Secrets

[Maraoone]

((Zeferino, Maria, and Kate Maliksi: START))

The airplane crash hit Seattle hard. There were vigils, there were shrines made at Aurora High. Some tried to kill themselves, others tried to curl up in a corner and waste away. There was anger, there was misery. The blame game was played over and over, ad nauseam.

And most of all, there were tears.

The Maliksi family, at first, seemed to be an exception to this. If you asked their friends, they'd say that Zeferino and Maria almost weren't that affected. Sure, they were a little withdrawn, but Maria still gossiped, she still talked with them and assured them that, yes, she was fine, they didn't need to worry about her. Zeferino still fixed cars, and still made that boisterous laugh. By almost all accounts, the Maliksis were coping almost too well with their situation. It almost seemed like they didn't mind Carmina's death.

You'd have to go to their house to see the truth.

People passing by the neighborhood would recognize the house instantly. It was a simple bungalow, and its garden was a horticulturist's dream. Roses, daisies, and sunflowers lined the path to their front door. Dandelions dotted their yard, and bougainvillea vines crawled all over their walls. Hibiscus bushes served as the border between their front yard and the other, duller houses. The Maliksi residence was a tropical jungle in the midst of a suburb. But among all these flowers, shrubs, and vines, the most abundant flower there was the primrose.

Kate and Carmina had taken a liking to several flowers back when they were younger, but primroses seemed especially attractive to them. So, they filled the front yard with them, white ones, red ones, pink ones, yellow ones, purple ones.

Since the airplane crash, the garden had become immaculate, a garden of Eden. Neighbors noticed that Maria spent more and more time in the garden, smoothing the soil with her shovel, rearranging flowers, watering, and so on. When asked if anything was wrong, she'd simply smile and say 'I'm doing well'. And if you'd look closer, you'd find that the bag of seeds in her hand was a bag of primrose seeds.

What they didn't realize was that Maria was a good actress. If she'd been born with fairer skin, and into one of the more famous families of Manila, maybe she'd be on TV screens across the Philippines, and not in Seattle. She was a hit whenever she appeared on the stage at her high school. Maria preferred over-the-top roles, such as the poor mother of seven who lives in the slums by the local river, or the cruel owner of a hacienda who cares for nothing but money. But she could manage subtle parts too. And this was probably the most important part she had to play now. The same old Maria Maliksi, who has learned to cope well with her daughter's death.

The reality of it all revealed itself as soon as you opened the door.

Kleenex boxes littered the floor, along with crumpled tissues. In the living room, Kate stayed there, glued to the computer. Zeferino would lay in his bed, sleeping the days away. Maria, on the other hand, wouldn't sleep until 3 AM, eyeglasses on the bridge of her nose and lamp beside her. Chicken Soup for the Soul sat on her lap.