by Nancy Thayer
Darcy felt as if her husband had punched her in the belly. “But I don’t want to sell my grandmother’s house!”
“You told me it’s old and in need of renovation. Why would you want to keep it?”
“We could spend some of the summer there. Summers are—”
“We’ll need a base for our agency there, not a decrepit old house.”
“How can you say it’s decrepit? You haven’t even seen it—”
Boyz rolled over her words with his own. “You told me the house is in a residential area. We’ll have to sell the house. With the proceeds of the sale, we could buy something in the business district.” Finally Boyz noticed the pain and anger in Darcy’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I apologize. But please understand, the real estate boom in Nantucket makes it the perfect opportunity. I want to forge my own territory, my own kingdom, before my father or sisters do.”
Yet in the three rushed years of their marriage, Boyz didn’t get to Nantucket.
Only now did Darcy realize that it wasn’t Boyz’s overwhelmingly packed calendar or the family’s tradition of going to Lake George. It was also that Darcy hadn’t encouraged Boyz to visit the island, to see her grandmother’s house and the island itself. For him, it would be only real estate, one more property to value in monetary terms and sell.
She wondered if in the past few days Boyz had strolled around the block from his rented house to survey Penny’s house—Darcy’s house now—to estimate how much he could have made on its sale. She’d bet he had.
A light went on in the Rushes’ attic. A few moments later, Bessie Smith’s raspy voice lilted out into the night as she sang simply, with shrewd humor, “A good man is hard to find.”
Amen, sister, Darcy thought.
10
Star Trek Beyond was out, and the Dreamland Theater was packed. Darcy and Nash had found seats on the upper deck, and while the last stragglers hurried in, Darcy spotted the faces of friends and waved to them. Jordan was there with Lyle, and no child, which was probably the first time they’d left Kiks with a sitter. Beverly, Darcy’s boss, was there with her husband, and Angelica and Lars, and Gage Wharton with a woman Darcy didn’t recognize.
Susan Brueckner was there with her three sons. Otto wasn’t. Neither was Autumn.
It was a weekday. Boyz was probably in Boston, working, leaving Autumn alone; and even though Darcy scolded herself, she searched the crowd for Willow. And there she was, on the other side of the aisle and the end of a row, cuddling with Logan. Darcy felt a twinge of worry about the teenager. And she realized this meant that Autumn had an empty house for a couple of hours if she wanted to entertain visitors. Like Otto.
Really, Darcy was ashamed of herself. She didn’t run the world; she didn’t have the right to interfere or even a way to interfere. If Otto and Autumn had an affair, fine. But if Logan was having sex with Willow…if she was, it still was none of Darcy’s business. As the lights dimmed, she forced herself to concentrate on the show.
The movie was loud and explosive. She walked home, holding hands with Nash, delighting in the summer warmth, the whispering of leaves as a salty sea breeze stirred them. Many of the shops were still open, and lights were on in all the houses on Main Street. A line from Natalie Merchant’s song, “These are days we’ll remember” played through Darcy’s mind as she felt the warmth of Nash’s hand, his strong presence next to her, the wind teasing her hair, and smelled the sweet fragrance of all the flowers blooming in all the yards. If she could capture this particular moment and contain it in a jar, she could keep it until she was an old lady like Penny had been, and then she’d open the jar and all this would drift out, not just a mental memory but the sensations, the gentle night, her youth and strength welling powerfully inside her, her anticipation of being in bed with Nash….
They entered her house. Darcy shut the door behind her. Nash put his hands around her waist and drew her against him, kissing the top of his head.
“Nash,” she said, “could we talk? Just talk…don’t get scared, this isn’t about us—I’m not going to go all mushy and possessive on you. I’d like your advice on something.”
“Sure.” Nash released his embrace. “What’s up?”
Darcy headed into the living room, clicking on table lamps here and there. “Want some coffee? Wine?”
“Not yet.” Nash relaxed in one of the club chairs.
Darcy sat across from him on the sofa. “I didn’t tell you before…in one way it’s not that big a deal, at least not part of it, but part of it has really gotten under my skin. Um, okay.” She changed positions, crossing and uncrossing her legs. “Remember I told you I was married before?”
“Yeah, to a guy with an unusual name.”
“Right. Boyz Szweda. Well, he’s rented the house behind mine for July and August.”
“That’s weird.”
“He didn’t know I live here,” Darcy explained. “When I knew him, I lived in Boston and then on the Cape. He told me he is thinking of expanding his real estate company to Nantucket. But never mind him, it’s his stepdaughter, Willow, I’m concerned about. She’s fourteen. She’s Autumn’s daughter—Autumn’s his wife now. Boyz has adopted her, and he says he loves her like his own…he told me that when I ran into him in the grocery store. I know I’m jumbling this up, but stay with me here.”
“Right here,” Nash assured her.
“Okay. When we were at the beach two Sundays ago, I spotted Willow with Logan Smith. He’s a local boy and he’s trouble. He’s eighteen, and she’s fourteen, and he had her pressed up against a sand dune….”
“Are you sure it was Willow?”
Darcy shook her head, irritated by the interruption, although it was a fair question. “Then, I assumed it was. I’ve never met Willow, but she has her mother’s red hair, and I’ve seen the girl from my kitchen window several times. She was carrying groceries into the house with her mother, stuff like that. But the other night when I was sitting out on my patio, I heard them. Willow and Logan. He was trying to get her to have sex. She was protesting, but also kind of not. I didn’t know what to do.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. Willow stopped him and went into the house. I heard Logan get in his truck. I was relieved. I wasn’t sure that it was my place to intrude. But on Monday I was in Stop and Shop, and I accidentally ran into Boyz. Literally. So we said hello and it was polite enough, but then I told him about Willow and Logan, and he brushed me off. He went all superior and told me he and Autumn are Willow’s parents and they know how to take care of her. He accused me of making up a story so I could get his attention. He thought it was all about him. I don’t know why I’m surprised.”
Nash frowned. “You know having sex with an underage girl is statutory rape, right?”
“I do know that. I also know that lots of island girls that age are having sex. The community tries to warn them about diseases and pregnancy and of course the laws, but it’s hard to be logical when you’re a teenager.” Darcy studied Nash’s face. “You think I should have done something.”
“I would have.”
Darcy waited for him to say more. When he stayed quiet, she said, almost defensively, “I talked to Jordan about all this. She thinks I should leave it alone. It’s true, I don’t know anything about Willow, what she does when she’s off island.” Tears swelled in her eyes. “I hate this, Nash. I feel like I’m being judged.”
Nash rose. His expression was so serious, she was afraid he was going to leave, just walk right out the door.
Instead, he came around the coffee table and sat down next to Darcy.
“Hey.” He pulled her against him in a comforting hug. “I apologize if you think I’m judging you. I’m not. I think I’m probably more of a straight arrow than lots of people. Hell, I’ve never even driven the wrong way on any of all those exasperating one-way streets on this island.”
Darcy smiled, glad she knew he was trying to make her smile. She closed her eyes and relaxed
against him. “I was telling you all this because of Boyz, really. I mean, I know how bizarre it is that he and his family are living right behind my yard for two months. But when we divorced, neither of us was mad. I guess I’m trying to say we had a passionless divorce. I want you to know I have zero interest in the guy. If anything, I think he’s more arrogant than he was when I met him.”
“Okay, then. I have zero interest in the guy, too.” Nash sank into the sofa cushions, wrapping his arms around Darcy, snuggling her against him.
“As for Willow…it helps to know your thinking. Boyz’s family—his parents, his two sisters—are very close. The father and mother sort of rule the roost. They’re sophisticated and snotty, but their basic values are sterling.”
“That’s good.” Nash kissed the top of her head lightly.
Darcy sighed. “Life is hard to figure out.”
Nash nodded. “Yeah, it’s easy enough to know what to do from a distance, as a rule. But when it’s personal, it gets confusing.”
Darcy heard a note of sorrow in his voice. “Did something like this happen to you?”
Nash tensed up. “Nah. Just speaking in general.”
There it was, Darcy thought, the door to Nash opening an inch and quickly closing.
She didn’t press him. They sat together in silence. Darcy was exhausted from worrying about it all—what Nash would think about Boyz being on the island and so near. And she thought that in a way, they had almost had their first argument.
Nash pulled away. “I’ve got to go home and get some sleep. I almost fell asleep right now. Fresh air and construction work, a sure cure for insomnia.”
Darcy walked him to the door and lightly kissed him goodbye. She had thought she was telling Nash about her and Boyz, yet in a way, she and Nash had learned something new about each other.
—
Darcy was out in her garden the next morning, weeding around the foxgloves and humming as she worked. She had to leave for the library, but she’d risen early, dressing and spinning through her morning chores as happily as Cinderella with birds on her wrists.
“Alfred, go back and get your flip-flops.” Otto Brueckner’s voice was pleasant but firm.
“But I don’t need them on the beach,” the boy protested.
“Maybe you’ll need them if we go into a restaurant for an ice cream sundae,” Otto said, his voice coaxing and kind.
Darcy sat back on her knees and shamelessly listened. She couldn’t help overhearing the sounds of the doors slamming on the car, the giggles of the children, and Susan calling, “I’ve got the picnic basket and the towels. I think we’re ready.”
They were a happy family, Darcy decided, and the meetings between Otto and Autumn were simply her imagination embroidering events that had never taken place. Neighbors did talk to each other, after all. Look at her and Mimi. Look at her and Clive. Okay, maybe she and Clive were not the best example. Still, as she gathered her gardening tools and kicked the dirt off her clogs, she vowed she would stop making something out of nothing, spinning drama from normal life. Obviously she read too many books.
Maybe she was exaggerating what she had with Nash, too. If her marriage to Boyz had taught her anything, it was how easily she adorned reality with her dreams. From that first dramatic kiss in front of the restaurant, when Boyz had swept her down in his arms as if they were stars in a movie, Darcy had let her imagination run wild—and how could she not when Boyz and his family were so beautiful, so captivating? How fortunate she was to have a grandmother who’d left her a house on the island; how lucky she was to have a job at the library, doing work she loved. But life was full of ups and downs, twists and turns, shocks and sins and loss and disappointments. She knew that from experience.
She showered and dressed, twisting her long dark hair into a figure eight at the back of her head, securing it with a long, jewel-headed pin. She chose to wear a plain white shirt with a mandarin collar with her flowered skirt today, and succeeded, she thought, in looking professional, chaste, and even slightly severe.
Good. She was going to be in Perfect Darcy mode today, something she did occasionally. She would eat nothing, drink only kale and spinach smoothies, which she did when she’d been eating and drinking too much. In her Perfect Darcy mode, she moved more slowly; forced herself to take one deep breath before saying anything to anyone; and focused on the work she had to do, refusing to let her thoughts wander. As she walked to work, she reminded herself she was stepping on the same brick sidewalks and crossing the very same cobblestone streets as Maria Mitchell, who had discovered a comet by looking through a telescope on her house on this island. A Quaker, Maria Mitchell became the first librarian of the Nantucket Atheneum where Darcy now worked, and later she taught astronomy at Vassar. In 1842, Maria Mitchell stopped wearing clothes made of cotton in a protest against slavery. She was a woman of principle and dignity. Compared to her, Darcy was a lightweight, daydreaming about Nash when she should be concentrating on her work. Well, today she was going to concentrate. She would finish the filing. She would be infinitely patient with the children during story hour—no, she would be enchanting.
She went through her day exactly as planned. In the afternoon, she weeded the collection, one of the most difficult jobs in the library. She had to find books that hadn’t been checked out for months, or books that were torn or stained beyond hope, and put them aside for the book sale. A time-consuming job, it demanded that she concentrate, and she was surprised when five o’clock came and it was time for her to leave.
She didn’t stop at any of the restaurants for one of their yummy carryouts. No, she was still in Perfect Darcy mode. She would prepare her own meal, using leftovers from her refrigerator. And while she ate, she would read the biography of Benjamin Franklin that had sat on her bedside table, ignored for weeks. No fast-plotted thrillers tonight, no entertaining family saga. History. Because she should.
When Nash phoned on his way home from work around eight-thirty, she told him she had been Perfect Darcy all day. His laugh boomed over the phone, making her laugh, too.
“Tell me what you do to be Perfect Darcy,” he said.
“Okay, well, first of all, I try to remember to have good posture, to walk as if I’m holding a penny pinched between my shoulder blades. That makes me stand up straight, hold my tummy in, and keep my shoulders down.”
“Sounds like it would make you stick out your breasts, too.”
“You would think that”—Darcy laughed—“and you’re right, although that’s not the purpose. And when we hang up, I’m going to read a new biography of Ben Franklin.”
“Very admirable, Darcy, but forgive me if I never attempt to have a Perfect Nash day.” He was quiet for a moment before asking, “Are you atoning for anything?”
“No!” Darcy said, perhaps a beat too quickly, because maybe she kind of was. She shouldn’t have kissed Clive, not when she was with Nash, but was she with Nash? Exclusively? She couldn’t ask him about that now, when he was tired from a day’s labor and had to get up early tomorrow.
Nash remained silent, as if he knew her response was a lie.
“All right, I suppose I am,” Darcy admitted. “For some reason, I’m spending too much time worrying about my neighbors. Oh, I sound nuts, I know. Let’s talk about it when we have more time.”
“Good. I think I’m headed for my sofa and the Red Sox game. Maybe we can get together tomorrow when you’re not so perfect.”
Darcy laughed and headed for her own sofa. She’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt and flip-flops. Tonight, cozy and casual, she would spend with Ben Franklin, improving her mind. Usually she alternated reading a good novel with a good biography, but something about this summer made her yearn for books that made her laugh or cry, that allowed her to free the emotional chaos inside her. When she was engrossed in a book, some kind of barrier broke and all kinds of feelings and questions and needs spilled out. It was like this sometimes—not always, but sometimes—when she saw an espec
ially adorable commercial for dog food.
“Why don’t I have a dog?” she would wonder out loud, while her cat sat looking as if he’d roll his eyes if cats could roll their eyes. She’d weep and ask the empty room why didn’t she have a brother or a sister, why were both her parents so absent from her life, why did Boyz choose Autumn who was six years older than Boyz—okay, Autumn had huge breasts, but that couldn’t be the only reason—why was Darcy thirty years old with no children of her own and no husband and here she was, alone in this great big house and why was she so selfish and self-centered, she should become a nurse and take care of people with incurable diseases….
Tonight, she slammed Ben Franklin shut. “You’re not doing it for me tonight, Ben.” She hadn’t had wine with dinner, so she poured herself a glass and kicked off her flip-flops and walked out into her backyard. It was all out here, fresh air, the mingled scents of flowers, the laughter of people passing by on the lane, the lounger that held her in perfect comfort, and when she looked up, so many stars in the sky.
It was quiet. Not the slightest breeze stirred. No one spoke. The lights were out in all the houses around her. It was only about nine thirty. Where was everyone? And why did she even care? She rolled her own eyes at herself.
“My parents aren’t home.”
It was Willow speaking. The way the girl was cooing her words suggested she was talking to Logan.
“I like it out here. It’s cozier. More hidden. When do your parents get home?”
“Not till late. They’re out at a party on someone’s yacht.”
Okay, so much for relaxing under the stars. Darcy was going inside. Boyz didn’t want her interfering with his stepdaughter, he said he and Autumn knew what was going on, and Darcy did not want to sit out here and listen to the sounds of teenage passion.
“Hey, baby, maybe we’ve got time for some extra fun.”
“What do you mean?” Willow asked.
Silence, then, “Ever done heroin?”
Darcy froze.
Willow’s voice got smaller, almost a whisper. “No, Logan. That’s way too scary for me.”
