ECHOES OF SECRETS

A mail list just arrived. Hilary pushed a manuscript across his desk and placed another folder on top of it. “Use this headline. And proofread this too.” Myra gathered the documents and glanced at them. An autobiography lay on top, but the heavy folder beneath caught her attention. She opened it slightly and frowned. The accounting ledger. “Sir, I believe I worked on this last Monday.” “I know,” Hilary said. “Do it again.” “But—” “I said do it again.” His tone turned impatient. “Okay.” She carried the documents out of his office and returned to her cubicle. “I see you’ve got a handful.” Jane opened the cubicle door they both shared and stepped in. “Yeah.” Myra dropped the papers on her desk. “Thank you.” “Let me guess—” “No need for that.” Myra pulled out her chair and sat down. “I have less than thirty minutes before closing. Will you help me?” Jane looked at the pile. “This is too much. Are you expected to finish everything today?” Myra nodded and opened the ledger. “Wait,” Jane said, leaning closer. “I thought you already did this.” Myra nodded again. “Did you make any mistake?” “No.” “Then why are you working on it again?” Myra paused. “Will you help me or not?” “Answer me and I’ll think about it.” Myra looked up. “Seriously?” “Yeah. I don’t understand why he keeps pushing you around and you let him. It’s not like he’s the boss here.” “I don’t want to argue. I’ll do it myself.” Jane picked up the autobiography instead. “Chris Tumlin,” she read. “You know him?” Myra shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” Jane reached for the second paper and stopped. “What?” Myra asked. “I know this face… I think he plays football.” “Let me see.” Myra took the paper and froze. “Brad.” “Yeah, that’s him,” Jane said, leaning closer. “I think the full name is listed there.” Myra lowered the paper slowly, her eyes still fixed on the photograph. Jane noticed the change in her expression. “Do you know him?” Myra blinked. “Yeah.” “Then it’s settled. Convince that sour face to give you time so you can interview him directly instead of googling and making things up. That way, everybody wins.” Myra raised a brow. “You think so?” “No. I know so. Now move before I start thinking you want me to hold your hand too.” Myra gave her a stern look. “I’ve got it.” “Good. I’ll start working on this one,” Jane said, lifting the other manuscript. Myra took one last look at the paper in her hand, then turned and headed for Hilary’s office again. Jane’s laughter followed her down the hall, bright and uncontrolled. Later, in the car, it bubbled out again. “I still can’t believe you said that.” She glanced away from the road for a second, disbelief written across her face. “What possessed you?” Myra shrugged, the seat belt tightening slightly across her chest with the movement. “I don’t know. You, I guess.” Jane smirked. “I thought as much. His Royal Seriousness? What the f**k—” She broke into another fit of laughter, gripping the steering wheel as the car slowed in traffic. “That alone deserves a point on my score sheet. You know what? Let's go out. Have a drink. Toast to your bravery tonight.” Myra turned toward the window. Outside, cars stretched along New Avenue, headlights lining the road in uneven rows. Evening traffic had already built up, nothing unusual for that hour. “I’ve got to work on these papers.” “Don’t give me that shit.” Though Jane did not look at her, the sharpness in her voice made the frown obvious. “I told you I’d help out. Didn’t I say that?” “Yeah.” “Then what’s the problem?” Myra shifted in her seat, fingers brushing lightly against her briefcase. “I’m just tired.” Jane gave a short laugh. “No. You’re distracted. There’s a difference.” Myra said nothing. “Don’t tell me you actually know him?” Myra kept her eyes on the road. “He was popular in high school.” Jane lifted a brow. “Popular enough to make you stare like that?” Myra shifted in her seat. “A lot of girls liked him.” Jane smirked. “Including you?” “Can you drive without interrogating me?” The SUV rolled to a stop in front of the condo. Myra stepped out, one hand still on the door. “Come in for a while?” she asked, though the invitation lacked conviction. Jane stayed behind the wheel, fingers drumming lightly against it. “Not today. Another time.” The answer was polite—too polite. Jane usually had something quick and playful to add, some teasing remark before driving off. But today her friend only offered a faint smile before pulling away. Myra watched the taillights disappear, then turned to the gate and punched in the code. The lock clicked. Inside, the sharp rhythm of metal slicing through leaves reached her first. Her mother stood by the hedge, trimming with steady hands, each cut clean and deliberate. Sunlight caught the silver blades each time they opened. Rosa’s low humming rose and fell with the motion, as if the work had its own melody. Myra slowed. “Hi.” Rosa glanced up, wiped the back of her wrist across her forehead, then returned to the hedge. “Hi. Didn’t see you come in.” Myra looked from the shears to the half-shaped shrubs. “Why are you doing that yourself? Where’s Colt?” “He left early. His daughter’s sick.” The blades closed again. Snip. Snip. “Oh.” Myra shifted her briefcase. “That’s bad.” Another branch dropped. “You shouldn’t be standing out here doing this.” Her eyes moved toward the house. “Where’s Sabrina?” “Out.” Rosa bent slightly, examining an uneven edge before trimming it. “And even if she were here…” She let the sentence fade, as if finishing it wasn’t worth the effort. Myra gave a small nod. “Yeah.” “I’m not complaining.” Rosa straightened, studying her work with quiet satisfaction. “At least the reason behind this is worth it.” Myra looked at Rosa sheepishly. “I’ll change and come help.” Rosa smiled faintly, but her eyes stayed on the hedge. “Such a good girl.” A pause. “It’s a pity all that goodness got dragged into scandal.” The shears closed once more. A sharp click. Myra’s fingers tightened around the handle of her briefcase until the leather pressed into her palm. Without trusting herself to answer, she turned and went inside. The cool air hits her skin and Myra relaxed. She changed into a pair of jeggings and a crop top, tied her hair up, then went downstairs. From the storage room, she picked up another pair of shears and latex gloves before returning outside. Leaves gathered around her feet as she joined her mother. She worked faster than Rosa, clipping branches with quiet precision. Rosa noticed and smiled, clearly pleased. “I would’ve hired extra hands,” she said, drawing out the sentence while inspecting a crooked branch, “but truly, there’s no point now. We’re already racing against time.” Myra paused. “Time for what?” That smile widened immediately, the kind Rosa wore when she knew something first. “This morning—” Rosa lifted a finger, as though beginning a proper story. “Brie called.” Myra resumed trimming. “And?” “And?” Rosa echoed, offended for effect. “You know how she gets when she has news—dragging every word until you nearly beg for it.” She gave a short laugh through her nose. “That woman can make breathing sound dramatic.” “Mom.” “I’m telling you exactly how it happened.” “Skip to the point.” Rosa placed a hand dramatically over her chest. “Oh, forgive me. Such impatience.” Then, unable to stretch it any longer, she leaned closer. “They’re throwing a party.”