Read Online The Secrets We Kept by Lara Prescott - Free Book Online

to see her sitting at Tabitha’s old desk. We were polite, asking what she’d done over the holiday, and she told us that she and her mother didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving, but that she had picked up two Swanson turkey dinners, and that they were surprisingly good. “My mother ate half my peas and mashed potatoes when I got up to get another glass of wine,” she said. We hadn’t known Irina lived with her mother. And before we could ask any more questions, Anderson came by with bundles of paperwork. “Christmas came early, girls,” he said.
    We moaned. We envied our counterparts on Capitol Hill, who enjoyed long breaks when Congress wasn’t in session. We had no such luck; the Agency never slept.
    “Lotta work to catch up on, girls. Let’s hop to it, huh?”
    “Lotta stuffing you ate last week, huh?” Gail muttered when Anderson walked away.
    We eventually got back to work, and the rest of the morning dragged. By eleven, we were already on our fifth cigarette and looking at the clock. By noon, we were practically jumping out of our chair for lunch. Most of us had leftover turkey sandwiches, and Kathy had brought a Thermos of turkey noodle soup. But it was just one of those days when we had to get out of the office. The first day back from vacation, even a short one, was always the worst.
    Linda stood first and cracked her knuckles. “Cafeteria?”
    “Really?” asked Norma.
    “Hot Shoppes?” Norma suggested. “I could go for an Orange Freeze.”
    “Too cold out,” Judy said.
    “Too far, ” said Kathy.
    “La Niçoise?” Linda suggested.
    “Not everyone has the luxury of a husband’s salary,” Gail said.
    We looked at each other and said it together: “Ralph’s?”
    Not only did Ralph’s serve the best damn doughnuts in the District, it also had the most delicious French fries, and ketchup that was made in-house. Plus, the men never lunched there. They preferred the Old Ebbitt Grill, where they could feast on oysters and drink their fill of ten-cent martinis. Sometimes the men would invite us if they were feeling generous or amorous or both. They’d order trays of oysters and rounds of martinis for the table, even though Kathy had a shellfish allergy and Judy refused to eat anything hauled out of the ocean.
    We asked Irina if she wanted to join us, because she was finally talking and we wanted to keep her talking. To our surprise, she agreed, even though we’d seen her put a sandwich in the break room fridge that morning.
    On our way out, Teddy Helms and Henry Rennet were coming in. We liked Teddy, but Henry was another matter. The men at the Agency thought we were just sitting in the corner typing away quietly. But we weren’t just taking memos—we were also taking names. And Henry’s was at the top of our list. Why Teddy and Henry were friends, we hadn’t a clue. Henry was the kind of man whose confidence, not his looks, got him much in life—too much. Women, a high-ranking job right out of Yale, all the right Washington invites. Teddy was his opposite—someone who thought before he spoke, who was pensive and a little mysterious.
    “You haven’t introduced me to the new girl,” Henry started in, even though we’d avoided eye contact with him. Teddy stood beside him, his hands in his pockets, looking sideways at Irina.
    “The sharks have already begun to circle,” whispered Kathy.
    “Were you expecting an invitation to her coming-out party?” Norma asked, not exactly disguising her disdain for Henry. The previous summer, there’d been a rumor circling SR that he’d slept with Norma after a barbecue at Anderson’s house. In reality, Henry had offered Norma a ride home and, at a stoplight, reached under her skirt and grabbed her. Norma didn’t say a word. She just opened the car door and stepped out into the middle of traffic. Henry yelled out the window for her to stop being stupid and get back in the damn car as other drivers honked for her to get out of the way. She