by Nancy Thayer
He grinned. “I could have some very hard feelings if you’ll give me a minute.”
Darcy laughed. “Oh, for heaven sake. You’re ridiculous.” She couldn’t help but wonder what Boyz would do if she took him up on his offer. If she wrapped herself around him and kissed him…how would he respond if truly put to the test?
She’d never know, she decided, because truly, she didn’t care.
But she did care about someone else.
“Boyz, sometime before you go, I’d like to speak with you and Autumn about Willow. I would like to keep in touch with her. I’d love to have her come visit me, here on the island. Fall is gorgeous, and we’ve got the Cranberry Festival. And Willow is such a smart, wonderful girl….”
“Sure, fine,” Boyz said. “But no apartment in Boston, right?”
They smiled in shared understanding.
“Absolutely no apartment in Boston.”
Darcy walked him to the door.
At the threshold, he turned. “Goodbye, Darcy, and thanks.”
“Goodbye, Boyz.” She considered kissing his cheek. Decided against it.
After she’d closed the door and returned to her sofa and her one inch of wine, Darcy stared into space, trying to juggle her ideas into a sensible line. It was true, she had come to care about Willow and would enjoy having the girl visit now and then. But it was also true that if that happened, Darcy would have to be in touch with Boyz and Autumn, connected to them in a way she hadn’t foreseen. She wasn’t certain she wanted to be connected to them.
Boyz hadn’t mentioned the real estate business at all this summer. Darcy hoped that meant that whatever he’d found on Nantucket had deterred him from opening a branch of his family’s company on the island. She did not want Boyz or Autumn on this, her, island. They could have all the rest of the entire world, but this isolated territory out in the sea was hers.
And what else, what else did she claim as hers? The Nantucket Atheneum, because it was where she worked and where she felt at home. She felt sheltered by the library but also responsible for its well-being. This house of her grandmother’s, absolutely she claimed as hers. And what else? Well, Muffler.
But maybe other people, too. Definitely Jordan was hers, her best friend. She wished she could claim Nash, but she couldn’t, and she couldn’t think of him now. It hurt too much. As for Willow, Susan, and Mimi, they weren’t really hers at all. They would all leave soon. Darcy felt a pang of guilt. She had ignored her island friends, Beverly Maison and Beth and the women in the chorus…but of course they’d ignored her as well, overwhelmed with summer responsibilities. Labor Day was late this year, giving vacationers an extra week on the island. Once that week was over, those who remained on the island could take a deep breath and relax. They could find time to chat as they walked into town, they could run into people they knew in the grocery store, they could swim in the ocean and lie on the beach without braving the summer crowds.
Of course, as the season turned toward fall, a new set of tourists would still come to the island, and Darcy enjoyed this bunch, whom the islanders jokingly called “the newlyweds and the nearly deads.” These visitors would come without children, and they would leisurely stroll the streets and the beaches, taking time to appreciate the sun on the water, the glitter of the sea. Summer people in general cared much more about the fundraisers and galas where they could be the glitter themselves and schmooze with other, even more wealthy and high-profile people than themselves.
Two more weeks. Two more weeks, and summer would be over for this year.
22
For a few days after Boyz’s visit, Darcy remained hopeful. If Boyz could forgive Autumn her affair, surely Nash could forgive Darcy for one stupid little kiss with Clive. Nash would call. She was sure of it. Or he would come by her house. She had told him she loved him. Those words had to mean more to him than the sight of a brief kiss with another man.
She worked tirelessly at the library, as cheerful and helpful as Mary Poppins. By Thursday, though, her optimism sagged. But Melody was throwing a birthday party for her husband, Rick, Sunday night, a huge crazy bash at their enormous old house near Surfside Beach. Nash would be there, for sure, and if he hadn’t forgiven Darcy by then, she would maneuver him into a quiet corner and convince him to stop being so stubborn.
Sunday evening, Darcy was in the process of getting dressed, which meant trying on clothes, deciding they looked awful, tossing them on the bed, and trying on something else, when her cellphone rang.
“Darcy,” Jordan said, “have you left the house yet?”
“I’m almost ready,” Darcy stalled.
“What’s the holdup? I had to get Kiks fed and rocked to sleep, and I’m almost to Melody’s house. All you have to do is dress yourself.”
“Yes, well, that’s the problem,” Darcy said. “Nothing I have looks right.”
Jordan snorted. “Everything you have looks right! You’re only nervous about seeing Nash again. You want to look irresistibly sexy so he’ll fall at your feet and beg you to take him back.”
“You’re absolutely right. The problem is, I’ve got nothing sexy to wear.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. Put on one of your sundresses, the one with the halter top. That looks fabulous on you—”
“I’ve worn it so often this summer—”
“You don’t seriously think that man keeps track of how many times you wear something, do you? Anyway, stop procrastinating, throw something on, and get to the party.”
“I’m not sure…it’s hard to come into a party alone, Jordan.”
“You can do it. Put on your big girl panties and sashay in. I’ll wait for you on the deck.”
“Thanks, Jordan. I’ll be there in five.”
She had already put on her makeup. In the summer she seldom wore much except lipstick and mascara, but for the party—for seeing Nash again—she’d gone full force with eyeliner and blush and perfume. She was wearing the halter dress Jordan had suggested. It was crimson crepe, formfitting at the top, with a flowy skirt. It set off her tan and made her figure look its sexiest. She wore dangling silver earrings that floated against her dark hair, and a thin silver bracelet on her upper arm. She knew she looked as good as she could, but she was on the verge of hyperventilating.
She wanted to be with Nash so badly. After all they’d shared this summer, after he had told her about his brother’s death, after all their intimate conversations, he couldn’t just walk away.
Her phone rang. She saw the caller ID and answered.
“Clive, is Mimi okay?”
Clive laughed. “Yes, and I’m fine, too.”
“Sorry, I—”
“No, no, I appreciate how you worry about Mimi. She isn’t her normal self yet, but I think she’s gaining strength. She’s sleeping right now.”
“Oh, good. Clive, I can’t talk. Sorry, but I’m just leaving for a birthday party.”
“How late will you be out?” Clive asked, a certain warmth to his voice.
What does that matter? Darcy almost said—and then she understood what he meant. It gave her a twinge right in her stomach. Was he phoning in hopes of getting a few minutes of quick “consolation”?
“Because,” Clive continued, “the Perseid meteor showers are still going on. They’re supposed to be an astonishing sight. I was hoping I could drive you out to a dark beach and we could lie on a blanket and look up at the sky. A weathercaster said it will be like watching shooting stars.”
Impatiently, Darcy said, “Sorry, Clive, I’m not sure how late the party will go, so I’d better decline, although that really is a marvelous idea.”
“The meteor showers continue tomorrow,” Clive told her. “Maybe that would work for you.”
“Oh, well, let me see what my schedule is. Sorry, but I’ve got to leave now. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
Darcy hurriedly gathered her purse and car keys, dropped some treats in Muffler’s bowl, and went out to her car. Because she’d told Clive she was
leaving for a party, she felt obligated to leave at once, since he could watch from his window to see if she was true to her word. Not that she thought he would check up on her—that would be ridiculous. Even so, she drove away from her house, and once she’d turned the corner, she pulled over to the side of the street, put the car in park, pulled down the mirror on the visor, and took a moment to double check her reflection. Yes, she’d put her eyeliner on evenly and her lipstick was perfect…
…and her heart was cantering away beneath her red halter-top dress like a racehorse at the finish line.
She took a few minutes to do deep-breathing exercises. She didn’t want to come on to Nash carelessly, as if this were some kind of game. No, she’d spent a lot of time thinking about Nash, thinking about how she felt not only about him but about her life, her entire life.
Years ago, she’d hoped to become the director of the Boston Public Library. Not that she believed she could achieve such a goal when she was young, no, but she’d daydreamed about how it would go as she climbed the professional ladder. Her plans had not included being the assistant children’s librarian at a small but distinguished library on an isolated island. Her plans had also not included being enchanted by Nantucket and her way of life here, but Fate had sideswiped her, spinning her around so that she understood she was meant to live here, in this small community, walking to work, gossiping with Tita and Vilma and Robin at the post office, strolling to the docks to view the grand yachts flying flags of other countries, helicopters and Jet Skis riding on their upper decks, or stomping through snowbanks in the winter to watch Bill Blount’s famous old fishing vessel come in to harbor from the storm.
Darcy had had a long serious talk with herself, and she had to admit, when it came right down to it, she wanted to live on this island with its eccentric population and quirky calendar for the rest of her life. Well, probably for the rest of her life. She was only thirty; she couldn’t predict how she’d feel in twenty years. Much of her desire to remain here was because she was living in her grandmother’s house. She made herself face that fact and all it said about her personality, her deepest needs. She admitted to herself that it was hard for her to feel safe, at home, tethered, because for the first ten years of her life she’d had to shuffle from house to house according to the whims of her delightful mother, the Queen of the Whiplash Life. So Darcy was wounded, so she was off-kilter—so what? Who wasn’t, one way or another?
The thing was—and her soul swelled as she thought of him—she now understood that Nash was the love of her life. With him, she felt safe, more than safe: She felt strong, new, capable, ready for whatever life threw their way. She needed to tell him this. She was going to speak to Nash tonight—she wouldn’t flirt or grovel or beg—she was going to speak to him calmly. She wouldn’t attempt to talk all this through with him; she didn’t even know what she was proposing, except getting back together, maybe living together to see how that went—she knew exactly the space for Nash’s books in her grandmother’s library.
She had to move now, into reality! She couldn’t sit here nervously planning this evening and the next and the next. She had to, as everyone said, be here now. So she put her car into drive and headed for Melody’s house.
Rick and Melody’s house, just off a bumpy dirt road off Surfside Road, was the opposite of Darcy’s. Modern, sleek, boxy, it was an upside-down house, with the bedrooms on the ground floor and the living rooms on the second floor. Second-floor decks of silky smooth pine boards extended across the ocean side of the house, providing fantastic views. Outdoor furniture and huge pots of flowers turned the deck into another room, and as Darcy parked her car and walked up to the house, Jordan and Melody waved at her from the deck.
Jordan called something down to Darcy—it sounded like “I have to talk to you!” but that couldn’t be right. Darcy would be in the house in a minute and she’d talk to Jordan right away. She always did. Well, she always had, before she was with Nash.
It had taken some courage to enter a party by herself. Jordan had always been her go-to person, the face Darcy would look for in a crowd, a momentary anchor. Now that Darcy knew the gang, she didn’t have to make a beeline for Jordan, but she planned to do that anyway. While she and Jordan were chatting, Darcy could casually search out Nash.
His red pickup was parked down the road. So she knew he was here.
The Holdgates were arriving now, so Darcy entered the house and went up the wide spiral stairs chatting to Tina Holdgate about how fast the summer had gone.
“You must have had a fab summer,” Tina told Darcy. “Girl, you look awesome!”
“Thanks,” Darcy said. The compliment was exactly what she needed. She knew it made her cheeks glow. She’d never felt prettier than now, and she knew she was turning a few heads as she made her way through the crowd toward the deck and Jordan.
“Martini? Cosmo?” A waitress held a tray of drinks for Darcy to choose from.
“For now, just sparkling water,” Darcy said, lifting a tumbler of ice and water. She wanted to be sober when she approached Nash. She was already high on nerves and hope.
“Hi, Jordan,” she called, waving as she did a sideways squeeze between a cluster of guys replaying the recent Red Sox game.
Jordan returned a wave that seemed more like a stop sign. Jordan was frowning, no—not frowning as such, more like her face was squeezing up like she’d just sucked a lemon. Darcy hoped Kiks was all right as she slid past a woman resting against the door jamb, a tall man leaning down to speak to her….
She couldn’t breathe. Her knees buckled.
The woman in a formfitting slip of black silk, her blond hair shimmying against her shoulders, her pretty young face radiant, was Kate Ferguson. She’d been in the women’s chorus with Darcy. She was a nurse. She was nice.
She was beaming up at Nash, who had his hand resting on the doorjamb as he talked to her, leaning toward her, clearly taking possession, marking his territory.
Darcy stumbled. A man—she couldn’t think of his name, she knew him, he was somebody’s husband—caught her arm and kept her from falling.
“No more gin for you,” he joked.
“Right,” Darcy agreed, not bothering to hold up her glass of water. She was nauseous. She was cold. Her fingertips and lips felt icy. She was filled with an enormous scream that pushed against her throat, her lungs, her belly….
She wanted to collapse on the deck and die.
She continued to walk, robot-like, toward Jordan.
“Oh, honey,” Jordan said, putting an arm around Darcy and swiveling her so they both faced the ocean as she talked. “I was trying to warn you.”
Darcy choked out a few words. “Have you—has Nash?”
“I haven’t seen Nash with her anywhere before now. I don’t think he’s been seeing her or I’d know through the grapevine. I don’t think they’re a thing yet, Darcy.” Jordan squeezed Darcy’s arm. “Come on. Buck up. Don’t let him see you looking all sad and desperate.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Yes, you can. Stick with me. Slap a smile on your face. They’re bringing out the cake any minute now. It’s early, I know, for the cake, but everyone here has to work tomorrow, so it’s not going to be one of our normal drunken orgies.”
“I’ll leave when they bring the cake out.”
“Okay, fine, but until then you’ve got to fake having fun. At least look as if you’re glad you’re alive.”
“I’m not sure I am.”
“Suck it up. It’s not the end of the world.”
Feeling was returning to her fingers, and the shock was draining away from her mind, replaced by a dark, rational, and overwhelming grief. “I think I really messed up, Jordan.”
“That’s not for you to decide right at this moment in time, Darcy. What will people think if you go all pathetic and wretched at a party?”
“You know what, Jordan? I don’t care what people think. Here, please take this.”
Darcy hande
d her untouched glass of water to her friend. Without another word, because she had no strength to speak another word, Darcy walked across the deck to the far end and went down the outside steps to the lawn. She heard Jordan hiss “Darcy!” but didn’t turn back. She had been hit by lightning. A tree had fallen on her life. A tsunami raced toward her, its towering waves threatening to crash down on her, and all she could think of was getting away.
She took off her stilettos and carried them as she ran to her car. Once inside the relative privacy of her Jeep, she tossed her shoes and small party purse on the seat, stabbed the key in the ignition, and drove away from the house, the party, the doorway where Nash leaned possessively over beautiful little young Kate. She turned onto the Surfside Road and drove to the parking lot overlooking the Atlantic. The beach was still crowded with swimmers, bodysurfers, and groups of friends sharing seaside cocktails and munchies. She wanted to be on the beach, but if she went down to the ocean and screamed like she felt like screaming, she’d frighten everyone and probably get hauled off in a police car.
So she drove to the far end of the rutted dirt road and parked in front of a house with no lights on and no sign of life. She kept her windows rolled up as she buried her face in her hands and wept.
—
Darkness fell. Darcy watched the beachcombers walk up the sandy hill, carrying coolers, beach umbrellas and chairs, sleepy children. She gazed numbly at these fortunate people tucking kids into car seats, reminding each other to fasten their seatbelts, and finally hitting the headlights that flashed over Darcy’s Jeep as they turned in the lot and drove back toward town.
She had cried herself out. She had thought this all through. Nash wouldn’t date a sweet young woman like Kate on any kind of a whim. He wasn’t a frivolous man. Nash was done with Darcy. He had moved on.
Still, she could not rid herself of the hope that she was being overdramatic. She had dated Nash for barely three months. Much too brief a time for her to consider him the man she’d spend her life with, right? After all, she’d married Boyz after knowing him for only five months, and look how that had turned out. Jordan, on the other hand, had known Lyle all her life, had been his girlfriend in high school, and then hadn’t seen him for years when he was in the military. They certainly had not rushed to the altar, and now their marriage was solid.
