Three Can Keep a Secret if Two of Them are Dead.

Mother taught me once a word was spoken it could never be unsaid.

“If you gossip behind people’s backs, a little bird will tell them. If you tell even one friend your secret, the secret’s out, Cupcake.”

She stroked my hair. “But you can keep a secret. You’re the exception. Exceptional, marvelous, unique. That’s why we picked you.”

I thought of her as I led Johnny and Mickey to the spot, the secret spot I wasn’t supposed to show anyone. A shudder ran like icy fingers across my shoulders. What would mother say now? I pushed in the creaking door. It looked like an old barn, above ground.

The trap door was the really secret part.

My heaviness was already lifting. For only ten, I carried many burdens, all placed upon me by my parents. Every time they had a new secret, it was my job to tell them.

Not to tell other people, just to tell the secrets they were safe.

“It’s not a lie!” My father insisted. “They’re safe here until their new parents come to rescue them from the bad ones. Trust me, this is what they want; a safe place, and safe people like us to protect them. Bad people, like the police -- they don’t understand. We’re like the good ones in World War II – who hid people in their cellars. You’re like Robin Hood.”

I wanted to believe my parents were heroes, protecting the weak.

Then came Millie, the oldest they ever took. She cried all night for her mommy. “She takes me for ice cream, she sings me songs.” Millie told me of family dinners and trips to the beach and the zoo.

I told her she was safe, but Millie said, “No. You’re bad people. I want to go home.”

Understand, I didn’t mean to cause Millie harm. There was nowhere else to turn for answers, I only hoped the lump in my gut would be dispelled.

“Millie says her parents are nice. Maybe…she’s a mistake? She’s not like the others.” I asked over dinner.

They exchanged glances of alarm. “She’s exactly like the others. She just needs time. Children don’t always understand.” Mom’s smile looked forced. My lump grew exponentially.

Especially when Millie disappeared.

Dad seemed calmer than he had at dinner, relieved. He shrugged. “She must have run off. Like your mother said, she didn’t get it. Can’t save ‘em all, son.”

When Bo, our dog, came running with her shoe in his mouth, I hid it under my bed. No more questions. There were no good answers.

Johnny and Mickey crept through the trap door, guns at the ready. We met when my class visited the police station. I told them about Millie.

They emerged moments later, looking sick. Mickey called for backup as Johnny knelt beside me. “Do you know where your folks are?”

“The house.”

They told me to wait in the barn, but not to go into the cellar. I waited.

Gunshots – from the house, from the yard. I covered my ears, but couldn’t silence my mother’s scream.

Then, quiet. Silent as a secret.

Johnny carried me to the police car. “Her shoe is under my bed.” I whispered. He only rested his hand on my head, like mom used to do.

Mickey came out of the house with Bo and put him beside me. I buried my face in his fur.

We learned about Benjamin Franklin at school. He had a saying about secrets: “Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.” Now I knew it was true.

I was glad to get the secrets out.

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