Summer of Secrets Read Free Page A

guilt swept over her like burning fire again and she shivered. She hoped the letter was safe under her pillow. She would destroy it the first chance she got.
    â€œNothing else bothering you?”
    Brody was watching her. For a moment she thought of telling him about Mac and … that day. The guilt was so hard to bear alone. But she dismissed the thought almost as soon as she’d had it. Brody was so good and kind. So understanding. So perfect. She couldn’t expect him to understand the terrible mistake she had made.
    â€œJust revision,” she lied, rubbing her eyes with her hands. “Exams. You know. There’s a lot going on right now. It’s hard to concentrate.”
    Brody nodded, accepting her answer. “Let’s sing,” he said, picking up his guitar.
    They spent the next hour working through the wedding playlist they’d been given. It was full of classics: Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Crosby Stills & Nash. Rhi gave herself over to the gentle rhythms and the poetry of the lyrics. She’d been listening to these songs since she was a small child, thanks to her father’s taste in music. She knew most of the words without needing to practise them, and the chords were generally simple.
    â€œGreat,” said Brody, ticking off the last song on the list: Cat Stevens’ “The Wind ”. “Now we’ve done the hard stuff, want to work on some new material?”
    â€œSure,” said Rhi, interested at once. “What did you have in mind?”
    Brody retuned his guitar, plucking and turning the pegs. “I’ve written a new melody. It even has a title. But I need you for the lyrics. You’re my beautiful lyric queen.” He smiled at her, reaching out his thumb and stroking her cheek.
    Rhi felt a little thrill in the pit of her stomach as colour flooded her cheeks. The touch of his thumb … he’d called her beautiful. Was he flirting with her, or was this just about the music?
    â€œI’ll see what I can do,” she said. “What is it called?”
    â€œâ€˜Small Black Box’.”
    Rhi was intrigued. “What does it mean? What do you want the song to be about?”
    Brody didn’t look at her as he placed his fingers on the strings. “Secrets,” he said. “The kind you might keep under lock and key in a—”
    â€œâ€”small black box,” Rhi finished for him. Her heart was thumping uncomfortably. Had Brody read her mind? Did he know how many secrets she was keeping?
    He started playing, his blond hair hanging down over his face. It was a fast, complicated rhythm, almost angry in its intensity. He played it several times for her until she got the tune fixed in her head. She could see the small black box in her mind: red lacquered interior, small silver key – devastating contents. She knew all about secrets.
    She plucked out the chords she’d seen Brody play. “You might think I’m simple,” she sang, feeling for the words. “You might say I’m free, but truth to tell, baby, you know nothing ’bout me.”
    Brody’s fingers seemed to tense against the strings.
    â€œNo good?” Rhi said, stopping at once.
    He shook his head. “Sorry, no. I mean – yes. It’s good. Keep going.”
    The words were coming from somewhere deep inside Rhi. She let them flow. “You know nothing ’bout sorrow,” she sang more strongly, “know little ’bout pain, those memories that pierce you again and again…”
    One of Brody’s guitar strings snapped with a harsh pinging sound, making Rhi jump. He looked annoyed with himself.
    â€œKeep going,” he said a little abruptly.
    The words were almost writing themselves. Rhi surged on, her fingers falling naturally into the rhythm of the song. “Got a small black box, locked up tight, hidden the key deep in the night – a small black box, buried down