Secrets in Summer

by Nancy Thayer

  She especially enjoyed watching Willow. Her long auburn hair was twisted up in back and held with a clasp so that much of it stuck out in all directions from the top of her head, like a spout. She wore cutoffs, flip-flops, and a blue T-shirt with the joke logo Nantucket University. Willow was animated as she talked, completely at ease, laughing and waving her arms and shouting “No way!” or “Totally!” at something Mimi or Susan said. She was a sweet, funny girl, and Darcy was fond of her. More than that, she felt proud of her for making such an about-face in such a brief period of time from baby bombshell needing the attention and sexual lessons of Logan to this child/young woman, comfortable hanging around with old ladies. She felt connected to Willow—and just at that moment, as if the girl had intuited Darcy’s thoughts, Willow flashed a grin full of affection at Darcy before returning to the conversation with Susan and Mimi.

  But when Darcy looked at Susan, a little midge of worry buzzed in Darcy’s thoughts. Boyz was gone five days of the week, working in Boston, leaving the bounteous Autumn free. If Susan was ensconced in the yarn shop, and her boys were with Willow, that meant that Otto was free to go anywhere to do anything with anyone.

  To do anything.

  But really, what business was it of hers? She liked Susan, and would hate to see her hurt, but Darcy had no real idea of Susan and Otto’s relationship. Other people’s marriages held private pacts and arrangements so intimate they were kept hidden from everyone else, even from the children. Maybe Susan would be relieved to have the tyrannical Otto release his energies on another woman. And would it surprise Darcy at all if Boyz, up in Boston for the week, had a mistress? Ha.

  “Darcy?” Mimi’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You look like you’re fading.”

  “Oh, sorry, I guess I was thinking about work tomorrow…” Darcy looked around the table. “Would anyone like some lemonade?

  “Goodness, no,” Mimi said. “As it is, I have to get up fifty times a night….”

  “Well, I should get some rest,” Willow stated with dramatically fake self-importance, “because I have to do two story times tomorrow and babysit three wild boys for three hours.”

  The women wandered off, tossing kisses, saying good nights, walking beneath the arbor and home. Darcy switched off the lights and the magical glow vanished. Darkness fell on her backyard. She wasn’t tired yet. She didn’t want to watch television or read. She enjoyed her new friends immensely, but she always had needed a moment or two of solitude. She returned to her lounger and sank back, looking up at the starry sky.

  “Good night,” Willow called.

  Three doors banged shut. Silence fell.

  From beneath a large hydrangea, Muffler came slinking out. He jumped on Darcy’s lap, claiming his rightful territory. Darcy ran her hand over his long silky fur and his low satisfying purr lulled her like a lullaby.

  15

  Hey, Darcy. Want to get together tomorrow night? I’m going sports fishing with some guys this weekend.

  Darcy stood over her phone, glaring down at the message from Nash. They’d spoken briefly on Tuesday, both of them complaining about the unusual heat and humidity, and she’d known a casual conversation was the wrong time to broach the subject of his prospective house.

  Sure. Come over for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll eat inside with the air conditioners on full blast.

  She put together a pot roast with veggies in the slow cooker and went off to the library, feeling slightly cheerful, slightly anxious. On her way home from work, she stopped to buy a bottle of red wine and a six-pack of Whale’s Tale Pale Ale, Nash’s favorite. At home she changed into a sundress so loose she could wear it without a bra, and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, away from her neck. Then, barefoot, she padded downstairs and into the kitchen to put together a salad.

  When she opened the door to Nash, his face lit up. He stepped inside, pulled her to him, and kissed her vigorously.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said.

  Darcy turned away, leading him into the house. His kiss had unsettled her and his words had surprised her. He had missed her?

  She’d better drink a little wine before she said anything she’d regret.

  “Want an ale?” she asked.

  “Thanks.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at her quizzically as she took the bottle from the fridge. “Something smells good.”

  “Pot roast. Bless the man who invented slow cookers.” She paid great attention to pouring herself a glass of wine. “How’s work?” She led Nash back into the living room and settled into an overstuffed chair.

  Nash sank onto the sofa. “Hot.”

  “Your nose is red, and look at your neck. Do you put on sunblock? Because you should or you might be sorry when you’re older.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Nash teased. “How was your week?”

  “Great. The children’s story time is such a crush of children, and Willow is an enormous help. In the evenings, Willow’s babysitting Susan Brueckner’s children, three boys who seem to be the inspiration for the term ‘attention deficit disorder.’ Susan’s working in a yarn shop in the evenings, and it’s making her so happy—not just because she’s escaping her noisy children, but because she feels good being around yarn and meeting people and being herself rather than Otto’s wife and the boys’ mother.” Talking about her friends changed her mood, cheered her up, and made her feel less paranoid about Nash. “Do you construction men ever—I don’t know—discuss your personal lives with each other?”

  Nash laughed. “You should spend a day at our site. We can’t hear ourselves over the noise of the chain saw and the hammers. When we break for lunch, we collapse in the shade and eat. The most intimate moment we’ve had was when Juan passed out from acrophobia.”

  “What about the guys we hang out with on Sundays? Lyle and the others?”

  “You know what we talk about—the Red Sox. Maybe, occasionally, to break the monotony, the Patriots.”

  And the words spilled out of Darcy’s mouth before she took a second to think.

  “So you’re not close to Lyle and the others, but you told them you’re buying a house on the island and you didn’t tell me?” She didn’t intend to sound angry, but her voice shook.

  Nash blinked, surprised. “You mean on Sunday? Okay, well, Paul is a real estate broker. I wanted to get his opinion. The owner is trying to sell it himself. I don’t know the island property values that well. I’ve only been here since March. I needed some friendly advice.”

  Fists clenched, Darcy stood up. Then she sat down. She would not, she would not allow herself to go into a pitiful, needy, clingy pit of begging. She would never say those terrible words: Where do you think our relationship is headed? She would not say I think I love you. She would not say Do you think you love me?

  It took all her self-control, but she shook her head and held her hand up in a stop gesture. “Give me a moment.” She forced a smile.

  She would not even ask if they were a couple. This wasn’t high school.

  Finally she decided to attempt a kind of reasonable explanation. “I’m sorry, Nash. I guess I’m overreacting because I hate it when people keep secrets from me.”

  “I wasn’t keeping a secret from you,” Nash told her. “I just hadn’t had a chance to tell you yet. I’m only beginning to think about this, about buying a place.”

  Okay, that was good, that was better. She aimed for a casual tone. “Housing is ridiculously expensive here.”

  “Tell me about it. You’re lucky your grandmother left you this house.”

  “I know. I couldn’t live on the island otherwise. And this house is special to me. I hope I never have to leave it. It’s in a perfect location, and it’s got the fabulous backyard, and”—she swallowed the words: It’s so big that if I ever marry and have children—“there’s lots of room.”

  She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. But they were talking, inching into intimate territory, and her anger, her sense of betrayal, eva
porated, leaving hope in its place.

  “Come have dinner,” she said. “Let’s dish it up and we can eat in here and watch the Red Sox.”

  “Ah, you seductive wench,” Nash said, rising and pulling her to him.

  She stepped back. “Stop that or you’ll be eating dinner at midnight.” A surge of power rushed through her when she spoke those words, when she backed away even though her body craved his like air and light.

  The pot roast was delicious, and it was a luxury to eat a hot meal while sitting in a cool, dry house. The Red Sox won their game. Darcy led Nash upstairs, where they made easy, lazy love, and Nash went home and Darcy fell asleep with a smile on her face.

  —

  That Sunday Nash went sports fishing with friends, a strenuous sport that would have them rolling on the heaving Atlantic. They would return late in the evening with bluefin tuna and sunburns, and Monday morning most of them would be hung over.

  Darcy decided to give herself a Self-centered day, which was the opposite of her Perfect Darcy day. She avoided her computer as if it had a contagious virus. She’d prepared for today the night before, when she bought ice cream and ready-made salads and microwavable lasagna, and she vowed to stay in her silk kimono all day. She’d taken a few enticing books from the library and began her day by curling up on the sofa, drinking coffee, eating not one but two chocolate croissants from the Nantucket Bake Shop, and reading.

  When she was younger, she could read all day without stopping. Of course she could, because some adult, usually her grandmother, took care of everything—food, shelter, all her personal needs. Also, whomever she stayed with—Penny or one of Lala’s daffy relatives—seemed to like Darcy most when she was quiet, tucked into a corner, asking for nothing, needing to go nowhere. She learned to go everywhere through books.

  She’d finished her coffee and croissant and the first two chapters of the compelling mystery when someone knocked on her front door. Susan’s probably out of milk again, Darcy thought with a smile. She strolled to the door and pulled it open. And stopped smiling.

  Boyz stood there, all Ralph Lauren in his golf shirt and Bermuda shorts and loafers without socks. He’d gotten a beautiful tan, so even it looked painted on, and his hair gleamed in the sunlight.

  “Boyz!”

  “Hey, Darce. Could I come in? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “Um, okay….” She led him into the living room. “Would you like some coffee?” She couldn’t help it; she was relieved and a little smug because she was wearing the silk kimono when she could have easily been clad in an old T-shirt.

  “Thanks, no. I’ve finished breakfast, had enough caffeine to blast me to Mars. Autumn and Willow are still sleeping. That’s why I decided to come over now.”

  “Oh?” Darcy said, slightly wary. She motioned to a chair. “Sit down.” She took the chair across from him.

  Boyz set his elbows on his knees with his hands dangling down between his widely planted legs.

  Oh, please, Darcy thought, don’t call my attention to your equipment. I’m so over you.

  Boyz got right to it. “I need to talk to you about Willow. No insult intended, just a friendly observation, from a man who knows you well, who understands what you lack and what you need.”

  Darcy wrinkled her nose in confused disgust. “Wait, what?” The moment the words left her mouth, she realized that was exactly the way Willow spoke.

  “I know you’re sore about me and Autumn. I know your pride’s been mangled and you’re unsure of your desirability. It’s absolutely understandable. Anyone would feel that way. But, Darcy, honey, it’s kind of foul play to bring Willow into the mix. She’s a young, impressionable girl. She might get the idea you like her for herself.”

  Had the man gone insane? Darcy’s eyes widened. “But, Boyz, I do like her!”

  “Come on, Darce, don’t forget I was married to you for three years. I know you inside and out.” Boyz treated her to one of his superalluring lascivious grins.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Darcy said.

  “If you want to get together with me, privately, I mean, I’d be all over that like white on rice, but it’s not necessary for you to try to sneak in through the back door.”

  “Really, Boyz. I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

  “Well, first of all, I need you to know I care about Willow. She’s my stepdaughter. I don’t like her used to get to me. Second, if you’d like to join me in bed for old time’s sake, I’d be up for that.” Another grin. “Really up.”

  Darcy was horrified. “Are you saying you think I’m friendly with Willow so that I can get you to notice me, to have sex with me? Boyz, that’s over-the-top vain, even for you!”

  Boyz continued to smile. He was almost leering at her.

  “Darcy. Honey. Don’t try to pretend. You and I had some pretty sweet times together. And I want you to know I still consider you a beautiful woman.”

  “Boyz. Listen to me. I have no interest in you at all. Really. Truly.”

  Boyz tilted his head and dimmed the wattage of his smile. “So why are you hanging out with Willow?”

  “Because she’s wonderful!” Darcy was so angry and insulted on Willow’s behalf she wanted to punch her ex-husband. “And I’m not ‘hanging out’ with her! Willow helps at the library, she’s great with the little kids during story hour. She reads to Mimi Rush who lives next door and is eighty-nine years old and has bad eyes. She’s babysitting Susan Brueckner’s three boys during the week—when you’re in Boston. She’s a sweet, intelligent girl and if I see more of her than you do, it’s not my fault, it’s yours!”

  “Oh, Darcy,” Boyz said softly. “If that’s all true, why aren’t you involving Autumn in these arrangements? Autumn is her mother, after all.”

  Darcy bit her lips. She could tell Boyz exactly what Autumn was up to with Otto Brueckner, but maybe she was wrong, and she didn’t want to be vindictive and it wasn’t relevant anyway. “I’ve discussed all this with Autumn. I phoned her several weeks ago to invite her to join us. Autumn declined. She wants Willow to have her own group, away from her mother. She told me I didn’t need to contact her all the time. She trusts Willow when she’s with me, with us.” Angry, Darcy demanded, “Don’t you even talk to your wife?”

  She’d taken one step too far. She’d embarrassed Boyz. His face went red. Gone was his seductive tone. Now he wanted to hurt. “Whatever. The point I’m trying to make here is that Autumn is Willow’s mother. You are not, and you’ve got to stop pretending you are. I sincerely hope you’ll have a child of your own someday, but until then, hands off Willow. Okay?”

  “Boyz.” Darcy was embarrassed to see her hands were trembling. She rose. “I think you’d better leave.”

  Like a chameleon, Boyz switched back into his charming self. He stood, walked close to Darcy, his pale blue eyes warm with affection. “Darcy. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. Come here. Let me make it all better.”

  Before she could react, Boyz had taken her in his arms and kissed her.

  Her body hit her with a whirlwind of memory. The way he cupped her head in his left hand while pressing his right hand on her hip, moving toward him and his erection. The way his lips felt, even the scent of his breath—coffee and a tang of Listerine, because Boyz always kept small bottles of Listerine around so he’d have clean breath when he spoke to his clients. It amused her that he’d used it this morning before coming to see her, and she smiled at the thought, right in the middle of his passionate kiss, and then pulled away from her ex-husband’s arms.

  “Boyz, go home. I don’t want this. Try to believe for once in your life that one woman in the world is not infatuated with you. That would be me.”

  Boyz dropped his arms. He stepped back. But he kept his eyes on Darcy. “You know, Darcy, if we do—enjoy ourselves together—I would keep it all secret from Autumn and Willow.”

  Darcy laughed. “Well, I have to say I’m well aware that you can keep your affairs s
ecret.”

  “Ah,” Boyz said softly, nodding his head and creasing his forehead in an expression of sympathy. “Of course, you’re still hurt over catching me with Autumn.”

  Darcy began, “Honestly, Boyz, I’m not—”

  “Then why aren’t you married? It’s been three years.” Boyz couldn’t keep back a look of satisfaction at a shot well placed.

  “Look, Boyz, I have a lovely boyfriend. You don’t need to know anything about me. Please, just go home.” Darcy turned her back on him and walked away before he could speak again.

  She opened the front door. She stood next to it, unsmiling, arms crossed over her chest, like a matron in a reform school.

  Boyz took his time sauntering out of the living room, into the hall, and right to the threshold. He gave Darcy a smug look. “Remember, all you have to do is call.”

  Darcy shuddered. How could she have been attracted to this man? Was she really so easily seduced by good looks? He did have a kind of magnetism, she had to admit that, but she’d built up a powerful shield against him.

  “Boyz, I only want to go back to my very good book.” She stepped back and closed the door, practically pushing him out of her house.

  But of course when she returned to her living room, she couldn’t read. An enormous hurricane of energy and emotions whirled through her. She was still trembling. She couldn’t sit down. She paced up and down her hallway, muttering to herself, wanting to strike something or pull out her hair.

  It wasn’t because Boyz had come on to her. Boyz would come on to a statue if it had big enough breasts. It wasn’t his belief that she wasn’t able to get pregnant, it wasn’t his air of superiority and pity.

  It was because he’d hit on a soft spot, because he did have one righteous point.

  Willow wasn’t her daughter. Willow belonged to Autumn. Even if Autumn ignored Willow, she was still Willow’s mother. Even if she was a mediocre mother, she was still Willow’s mother.