“You couldn’t have found a compromise?”
At the end of the drive, two bay windows peeked out over double garage doors. A path ran from the drive to a narrow green alleyway between the side of the garage and an evergreen wall marking the lot line.
“No. I told him from the start I was going to stay here. Had to stay, for my mom. So she could keep the house.”
“Ma said your mother’s working. At the country club.”
“Oh, right, like that would be enough to cover the house costs. Besides— Never mind. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She jumped out of the car and was gone. No invitation to join her this time.
She’d put the brakes on her words so hard he had practically heard them squeal. Because they were talking about her staying in Drago.
Okay, he could understand how family finances after her father’s death pulled her back. Temporarily. And he certainly understood about mothers who wouldn’t budge. He’d been grateful his father had paid off the little house on Ash Street, and left Ma some income. But he’d worked two jobs to keep himself at Stanford.
Darcie could have managed, somehow, to get out of Drago, join the FBI and be on her way. You didn’t let anything stand in your way.
He frowned, remembering.
Darcie’s plans had formed only after he’d dragged her dreams out of her. It had taken weeks of her sidestepping and evasion before she’d blurted out that she wanted to be an FBI agent. Then she’d tensed like she expected him to make fun of her. Just like with applying to colleges—when he’d asked where she wanted to go, and she’d said it was more a matter of who would let her in—she’d been reluctant to name big career goals.
Was this all part of what he’d first noticed in chem lab? That Darcie hadn’t had a lot of faith in herself?
Maybe what she’d needed to get out of Drago was him, pushing her, the way he’d pushed her through chem and into applying to Penn State.
He got out of the car, turned the corner of the garage she’d disappeared around and headed for the stairway attached to its side, with some half-formed notion of beginning the pushing process immediately, when he heard Darcie clattering down the stairs.
She spotted him and raised one eyebrow. Then her gaze shifted to over his shoulder, and she gave a little stutter step and slowed.
He looked around and saw Martha Barrett closing in fast.
“Mom. We were just, uh…” Darcie seemed to come to a decision, not one she particularly liked. “Mom, this is Anton Zeekowsky, the Lilac Festival Guest of Honor. Zeke, this is my mother, Martha Barrett.”
“Of course I know Zeke.” She took his hand into both of hers and smiled up at him with charm and warmth. “How are you? It’s been too long.”
Zeke felt nearly as surprised as Darcie looked. He had met Mrs. Barrett a few times, mostly when he’d helped out his father on a Saturday at his shop and she’d come in as a customer. He’d tried to avoid those Saturdays. When he couldn’t, he’d tried to avoid interacting with customers, but he hadn’t been entirely successful.
“Hello, Mrs. Barrett.”
Zeke wouldn’t have picked Martha out of a crowd as Darcie’s mother. They didn’t look alike. Or sound alike. Or move alike. Martha was pretty enough, he supposed, if you liked thin, languid women, but Darcie had vitality.
“We’re all so pleased you’ve come home for this well-deserved honor, Zeke. We’re all so proud of you. I hope you’re looking forward to the ball.”
“Ball?”
“The dinner-dance at the country club,” Darcie said. “Mom helps arrange events at the country club, so she’s involved with that.”
“It’s the Lilac Ball,” her mother said so sweetly it could be possible to miss the firmness. “And you, of course, are the Guest of Honor, Zeke.”
“You’re going to freak him out, Mom. We’re only telling Zeke one day at a time what activities are coming up. Don’t want to scare him into running away from Drago and never looking back. Again.”
Zeke knew he wasn’t the most attuned to people’s nuances and subtext, but he heard something lurking under Darcie’s words.
“Nonsense,” Martha said with conviction. “You should enjoy every minute. It’s not every day your hometown celebrates your accomplishments. Your mother is so proud.”
He barely stopped from asking how Martha would know his mother.
A loud voice from across the street made them all look down the driveway to the house with the big truck parked beside it. Two men were maneuvering a large, dark piece of furniture out the front door with difficulty.
“Tip it, Bob. Tip, not drop,” one of the men said sharply.
As Zeke turned back to Darcie, he caught a look between her and her mother. Darcie seemed to be asking a question, and Martha Barrett gave a slight nod. “I gave Marabelle the information,” she said in a low tone.
Darcie looked away, but not before Zeke saw pain cross her eyes.
“We have to go.” Darcie backed toward the car. “We’ve got another stop before I get Zeke home. See you later, Mom.”
Darcie’s cell phone rang as they got in the car. It did that a lot.
Police calls came over the radio. These calls were part of the Darcie Barrett Outreach Program. Usually she used a small headset so she could talk while she drove. But she’d taken off the headset when they pulled in, so she answered the phone directly.
She backed down the drive one-handed holding the phone to her ear, but she didn’t pull into the street. She flicked a look at him.
“Okay. Yes. I’ll tell him. See you tomorrow.”
She turned off the phone, reconnected the headset, backed into the street and started off. Martha stood in the driveway, watching.
“Jennifer says hello,” Darcie said, not acknowledging her mother, maybe not seeing her, “and she’s looking forward to seeing you tomorrow for the run-through at the country club.”
He grunted. Run-through at the country club sounded ominous. Mrs. Barrett had said something about the country club, too. Maybe he’d better look at that festival schedule his mother had been doling out a day at a time.
“You’ll get to spend more time with her tomorrow,” Darcie added.
He turned his head to look at her. There’d been significance to those words, but damned if he knew what.
“Jennifer seems distracted,” he said.
“What makes you think so?”
“Ah.” He didn’t know. He’d been puzzling over Darcie’s behavior and simultaneously fighting a rising dread of the public functions awaiting him. Somewhere in that, the thought had come that Jennifer seemed distracted.
“She hasn’t had the easiest time of it, starting with marrying an asshole.” She waved that away. “Okay, okay, I know, that was definitely a minority opinion here in Drago for the longest time.”
“One I shared,” he said grimly.
“Yes, you did. But because of who he was or who he was dating?” She continued so quickly that her words ran together. “Never mind. You were asking about the past few years.”
She was saying he’d considered Eric Stenner an asshole because he’d been dating Jennifer. She was saying he’d been jealous.
“Darcie—”
She ignored his protest. “She’s a woman alone trying to raise a kid. That’s never easy, especially one about to be a teenager. Her family hasn’t been the most supportive, while Eric’s parents have been downright hostile, so it’s a good thing they’d moved away when Mr. Stenner retired. Anyway, she doesn’t have much help. She’s starting a new career—real estate. That’s more stress.”
“The Stenners were always so rich. With the dealership and everything. I’d think the settlement from Stenner would leave her set.”
“That’s what a lot of people thought.”
“They were wrong, these a lot of people?” he pursued.
“Eric’s brilliant management drove the dealership into near bankruptcy.”
He whistled. Stenner Autos had been t
he flagship of the family’s prominence in town, a prominence Eric Stenner had flaunted as a birthright. Now it was gone. And so was he.
Odd. Zeke would have expected having the small world of Drago turned upside down to feel more satisfying. It simply left him empty.
She pulled the car into a parking spot with a view of athletic fields. A baseball diamond, several soccer fields and a trio of tennis courts in the far corner. All teemed with kids.
“I might be here awhile,” Darcie said without looking at him, “why don’t you come along and stretch your legs.”
He could have said no thanks.
He could have kept letting her drag him from place to place where he was supposed to look into the faces of the people of Drago and take them to his bosom, while opening his wallet wide.
He faced her, waiting for her to turn to him. It didn’t take long.
“I’m not interested, Darcie. I wasn’t interested in the kids of Drago when I lived here. Why would I be now?”
Quit thinking everything revolves around you and your old hurts, Zeke. Even if you were right about those hurts—and you’re not—what did these kids ever do to you?
Good thing she’d gotten out of the car after blurting that out, Darcie decided as she searched for Josh Kincannon, the high school principal at his daughter’s soccer game. Or she might have said more. A lot more.
Josh had called two days ago, worried because Fay O’Hearn had come to school with another black eye. Darcie wanted to update him—she and Sarge had arranged it so Fay would stay with an aunt for the rest of the school year.
Good news never took long to deliver, and she could have returned to the car right away, but she decided to wind along the paths between the fields, saying hello, watching interactions, observing the people of her town and thinking.
She’d been going about this all wrong. Darcie was irritating Zeke. That had always been her role—irritating him until he poked his head out of his shell, agitating until he responded.
Tomorrow, Jennifer would have a different effect on him entirely. The guy would do about anything the fantasy girl asked.
She didn’t mean that as cynically as it might sound, Darcie told herself.
Because if Zeke looked beyond his fantasy, he would see in Jennifer a good and kind and interesting woman.
Darcie looked up and realized her wandering had brought her back to the car where Zeke sat, his dark head bent in concentration over the handheld. He probably hadn’t looked up once.
Thank God, she’d long ago come to her senses about Zeke and had become friends with Jennifer. Because at this point, it seemed Jennifer was their only hope to get Zeke to help out his hometown.
Drago Country Club was a lot smaller than Zeke had expected.
The lobby and dining room were ordinary. The outdoor pool was empty and the diving boards had been removed for the off-season.
Somehow, in his imagination, the country club pool was always open. Always uncrowded. Always glittering. Unlike the community pool, where he’d learned to swim and dive as a kid.
He sidled away from the discussion of how the queen and her court would be introduced the night of the dinner-dance— Lilac Ball, Mrs. Barrett corrected. He was grateful the dispute gave him the chance to get away.
From here they were going to Lilac Commons for the official presentation of the court, though he couldn’t imagine who would come out on a cool night for this. Thank God tomorrow’s schedule was entirely clear. He’d have the whole day to himself and finally get some work done.
He saw Darcie sitting, making notes. As he approached, she glanced up, but returned to her work immediately.
Zeke straddled a chair so he could lean his crossed arms on the top of the back. Darcie had that look of determination she used to get in chem lab. Do not tell me the answer, Zeekowsky. I’ll get it. Just give me a darned minute.
He used to like to watch her face when she got that way. To see her mix impatience, doggedness and intelligence to come up with the solution. When she did, it was as if lightning sparkled from inside her.
She had changed remarkably little for all the years that had passed. There was a little less softness in her face. A more serious line to her mouth. An added steadiness to her eyes.
But still that skin… Not until he’d touched her cheek the night they graduated had he realized he’d spent years wondering if it could possibly be as soft and sweet as it looked. It had been even softer and sweeter.
Then he’d found skin so soft and sweet it had exploded his senses.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Darcie demanded.
Unfazed by being caught staring at her, because she couldn’t possibly know what he’d been remembering, he continued to regard her.
“I was wrong. I thought yesterday that you didn’t look like your mother, but you do.” When they stood side by side, he’d seen the differences, now he saw similarities.
“You’re crazy.”
He’d said the wrong thing. “Maybe look isn’t right. Not like you’re a replica, but I can see the—” he’d almost said same source code “—resemblance.”
She shook her head.
He persisted. “Gestures, expressions—people in the same family can share those things.”
She grimaced. “You mean I’ve copied her mannerisms?”
“I didn’t—”
“Hell, you’re probably right.” She hadn’t heard or didn’t care about his protest. “When I was a kid, I would have groveled at your feet if you’d said I reminded you of my mother. I tried everything to be more like her.”
“Why?”
“Real funny, Zeekowsky.”
She seemed to think his why had been sarcastic. “So, you wanted to look like your mother?”
“Only in my dreams. Even as a kid, I could see I wasn’t made from the same material. Sometimes, it didn’t seem like she was human. Oh, yeah, it was great fun growing up being Martha Barrett’s daughter. Beautiful, ethereal Martha Barrett. Jennifer should have been her daughter instead of me. Ethereal is not something people say about me.”
What was so damned good about ethereal? “She’s thin.”
“You know what they say, you can never be too rich or too thin. At least she’s got one of those covered.” Darcie’s shoulders lifted and she sat straighter. “When I grew up, I recognized that being a carbon copy of Martha Barrett was not a good idea. After my father died…well, this family couldn’t afford two people without their feet on the ground.”
Darcie always had had her feet on the ground. “You’re sturdy,” he said.
“Sturdy. Thanks.” But she chuckled.
“You don’t look like you’d break if someone touched you.”
“I wouldn’t.”
He caught something in her words. “You think your mother would? That’s really why you came back.” He shook his head. “I think you’re wrong.”
“After meeting her, what—twice?” she scoffed. “Look, she’s not like your mother. Mrs. Z left everything she knew behind and came to a new country and made a life here. That takes tremendous courage and strength.”
And sacrifice. But he didn’t want to talk about that. Instead, he tried to sort out what Darcie was saying and what she wasn’t saying. God! Give him a dozen hard drives to reformat any day.
“This all has to do with the Lilac Queen stuff, doesn’t it.” His words gained confidence as he went on. “It’s still about a beauty queen contest when you were seventeen.”
“It’s not a beauty queen contest,” she mumbled. “The princesses are supposed to be chosen as the best representatives of Drago—grades, poise, charm. I was a fool to enter.”
“Not a fool,” he said. “You had advantages over Jennifer—leadership, academics and talking to people. It must have been a tight vote.”
Darcie noticed he didn’t say anything about her looks making it a close race. No surprise there.
“Tight? No. Unanimous for Jennifer.” Odd, after all these yea
rs, to still feel that blow.
“Ah. And, what? You’re still letting that determine how you feel about yourself? A beauty queen contest when you were seventeen?”
She bolted upright with indignation. “And you’re not?”
“I’ve never entered a beauty contest in my life.”
She swatted his arm. “No, you’re just lusting after the beauty queen.”
His expression shifted into something unreadable.
She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Or should she say more? Present her theory that he was operating on some unconscious notion that by winning over the beauty queen he could make his whole high school experience—maybe his whole life in Drago—change retroactively?
No. Because what if he got past the adolescent crush and found something real with Jennifer? There were no two people she more hoped would find happiness. She just wished they would do it out of her sight.
“You can’t mean that Cris girl?” Zeke sounded so horrified she laughed.
“Not Cristina.” But before Darcie could add Jennifer, Jennifer herself called Zeke to the front of the room.
He was in Jennifer’s hands now. Darcie would fade from view and Jennifer would take over, starting with giving him a ride home from this session. Jennifer would succeed in persuading him to help their hometown.
It was best all around this way.
“Brenda?”
“Who’s calling please?”
“You know who’s calling—Zeke.” He kept his voice low. Not that the clot of women debating whether the princesses’ tables and the queen’s table should have the same centerpieces were likely to listen, even if they noticed him on his cell in the far corner of the dining room. Darcie was nowhere in sight. “What are you doing in the office? It’s Saturday. And you’re on vacation.”
“Apparently not.”
“Why?”
“The wild lure of working without you interrupting pulled me back. And yet,” she continued, “here you are interrupting me, again.”
“I was going to leave a message, but this is better. I want you to ship me a D prototype handheld by overnight. Maybe you better send me a couple.”
What Are Friends For? Page 8