by Nancy Thayer
“Oh, please,” Willow said in her most sarcastic voice, “don’t tell me you’re going to compare reading with sex.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Reading while eating chocolate ice cream, to be exact. You were caught up in a world of your own. You were indulging your mind and your senses. You sprawled in that chair with your legs hanging over the side and your head practically on the bottom cushion. I snapped a photo of you with my phone and you didn’t say a thing. You were in a zone.”
“But that’s different!” Willow protested.
“Maybe. I could pull up that photo I took of you, the one that you wanted me to delete when you saw it the next day. You couldn’t believe what a slob you were. Ice cream on your face, on your clothes? Sex is like that, only more intense. It’s body and mind. It takes you into a world of your own.”
Darcy turned her face away from Willow, unable to hide her smile. Autumn was amazing, really, coming up with this comparison.
“Okay, then,” Willow persisted, “but don’t you have that with Boyz? He is your husband! You’re supposed to be faithful to him!”
“Boyz is my husband,” Autumn agreed quietly. “And you have no idea about the kind of pacts and compromises we have created to make our marriage work.”
“Ugh!” Willow moaned. “You mean like an ‘open marriage’? That’s so gross!”
“I’m not going into any details, Willow. Let me just say that Boyz and I are both attractive people who enjoy being attractive. The most important thing is that whatever we do as individuals, as a couple we are absolutely devoted to you. We will never stop loving you, we will never stop putting you first in our thoughts and in our hearts.”
“Yeah, right,” Willow muttered, but she flushed and her eyes filled with tears.
“Come over here, Willow,” Autumn said, patting the cushion next to her.
Willow stuck her bottom lip out stubbornly.
“Come on, honey. Come on.” Autumn’s voice was so low and sweet, Darcy thought she’d sit next to Autumn if invited.
Willow gave Darcy a quick sideways glance.
Darcy read the message. It had been a long night for Willow, with lots of drama and the scare of Henry’s cut and Willow’s sense of failing to keep the boys safe, not to mention seeing her mother with another man. Willow needed her mother now. Whatever Autumn had looked like a few hours ago, right now, Autumn was Willow’s mother, completely focused on her. And Willow needed Autumn.
“I’ve got to get home,” Darcy said. “I’ll let myself out.”
Before anyone could say anything, Darcy rose and left the room, heading for the kitchen and the back steps. She caught a flicker of movement in her eye—Willow moving over to be embraced by her mother.
By the time she reached her own back door, tears were pouring down her face. She collapsed at the kitchen table, burying her face in her hands. She had no single memory of her own mother hugging her when Darcy was a teenager. Darcy had been living with Penny then, and Penny had been a fascinating and loving person, but not much of a toucher. Boyz seemed like an overtoucher, if that was such a thing, and maybe Autumn was, too, but her connection with Willow was clear and powerful.
Darcy wished she had someone to put his arms around her now.
18
Going with Mom to Boston for shopping. Sorry can’t do story time. xo W
Darcy sat at her kitchen table Friday morning, reading Willow’s brief text.
It surprised her, how her mood plummeted, like an elevator with its cables cut.
“Muffler,” she said to the cat who sat in the middle of the table staring at her, “we’ve been dumped.”
Muffler lifted one paw and industriously licked it, paying no attention to Darcy.
“Et tu Brute?” Now her coffee didn’t even taste good, and her first cup of coffee in the morning was one of her favorite pleasures in life. “Everyone is ignoring me,” she said pathetically. “But I do know,” she added, saying it aloud, as if someone were listening, “that Willow is not my daughter. She’ll return to Boston, and I’ll never see her again. I’ve allowed myself to get too involved with a summer person.”
As a practical matter, she needed to find someone else to help with story time.
They had plenty of volunteers, but she needed to check her list and call someone.
“Enough whining,” she told herself, and rose from the table to begin the day.
She chose one of her favorite sundresses to wear to work, mostly white, with scarlet poppies on green stems growing up from the hem. She slipped on a red silk headband, kissed herself in the mirror, and set off for the library.
The day was full of minor crises—all the copies of Shrek had been checked out, and Nanny McPhee had been misshelved, so it showed up as in on the computer, but displeased mothers and frantic circ staffers had to search through the shelves to find it. A little girl locked herself in one of the restrooms and wouldn’t come out because she didn’t want to be with her stepmother, and Beverly Maison spilled a cup of iced coffee down her new shirt.
At the end of the day, Darcy was delighted to leave the library. A lecture on coastal erosion was taking place in the Great Hall that evening; Darcy had planned on attending but decided she wasn’t in the mood. As she walked home, her mind flooded with concerns she’d shoved into a mental compartment for the day.
Nash. They didn’t always get together on Friday nights. He was usually beat and they both worked on Saturdays. And when they did get together, would they talk more about the house he wanted to buy?
Susan Brueckner. Should Darcy tell Susan about what Willow saw? Did she need Willow, the eyewitness, with her when she spoke with Susan? But, no, Willow had been nearly traumatized, seeing her mother naked on the dining room table with Susan’s husband. The girl didn’t need any more shocks from the grown-up world.
Maybe Darcy should simply let it go. After all, she hardly knew Susan and Otto. They would be leaving after Labor Day. Darcy might never see them again. Maybe Susan already knew about Otto’s escapades, and Darcy would only bring unwanted attention to a situation the Brueckners had already worked out for themselves.
Mimi. Darcy should talk to Mimi about this. Mimi was wise. She’d seen everything twice, it seemed, and Mimi viewed life with more than a pinch of good humor and goodwill.
Impulsively, when Darcy came to Mimi’s house, she stopped and knocked on the door. She’d invite Mimi over for a drink in the garden, or maybe Mimi would invite her in for a drink in her own back garden. Mimi would break Darcy’s spell of gloominess. She’d make Darcy laugh, and without Willow there, Mimi and Darcy could talk without inhibitions.
The moment Darcy knocked, she wished she’d texted or phoned instead. If Clive wasn’t home, Mimi would have to struggle down the hall to open the door. But she couldn’t unknock the door, and while she stood dithering about, the door opened.
Clive was there, and he looked worried. His brown hair was rumpled and he had dark circles under his eyes. Several small stains marked his shirt, a handsome but wrinkled blue button-down hanging out over his jeans.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Clive, it looks like I’ve come at a bad time.”
“Mimi’s ill.” He kept his hand on the door, as if it were holding him up.
He spoke so quietly, Darcy wasn’t sure she understood. “Excuse me?”
He cleared his throat. “Mimi’s not well.”
Darcy heard him this time. The words struck like a blow to her abdomen. Mimi was worse than “not well” if Clive looked like this.
“Oh. I—I’m sorry to hear that, Clive. Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up all over. “She—I— Why don’t you come in a moment.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“Please. Intrude.” He held the door wide.
Darcy entered, setting her book bag on the floor and following Clive into the living room. He collapsed on a sofa. She took a ch
air across from him. A pile of books had toppled off a side table, some lying splayed open, their pages bent, and Darcy had to hold back the urge to pick them up, smooth the pages, close them, and place them with care on the table.
Several glasses and mugs were scattered on the coffee table, the rug, and the hearth. Some had coffee. Some sent the sharp scent of alcohol into the air.
“How long has Mimi been sick?” Darcy asked. “Has she seen a doctor?”
“I shouldn’t alarm you, Darcy. I’m sorry if I did. It’s a cold, only a summer cold, but it’s knocked the stuffing out of her. No, she hasn’t seen a doctor here, but I’ve phoned her doctor at home to get advice. She’s on several medications, you know, and I didn’t want to give her decongestants or antihistamines in case they would react badly with her medications.” He leaned back against the sofa and took a moment to close his eyes before continuing. “She’s been in bed for several days. She’s got a bad cough, and her chest is congested, and her breathing is labored.”
Darcy was worried. “Clive, that sounds serious. Shouldn’t she see a doctor here?”
Clive smiled ruefully. “Mimi says not. Says I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“Is she getting any sleep? Are you?”
“I’ve been making her drink beef broth from a cup.”
“That’s good,” Darcy told him. “That seems like the right thing to do.”
“And she has Scotch every afternoon,” Clive added, smiling. “She says it’s medicinal.”
Darcy was relieved to see him smile. “It probably is.”
Her sympathy went out to the man, so sophisticated, so talented, and so devoted to his grandmother. She really did know how he felt.
“Are you eating?”
Clive scanned the room, as if searching for evidence. He shrugged. “Probably.”
“Clive, may I see her?”
He frowned. “She’s in bed, and her hair looks messy, and the room smells like cough syrup….”
“Clive, I lived with my grandmother most of my life. I was with her when she was elderly. I think I’ve pretty much seen it all when it comes to an older person’s sickroom. You are such a dedicated person, but I would like to help. I think at a time like this, it would be right for someone to help.”
“She’ll be furious if I let you into her bedroom.”
Darcy smiled. “I hope she is furious. That will be a sign she’s still got plenty of energy.”
“All right, then….”
Like many old Nantucket houses, this house had two parlors, and when they moved in for the summer, Clive had turned one of them into a bedroom for Mimi so she wouldn’t have the trouble of climbing the stairs. It was a pretty room, with a marble fireplace and a chandelier and good oil seascapes on the walls. Clive had closed the curtains to help Mimi rest, but the first thing Darcy noticed when she entered was how the room smelled.
Mimi lay on the twin bed Clive had brought down for her. She was propped on several pillows. Next to her was a table littered with books, tissues, a carafe of water, and a glass. Her eyes were closed, and as Darcy entered, a wracking cough shook the older woman’s body.
Darcy turned to Clive. “Do you have a thermometer?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll check the bathrooms.” He left the room.
Darcy moved close to Mimi’s bed. She took Mimi’s hand. “Hi, Mimi,” she said softly. “It’s Darcy.”
To Darcy’s infinite relief, Mimi opened her eyes and croaked, “What? You think I don’t recognize your voice?”
“Clive tells me you’ve got a summer cold.”
“Yes, my darling, and you should go away right now. It might be contagious.”
“After spending all day with children, I think I’m immune,” Darcy told her. As she spoke, she evaluated Mimi and her sickbed. “When did you last use the bathroom?”
Mimi managed a feeble snort. “Darcy, you’re not a nurse or a relative. I don’t think that matter is your concern.”
“Well, I do,” Darcy insisted. “And if all you have is a summer cold, you ought to get up and move a bit. That will break up the stuff in your lungs. I’m going to help you into the bathroom—”
“Don’t embarrass me, Darcy,” Mimi pleaded in a whisper. “I use Depends.”
“Yes, well, you need a fresh one,” Darcy told her in a matter-of-fact tone. “I doubt if you want your grandson changing your underwear. Come on, let’s toddle off to the bathroom.”
“You librarians think you know everything,” Mimi moaned. But she allowed Darcy to help her sit up.
Darcy moved Mimi’s legs so they hung over the side of the bed. She let Mimi have time to adjust to this new position, but even so, the move sent her into a fresh coughing fit.
Clive entered the room. “No thermometer.”
“Never mind. Help me get Mimi to the toilet.”
“Oh, misery and humiliation,” Mimi moaned as Clive and Darcy each took a side and half walked, half carried Mimi down the hall. “Don’t come in with me!” Mimi commanded once they were in the small downstairs half bath. “I can do the rest all by myself!”
“Fine,” Darcy said. “I’m going to fetch you a fresh nightgown. I’ll knock on the door and hand it in to you in a few moments.” She turned to Clive. “Come help me.”
In Mimi’s room, she threw back the curtains and opened the windows, allowing fresh air to sweep in.
“Clive, could you find some clean sheets for the bed?” she asked. She gathered Mimi’s soiled linens from the mattress and shook out the light cotton quilt, hanging it over a chair to air out. She searched the dresser that Clive had brought down for Mimi, and when she’d found a nightgown—a violet silk sleeveless one that must have cost a bomb—she took it down the hall to the bathroom.
She knocked. “How are you doing, Mimi?”
Mimi’s response was garbled. Fear stabbed Darcy. Then Mimi said more clearly, “I’m brushing my teeth. I never thought brushing my teeth would be such a pleasure. Just toss the gown in, dear.”
Oh, Mimi sounded stronger, almost like herself! Darcy obeyed and returned to the bedroom to put clean sheets on the bed. Already the air smelled fresher, and she could hear the birds sing.
This time when Darcy and Clive assisted Mimi back to her room and her bed, Darcy noticed that Mimi felt lighter. She’d clearly lost weight.
“Mimi, I’m going to make you a little something to eat. You need food to keep your strength up.”
“Thank you, dear, but I’m not really hungry.”
“You still need to eat.”
Before Mimi could object, Darcy left the room. In the kitchen, she quickly evaluated the situation—two eggs, a hunk of cheddar cheese, no milk.
She stuck her head into Mimi’s room. Clive had turned on the television and they were both watching the screen.
“I’m going next door. I’ll be right back.”
She carried her book bag back to her house, went to her own kitchen, dumped her book bag on the table, and foraged in her cupboards and fridge for supplies. Eggs, oatmeal bread, milk, butter. She put the food in another book bag—she had plenty of book bags hanging on the hall hooks—and returned to Mimi’s. She took a moment to stick her head in and wave at Mimi and Clive before heading to the kitchen.
As she moved around the room, putting bread in the toaster, cracking and whipping the eggs, melting butter in the skillet, a memory flashed in her mind of a day when she was a child in the house next door to this one, and she was recovering from a flu, and as she lay weak and exhausted in bed, her grandmother carried in her bed tray, arranged it over Darcy, and said, “Eat that. You’ll feel better.”
It had been milk toast, a concoction made of warm buttered toast torn into pieces floating in a bowl of lightly salted, perfectly warm milk. Darcy could still remember the comforting taste.
Did anyone eat milk toast these days? Darcy spooned the perfectly cooked, lightly salted and peppered scrambled eggs onto a plate, added toast butte
red and spread with the strawberry jam she found in Mimi’s fridge, along with a glass of water for Mimi, and carried it all into the sickroom.
Clive had cunningly constructed a bed tray from a jigsaw puzzle box resting on piles of books he’d placed on either side of Mimi’s legs.
“Oh, how clever of you.” Darcy laughed, putting Mimi’s dish and fork on the flat puzzle box. “Does anyone use bed trays anymore?”
“Yes,” Clive told her, “only now they’re called folding lap desks for your computer.” He moved to sit on the bed next to Mimi. “Can I help you, Mimi?”
Darcy pulled another chair near Mimi’s bed. She smiled encouragingly at Mimi, who picked up a fork and attempted to lift the food to her mouth. Her hand was trembling, as if the weight of the fork was more than she could bear, and the sunny clump of eggs fell down the bodice of her violet silk gown.
“Rats,” Mimi cursed. The effort seemed to have drained her of energy. She leaned back into her pillows and shut her eyes.
Darcy gently removed the clump of eggs.
“Hey, Mimi, let’s try this.” Clive brought a forkful of eggs to her mouth. “Come on, open up. Remember when you did this to me when I was a child? After I’d had one of my tantrums and sat at the table with my arms folded, vowing never to eat again, you were always the one who could coax me to eat.”
Mimi’s eyes opened. She looked at Clive with such adoration it brought tears to Darcy’s eyes.
“I remember.” Her voice was thin, but she opened her mouth and allowed Clive to gently feed her the eggs.
Darcy thought it might be difficult for Mimi to eat with Darcy sitting there gawking. She rose. “I’ll just go tidy the kitchen.”
The kitchen was clearly the room of someone who was preoccupied. It was littered with coffee cups, plates of uneaten sandwiches, glasses still half-full of Scotch, and an opened but untouched box of chocolates from Sweet Inspirations. It felt good to move around restoring order, and as Darcy stacked the dishwasher and put away dishes, an enormous affection for Clive filled her. She saw so many small signs of his care for his grandmother.
