Postcards From Last Summer

by Roz Bailey

  Ironic that she had found this summer mansion as lonely and cold as a mausoleum in the past, and now that she was about to lose the place it finally felt like home. It didn’t hurt to have Milo and Elle installed in two of the guest bedrooms, keeping the place noisy with the clanging of hammers and the jolt of nail guns, the roar of rock music, and alive with the smell of pancakes and bacon, ramen noodles, or meat on the built-in barbecue grill. Milo had become a kind, steady confidant and Elle had stomped back into Darcy’s life, endearing herself in her distinctive way—Darcy’s summer savior. Kevin found her overbearing and although he wouldn’t admit it, Darcy suspected he was uncomfortable about Milo’s sexual preferences. He’d complained about having them here, about the lack of privacy, but Darcy had kept telling him she needed the repairs done—a valid excuse, but also a way to keep Kevin more at bay now that the novelty of doing it in every room in the house had faded.

  Strains of a Smashing Pumpkins song echoed from the open window of the attic, where Elle and Milo were applying another coat to the trim. Darcy still couldn’t believe how they’d come through for her.

  “Spectacular work,” Darcy’s mother had pronounced just this morning when she’d made the trip out to the Hamptons to inspect the repairs—the white-glove test, as Elle called it. “Are you licensed? I could hook you up with some interested parties, if you’re looking for more work.”

  “We did it for fun,” Elle said, running one hand along the freshly painted trim of the attic room. “But we’ll use you as a reference, if that’s okay. Milo’s thinking about getting into theater craft shop, so it might help him.”

  Darcy had hired a licensed plumber to fix the pool house, but the carpentry work and painting had also been completed by Elle and Milo, with Darcy pitching in to help with cleanup and taping, errands and lunch runs. Although she didn’t find the work “fun” as they did, she’d enjoyed being a part of the team and was proud of the end result.

  “The pool house looks better than it ever did,” she told her mother when they were inspecting the small, cozy building. “Elle had the idea to use this fabric over the walls, and we ditched the curtains for these privacy shades.”

  “Very nice,” her mother agreed.

  “Don’t you think they deserve a bonus?” Darcy asked. “They did this work for a rock-bottom price, and super fast.”

  “Darcy . . .” Her mother shot her a stern look. “I’ll throw in a little tip, and you’ll get your money for car repairs, but a bonus is out of the question.” She examined a ceramic bowl, a swirl of geometric designs in summery greens, yellows, and pinks that Darcy had found hidden in the kitchen pantry. “I’ve always hated this bowl. I’ll be happy to let this place go. Furnished.” Her lips puckered as she scanned the four walls, then turned toward the door. “Good riddance.”

  “I don’t feel the same way,” Darcy said, daring to speak her mind and try to get through the glass wall her mother always hid behind. “I’ve spent my whole summer scrubbing this place up, sweeping and dusting, killing bugs and pinching dead leaves off the rose bushes. This house has become my home, Mom. I know we’re in deep financial doo-doo, but isn’t there a way we could hold on to this place?”

  Melanie Love turned back to her daughter, her face puckering like a prune. “I can’t believe you’d even ask such a question. According to George, we’re lucky to be keeping the Great Egg house.”

  “Maybe the court would allow a trade,” Darcy suggested. “We could sell the Great Egg house and live here . . .”

  “In this bog? A hundred miles from civilization? Get real, Darcy.” And she’d walked out of the pool house, leaving Darcy with the clear message that her desires and needs really didn’t matter now in Melanie’s plans for financial recovery.

  That moment underlined the loneliness that Darcy used to feel when she was alone in this house or closed into her princess-style bedroom in the Great Egg house. That moment helped her realize that she could never, ever go back to being her parents’ daughter, the show horse under their thumb . . .

  “The second coat on the attic trim is finished,” Elle said, lugging a large paint can across the pool patio. “We’ll store the extra paint in the tool shed. You never know when something will need a touch-up.”

  “The new owners will appreciate it,” Darcy said glumly. “But thanks. Really. You guys have been great.”

  Milo appeared in the rose arbor behind Elle, doffing a white painter’s cap. “Was that the final verdict? Your mother’s determined to sell?”

  “I’m afraid so.” The summer roses about Milo’s head had just opened, unfurling their pink petals, and the realization that this would be the last season she’d see them bloom made Darcy’s eyes sting with tears.

  “Well, that sucks monkey butt.” Elle dropped the paint can on the stones and sat on it. “What’s the deal with our parents and disposable homes? As soon as you get vested in a place, they turn around and sell it or rent it and cart you off to some other strange corner of the world.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t relate.” Milo perched on the edge of a lounge chair, crossing his worn white painters pants. “I wish my parents would sell that suburban hellhole in Brooklyn.”

  “I get it,” Darcy said. “We’ve been displaced, but I think that it’s symbolic of the fact that there was nothing to keep our families together in the first place.”

  “Crap, I think you’re right.” Elle stood up, stripped her denim overalls down to her emerald green one-piece and walked to the edge of the pool. “We’re pushed off, shuffled away because they don’t know what to do with us.”

  Milo winced. “Am I the only one who finds this depressing?”

  “Someday, dear Milo,” Elle told him, “you’ll grow wise and sage—able to handle conflicts heavier than your Jackson Five tunes.” She dove into the pool, splashing water over the side.

  An hour later, Lindsay ran up to them poolside, waving her hands frantically. “You’re never going to believe this.” She motioned Darcy, who was thinning out pansies in a planter, to sit down. “Big announcement: I got the job.”

  “Island Publishing?” Elle asked.

  Lindsay nodded, jumped up and down, then did a happy dance around Darcy’s lounge chair. “I’m so excited! They wanted me to start Monday but I told them I have to give two weeks’ notice at Coney’s, and they understood.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to wear that purple tank top to the interview?” Milo asked, adjusting his glasses. “Was I right, or was I right?”

  Lindsay’s head bobbed. “It worked. They liked me. I’m starting as an associate editor.”

  “I’m happy for you, honey, but not surprised,” Elle said. “I told you Uncle Jorge would come through.” She jumped up and hugged Lindsay, pressing a wet spot into Lindsay’s purple silk tank top.

  “Elle!” Darcy scowled. “You schmutzed her.”

  Lindsay looked down at the stain and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I got the job!”

  “In that case . . .” Elle threw her arms around Lindsay, nudged her to the pool’s edge, and leaned in until they plopped into the pool together.

  Sputtering and smoothing her hair back, Lindsay surfaced. “God damn it, Elle! These shoes are Dolce & Gabanna!” She treaded water long enough to pull them off and toss them onto the shining tiles.

  “But you got the job! You’ll buy more!” Elle said, splashing Lindsay.

  “No splashing!” Milo said, poised at the edge of the pool in his boxers.

  Elle frowned and sliced a torrent of water in his direction.

  “Hey!”

  Darcy fell back in her chair, laughing. “Still a beach pest, Elle.”

  “Easy, Princess,” Elle called, floating onto her back, “or you’ll find your lounge chair floating downstream.”

  “Just try it.” Darcy jumped out of the chair and ran into the pool shouting, “Look out below!” The water seemed to fizz around her skin, refreshing and clean. She swam to the side and leaned her arms back on the ledge,
kicking gently, joking with her friends. Too bad Tara wasn’t here, but she was stuck in the city during the workweek, committed to the senator’s causes.

  When Kevin appeared sometime later, Darcy and her friends were still in the water, in the thick of a game of water volleyball.

  “Spike it!” Elle coached Darcy, who gave the ball a pounding that sent it bouncing off Milo’s head.

  “Not fair!” Lindsay shouted. “We said no spiking!”

  “Darcy . . .” Kevin called from the side of the pool.

  She knew he’d been standing there a while, but the game moved fast and she couldn’t look away for a second. “Hey, Kev!”

  “Come here.” He motioned her over, a huge, almost hypnotic grin on his face. Had he just come from an AA meeting where he had an epiphany? “We need to talk.”

  “We’re right in the middle of a game,” she told him.

  “Oh, go on!” Lindsay smacked the water. “You were winning, anyway.”

  Darcy climbed out with a wariness she didn’t usually feel around Kevin. What had he been up to? He was dressed up and obviously busting a gut over some kind of news or secret, dying to tell her. Didn’t he realize she didn’t like surprises? Didn’t he know her well enough to see that she was not the sort of person you sprang news on?

  She pulled a towel over her shoulders and squeezed water from the ends of her hair. “Okay, Kev, let’s talk.”

  “Can we take a walk in the rose garden?” he asked, and panic plummeted through her. This was big news, really big.

  And she had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t want to hear it.

  50

  Tara

  Getaway Friday.

  Tara clicked open her e-mail one last time to see if there were any urgent messages that couldn’t wait until Monday. She was ready to go. Josh, however, was still in the conference room going over notes on the senator’s child-welfare policy with one of the aides. Since Congress wasn’t in session now, Tara didn’t think it was crucial to have the policy rewritten today, but then she was still a novice in this world. Her eyes flicked to the time on the computer—four-fifty. They’d have to leave soon if they were going to catch the five-thirty train.

  Or maybe Josh would bail, which wouldn’t surprise her. She’d told him to stop making weekend plans if he wasn’t going to keep them, but he’d sworn that this time he was going to stick to the plans.

  The phone was ringing, and Tara realized Penny wasn’t at her desk. Most of the staff had left an hour ago, a tiny concession for one of the last summer weekends. Tara picked up the phone and clicked on line one. “Senator Wentworth’s office.”

  “Give me Josh, dear.” The voice belonged to an older woman.

  “I’m sorry, but Josh is in a meeting. May I take a message?”

  “This is his mother. Tell him to call me.”

  Josh’s mother! Tara had never met her, but Josh said he’d told his parents all about her.

  “No, wait,” Mrs. Cohen went on. “I won’t be here if he calls. I’d better leave a message.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Cohen,” Tara said, grabbing a pen. “This is Tara Washington. I’m sorry Josh hasn’t made it out to the Hamptons this summer. He’s like a superhero around here, and it seems like we’ve fielded one crisis after another.”

  “Yes, my Josh is a real decision maker, a spin doctor,” Mrs. Cohen said. “But don’t let him tell you he’s suffering. He’s been out here plenty of times, dear. Josh gets his beach time in.”

  “What?” Tara snapped before she could stop herself. “Excuse me, but I . . . I guess I believed him when he complained about not making it out.”

  “I tell him not to whine, it’s so unattractive. But really, the reason I called, dear, is to ask him to do me a favor. Would you ask him to stop at Liebermann’s for a loaf of marble rye? Have them slice it, of course. I don’t know what it is with these Hamptons bakeries; you just can’t get good bread out here.”

  “I’ll give him the message.” Mom.

  Tara was already on her feet when she hung up. In a flash she was opening the conference room door, interrupting what appeared to be a very boring meeting with Josh staring out the window shaking a bottle of Perrier and the policy writer scribbling doodles on his pad.

  “We have to talk,” Tara said.

  “Did the senator call?” Josh stood up.

  “No, it was someone more important—your mother.”

  Josh moved around the table and left the room without even acknowledging the other aide. “Is everything okay at home?”

  “Peachy. Before I forget, she wants you to stop at Liebermann’s and pick up a loaf of marble rye. Sliced.”

  He followed her over to her desk. “And for that you got me out of a meeting?”

  She crumpled the pink message slip and tossed it into the trash can. “No, I wanted to let you know that a huge lightbulb just went on over my head, and that I’m not going to miss my train for the Hamptons thinking that you’ll make the next one with me.”

  “Come again?” He winced. “You’re talking crazy.”

  “I finally figured you out. You’re afraid your parents will find out about me.”

  “They know I’m seeing you.”

  “Do they know I’m black?”

  He perched on her desk and curled foward, crossing his arms. “No . . . but they also don’t know that you like pad Thai and black pugs and Woody Allen films. I don’t tell my parents everything.”

  “But you’ve kept me from meeting them because you don’t know how they’ll react to me. You’ve been going out to the Hamptons without me—and lying about it, I might add—to avoid a confrontation.”

  “Let’s just say that I think they’d be disappointed.” He frowned, then rushed to add, “In me. Not you. That I’ve hooked up with someone unacceptable. To them. See, they’ve always had this thing about me marrying a nice Jewish girl . . .”

  “Don’t pull that one out of your ass,” Tara interrupted. “It’s not about being Jewish or Christian, and you know it. This is about accepting me as I am, and about lying to me because you’re ashamed of who I am.”

  “No, I’m not—”

  “Just stop, okay?” She pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling crushed, dazed . . . unable to navigate through this.

  “Tara, I’m crazy about you.” He reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips. “You know that. But honestly, I don’t see us as a long-term thing. I wasn’t thinking marriage or—”

  “Neither was I. I just wanted to ease into your life in a natural way, and I thought we were doing that, till you started drawing lines and lying.”

  He shrugged. “A few white lies.”

  “Lying is unforgivable.” And racism is intolerable. She yanked her hand away and snatched up her purse. “I’ve got a train to catch.” Without looking back, she hitched her garment bag onto her shoulder and walked away.

  51

  Darcy

  Amazing how a cool dip in the pool will quench desire, Darcy thought as she adjusted the towel around her neck and smiled up at Kevin. She was dripping wet, her hair hanging behind her in ratty locks, and he was actually wearing a suit—a khaki linen mix, definitely a step up from the shiny one he’d worn during the first few weeks of her father’s trial. He was definitely handsome, but she was in no mood to do anything about it.

  “You are going to love this,” he said. “I didn’t want to tell you until it was all said and done.”

  She squinted at him. If he weren’t making her so nervous she’d enjoy the way he looked with a backdrop of budding pink roses climbing the wall behind him and curving overhead.

  “I don’t like surprises,” she said, searching his profile for the bulge of a jewelry case. Please don’t let it be an engagement ring! She wasn’t ready for that yet.

  He put his hands on her shoulders, staring intently into her eyes. “You know how I’ve been struggling lately. Not so much with sobriety, but with the old man?”

  She nod
ded.

  “Well, I’ve gone over it in group and everyone agrees that it’s a no-win situation. I realized that my employment situation had to change, what with my father wearing on me. And it’s not healthy for me to be in a bar, with the booze all around me and my old friends who’d be happy to hook me up with some coke.”

  “We’ve talked about this a million times, Kev. You know you need to stay away from Fish. And the thing about Coney’s is, it’ll be worth so much to you if you just ride it out.”

  He shook his head. “I’m talking about survival here, and it’s just too hard to be there every day. But it’s okay, because I figured out a way out. Back in December I got a call about a civil service test I took two years ago. They wanted to start doing a background check on me, processing me to be a firefighter in New York City. Well . . .” He clapped his hands together, doing the tongue thing in a smug way. “I made the cut, and this morning I went into the city to be sworn in.”

  “What?” His story was so twisted, Darcy could barely follow it.

  “I’m in the Fire Academy.” He spread his arms wide, as if ready to take a bow. “You’re looking at a probie in the Fire Department of New York City.”

  “A fireman?” Darcy winced. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Good salary, great medical benefits, a much better work schedule, and—best of all—financial independence from the old man.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Kevin becoming a civil servant . . . it seemed so unappealing, sort of low class and definitely not in keeping with her plans for him—the Kevin and Darcy Bliss Package. She didn’t want to burst his bubble, but she wasn’t about to jump in his arms and kiss him as he carried her off to the firehouse.

  “You seem very happy about it,” she said carefully.

  “I am!” He leaned down to hug her from a distance, avoiding the body press to keep dry. “And I knew you’d be happy, too. Just think about it. We can get an apartment in the city. Probably not Manhattan, but I hear Queens and Brooklyn have some good spots. I’ll be in the Fire Academy for the next six weeks or so, but after that we can start looking for a place far away from here.”