How (Not) to Fall in Love

by Lisa Brown Roberts

  My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob, but I tried to channel some of Dad’s strength. What did I have to lose? We were already losing everything.

  I opened the door.

  The voices stopped. A sea of unknown faces stared at me, some of them openmouthed.

  “Darcy, what are you doing here?” asked J.J., the only person I recognized.

  An older woman sitting at the head of the table spoke. “You’re Darcy Covington? Tyler’s daughter?” She glared at me from behind enormous eyeglasses.

  I nodded. My courage was fading fast.

  “What do you want?” Her voice was like steel.

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “One week. No, make that two weeks.”

  She frowned at me. The others gathered around the table whispered to each other, darting looks at me. “Two weeks?” she asked. “Two weeks of what?”

  “Time,” I said. Breathe. “We need two more weeks to move. Two weeks beyond what you’ve given us as the eviction date.”

  The whispers grew louder.

  “Darcy, you shouldn’t have come here.” J.J.’s voice was low and closer than I expected.

  I turned toward him. “Why not, J.J.? You wouldn’t listen to us. What else could I do?” I turned to the woman who’d spoken, since she looked like she was in charge. “You’re taking everything from us. We don’t have any money. Now we’re losing our home. Selling everything. Don’t you people have any heart?” I looked around the table. No one spoke.

  “My dad built this place!” I flung out my arms. “If it weren’t for him, Harvest wouldn’t exist. None of you would be on this board. Don’t you owe us some compassion?”

  “We don’t owe you anything, Darcy.” J.J.’s voice was soft but dangerous.

  Suddenly everyone was talking and yelling, gesturing and pointing.

  “Silence!” The woman banged her hand on the table. Everyone turned to look at her. “Is this true, J.J.? Mrs. Covington asked for more time to move?”

  J.J. blanched but said nothing.

  I glared at him, furious, then turned back to the woman. “Yes,” I said. “It’s true. But J.J. told my mom he couldn’t do anything about that. He said it was a board decision.” I took another breath. “That’s why I’m here. To ask you to…to…please reconsider.”

  The woman lowered her glasses on her nose, looking at me, then at J.J. “Based on everything else we’ve heard from you today, J.J., I’m inclined to believe this young lady.”

  The whispering started again, but the woman held up her hand to silence it. “It seems the least we can do is give them more time to move.” Her eyes pierced mine. “God knows they’ve suffered enough already.” Her gaze swept the table. “I move to amend the eviction notice to allow the Covington family an additional month to vacate the house.”

  An extra month? My knees threatened to buckle with relief, but I forced myself to stand straighter.

  “I second the motion,” a voice called from the far end of the table.

  My imperious savior scanned the board members, her eyes narrow behind her glasses. “All in favor?” A chorus of ayes filled the room but J.J. stayed silent.

  “Very well, Miss Covington. The attorneys will amend the paperwork and messenger it to your mother.”

  I nodded, swallowing tears. “Thank you,” I mumbled, not trusting myself to say more.

  Her eyes fixed on mine. “I wish we could do more. But we have stockholders to answer to.” She gestured to the door. “We need to resume our meeting now.”

  As I backed toward the door, I forced a grateful smile to those sitting closest to me. A few smiled in return, but most sat as still as statues. As I turned the doorknob, the woman’s voice stopped me. “Miss Covington.”

  I met her eyes.

  “Your father would be proud of you.” She paused. “Very proud.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “That’s all.” She nodded and returned her attention to the stack of papers in front of her.

  I left the room, closing the door behind me, and floated down the hallway, feeling disembodied. Mrs. Hamilton waited at her desk, her hands twisting nervously. “Darcy, what happened?”

  I gave her a thumbs-up as I continued floating toward the elevators.

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I got what I came for.”

  The elevator door swooshed open and I stepped inside. Maybe I’d inherited some of Tri Ty’s DNA, after all.

  Mom and I ate tacos while watching American Idol. I was usually working when it was on, so I recorded it to watch late at night. It was a perfect distraction from our family’s disaster, watching other people bomb on national TV. The tacos were pretty good, too. I’d even splurged on a couple of out-of-season avocados and made us guacamole to celebrate. I hadn’t told Mom the good news yet. I was waiting to see how much she’d drink. So far she’d only had one glass of wine, so I decided now was as good a time as any.

  “So,” I said casually, “I got the Harvest board to agree to an extra month. We have until the end of December to move out. You’ll get new paperwork from the attorneys. So this means we can have the estate sale, then we’ll have plenty of time to sort through what’s left. We can move what we want to keep. The rest can go to charity.” I took a bite of taco. “It will give us more time to find a new place to live, too.”

  Mom gaped at me. “You what? How in the world?” She still looked like hell. Rumpled. Wrinkled. Exhausted.

  “I went to the office today and sort of crashed a board meeting.” I grinned. “I didn’t have an appointment, but they didn’t turn me away.”

  Mom’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God. Darcy. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  I stiffened. “Why not? Were you going to ask them?”

  Mom lowered her eyes. “No, I wasn’t. But you shouldn’t have gone down there. J.J. is so angry at your father. Everyone at Harvest is.”

  I thought of Don the security guard, and Mrs. Hamilton. And the lady with glasses who’d given us the extra time. “Not everyone is,” I said.

  She fell back against the couch cushions. “I’m amazed they agreed to that.” She looked at me. “What about J.J.? When I call to ask if he’s heard from your dad, he’s always so difficult over the phone.”

  “Well, fortunately the decision was put to the board, and J.J. was outvoted.” I smiled at her, but she just shook her head.

  “Sometimes you remind me a lot of your father.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded as she bit into a taco.

  This was the first conversation in a long time where she was mostly sober. I decided to take advantage of it. “Mom?” She watched me, eyebrows raised expectantly, and I went on. “I’ve been thinking about Dad. About how at first I couldn’t believe he just…just left us. But I’ve been remembering stuff. Like over the summer when he missed an appearance in Salt Lake. Remember that?”

  Mom put down her taco. She nodded, wiping her hands on her napkin. “He said he had a really bad stomach bug.”

  “But I read some stuff online, from over the summer. People who went to his shows said he didn’t seem like himself.” Mom didn’t say anything so I pressed on. “And he’d been sleeping a lot. There were some days he didn’t get out of bed until dinner time.”

  He’d told us he was just exhausted from work and travel, but it had been completely unlike him. Dad was invincible, so I’d taken his word that he was okay, but I’d been thinking about all of this when I lay awake at night, trying to put the pieces together.

  “I should have done something,” Mom said, her voice barely a whisper. “Called his doctor. Asked J.J. for help. But I wanted to believe him when he said he was just tired from working too much.”

  We sat in silence, focusing on the tuneless girl on TV. It hadn’t occurred to me that Mom might be feeling as guilty as I did about missing the clues. But I couldn’t shut down. I’d learned that about myself. I was l
earning that I could make things happen. People listened to me. They helped when I asked them to, like Charlie and Lucas. They even changed their minds, like today at the board meeting.

  “The estate sale lady is coming tomorrow at four,” I reminded Mom. “Can you be here?”

  Mom ran a hand across her eyes. “I don’t think so. I’m working on a special project for Pam. On the computer.” Mom lowered her eyes. “I get the feeling she doesn’t want me meeting with clients right now. I can’t blame her.” She raised her eyes, pooled with tears.

  “Oh, Mom.” I pushed aside my TV tray and scooted closer to her on the couch. I held her hand. “Pam’s an evil bitch. So is her daughter Chloe.”

  Mom laughed. “Maybe so, but she’s paying me right now so I have to do what she asks.”

  I sighed. “Can’t you find a better job, Mom? Someplace where you’re not treated like a slave?”

  Mom leaned against me. “It’s been so long since I’ve worked, Darcy. I don’t have many marketable skills.”

  “You have lots of skills, Mom. You just can’t recognize them right now.”

  She laughed. “You’re my daughter so you have to say that.” She squeezed my hand. “Maybe after we get moved I’ll look for something else.”

  I wanted to believe her. “I almost forgot,” I said, anxious to change the subject. “I’m going to look at apartments soon with Lucas. Do you want to come with us?”

  Lucas had texted me during school to say he’d found several places that fit our criteria. He’d also sent me a photo of a Toy Story salt and pepper shaker set: Woody and Buzz Lightyear. “Yes or no?” he’d texted.

  “Yes,” I’d replied, grinning at my phone until Sal kicked my foot so I didn’t get busted texting in class.

  Mom shook her head. “I’m doing open houses the next few Saturdays.”

  “I thought you said Pam didn’t want you meeting potential clients.”

  “These are foreclosures. I don’t think she cares who sees me there.”

  So it would just be Lucas and me. Together. I bit my lip. No big deal. He was helping me as a friend. Sal’s skeptical face loomed in my mind, but I shook my head to get rid of the image. I didn’t have time for wishful daydreams. We had to get ready for the estate sale, pack, find a place, and move. Plus school, which I wasn’t focusing much energy on. At all.

  The guidance counselor had called me into her office a few days ago to tell me she’d met with my teachers and because of my “situation” I was being given a reduced workload for now. That was a relief, but I didn’t care about my grades as long as I passed. I knew my Ivy League dreams were dust, but I didn’t want to give up on the idea of college completely.

  We watched the rest of American Idol, and Mom even laughed out loud a few times at some of the contestants. Reality television had its uses.

  Sal called me just as Toby and I were drifting off to sleep.

  “What’s up?” I mumbled.

  “Just checking on you. How’s everything going?”

  I expelled a sigh of relief. “Better, believe it or not. We’ve got some extra time to move.”

  “That’s great. How’d that happen?”

  I smiled into the phone. “I asked. And I received.”

  She was silent for a few moments. “That’s awesome, Darcy. Good for you.”

  “Thanks.” Pride washed over me again, a pinprick of daylight in my darkened state of mind. “So anyway, I’m going to be busy getting everything ready. I hope you aren’t calling to invite me to a party, ’cause you know I can’t come.”

  “I know how busy you’ll be,” Sal said. “That’s why I’m calling. Mark and I want to help with the move. You’ve seen those muscles of his. He can lift anything.” She giggled. “And I can help pack. Provide moral support. You just let us know when and where, okay?”

  My eyes misted. “Thanks, soul sister. You dress like a train wreck, but you have some redeeming qualities.”

  “And you need a makeover and a boy toy, but we’ll deal with that later.”

  “G’night, DQ.”

  “G’night, Darce.”

  Sometimes your garden surprises you. Dad’s voice was strong and clear in my mind as I snuggled under the covers. You don’t remember planting strawberries or mint, but there it is, rising up in the middle of the carrot patch. Maybe the seeds blew in from the neighbor’s garden. Or maybe they were buried in the dirt and you unearthed them when you tilled the soil. Or maybe you’re reaping what you’ve sown. However it happened, you now have unexpected bounty. Accept it with gratitude.

  Chapter Seventeen

  November 6

  Chloe pushed against me in the hall. Hard. My books tumbled to the floor.

  “I don’t have time for this, Chloe,” I said as I knelt to gather my books. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Isn’t Satan lonely without you?”

  “You’re the one who can go to hell, Darcy,” she said. “I don’t know what Ryan ever saw in you.”

  Nothing, other than a potential stadium suite ticket. But I didn’t care. That crush was part of my past. Even if Ryan didn’t see anything special in me, I was starting to see myself differently. I saw myself standing in the boardroom as J.J. must have, eyes flashing with determination. I saw myself laughing and joking with customers in the coffee shop. I saw myself making dinner for Mom and me, even on late nights when she was already drunk when I got home from work.

  It didn’t matter what anyone else saw in me. For the first time, I felt like I was seeing myself.

  My teachers were sympathetic, all of them telling me some version of the guidance counselor’s story. I could make up my homework later. Or skip some of it entirely. My academic track record made them willing to accommodate me, but I didn’t want special treatment.

  Chloe backed off, making me wonder if I should’ve stood up to her a long time ago. I fought a smile and plowed through the rest of my classes.

  Sal caught up with me after school. “What’s on the agenda today?”

  “Meeting with the estate sale lady,” I answered.

  “Sounds scary. Do you want company?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

  Sal grinned. “She’s large and in charge, that’s my Darcy.”

  “I am not large.”

  “It’s a metaphor.”

  I laughed. “I know. But as much sugar as I’m eating lately, sometimes I worry.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. You look great.” She narrowed her eyes. “Actually you do. You’re almost glowing.” Shock filled her face. “God, you aren’t pregnant, are you? You haven’t hooked up with Lucas and not told me?”

  I gaped at her. “Absolutely not. My God, Sal, how many times do I have to tell you—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re just friends.” She frowned at me. “So why are you glowing like a fire goddess?”

  I laughed. “Maybe I am on fire. It feels that way. There’s so much to do, and I need to do most of it. But I have all this energy just bursting inside of me.” I bit my lip. “It’s a good thing I do have all this energy. Mom is just…overwhelmed.”

  “She’s still drinking too much?”

  Leave it to Sal to cut through the bullshit. “Yeah. Not always. But most of the time.”

  Sal looked worried. “Maybe she needs professional help.”

  “Maybe.” I hoped I wasn’t making excuses for her, but I wanted to see what happened when we were more secure. “I think she’s just doing it to cope. It’s not the best choice. But I’m hoping once we’re moved. Once Dad comes back…”

  Sal blinked in surprise. “Have you heard from him?”

  I shrugged. “Another postcard. Cryptic as usual. This one was from Georgia.”

  “Georgia?”

  “Who knows?” I’d plotted this one on the map, too. The stones were called the Georgia Guidestones. One of the stones was engraved with ten New Age-y guidelines. Dad had circled the last one: “Be not a
cancer on the earth—Leave room for nature.” And he’d only signed his name, nothing else.

  I thought about telling Sal about my map, but after my mom and J.J.’s reaction, I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone else’s opinion on my theory about Dad’s clonehenge quest. Except, maybe I could tell Lucas. I had a feeling he’d listen.

  “Well, call me later,” said Sal. “I’ve got to get to rehearsal.”

  “Break a leg.”

  She frowned. “You don’t say that before rehearsal. You’re supposed to tell me to bomb.”

  “Theater people are so weird.”

  She tossed her hair out of her eyes. “Whatever. Are you working Friday night?”

  “Yep. Liz texted me today to see if I can close up. She has plans with Charlie. Wanna come by for coffee?”

  “Yeah, I’ll stop by on my way to Derek’s party.”

  “Hope rehearsal sucks!” I laughed, waving as I ran to catch the bus.

  Ms. Hetherington from Family Solutions stood in our foyer and looked around with wide eyes. “This is Tyler Covington’s home? I didn’t make the connection that Charlie is his brother.”

  “Yes,” I said simply. “I’m Ty’s daughter.”

  She tilted her head. “I’ve followed the news. So he’s not coming back?”

  I swallowed. “He is. Eventually. In the meantime, we need to move. And we need cash. Lots of it.” There was no sense beating around the bush. This was her business and I needed—we needed—as much money as we could get.

  “I do wish your mother was home.”

  “She’s working. But I promise she’ll sign the contract. She wants this done.”

  Ms. Hetherington nodded. “Then let’s get to it.”

  We spent two hours walking through our house, talking about every item we owned, Toby trailing at our heels. She wanted to know the names of the artists whose work Mom collected. Fortunately Mom kept a careful journal with that information. Ms. Hetherington’s eyebrows raised as she flipped through it. “We may be better off working through some art dealers I know.”