Secrets in Summer

by Nancy Thayer

  Was Darcy “hanging out” with Willow? Yes, kind of…

  But so were Mimi and Susan. That was what made them such an unusual and fascinating group, their different ages and lives.

  Still, if Darcy were honest with herself, she’d admit that she felt something more than friendship for Willow. She loved her.

  Was it wrong to love someone who doesn’t belong to you?

  Memories flashed her back to the year she was nine. Darcy was living with Lala’s parents, and then Lala’s mother had a bad fall. She had an operation for a new knee and spent months in rehab, leaving Darcy with her grandfather, whose only cooking skill was stirring hot water into bowls of oatmeal from small packets. Darcy was shuffled off to live with an aunt and uncle, who made it clear she was an annoyance and a burden. Her only haven had been the school library, and it was there she developed an unexplainable fondness, a quiet adoration, for an older woman.

  Bessie Bogan, the school librarian. She was African American, in her forties, happily, comfortably, bouncily fat, and endlessly kind. Bessie had taken an interest in Darcy when no one else seemed to give her a second thought. She noticed Darcy’s passion for reading and introduced her to nonfiction, fiction, and biography that opened up worlds to her. When Darcy spent an hour after school in the library—because no one cared what time she got home—Bessie was receptive to Darcy’s questions, and often, she’d say to Darcy, “Pull up a chair, honey. Let’s talk about this.”

  As they talked, Darcy studied Bessie, trying to decide what made her so wonderful. Bessie wore a fragrance like vanilla and cinnamon. She wore pretty dresses in flower colors, often with lace at the neck or the wrists. Her teeth were a brilliant white, and she wore her very curly hair pulled back and held with a variety of hair clasps that coordinated with her earrings and necklaces. But it wasn’t Bessie’s beauty that fascinated Darcy. It was how she listened to Darcy speak, focusing all her attention on her, often remaining silent for a minute or two while she contemplated Darcy’s words.

  “Um-hum,” Bessie would hum. “Let me think on that.”

  The subject might be as enormous as the Holocaust—How could such a thing happen? Or as trivial as why women needed to possess so many pairs of shoes.

  Often, Bessie would reply, “Child, I don’t think that’s a question anyone on this earth has the true answer for. The best advice I can give you is to keep reading.”

  Darcy was in fourth grade at the time, and she moved to Nantucket when she was in fifth grade, and Bessie herself was no longer in Darcy’s life. But the lessons Bessie taught Darcy—not through words but through example—stayed with her forever. Bessie had a kind of patience with not having all the answers, with not being in control, and Darcy worked to achieve that in herself. Her mother lived a water-bug life, darting here and there, appreciating where she was or with whom only until something shiny gleamed, and she would zip away, never minding the turbulence she left behind.

  Bessie Bogan never did anything with Darcy out of the library, although she had mentioned taking Darcy and three other interested fourth graders to the Chicago Art Institute. The trip never took place, and Darcy was sorry about that. She kept in touch with Bessie with Christmas cards for a few years, but the link between them gradually faded. Still, Darcy knew it was Bessie Bogan who had inspired Darcy to become a librarian.

  Darcy returned to the living room, curled up on the sofa with her mystery, and opened the book. Her thoughts wouldn’t settle. Did she care for Willow because she didn’t have her own child? Did she care for Mimi because she had no grandmothers left? Okay, but why, then, did she care for Susan? True, Darcy didn’t have a sister, but Susan wasn’t sister material—she was a friend. A friend with a tempestuous life and, although she wasn’t aware of it, an unfaithful husband. Possibly unfaithful. For all Darcy knew, Autumn and Otto were spending their time together discussing the stock market.

  She couldn’t explain it. Mimi, Willow, and Susan were simply delightful people, and Darcy enjoyed their company. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she’d fallen so hard for Nash, and wanted a commitment with him now and he was so unhurried. It had nothing to do with that at all.

  Her cell burbled. Darcy snatched it up.

  Beth O’Malley said, “Darcy, a bunch of us from the women’s chorus want to go for a walk at the beach and then spend a loooong evening at the Nautilus drinking te-quil-a mockingbirds and eating tapas and roasted Peking duck. Want to go with us?”

  Darcy grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Good. Dress sexy. Bring gossip.”

  Darcy laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

  16

  Thursday evening, Darcy was ironing a dress for the next day while she idly watched the evening news. When the phone rang, she answered it with her eyes on the television.

  “Darcy, could you help me?” Willow pleaded in such a rush her words were jammed together. Before Darcy could speak, Willow continued, “Henry cut his finger with a knife, it’s my fault, we were making watermelon slices, he’s okay, he’s not even crying now, but I can’t find any Band-Aids in the house and he can’t just stand holding a paper towel around it!”

  “I’m not sure I have any Band-Aids, either,” Darcy said, “but I can run out and buy some.”

  “No, that’s okay, we have some in our house, I know right where they are, I just need you to come watch the boys while I run over to our house. I’d take them with me, but I promised they could watch the Lego Movie while they eat their watermelon. They’re in front of the television now, but Henry has to stand in the kitchen because I don’t want him dripping blood on the owner’s furniture!”

  And they’re not dripping watermelon juice? Darcy thought, but she said, “Good thinking. I’ll be right over.” She wanted to check on Henry’s cut, be sure he didn’t need stitches.

  She turned off her iron. She didn’t bother to comb her hair or put on fresh lip balm, not for those three little rascals. It took her only a minute to go out her door and cross to the Brueckners’ house, where she found Willow waiting.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Willow cried, throwing her arms around Darcy. “I really need to get a Band-Aid, it’s only a little cut, but I can’t let Susan come home to find her son bleeding on the rug!”

  Darcy smiled. “I’m sure it will all be fine.”

  “I’ll just run over to our house, I won’t be a minute, I’ll be right back.”

  Darcy found Henry standing in the kitchen with his right arm up in the air.

  “Hi, Henry,” Darcy said, keeping her tone mild. “Willow says you cut yourself.”

  “She told me to hold my hand over my head so the blood wouldn’t fall out as fast.”

  “Willow’s awfully smart,” Darcy assured him. “Could I see your cut?”

  Proudly, Henry extended his hand.

  Darcy gently unwrapped the paper towel and looked. The gash was across the top of his third finger, deep enough to pool blood up over the wound, where it then dripped down onto the kitchen floor. She didn’t think a Band-Aid would be sufficient. When Willow returned, Darcy would drive them all to the hospital’s ER to see if Henry needed stitches.

  “I’m going to wrap your finger in an ice-cold paper towel,” Darcy told the boy. “It won’t hurt, it will just be cold, and it will make the bleeding slow down.”

  “Then can I go sit and watch the Lego Movie?”

  “Let me wrap it, and I’ll come with you and keep my hand on your finger. I want to press on it a little bit.”

  Henry seemed more upset about missing the video than by his bleeding finger.

  Darcy walked into the living room with the child, holding his finger tightly. Henry plunked down on the sofa next to his brothers and Darcy sat on the arm of the sofa, amused that neither George nor Alfred seemed concerned about their brother. Boys, she thought.

  On the coffee table sat two empty bowls and another bowl still full of watermelon chunks.

  “I want t
o eat my watermelon,” Henry cried.

  “Shut up!” George yelled.

  “Here, Henry, I’ll hold the bowl. Can you use your left hand?” Darcy leaned over and held the bowl close to the boy, still managing to keep her other hand firmly around his wound.

  The back door slammed and Willow charged into the room. Her eyes were so wide she looked like an enraged animal, and her complexion was paper white.

  “We have to go.” Willow said. “Now.”

  Darcy stood up, her hand still on Henry’s finger. “Willow, are you all right?”

  “It’s so gross, they’re so gross!” Willow burst into tears. “People are disgusting!” She clenched her fists and brought them in front of her, holding her body tight, as if to make herself smaller in the world.

  “Okay,” Darcy said calmly, “we’re all going to the hospital now, because I think a doctor should see Henry’s finger.”

  “No!” Henry yelled. “I don’t want a shot!”

  “Needle, needle, Henry’s gonna get stuck with a needle!” George chanted, and Alfred chimed in.

  Henry yelled “no” even louder, and wrenched himself away from Darcy, causing the cold, bloodstained towel to fall on the sofa.

  “Willow, do you know where the car keys are? We need the boys’ car seats.”

  Willow burst into tears.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Darcy said. “This is like a carnival.” She was fairly certain threats wouldn’t get the boys in the car, so she went for treats. “Let’s all get in my car. After we go to the hospital, I’ll take you to the Hub and buy you any candy you want.”

  “Yay!” George and Alfred shouted, jumping up and down.

  Darcy picked up the paper towel, seized Henry by the wrist, and stuck the paper towel back over his finger.

  “Willow,” she ordered, in a no-nonsense voice, “you need to hold this on his finger while I drive.”

  “Nothing matters anymore,” Willow sobbed, but she obeyed.

  “Willow! Calm down!” Darcy was stunned that the girl was overreacting so dramatically.

  George did a transformer move, switching from crazed boy into his father. “You can’t drive unless you have your driver’s license with you.”

  “Right,” Darcy agreed. “George, go in my front door and fetch my straw purse. It’s sitting on the front hall table. You can’t miss it.”

  George’s chest puffed out with pride. He marched off.

  Darcy guessed that the Brueckners would be organized, and they were. Susan’s keys to her car were on a hook in the kitchen, with a labeled tag. With Willow’s sobbing help, Darcy herded the boys out of the house and into the car. George came running to hand Darcy her purse and squeezed in with the others. Henry sat on Willow’s lap so she could hold his hand.

  “We need our seatbelts on!” George screamed.

  “It’s only a few blocks to the hospital,” Darcy assured him, “and all the streets are one-way. I’ll drive slowly. We can’t get all your seatbelts on with Willow in the back, and Willow has to be in the back to hold Henry’s finger and you children are too small to sit in the passenger seat in front.”

  To her delight, her logical explanation satisfied George. He nodded once sharply.

  “Willow,” Darcy said, “Get out your cellphone and call Susan. We need to tell her what’s happened.”

  “No!” Willow cried. “I can’t talk to her!”

  Had everyone gone mad? It was impossible to think with the racket the boys were making. George and Alfred had begun to chant, “Henry’s going to die-i, Henry’s going to die-i!”

  “What’s going on with you, Willow?” Darcy yelled, looking at the girl in her rearview mirror.

  Willow wailed and at last managed to say, “I saw my mother with—” She jerked her head at the boys.

  “You saw your mother? What?”

  “They were on the dining room table! I’ll never eat again!”

  “You’re not making any sense, Willow,” Darcy said.

  But she had a pretty good idea what Willow meant. It seemed that Darcy’s suspicions about Otto Brueckner and Autumn were true.

  “We’re here,” she called to the menagerie in the backseat. She pulled into the ER parking lot. “Boys. Settle down. You have to be quiet in a hospital. George, hold Henry’s hand. Willow, hold Alfred’s hand.”

  The three boys and Willow untangled themselves. The boys pitched their frenetic bodies out onto the pavement. Darcy clicked Susan’s cell number.

  “Susan,” was all she managed to say before Susan gasped, “Oh, no. What’s happened to the boys?”

  “Henry cut his finger when they were slicing watermelon. It’s only a little cut but we’re going into the ER to be sure he doesn’t need stitches.”

  George jumped up and down, yelling, “Henry’s dying, Mom, he’s bleeding like ketchup on a hamburger!”

  Susan snapped into Sergeant Mother mode. “I’ll close the shop and be right there. It’s only a few blocks. I’ll run.”

  “Okay, kids, let’s go into the hospital. Look, Henry, magic doors.”

  “Duh,” George scoffed. “They’re not magic, they’re electric. We’re not idiots.”

  “Then stop acting like ones,” Darcy snapped.

  The ER waiting room was full, of course it was. It was summer on Nantucket. Most of the chairs lining the perimeter of the room were taken. Darcy saw a mother holding a squalling baby, a carpenter with a handmade tourniquet wrapped around his arm, a couple of drunks passed out in the corner, and a family talking rapidly in Spanish. She registered at the counter. The exhausted nurse told her it would be ten minutes. That means twenty, Darcy thought.

  Willow looked so dazed Darcy feared the doctors would think she was in for a drug overdose.

  “George,” Darcy said. “Here’s some money. Take your brothers over to the vending machine and buy some candy. Henry, keep the towel on your finger and you can go, too.”

  The boys raced off.

  Darcy took Willow gently by the shoulders and faced her squarely. “Willow. What happened?”

  Willow’s tears rained down her face. “It was so awful! I can’t even tell you.”

  “You have to tell me, Willow. Maybe I can help you.”

  “No one can help me,” Willow sobbed.

  “Did someone hurt you?”

  Willow shook her head so ferociously her tears flew.

  “Tell me, Willow. At least give me a hint. The boys will be back in a minute and we won’t be able to talk.”

  Willow covered her hands with her face. “My mother,” she whispered. “My mother and Mr. Brueckner.” Her knees sagged and Darcy had to hold her up. “On the dining room table!”

  Good grief, Darcy thought. What a thing for a daughter to see.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Darcy gathered the girl into her arms. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, patting Willow’s back.

  Willow stopped sobbing. She took a few deep breaths. She pulled away from Darcy. “What am I going to do?”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “Ha.” She sniffed contemptuously. “No, they didn’t see me, they were too busy….” She couldn’t go on.

  “All right,” Darcy said. “First, we have to decide whether or not to tell Susan. She’ll be here any minute.”

  “Ick! No, Darcy, we can’t! Mr. Brueckner is her husband.”

  Darcy thought it wouldn’t come as an enormous surprise to Susan that her husband was unfaithful, but at this moment in time, she agreed with Willow. “Okay. If Susan asks why you’ve been crying, you can tell her because you’re sorry that Henry cut his finger.”

  Willow nodded. Darcy felt in her purse for a tissue and handed it to the girl.

  “She was naked,” Willow moaned. “I hate her.”

  The boys ran back, packs of Skittles in their hands.

  “I can’t open mine,” Henry complained. He had dropped the paper towel near the vending machine. A line of blood crept down his arm.

  “Let’s go
in the bathroom and get you a fresh paper towel,” Darcy said.

  “Willow, you wait with the boys for Susan.”

  Automatically she washed her hands, pulled out a fresh paper towel, wet it, and wrapped it around Henry’s hand. The boy had managed to wedge his pack of candy into his pocket, and his hand went from this pocket to his mouth and back to his pocket as if he were automated.

  She held the boy’s hand, pressing on his finger, as they returned to the waiting room. Her mind was in a traffic jam of thoughts. Poor Willow, to have to see her mother like that! Poor Susan, whose husband was unfaithful in addition to being a creep. And, oh, right, poor Boyz, whose wife was unfaithful to him, to Boyz, that model of fidelity! She couldn’t help smiling.

  Her smile fell away when Susan rushed in through the automatic doors. Darcy flashed a look of caution to Willow, who was clutching her hands together like a Victorian heroine caught in a snowstorm. Susan threw herself around Henry.

  “Your hand, let me see your hand!”

  Henry held out his hand, unable to keep from looking proud.

  “Oh, darling, that doesn’t look so terribly bad,” Susan told him. “You’ll have such an adventure, getting stitches.”

  George butted in, needing his share of fame. “I got Darcy’s purse for her!”

  “Yes,” Darcy agreed. “George was a big help. All the boys were good.”

  “Susan, Mrs. Brueckner, I’m so sorry about this,” Willow cried. “I was cutting some watermelon for the boys, and Henry said he wanted to cut his own piece, and I had put the knife down on the cutting board and he picked it up and it happened so fast!”

  Susan smiled. “Alfred, sweetie, scoot over one chair so Mommy can sit next to Henry.” When Alfred had reluctantly obeyed, Susan took Willow’s hand. “Sweet Willow, don’t worry. These things happen all the time with boys, with my boys especially.”

  “Yeah!” Alfred piped up, wanting to be part of the drama. “I fell off my bike last year. Look at my scar!”

  “Henry Brueckner?” A nurse with a clipboard beckoned them. “We don’t need all of you,” she added, seeing the entire group jump up.