A Good Name: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Sarah Courtney

  Manchester handed him a folder. “A decent amount. Younge has lived in the same apartment complex since the ’80s, which is convenient for us. I talked to some of his neighbors, and a few recognize your mother’s picture. Unfortunately, they can’t tell me when they recognize her from. The closest I could get to a timeline was ‘maybe fifteen to twenty years ago.’ Not long enough ago to be your father, but then, the neighbor isn’t sure. It does, however, show a connection between them.”

  “Which is backed up by the details he knows,” Will said softly. “This isn’t good, is it?”

  Manchester shook his head. “It’s not helpful for your argument, at least. As for Younge himself, he’s lived in Talbot since the ’80s, so you can’t show that he hasn’t been around. He worked as a mechanic for some years, did some jail time for meth about ten years ago, and then more recently has been working on a construction crew. He has a reputation with women, but that’s recent, and I haven’t found anything from the ’90s yet.”

  Will thanked Manchester for his work and hurried home. He needed to know what was on those YouTube videos.

  He checked his phone first. He had another missed call from “Auto Repair.” Odd. He looked up the number, then did a Google search for it. It came up as “Torres Auto Repair.” Not a shop he remembered ever frequenting.

  Frowning, he clicked the map link. His eyebrows raised when he realized it was the shop he’d seen near Mark’s old apartment building and the park. Odd, that.

  He tried calling the number back. This time, his call was answered immediately.

  “Hello,” he said. “I just got a call from this number?”

  “Name?” the person said briskly.

  “Oh, uh, Darcy.”

  “Do you have a car in for repairs?”

  Will was starting to feel rather silly. “No, but . . .”

  “I don’t see you in the book. Must have been a wrong number. We’re closing in five minutes. Thanks, bye!”

  He pinched his brow as he hung up. There was something odd about getting two hang-ups from the shop, especially as it was in the neighborhood where he’d been searching for answers. If they weren’t closing, he’d have gone now. As it was, he’d have to wait until tomorrow and see if there was time to go by after the shelter opening.

  After an hour of watching the YouTube videos Younge had made, Will’s vision was blurry, and not just with exhaustion. So many of the things Younge said about his mother brought up memories, memories he’d long since pushed to the back of his mind. Younge had to have known his mother—there were just too many things he’d shown on the videos to be coincidence, and too many of them were things Will hadn’t told anybody else, hadn’t even thought about in years.

  He sighed. What he needed was a good cat video to clear his mind. And he didn’t even like cats.

  On impulse, he did a search for “funny stories.” He scrolled down the list of results and almost fell off his chair when he saw Elizabeth’s face staring back at him.

  “What the―?” He clicked on the link.

  Elizabeth smiled at the audience. “So you’re in the mood for a funny story today, huh? Well, I bet you’ve never heard the story of how the knight dented his new armor, have you?”

  Will laughed with delight when Elizabeth pulled out a toy knight and placed it on the table in front of her. He recognized Jane’s apartment behind her, but she’d chosen a corner with nothing on the wall behind her, so the background was simple.

  He listened as she told her listeners a funny story about a clumsy but strong knight who tried to rescue a princess but made some major miscalculations along the way and ended up with a baby dragon instead.

  When the baby dragon appeared in the story, she pulled out a little model of a baby dragon. It even breathed fire! He wasn’t quite sure how she managed that effect, but he thought a lighter was probably involved. There was even a volcano in the story—that one, he knew, was baking soda and vinegar with food coloring, but it was nonetheless impressive on screen.

  The special effects were just for visual interest, though. It was her storytelling―the variety of voices she managed to keep distinct, her way of making her tone fit the action so that he was on the edge of his seat when something exciting happened, and the story itself, humorous and clever.

  At the end of the story, she directed kids to follow her links for other funny stories, or if they wanted to try something different, stories that were silly, heroic, scary, sad, or sweet. And she told them that some stories allowed kids to join in and help tell the story.

  He was intrigued by those, so he chose one of those next. The story started out similarly to the dragon one, with animals as main characters and a few models to give kids something to look at as they listened. But then she asked kids what they thought should happen next and told them how to pick the next video based on their choice.

  Will thought the dog should win, so he listened for the choices and found that video. Sure enough, she then continued the video with the dog as winner. Curious, he went back and found the video where the donkey won, and watched that video as well. He imagined a lot of kids would enjoy going through and watching all of the potential endings and asking friends which they’d picked.

  He had so much fun watching her videos that it was almost eleven before he finished, and he still hadn’t texted Elizabeth yet. Should he mention that he’d found her videos? Would it bother her that he’d found them on his own?

  While he was still waffling, a text arrived from Elizabeth.

  Still up?

  He grinned. He always felt a little thrill when he saw a text from Elizabeth. Still up. Got word from investigator. Seems Younge did know my mom. Maybe he could be bio father. Ugh.

  I’m so sorry. That’s not good. The understatement of the year, that was.

  It’s not. Tomorrow will be good, though. Would love to not think about all this. He’d been looking forward to the shelter’s opening for a while. Nervous as he was to talk to reporters, he was anxious to change the shelter’s image. Mom had made dozens of phone calls and talked to lots of volunteers and shelter regulars, and she was hoping to have plenty of fodder for a positive story on the shelter.

  Looking forward to it, too. Any luck with grandmother’s stuff?

  Haven’t talked to parents yet. Will soon.

  See you tomorrow, Will! Good night.

  “Hello?” Will said into his cell phone as he attempted to knot his tie with the cell phone tucked under his chin.

  “Will, it’s Susan. I have a call for you from Let the Truth Hurt, you know, that show with―”

  “I know,” he said impatiently.

  “Shall I put them through, then?”

  He swallowed. What could they possibly want? Had Younge appeared with some crazy new claim? “Uh, yeah, put them through.” He cleared his throat, ready for anything. He hoped.

  “Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

  “This is he.” His stomach twisted as he waited for their response.

  “Hi, I’m Emma Paternoster from Let the Truth Hurt. We called because we were wondering if we could get you on our show along with Chris Younge, who is claiming―”

  “To be my biological father, I know. What would be the point of me going on the show?” Aside from their ratings.

  Emma made a little sound that could have been a nervous giggle cut short. “You’ve been saying repeatedly that he’s making this all up. The producer wants to avoid being sued . . . well, anyway, we thought we’d give you a chance to tell your side of the story.”

  Will glanced at the time. He was going to be late if he didn’t end this call quickly. But how should he end it? Should he go on the show? He and Elizabeth hadn’t found anything definite, but he was pretty sure there was enough to create doubt. But was doubt enough? Or would anything less than a preponderance of evidence keep his name in the mud?

  “I’m sorry,” he said finally, “but I have to be somewhere urgently. Can I call you back this evening with my answer?�
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  “As long as it’s before ten,” Emma said. “We have to get it scheduled quickly.” She rattled off her number, and Will quickly jotted it on the edge of his calendar.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” he promised. He had to talk to Elizabeth, and maybe his parents and Richard.

  Will followed along his mother’s tour of the shelter as she showed the reporters, donors, and new volunteers the features of the new shelter, telling them proudly about the rec center with room for sports, the classrooms for free daycare during the day and ESL and GED classes at night, and the family bedrooms and adjustable dormitories that would allow them to sleep as many people as possible, whether they were single or part of a family group that needed to be kept together.

  Both reporters had brought along photographers, and they’d looked pleased and perhaps even a bit surprised at what they’d seen at the new shelter. He’d talked to Mom about giving them a tour of the new shelter today as it was opening, but she’d done him one better: she’d taken them down to the old shelter yesterday to give them a tour of that as well.

  After the tour, Mom had lined up people for them to speak to, including the kitchen supervisor, a social worker, two members of the Board of Trustees, and residents of the shelter.

  “There you are!” Elizabeth said from behind Will. She slipped her arm through his, and he pulled her close.

  “Think Chris Younge will show up?” she asked.

  Will shrugged. “I wish he would, actually. I can’t imagine that he’d get a good reception here with so many people who are positive about the move. It might make for good video.”

  “We should probably be prepared just in case.” Elizabeth patted her phone. “Camera phones are such a useful invention.”

  They both headed to the dining hall to help with serving lunch. Will found himself grinning ruefully as he watched Elizabeth flit from table to table, chatting with the guests, while he stayed behind the counter and served food. It reminded him of watching his parents at the shelter years ago, where Dad would stay behind the scenes or speak with one person here or there, while Mom would work the room. His parents complemented each other well and had a marriage all the stronger for it. Maybe he and Lizzy would be the same way one day.

  It was odd to think of being married to Lizzy, and yet it felt completely right. He ought, perhaps, to be surprised by the idea. But it seemed as if they’d been heading that direction for so long, perhaps been destined for it from the time they were children, and it was only a matter of time. He hadn’t really given marriage a thought until he met Lizzy again, but now . . . now he wanted nothing more.

  “Will, are there any more potatoes?” Charlotte asked. Will blinked, then pulled himself out of his reverie to hand her the replacement tub.

  When next he looked out into the dining room, he saw that Lizzy had taken a seat with a family who were new to the shelter. Mom wasn’t there, probably still with the reporters and staff, but Richard was leaning over another table to chat with a group of rough-looking men. As he watched, Richard threw back his head and laughed. Will could not help but smile. He would have been intimidated to go around starting conversations, but Richard was great at it. It really took all types of people to make this place work.

  After lunch was over, Charlotte went out into the dining room to collect dishes and wipe tables with Richard, and Elizabeth moved into the kitchen to help Will clean. They worked together to get the dishwasher-safe dishes loaded, then wash the rest.

  “So, I went looking for Younge’s YouTube videos the other night. Found something else interesting.” Will gave her a meaningful look, and she blushed. “Is that what you almost told me about the other night?”

  Elizabeth flicked some soap in his direction. “Yeah. I was going to tell you eventually,” she admitted. “But I wasn’t sure if they’d work out, you know? If anybody would watch them. They’re really only started picking up viewership in the past few months. If they were a failure . . . I guess I didn’t want you to see me fail again.”

  He could understand that. “I get it, I do. But I want to be there for you, whether you succeed or fail.”

  “Mostly I’ve just failed repeatedly the past few years,” she said, her voice just shy of bitter. “But after the bookstore closed, I was feeling really bad and . . . well, these were a new idea, and I thought they’d be fun, sort of a pick-me-up. Jane gave me the idea, although she doesn’t know it.” She bit her lip. “She doesn’t know about them at all. Haven’t told her yet for the same reason.”

  “Aren’t you filming them in her apartment?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “When you put it that way, it sounds awful! But there’s nothing identifiable in them. I just film them against a blank wall.”

  “Volcanoes, fire-breathing dragons . . .”

  “It’s all completely under control, you dork!” She bumped his shoulder with her own. “No apartments were set on fire in the making of my videos.”

  He reached across her to take the dish from her hands before she could put it in the rinse water. “So she gave you the idea?”

  She blushed. “Yeah. I had just started thinking about looking for a job in publishing. Jane asked if publishing was the best place I could make my contribution. That’s always Jane’s way of looking at work, you know. And that made me think that probably the best thing I ever did . . . well, this is awkward, but . . .”

  “It was reading to me?” he guessed.

  “Yeah.” She gave him a sidelong look. “I hope that doesn’t sound, I don’t know, self-congratulatory or anything. Even before you said it was important to you, it was important to me.”

  “I completely agree,” he assured her. “The best thing you ever did.”

  She bumped his shoulder gently this time, and he put an arm around her, ignoring the soapy mess.

  “I used to love doing storytime in the bookstore and coming up with new ways to present stories and that sort of thing. So I thought about creating a YouTube channel to tell stories to kids.” Her voice grew more excited. “And the questions . . . I mean, obviously they can’t answer live, but I tried to make it so they could interact with it in a way, even if they couldn’t be there in person.”

  There was one thing that puzzled him. “I’m curious, why don’t you read to them from books?”

  “I don’t know how copyright would work with that,” she said with a shrug.

  Will grinned. “You could just write your own books.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes went wide. “Write my own books? I don’t know.”

  “Don’t overthink it. I mean, you’re already doing it. You’re just telling the story instead of reading it. But if you wrote your stories down, maybe even found somebody to illustrate them, it might take longer to do a story, but then you could advertise them on the video and people could buy a printed copy to read at home or to follow along.”

  “Maybe.” She blushed. “I never really thought of myself as an author. But I do love thinking of stories.”

  “This is so perfect. Maybe there will be other kids whose minds are opened to books because of you. You could even go to schools or something and read to them! Lots of schools have programs like that. And to nursing homes . . . older people love that sort of thing, too, you know. And you could read at the homeless shelter!”

  Elizabeth was looking at Will with a little smile on her face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I just love hearing you come up with ideas.”

  He flinched. “Have I gone too far again? I know I should let you do it on your own―”

  “No!” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean that. And no, this isn’t taking over, this is brainstorming together.” She blushed. “I really like it.”

  Elizabeth reached into the dishwater to pull out a dish. “It’s probably not going to make me money, but it’s something I love doing. And who knows, maybe I’ll get enough traffic to supplement my income a bit. I took on a freelance editing job the other week, and they wan
t me to do some more work with them. That might be easier to get into than publishing, and I enjoy it, too.”

  Will heard a ding from his phone. A text. He rinsed and dried his hands and pulled the phone out of his back pocket to check them. Three missed texts, all from his cousin Anne. All said basically the same thing: Call me ASAP.

  Frowning, Will hit call and waited for Anne to answer.

  “What’s up?” Elizabeth asked, her soapy hands suspended above the tub.

  He shook his head. “No idea. Anne?”

  “Will,” Anne’s voice said agitatedly, “I have news.”

  Calculated Risk

  November 2016

  Backstage, Will wiped his clammy hands against his pants as Andy Roan welcomed his guests to Let the Truth Hurt. Chris Younge was preparing to walk out and take his seat. Flanked by two security guards, he nonetheless turned and gave Will a wink before heeding his cue.

  Andy Roan stood up to greet Younge and introduced him to the audience. “You all remember Chris Younge, I’m sure, from our week on ‘Secrets of the Rich and Famous,’ and his shocking reveal about the childhood of Fitzwilliam Darcy, CEO and son of the owner of Fortune 500 company AirVA.” He gestured to the screen behind him, and a short compilation of clips from the earlier episode flashed on the screen to remind viewers of Younge’s claims.

  “And we have another special guest, Fitzwilliam Darcy himself!” That was Will’s cue. He took a deep breath, pasted on a smile, and stepped onto the stage to join the other two men, taking a seat as far from Younge as possible.

  “Well, well, well,” Roan greeted them both as Will and Chris Younge took their seats. “So this time we have father and son.”

  Will swallowed. Should he correct Roan? Was letting it go weakening his position? Or would correcting it seem contrary right from the start?

  While he was still contemplating, Roan gave a little laugh. “Or are they? Here we are together, ready to discuss Fitzwilliam Darcy’s childhood as George Wickham and what role Chris Younge played—or didn’t play—in it.”