the research center; he’d looked like a safe harbor. He’d smiled at her and she’d gone to him without hesitation. He’d asked her name, then asked her out to dinner. She’d practically moved in with him less than a month later.
    Everyone at the research center told her not to get involved with him—he was too old for her, a wanderer; he never stayed in Newboro for more than six months at a time. He was a marine biologist who specialized in environmental chemistry. He taught as a guest lecturer at numerous universities, yet was in Newboro often to consult with the research center on environmental problems in both the natural habitat and in the tanks housing the