Secrets in Summer

by Nancy Thayer

  She pressed on. “It’s excruciating to see your grandmother fading. I know how Clive feels, because I went through it. I’ve told you about that.”

  Nash took a deep breath. “So that kiss was his way of thanking you?”

  “No, of course not.” Darcy spoke with an honesty and a quiet passion that she knew would bring Nash around. “It was about desperation, about needing to be reminded of the simple joys of walking unaided, of seeing with clear eyes the faces of people you love, of breathing, of laughing and singing and walking and hearing, of having an appetite, of being hungry and then being fed.”

  “So you fed him.”

  “What? Oh, come on, Nash! Don’t twist my words around.”

  Nash walked past her to the door. He opened it and stood next to it. “You should go.”

  “Nash, don’t do this. You’re breaking my heart.”

  “Call the guy next door. Maybe he can comfort you again.”

  “You’re being horrible—and really damned stupid!” With as much dignity as she could muster, Darcy stormed past him, out the door, down the stairs, around the house to her car. She was angry, she was hurt, she was inconsolable.

  And in the midst of her rage and confusion, she knew one thing for sure. She was not going to tell Susan about Autumn and Otto. Who knew what their marriage was like? How could Darcy judge when she’d known the Brueckners for only a few weeks? Maybe Susan was frigid, maybe Susan had a lover of her own back in Boston, maybe Susan was grateful to have someone else bear the burden of Otto’s arrogance and self-absorption.

  When she reached her house, she switched off the ignition but sat as if captured in her car while her mind raced with thoughts.

  How did anyone ever stayed married? Why was Nash so pigheaded? If he was this angry because of a simple kiss, didn’t that mean he loved her, that he wanted her to belong to him; didn’t it mean that when she said she loved him it moved him, it mattered to him? How could he hear her say she loved him and not respond?

  She hit her head against the back of her seat as if she could knock some sense into it. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. It was dark now. Lights were on in the Brueckners’ house and in the Rushes’. She hadn’t left lights on in her own house. Poor Muffler must be confused and worried.

  Empty of emotion, exhausted by her thoughts, Darcy left her car and walked up the steps and let herself into the house. She needed a shower. She needed to be washed clean.

  20

  On summer Saturdays, the children’s library was always crowded with families returning a week’s worth of books and DVDs, and searching for and checking out new ones. The small area arranged for toddlers, surrounded by low shelves of books, became an unofficial preschool as mothers traded gossip while their little ones sat triumphantly in the jumbo-size stuffed fuzzy bear chair or stood clutching the chair and shrieking to be lifted into it. Older children were left to choose their books while their parents slipped over to the adult section; and when the older children were collected and herded off to other places, the books they’d scanned and rejected were left in towers on the round reading tables and the floor.

  This Saturday, Darcy worked up in the children’s library, helping keep some semblance of order. She returned books and DVDs to their shelves, sat at the circ desk to check books in and out, and reshelved books in their proper alphabetical order. It was impossible to spend a moment in her own private thoughts, and Darcy was glad for the relief.

  By afternoon, the crowds had dispersed. Darcy and Beverly took separate breaks for lunch and tidied the room. Sunday the library was closed, and usually Darcy was glad, but this weekend loomed emptily before her. She couldn’t join the gang on their regular Sunday beach picnics, not if Nash was going to be there, cold-shouldering her. She couldn’t summon up the energy to be around other people, anyway.

  The August day was hot and muggy. After she closed the library, she walked down to Jetties Beach for a swim. For a long time, she floated on her back, feeling the sun beating down on her face, trying to relax, to empty her mind. Instead, flashes of yesterday flickered behind her closed eyes. Mimi, so weak, so dependent. Nash, so cold, so enraged—so hurt. Tears seeped out of her eyes and trailed down her face into the salty water, and this seemed so frankly pitiful Darcy had to laugh at herself. Flipping over, she submerged her face and forced herself to swim as fast as she could, up along the beach and back.

  She bent over her bag, pulled a towel out, and dried her face, then pulled on the loose sundress she carried and slid her feet into her sandals. As she headed up the boardwalk, her cell rang. She snatched it up, praying it would be Nash.

  “Darcy, where are you? You’ve got to come over!” Willow’s voice was half whisper, half scream.

  “Willow? Are you okay?”

  “Mom told Boyz. They’re yelling at each other!”

  “Oh, Willow. Oh, honey, I know that’s terrible. I’m sorry. But I can’t do anything about it. It’s between your mother and Boyz.”

  Even as she said she couldn’t do anything, Darcy picked up her pace, walking so fast she was nearly running.

  “You have to do something! They won’t listen to me. They won’t pay any attention to me, no matter what I say. What about poor Susan?”

  Welcome to the messes adults make, Darcy thought. Willow had scarcely entered the tempestuous teenage years with all its misery, elation, drama, and hormonal rampages and here she was, caught up in the adult world of jealousy. But what could Darcy do? What should she do?

  “Willow,” Darcy said, impressed by the authority in her tone, “I want you to leave the house and walk down to Main Street and meet me. We’ll walk home together and try to figure something out.”

  “But Mother and Boyz—”

  “You just said they won’t pay attention to you.”

  “But—” Willow began to protest.

  “If you leave, it might surprise them enough to calm down.”

  “Oh. Okay…okay, I’ll meet you on Main Street.”

  “Good girl.” Darcy clicked her phone off, thinking I have no idea what I’m talking about. She couldn’t stop the quarrel between Boyz and Autumn, but she was removing Willow from the scene of her parents’ argument. That was something.

  And when she arrived at her house, what then? Should Darcy charge to the rescue—but how, and who would she be rescuing? She didn’t give a fig about Otto Brueckner or about Boyz’s wounded pride. But she did care about Susan and her sons. But how could Darcy believe she could help Susan when she’d made such a mess of her own life? And Mimi. Willow needed to know about Mimi.

  Not far away, a figure turned off Pine and raced down the sidewalk toward Darcy. Willow. Darcy hoped the girl wouldn’t catch her foot on one of the many broken bricks and fall. She very well might, Darcy thought, it was turning out to be that kind of summer.

  “Darcy!” Willow raced up to Darcy and grasped her arm, tugging her to move faster. She wore jean shorts and a T-shirt and her hair was a mess.

  “Slow down and catch your breath,” Darcy said. “Forget about your mother and Boyz for a moment. Have you spoken to Mimi today?”

  “Mimi? No. Oh, gosh, I forgot. I think I’m supposed to read to her this afternoon.”

  “Willow, Mimi’s sick. Not something frightening, just a bad summer cold. I went over there yesterday to visit her. Clive is taking care of her, but he doesn’t think to do some basic stuff like bringing her a fresh nightgown.”

  Willow’s face crinkled with worry. “How is she today?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Clive. Why don’t we stop in and see Mimi now?” As she spoke the words, Darcy’s conscience pinched her; Darcy hadn’t planned to have Willow go with her to see Mimi so that Willow would be a buffer person between Darcy and Clive. But that’s how it would work, and Darcy was glad.

  “Why don’t we call Susan and ask her to visit Mimi with us,” Willow suggested.

  “Willow, you’re a genius.”

  Willow
was already punching Susan’s number in her phone.

  “Hi, Susan, it’s Willow. Oh, no, everything’s okay, well, not everything— What? Oh, that’s because I’m walking fast. I’m with Darcy. We’re coming home from the library. I’m supposed to read to Mimi, but Darcy saw Mimi yesterday. She’s sick. Not Darcy, Mimi. Just a summer cold. Right. Right. Anyway, Darcy and I are going to stop in at Mimi’s and we thought it would be nice if you could, too. Sort of cheer her up? Darcy said Mimi might still be in bed, but— Really? That would be a brilliant idea. See you in a minute.”

  Darcy asked, “What did she say?”

  “She’s just finished making chocolate chip cookies. She said she’ll make a pitcher of lemonade and bring that over with some cookies.”

  “What about her boys?”

  “She said they’re watching television, and her husband is there—she can leave them for a while.”

  “Well done, Willow.”

  “I feel like Nancy Drew.” Willow laughed happily and took Darcy’s hand as they turned off Main onto Pine Street.

  Willow’s hand. Darcy wished she had a daughter of her own. No, she wished Willow were her daughter, but that was a ridiculous thought. Willow wasn’t even her ex-husband’s daughter, she was Darcy’s ex-husband’s stepdaughter. If Willow were Darcy’s daughter, that would mean that Darcy had gotten pregnant with her fifteen years ago. When Darcy was fifteen.

  Oh, what a troublemaker love was! And there were so many kinds of love. Darcy had loved her grandmother. She had thought she loved Boyz, but her divorce had been an astonishing relief. She loved Jordan like crazy; Jordan was her very best friend. She had been afraid to admit how she felt about Nash because it might cause pain, but she had admitted it, and it had caused pain—she completely, furiously, helplessly, loved Nash. Although right now she wanted to throw a pot at him for being so obstinate about one ridiculous kiss.

  And she loved Mimi. Why was that? Why did love happen like that, so fast, at first sight, so powerful it came as a recognition: This person is mine.

  Darcy had met scores of older women, sweet grandmothers; kind older women; chic, witty older women here on the island, at the library, or in the women’s chorus. She liked them, she enjoyed knowing them, but she hadn’t felt that instinctive rapport when she first saw them. She liked Susan Brueckner and felt sympathetic toward her. She even liked Autumn and kind of admired her.

  She was so fond of Willow. She felt connected to Willow.

  And as if a flower were opening its petals, the knowledge unfolded in Darcy’s heart that the love she felt for Nash had opened her to the possibility of caring for—really connecting with—other people, even those who were in her life for only a short while.

  And sometimes that would hurt. And sometimes it would be wonderful.

  “Come on!” Willow tugged on Darcy’s hand. “There’s Susan.” She dropped Darcy’s hand and raced to the front door of Mimi’s house.

  “Hi,” Darcy called, joining Willow and Susan. “Go ahead and knock, Willow.”

  Willow knocked. They heard footsteps. Clive opened the door. Darcy was glad to have Willow and Susan standing between her and him.

  “Hello,” Darcy said. “We’re the committee for the rehabilitation of grandmothers with summer colds.”

  Clive smiled. “What a coincidence. I happen to have one of those.”

  He held the door wide and they filed in, past the front parlor, and down the hall to Mimi’s bedroom.

  Mimi seemed better today. She was sitting up in bed, propped by dozens of pillows, with her glasses on and a book in her hands.

  “Thank God!” she cried when she saw them. “I am bored silly!”

  “I brought cookies,” Susan told her. “And lemonade.”

  “Darling,” Mimi said to Clive, “would you be kind enough to bring us some glasses, and also that handsome bottle of Grey Goose vodka?”

  Clive crossed his arms over his chest. “Mimi. You’re ill. Vodka is not on the list of drinks for elderly invalids.”

  “I’ll just pour a soupçon in my lemonade,” Mimi told him. “Besides, the others might want some. Not you, of course, Willow. Come closer, darlings, I can’t see you when you’re so far away. I’m not contagious anymore. This damned cold is almost done with me.”

  Susan pushed the armchair closer to Mimi’s bed. Darcy crossed the hall and brought in a chair from the dining room. Willow perched on the end of Mimi’s bed.

  “Tell me everything!” Mimi requested. “What’s been going on?”

  Darcy couldn’t restrain herself from exchanging a glance with Willow. For a moment, she regretted inviting Susan over. With Susan there, Darcy and Willow couldn’t tell Mimi about Autumn’s dining room table escapade with Susan’s husband, and Darcy couldn’t ask Mimi for advice about telling Susan.

  Darcy also couldn’t ask Mimi for advice about Nash.

  As she passed the cookies, Susan said, “I’m working at the yarn store three evenings a week, Mimi, and Otto’s been a champion about it. Well, that’s because we’ve got Willow to babysit the boys. So I’ve learned a lot about myself this summer. And when we go home, after I get the boys settled in school, I’m going to find myself a job in a shop in my neighborhood.”

  “When are you going home?” Mimi asked.

  “In about a week.” Susan prattled on about the trials of packing for five people, and using up everything in the cupboards and fridges.

  “Yeah,” Willow said. “Boyz said we’re going home soon, too.”

  It was as if the floor dropped right out from under Darcy.

  Susan was going home.

  Willow was going home.

  “Oh, it makes me so sad to think of everyone going their separate ways,” Mimi said. “Summer always goes too fast.”

  Clive entered, carrying a tray of glasses and ice and a bottle of vodka. Darcy jumped up to help him prepare the drinks and hand them out. Once she accidentally touched Clive’s hand with hers. She experienced not even the slightest physical response. Clive hardly looked at Darcy. Thank heaven, Darcy thought.

  “We’re not going until the end of next week,” Susan assured Mimi.

  “Susan,” Mimi said, “you said your husband was fine with you working here. What do you think he’ll say about you working when you’re back home?”

  Susan lowered her eyes. “That’s a good question, Mimi. He makes some enormous amount of money—I don’t know how much because he won’t tell me.”

  Mimi bridled. “Well, that’s ridiculous! You should at least have an idea of his income.”

  Susan fidgeted with the rings on her fingers. Still looking down, she said, “Mimi, not every marriage is the same….”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right. Forgive me for interrupting.”

  “As I said, Otto supports us almost lavishly, although of course some of that—our house, our cars—are important for his reputation.”

  “And for his ego,” Mimi murmured.

  Susan acted as if she hadn’t heard. “So he might balk at allowing me to work outside the home when we’re back in Boston. He might think it would look as if we need the money.”

  “What will you do if he doesn’t want you to work?” Willow asked.

  Susan heaved a sigh. “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  “Susan.” Suddenly, Mimi’s tone was serious. “Look at me. Does Otto hit you?”

  Susan laughed. “Good grief, of course not. How can you ask such a thing?”

  “Because you act as if he hits you,” Mimi said.

  Susan blinked. “I do?”

  “You do,” Darcy agreed. “Sometimes you have the saddest expression on your face. It worries me.”

  “You guys are wrong!” Willow jumped into the conversation. “When I babysit the boys, sometimes I see Susan and Otto together, and he’s nice to her. I mean, like, when I see him not with Susan, he’s a robot, but he’s okay with Susan and the boys.” The girl flicked a conspiratorial smile at Darcy, as if to sa
y: See, I’m being helpful.

  Susan tilted her head. “Darcy, Mimi, here’s what I think. If you see me looking sad, I think I’m really looking tired. It’s an exhausting business, raising three boys. And I worry about them, especially about Henry, although I won’t go into that here, it’s only typical growing-up stuff. The truth is, I don’t think I’m naturally inclined to raising boys. I mean, look at me, you can tell I’ve never played baseball or even tennis. It’s hard work. Okay, I have help, I have a company that cleans my house once a week, and at home we have a couple of darling babysitters—” Quickly she smiled at Willow. “They’re not half as good as you, Willow. But, anyway, it’s not just the physical exhaustion of, oh, I don’t know, just for example let’s pick keeping them in shoes! Three growing boys, I swear their feet grow an inch every time they fall asleep. And, no, don’t suggest I pass them down. Of course their feet aren’t similar. I mean Henry has extremely wide feet and the other two don’t. Alfred has fallen arches—already, at his age! Who ever thought that could happen? So he has to wear special shoes with arch supports. Other kids make fun of him, and I get so sad for him.” Susan looked around the room. “That’s why yarn is a lifesaver!”

  Mimi nodded sagely. “My dear, I see exactly what you mean.”

  Willow frowned. “I don’t. I thought we were talking about Susan and Otto and sadness.”

  “We are, in a way,” Darcy told her.

  “When you fall in love, when you have children, you’ll know.” Mimi reached over to take Willow’s hand. “It doesn’t have to be yarn. It could be reading books or sailing or clog dancing.”

  “Clog dancing?” Willow wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

  “You’ll find out yourself someday,” Mimi said. “The point is that we all need something in life that we enjoy that doesn’t need us.” She glanced at the other two women. “Am I right?”

  “Well said,” Darcy agreed.

  Susan nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Think of loving a pet,” Mimi continued. “No, think of loving a celebrity. Um, let me see. Willow, think of loving Justin Timberlake.”