Secrets in Summer

by Nancy Thayer

  Besides, she needed to tell him about tomorrow night.

  She decided to tell him the simple truth.

  “I’ve spent the day shopping and cooking. I’m going to the chamber music concert tomorrow night with Mimi and her grandson Clive—they invited me to join them. So I told them to come over before the concert for a light meal.” She described the menu to Nash, emphasizing the care she was taking to make the food easy for the older woman to deal with.

  “That’s nice of you,” Nash said. “Don’t make it too spicy. My grandmother enjoyed spicy foods, but as she got older, they gave her terrible hiccups.”

  “Hiccups!” Darcy laughed, and suddenly she was flooded with a wave of affection for this man. “Nash, do you like classical music?”

  “Some of it. Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Shostakovich. But chamber quartets make me kind of itchy.”

  She laughed again. “I know exactly what you mean.” Impulsively, she added, “Nash, I have so much to tell you.”

  “Good to know, but let’s save it for another time, okay? I’ve got to shower and eat and lie down. I’m exhausted from hauling around a three-hundred-pound man.”

  After they said goodbye, Darcy took a glass of iced tea out to the backyard and stretched out on a lounger. Above her, the stars were just beginning to emerge as if the darkness were a curtain, pulling itself back to reveal their sparkle. Her conversation with Nash had been so easy. He hadn’t even asked about Clive. Well, what, after all, could he have asked?

  She gazed around the table, imagining where she’d put the plates and glasses, wondering whether to use candles or the tiny delicate lights she had strung in the hedges. They ran on batteries, and she didn’t know how long they’d last. Candles, she decided. Besides, it would still be light out when her guests arrived.

  9

  The last piece of music the chamber quartet played was too fussy, Darcy decided. It made her feel fidgety—Nash had called it itchy.

  Or maybe it was the realization that the concert was about to end, and she and Clive would help Mimi into the car and out of the car to the house on Pine Street, and then what would Darcy do? What should she do? Clive had driven his rented Subaru, and Darcy had sat in the backseat, of course, so that Mimi could have the front passenger seat. So that was the way they would drive home.

  And then what? Should Darcy simply step out of the car, thank them for the concert, and walk across to her own house? She imagined how she would wave to them as she put the key in her front door.

  Yes, that was exactly what she would do. This night was about Mimi.

  Although…while they ate their dinner out on the patio, Clive had talked about the book he was writing about the blues. How the music was urgent, raw, visceral. Muddy Waters. Robert Johnson. Bessie Smith. How rock ’n’ roll grew out of the blues, how the Rolling Stones were influenced by the blues, how the lyrics were often simple and true, howls of pain because of lust or infidelity or alcohol or poverty. When Clive spoke about his subject, he seemed more alive and capable of passion.

  “I didn’t know any of that,” Darcy said at the end of their meal. “I’ll have to listen to some blues sometime.”

  It was a casual comment—she was stacking their plates on a tray to carry inside—and she didn’t mean to be asking for an invitation.

  “Come over some evening,” Clive said. “I’ll give you a concert. I’ve got stacks of CDs.”

  “And that’s an understatement.” Mimi chuckled.

  “Oh, well.” Darcy hesitated. “Yes, that would be nice.” She turned away, flustered.

  And felt Clive’s hand on her waist. “Here,” he said. “Let me carry that tray in for you. I’ll come back and help Mimi to the car.”

  During the chamber music concert, Clive and Darcy bookended Mimi as they sat on the hard wooden pews. The Congregational church was at the top of a short but steep hill, with steps rising from the street, but Mimi couldn’t negotiate those, so Clive went to fetch the car and brought it up the drive next to the church. Darcy helped Mimi down the ramp and into the front seat. Darcy slid into the backseat, and they drove through the narrow winding streets home.

  She stepped out of the car and helped Mimi slowly lift her weakened legs and pry her bulk from the seat.

  “Tonight was fun,” Darcy said when they were home. “Thank you so much.”

  “Thank you for dinner, dear,” Mimi said, patting Darcy’s hand.

  Clive said casually, “Come in for a nightcap, why don’t you?”

  “Oh.” Darcy looked at her watch, which was only a stalling tactic while she decided what to do, because it was dark now, and she couldn’t see the numbers on her watch. “I have to work tomorrow….”

  “Just one short drink,” Clive said.

  “Well, that would be lovely.” Lovely? She had to use the word lovely?

  Once inside, Mimi said, “Dears, this has been a delightful evening, but I need the comforts of my bed.” She kissed Darcy on the cheek and thumped with her cane down the hall to her bedroom.

  “Join me in the kitchen,” Clive said. “Brandy? Wine?”

  “A glass of ice water would hit the spot,” Darcy told him. “The church is always so hot on these summer evenings. It doesn’t have air-conditioning and their windows don’t open very far.”

  This house had central air-conditioning, an unusual feature in an old home. The owners had taken care with their renovations, leaving the handsome wide board floors while updating the kitchen with slate counters and an island. Darcy slid onto one of the stools and leaned on the counter, watching Clive move around the kitchen, pouring ice water for her and a Scotch and water for himself.

  “Let’s go in the living room,” he said. “It’s more comfortable.”

  “Blue and white.” Darcy laughed as they entered the room. “Whenever a designer gets hold of an old Nantucket house, they furnish everything in blue and white. Nautical, you know.” She sank into an armchair, smoothing her skirt over her knees.

  “I can’t say I’ve really noticed.” Clive took the end of the sofa across from her. “But the air-conditioning is a godsend. Mimi has trouble breathing when it’s too humid.”

  “You’re so good to your grandmother.”

  He shrugged. “I’m glad to do it. She’s always been there for me. When I got divorced, my parents gave me all kinds of grief, especially about my girls, but Mimi was cool.”

  “Tell me about your girls.”

  Clive’s face softened. “Alyssa and Zoe. Twins. Seven years old. They live with their mother in Boston. Helen—my ex-wife—teaches at BU, and so do I, so we have a relatively easy system of caring for the girls.” He took a sip of his drink. “What about you? Do you have children?”

  “No,” Darcy said, and not wanting to sound pathetic, joked, “but I do have an ex. Boyz lives in Boston, too. He’s part of a large real estate firm.” She held up her glass of water. “If only life were so clear…”

  “Ah, what would be the fun in that?” Clive leaned forward and put his hand on Darcy’s knee.

  Darcy met his eyes. Her breathing went jagged. “I suppose…” Her brain had melted. She couldn’t put words together.

  Clive slowly slid his hand up her thigh and onto her arm. Softly, he trailed his fingers down her bare arm to her hand. He scrolled his index finger in the palm of her hand, then clasped it firmly. “Come over here.”

  “I—”

  Clive tugged her hand. He was smiling mischievously and his remoteness was gone. He was warm. He was focused on her. “Come on. I promise I’m not going to ravish you in the living room with my grandmother nearby.”

  Well, Darcy thought, why not? She was such a novice in romance. She probably took it all too seriously. Clive was gorgeous.

  She moved onto the sofa next to him.

  He put his hand on her cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

  Darcy flushed from his touch and his words. Before she could retort I bet you say that to all the girls, Clive pulled her toward him a
nd kissed her mouth. The kiss was lingering and intense. His warm breath was scented with whiskey, his lips nuzzled hers, his tongue slipped between her lips. He gently slid his hands down to cup her breasts. Her nipples hardened. She thought she just might ravish him in his grandmother’s living room.

  He pulled away. “I want you.” His breath was ragged. He took her hand and put it on his khakis, right at the crotch, where his erection pushed at the material. “You see how much I want you?”

  Darcy’s mind was an explosion of sensations and thoughts. Desire rushed through her. But what about Nash? She didn’t want to be unfaithful to him, but did she need to be faithful when they weren’t committed to each other? Clive seemed so…experienced. Maybe she was a terrible person, wanting Nash and now wanting Clive.

  “You look worried,” Clive said softly.

  “I do?”

  “You’re frowning.” He lifted her hand away from his body but kept it clasped in his. “I’ve had many responses to my sexual advances, but a frown is a first.”

  She laughed, grateful for his wit, his charm. “I suppose…” She didn’t know what she supposed. She supposed too many things to express.

  “You work tomorrow,” he reminded her. “We don’t have time tonight, I know that. Still”—that smile—“I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I first saw you.”

  “Me, too,” she said, then shook her head and rolled her eyes and laughed at her words, and the spell she was caught in was broken. She stood up. “I should go home.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  “You don’t need to, it’s just next door.”

  “If I walk you home, I can kiss you good night.”

  She shook her head. “Another kiss like that, and I won’t sleep.”

  “Oh, I’ve got lots of different kisses,” he told her.

  She knew he was joking, being clever, and yet a danger alert, like a dog lifting its head at a noise she couldn’t hear, resounded within her. He was joking, but he was also telling the truth. This man was a sexual expert. He had an entire armory of kisses.

  But was that a bad thing?

  They compromised. Clive walked her halfway home, and kissed her chastely on the cheek. Darcy waved at him from her front door, and stepped inside her house.

  She leaned against the door. Her black cat strolled down the hall toward her. He planted himself in front of her and lifted his head and meowed.

  “I don’t know,” Darcy told him. “I really don’t know.”

  —

  Thursday the library was open until eight p.m. When Bonny from the circulation desk asked if Darcy could do her evening shift, Darcy was glad to agree. She’d been too busy during the day to think about Clive or Nash, and she wanted to keep busy and let her thoughts churn away at the back of her mind. Maybe they’d offer her a decision on a platter: Sleep with only Nash? Sleep with Clive and Nash? Tell Nash about Clive? But what if Nash slept with another woman—and she knew plenty of women who wanted to sleep with him—would she be riddled with jealousy? She kind of thought she would.

  The children’s library was crazy busy all evening. Darcy didn’t have a moment to think about herself, and it was with relief she locked up and hurried home. She poured herself a glass of red wine, kicked off her shoes, and went out to her garden. The grass beneath her bare feet was cool and oddly cheering. Sinking onto her lounger, she took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. It was dusk. The sky was slowly withdrawing the clear blue of day, allowing night to arrive. The light was on in Clive’s window and music softly drifted into the air.

  She knew she had messages on her cellphone, but she hadn’t brought it out with her. She needed to be alone for a while. She wanted to relax and sort out her thoughts. Clive was a player, she was pretty sure about that. But Nash hadn’t expressed any desire for a long-term relationship. If she told him about Clive, would Nash think she was pushing him for some kind of commitment?

  “I thought your yard was strangely quiet.”

  Darcy almost jumped off her chair. The voice was so near her, she thought for a moment that someone was standing next to her.

  “And thank God for that.” It was a man, on the Brueckners’ side of the hedge. So it was Otto.

  “Where are your sons?” Now Darcy could place the voice: Autumn’s.

  “Susan’s brother and his family are stopping in Boston on their way to London. Susan took the boys up to see their cousins. They’ll be gone for three, maybe four, days.”

  “Oooh, interesting. You know, Boyz is in Boston, too. He won’t be home until Saturday.”

  A moment of silence. Darcy could feel herself holding her breath.

  “How do you like your rental?” Autumn asked. “Is it large enough for you and your family?”

  “It is large enough.” Otto replied. “And you, do you like your rental house?”

  “Very much. I’d invite you over to see it, but I’ve given Willow this night to watch something on television.”

  “Would you like to see mine?”

  “Very much.”

  “Perhaps I can offer you a glass of wine.”

  Their voices trailed away as they crossed the yard. Darcy held back the urge to stand on top of her patio table to peer over the hedge and call out, “I can hear you!” She didn’t care if Autumn was unfaithful to Boyz, but she hated the idea of Otto cheating on Susan.

  But what business was it of hers? Plus, why would she even suspect they were cheating? Maybe he was only going to show her the house and she was only going to tour it.

  Darcy chuckled softly, remembering the summer a group of parents rented the house next door for five of their college-age sons. The boys went to the beach all day and partied all night. Darcy had never called the cops even as the summer deepened and the parties grew louder. She could have; a town regulation required all loud noise and music to stop at eleven o’clock. But she had kind of enjoyed the boys. Kind of envied their carefree lives, their maniacal laughter, their freedom to revel in the summer. Her only defensive action had been to walk around her garden in the morning, pick up the beer bottles and cans that had been tossed over the hedge, and rather gleefully throw them back in the boys’ yard.

  Why had she changed? Why did she care if Otto Brueckner slept with Autumn or if Willow had sex with Logan?

  Well…Nash was a new element. Lust was easy; lust felt good, it made her blood pound and her worries disappear behind a fog of desire. But love…she wasn’t sure she had a handle on love yet, not even after having been married.

  Darcy knew Lala and Lala’s family had loved her when she was a baby and a little girl. She had photo albums; she had memories. But Lala wasn’t about love, not really, she was about being pursued, being caught, being adored. She was like a seductress with an extremely short attention span. Lala wanted nothing as confining as marriage. She wanted to be gorgeous and naughty and desired. She reveled in the gifts men gave her, the trips she enjoyed with them, the flowers and phone calls and nights out. The seduction, the lure, the intrigue, the catch.

  As a young girl, Darcy had been mesmerized by her fabulous mother. She had thrilled to the moment the door opened and Lala swept in, carrying with her a flotilla of fragrance that filled every corner of the room and lasted long after Lala had left.

  “Darling child, Mama’s beauty, I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams.” Lala would kiss Darcy’s forehead and drift away.

  That bright, twinkling, precarious appearance, that sparkle, had been what Darcy thought was love. No wonder she had married the sparkling Boyz. He and his family were an entire chandelier of sparkle.

  Penny had loved Darcy, too, in her own calm, reliable way. She had made Darcy feel safe and cared for.

  So maybe that was what love was, part sparkle, part safety.

  Autumn, Boyz’s new wife, was definitely sparkle. Who knew what kind of unspoken agreement she had with her husband about fidelity? Certainly fidelity had not been included in Boyz’s definition o
f marriage with Darcy. But she’d bet it was part of Susan Brueckner’s understanding of marriage. Or maybe not. What did she know? Maybe Susan was meeting her boy toy in Boston while her sons played with their cousins.

  Or maybe the Brueckner marriage was one of convenience. This was not the Jane Austen age, yet she knew people who had married for reasons other than true love, whatever that was. She’d never been a romantic fool. She’d dated in high school, but she’d known what the guys really wanted, and she’d remained a virgin. A skeptical virgin. In college she’d finally had sex, and for a year a guy named Sid Byrd with a Lenin-like mustache and beard had sworn everlasting adoration, but she’d grown tired of his seriousness, his dramatic fits of jealousy, his vague, ambitious dreams to save the world. He had been handsome, kind, intelligent, faithful, and good. But he hadn’t been fun, and she knew she was shallow to think less of him for that, but she broke up with him and dated casually for the rest of her college life.

  Darcy had often wondered why someone as extroverted and ambitious as Boyz would choose to marry someone as quiet and bookish as Darcy. There was the chemistry, of course, but Boyz had enough electricity for both of them, and Darcy was infatuated and grateful. Then, not long after their marriage, they went to Martha’s Vineyard so Boyz could list a new house that a friend of his from college wanted to sell. Darcy had come along for the pleasure of being with him, seeing the Vineyard, enjoying lunch at the Black Dog. Boyz was elated about this new house. It was gorgeous, and it was expensive. His father was, naturally, the king of their real estate agency, with the right to skim the cream of the real estate market for his own, leaving the less-esteemed properties for his son and daughters. Over a lunch of calamari, Boyz excitedly confided to Darcy how he was going to make the Vineyard market his own.

  “And when your grandmother dies, I’ll be the one to handle the sale of her house. That will provide me a head start for a branch of Szwedas Real Estate on Nantucket.”