by Ari Rhoge
Darcy smirked at his little sister, who glowered right back at him. “I'll be fine,” he told her, pointedly, then pausing to drop a kiss on her forehead. “Listen to Nan. I gotta go —— I gotta do something. Can't just stay here. I feel so useless.”
Georgie slouched, and mumbled, “give her my love.”
Will smiled at her. “Will do.”
• • •
There were police cars parked outside Elizabeth's parents' home. It was an unusual and alarming sighting in the remote cul-de-sac off Longbourn Court. She drew her keys from the ignition, in no mood to do anything other than slink underneath her comforter and fall asleep for three days. Nonetheless she got out of the car, and walked up the garden pathway, around the ceramic gnomes and the orchids.
Her parents were outside, on the patio, talking in hushed tones to two officers — the taller of these scribbled into a notepad, nodding. Her mother looked exhausted — Tess hadn't even bothered to put on make-up, which was a rarity and a half. Her eyes were red and puffy, and John was rubbing her shoulders. Lizzy greeted them quietly from the doorway.
Jane was in the kitchen, washing dishes. She gasped, and hugged Lizzy as soon as she saw her, getting soap suds all over her shirt and the floor. “I'm so glad you're here.” She touched her sister's cheek, and her smile wavered. “I'm sure Maggie understood why. Family is family.”
“I… wasn't visiting Maggie.” Lizzy lowered her eyes.
Jane's brows pulled together. “Then, where were you?”
Fuck it. She took in a quick breath. “Connecticut.”
“What's in Connecticut?”
“Will Darcy,” muttered Elizabeth. She turned her phone over and over in her hands. “His sister Georgie, and Charlie Bingley. —— I think Joe Lieberman's a senator there, too. But I didn't get to see him.”
Jane's lips were pursed. She pulled away from her sister. “You lied?”
It hurt more than she had anticipated, mostly because it didn't sound like a furious accusation. It sounded like the response she would receive if she had just told one of her kindergarteners that the tooth fairy didn't exist. Lizzy looked up at Jane, and said, meekly, “yeah.”
“But why?”
“Because I'm an asshole! And I like Will Darcy. God, I like him so much that I'm not even sure that it's just restricted to liking. Ugh. Feelings!” Lizzy raised her fists, mildly hysterical. “And I didn't want to bring up Charlie, because you've already moved on, and I don't want to fuck it up for you, even though I think Brian's a massive turd —— sorry, he just is. And now our little sister is missing, and I spent the entire drive home daydreaming up the worst possible scenarios, and they all involve rape and murder, and I kind of feel like throwing up.” Concluding her speech, Lizzy pressed her lips together, and felt her face grow hot. Her green eyes were wide now, and she stood gauging her sister's reaction.
Jane made an imperceptible noise in the back of her throat somewhere, as if she couldn't decide just what combination of words should be uttered, and in what order. After what seemed like several minutes, she inhaled evenly and said, “Elizabeth. You know you can tell me anything. I'm here for you—”
“God, would you stop it?” Lizzy cried, and Jane recoiled in shock. “Stop being so understanding! Be furious with me!”
“Do you really think Brian's a turd?” Jane suddenly demanded, hands on her hips.
“The man wears boat shoes, Jane. He doesn't even own a boat!”
“How did Charlie look?” asked Jane, quickly.
“Like a suicidal manic depressive.”
Something flickered on her face — a mildly sadistic glee, tinged with unhappiness. And then she resumed her interrogation — “and how long has this business with Darcy been going on?”
“Oh. He was at the wedding in Santa Barbara.” Lizzy's shoulders dropped. “Um, we pretty much almost had sex. Well, actually, that's happened like twice now — the universe clearly does not want me to get laid,” she muttered, scratching her nose. “But, yeah, I caught the feelings after. Because he wrote a redeeming oh-but-I'm-not-actually-a-dick! letter. Among other stuff. Stop staring at me!”
“I don't — I don't even know what to say to you! I don't know where to begin.” Jane's voice was raised now.
“You could always slap my face,” encouraged Elizabeth.
“Brian does not wear boat shoes,” said her sister, hotly, pointing a finger under her nose.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, really? This is what we're focusing on right now.”
“And you hate Will Darcy — remember?” Jane reminded her.
“No, I don't. He's kind of wonderful,” muttered Lizzy, sheepishly. “I made a colossal error in judgment. I haven't felt this way about a guy since Steven… which is probably why I keep pushing him away — because look how brilliantly that worked out!”
“You're terrified.”
“I am fucking terrified.”
Jane covered her face with her hands, then fixed her eyes back on her sister. “Don't you ever lie to me again—!”
“I know, I know, I know—”
“Ever!” shouted Jane. “Or I will kick your ass. —— They had me take a self-defense seminar at work. You know I have a clean right hook. And I kicked right through that wooden board! You were there!”
Lizzy bit her lower lip to stop the automatic smart-alecky comeback that threatened to burst through. “I know. —— Janie, I'm so sorry I kept things from you.”
Jane's shoulders sagged, and her voice grew quiet. “Charlie was really that bad?”
“He misses you,” replied Lizzy. “I've never seen him so cut up.”
She folded her arms, and looked out past the glass patio door — their parents were still speaking with the police officers, completely oblivious to their argument one room away. “Strange,” she suddenly said, almost whimsically.
Elizabeth frowned at her. “What is?”
“Life,” Jane said, sighing.
It was then that Lizzy's phone rang. 'GREG' flickered across the screen in big, black letters, and she felt a massive twinge of irritation before hastily picking up. “Hi —— this isn't really the best time, Wick—”
“Hey.” Greg Wickham sounded breathless. “Hi. … Hey. I think I know where Lydia is.”
Elizabeth snapped her head up abruptly, and stared right at Jane, who mouthed “what is it?” and grimaced. She turned. “Tell me what's going on.”
23
—
Reunion: Part I
Greg Wickham felt shitty enough as it was. The blinds in the diner should have been fully closed, and his coffee tasted watered down and bitter. Also, every time he tilted his head to the left, a wave of nausea seemed to roll up through his stomach and greet him like a lost friend. He raised the coffee mug to his lips, and cursed his own stupidity.
The last evening had been a whirlwind of strangers, parties, one very brief trip to the ER, and yet another party, which was more like a get-together, with Becky's ex-girlfriend's cousin Sam. Greg's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he struggled to remember how he had gotten the invitation in the first place. Who's Becky again? He felt grimy. Maybe he was a little too old to be chasing skirts and folding up scrawled phone numbers — this wasn't college, after all…
Beside him, a waitress winked, whilst reaching over the bar to fetch a dishrag. Greg's eyes lowered to the magnolia tattoo inked at the small of her back. The corner of his mouth lifted. Then again, there was no harm in having a little bit of fun. What was it that his uncle Jerry had written him from prison? 'Nobody gets out of life alive' — best to take it all lightly, then.
“More coffee, sweetie?”
“Definitely.”
He didn't immediately register his name bitten out from over his shoulder until it was repeated — and in such a menacing, pretentious, uppity grumble that he swore sounded familiar:
“Wickham.”
“Yeah?” He turned left, and felt his throat constrict, partly from nausea but also
from shock. “Wow… it must be asswipe day.”
In a matter of moments, Darcy had Wickham's collar by the fistful. His hair was matted down from the rain, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. But he smiled when he said, “Greg, it's nice to see you. —— I need a favor.”
“I need you to let go of my shirt, buddy.” Will dropped his hand, and Greg scowled, pride hurt, as he smoothed the creased fabric. “How did you find me?” He took a nonchalant sip of his coffee, but his old friend heard the tremor in his voice.
“You called again,” said Darcy, smoothly, withdrawing his phone from his front pocket. “You seemed a little worse for wear.”
“How so?”
“Told me to eat shit and die.”
Greg chuckled. “Now, that part rings a bell. Did you want to catch up? Because there's a reason I ignore the odd phone call from you Darcys — you always seem to want something from me.”
Darcy ignored his comment, and pulled out the chair beside him, taking a seat. “I'm just glad the address you gave me checked out. Seems you've been sitting in the same diner for 12 hours straight.”
“He fell asleep in the booth back there,” said the waitress, chuckling. “Do you want anything, hon?”
“No, I'm fine — thank you,” Darcy said, nodding politely.
“I told you where I was,” echoed Greg, miserably. “I… told you where I was.”
“You sounded drunk.”
“I was drunk.”
“I changed my mind,” said Will, happily, to the waitress, turning in his chair. “Could you just open the blinds all the way for me? —— Thanks very much. I like it bright and sunny.”
“Sure thing,” she said, grinning.
Greg groaned, and cushioned his head atop his forearms. “You bastard.”
“Do you know where Lydia Bennet is?” asked Will.
“Who?”
“Lydia Bennet… Elizabeth's little sister. You mentioned her, in the phone call, then said something about Atlantic City.”
“I have got to stop drunk-dialing you. It's getting a little embarrassing, at least on my behalf. Mostly I do it every couple of months just to emphasize the fact that I'm getting action and making a party out of life while you're stuck in courtrooms wearing really bad suits,” Wickham explained, matter-of-factly, sipping his coffee. He scrutinized his ex-friend's clothes. “Fucking awful shirt, bro.”
“How do you know Lydia?” continued Darcy, coolly.
“Mm.” Greg set his coffee down, eyebrow cocked. “I swung by Elizabeth's apartment about a week ago. Lydia was sitting on the front steps, being bored and cute, which happens to be my favorite combination in a girl, so… yeah. I told her I was her sister's friend —— then we just started hanging out.”
“Why?” Darcy suddenly interrupted.
“Why what?”
“Why did you go to Elizabeth's apartment?”
“Oh.” Greg shrugged, and cracked his knuckles, growing weary of the conversation. “I dunno. Thought Lizzy might want to watch a DVD with me or something. But I more mean do other things with me while a movie was playing on in the background, but —— wow, purple's an interesting color for your face — did I strike a nerve? You got a crush there, Darce?” Wickham seemed genuinely curious, and he grinned. “That's adorable.”
“Tell me the last time you saw Lydia.”
“What's it to you?”
“Tell me, Greg.”
Greg narrowed his eyes. “Why so interested, Will?”
“Well, let's just say that this girl's been missing for about two days now, and the Bennet family has just gotten the police involved — so I can either dial 9-1-1, and make this very easy for myself, or put Elizabeth on the phone and have you tell her where her sister happens to be. The decision's yours.”
Will took a sadistic delight in watching the color drain from Greg's face, and slid his Blackberry patiently across the countertop. “God. The police?”
“Yes.”
Greg scowled, pushing off from the counter. “I told her not to leave her shit in her car when I picked her up. That girl's an idiot. It's why I left her in AC to begin with. Fucking imbecile.”
“You stranded her in AC.”
Greg was sneering, livid now. “What a useless chick — I don't know what I was thinking. Too young to drink and gamble, she just whined and shopped a lot… with my credit card, because she deviously left her wallet in her own car. Who does that? She put out, but I got really bored. —— I ditched her at the Tropicana.”
“You stranded her without money or transportation in AC.”
Wickham had already tuned him out. “It felt like I was fuckin' babysitting, man. Sometimes it's cute, but it takes too much work. Kind of like when I was seeing your sister.”
The chair legs scraped against the tiles and Darcy once again had Wickham's shirt collar clutched in his hands, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Call Elizabeth —— right now.”
Wickham didn't need very much convincing, though he did wrench out of Will's grip a second time, grimacing, while he scrolled through the contacts list of his phone.
Lizzy picked up almost immediately, and Greg shakily recounted what he had told Darcy minutes before. He told her their room number at the Tropicana, and explained how Lydia had snuck out of her parents' house, driven off to Matlock Park, and met him by the pond.
He ended the call without waiting for her response, and slid the phone back across to Darcy.
“You're a coward.”
Wickham was jittery, and seemed to be rifling his pockets for something. “Leave me in peace already. My migraine's expanded tenfold since you showed up.”
Darcy got up, and pulled out his car keys. He waited for a moment before saying, “you did the responsible thing when you told her.”
“Fuck off.”
“Gladly.”
“You know,” Greg called out, just as the other man had turned toward the door, “you may be doing this whole hero thing to win her heart — but I really don't think you're Lizzy's type. Last time I talked to her, she told me she hated you… called you a prick and everything.” He fished a carton of smokes from his front pocket, and fit a cigarette between his lips. “There's really no recovering from a hatred that potent, Will.”
Darcy hesitated. He said nothing, then stepped out the door.
24
—
Reunion: Part II
There was nothing good on the radio. Lizzy kept fiddling back and forth, from station to station, through the static Top 40 to the abundance of Pearl Jam on 104.5FM. Giving up, she settled to a slow crawl in bumper-to-bumper traffic in absolute silence. At the red light, she glanced at her sisters in the backseat.
Jane was staring out the window. She seemed calm, save for the small crinkle of concern between her eyebrows. Lydia was asleep, her head resting in Jane's lap. She was absently twisting tufts of her blond hair into tiny braids. Lydia's makeup was caked — mascara stained her cheeks where she had been crying hours before. Her transparent black tights had several nicks and runs beneath a sequined skirt that was all-too-short and all-too-tight.
The police were no longer involved in the investigation, now that there was no investigation to speak of. It was closed as per the demands of a textbook runaway — and Mrs. Bennet had just about fainted from relief, then revived herself with unbridled anxiety, spasms and tirades. It was John who had encouraged and ultimately convinced his wife to stay home, to let her daughters pick up their missing fourth — this way, he would have enough time to calm her down. Not that Theresa Bennet had the capacity to be calm, but at least he could throw a cup of chamomile tea and some Klonopin at the equation.
“You okay?”
Lizzy looked at Jane's reflection in her rearview mirror, and gave a warm, comforting smile. “I'm great. You girls hungry? I think there's a Chipotle straight off the turnpike.”
“Carnitas burrito,” trilled Jane, grinning. Lydia snored softly, and she looked down, smoothing her baby sister's
hair back. “You would think she could have used the phone in the lobby or something. Could have spared us all heart attacks.”
“Yeah —— well, she was hungover and depressed. It's not a very logic-friendly combination,” said Elizabeth, dryly, flicking on her left turn signal. She changed lanes. “You know, if she's not gonna bother to have her cell phone on her, I suggest we stick a GPS transmitter up her hooch and call it a day.”
“Lizzy.”
“I'm just saying.”
Jane snorted, chuckling. “So… did you call Greg back?”
“No,” Elizabeth mumbled, darkly. “When I speak to that man again, it won't be over the phone.”
“Of course not. You'll just be berating him while your foot's planted up his ass. Maybe in public too, so his humiliation can be documented in front of an audience.”
“Oh Janie, you know me so well.” Elizabeth mock-sniffled, placing her hand over her heart. Jane smiled broadly from the backseat. “But, in all seriousness, I can't believe I let Lydia and Greg happen, even for a nanosecond.” Her lip curled in disgust. “Shit, I had such tunnel vision these last few weeks. That's what gets me. It all could have been prevented—”
“—if you weren't busy mooning over Will Darcy self-loathingly?” suggested Jane, sweetly. She was smirking, and Lizzy rolled her eyes in response. “Well, you must not blame yourself — Lydia has to take responsibility for her own actions.”
“But you're still bitter—”
“—only at you not telling me—”
Lizzy lifted her green eyes doubtfully at the rearview mirror.
“Seriously. I consider you my best friend, Lizzy — I think I'm entitled to all the hot, juicy details. Missing out on that?” Jane pulled a frown. “God, that just sucks.”
She couldn't help but smile. “Well, what do you wanna know?”
Jane smirked cheekily. “Good kisser?”
“Ugh —— great kisser.” Lizzy sighed, coming to a stop at another intersection. “Just… hot damn. I am so sexually frustrated —— it's just downright hell. I just want to climb him—”
“Yes, okay — easy now, keep your seat dry. I was just asking.”
