Secrets in Summer

by Nancy Thayer

  “One thing,” Darcy said. “Whatever decision I make while you and I are making love is to be considered automatically null and void on the grounds that I’m not completely rational.”

  Nash grinned. “The same goes for me.”

  “Should we put it to the test?” Darcy asked.

  Nash stood up. In two steps, Darcy was in his arms. Nash held her, and she knew she was coming home.

  25

  Summer was gently slipping away. Along the beach paths and walkways, orange rose hips glowed like small round lanterns. The rose of Sharon bushes were dropping their white and pink flowers slowly, while no one was watching. Shadows fell longer and slanted differently as the sun moved lower in the sky. The days were hot and humid, the beaches still crowded, the library still in full spate, but in the evenings the air grew cool quickly and the trees that had blossomed with pastel flowers in the spring were now dotted with red berries.

  The Brueckners left three days after Labor Day. One morning there was a knock on Darcy’s front door. When she opened it, she found the three boys and Susan standing there, all of them laden with bags of groceries.

  “I’ve packed as much as I can into the cooler,” Susan told Darcy. “But I don’t want to let all this go to waste.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me,” Darcy said. “I’m sure I’ll use it all up. Come right back to the kitchen.”

  Susan marshaled her troops and they filed to the back of the house and deposited their donations on the table.

  “Now what do we do?” Susan asked her boys.

  Shyly, each boy held out his hand to Darcy, and as they shook hands, each boy said, “Thank you for helping us this summer, Miss Cotterill.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Darcy told them.

  “Thank you for story time!” Alfred impulsively chirped, turning red with embarrassment.

  Darcy wanted to hug him, but was afraid he’d go into shock. “Thank you for using the library.”

  “You may go home now,” Susan said, and her boys thundered down the hall and out the door. Susan turned to Darcy. “I want to thank you, too, for all you’ve done. I don’t think I could have made it through this summer without you.”

  “It’s been wonderful having you as a neighbor,” Darcy said honestly. “Do you think you’ll come back next year?”

  Susan hesitated. “I’m not sure. Otto wants to try a place in Maine…but we’ll keep in touch, won’t we, Darcy?”

  “Of course,” Darcy said, although she knew from experience that summer people often forgot island people when they returned to their “real” lives.

  Susan hugged Darcy tightly. Darcy kissed Susan’s cheek.

  “Goodbye, have a good fall,” Susan said.

  “Goodbye, have a safe trip home,” Darcy said.

  Susan went down the hall, stopped at the front door to turn and wave. And then she was gone.

  That night, when Darcy looked, there were no lights on in the house next door.

  Willow, Boyz, and Autumn were the next to go. It happened all in a rush. Willow knocked on Darcy’s door in the late afternoon.

  Willow was breathless. “Darcy, Boyz said our car is number one on standby on the car ferry. We have to leave now and hope we can get on. He’s pretty sure we’ll be able to get on. We have tickets for the ferry tomorrow afternoon, but Boyz wants to get home as soon as we can.”

  Darcy felt a little stab in her chest. Somehow she couldn’t take it all in. She knew Willow was leaving, but now that the moment was here, Darcy felt off guard. This was too important; she’d left something unfinished. She stuttered, “Oh, oh, so soon, I—”

  Willow was in too much of a hurry to wait for Darcy to make sense. “Thank you so much for everything this summer, Darcy, and I’ll text you all the time, and I hope I can visit you this October for the Cranberry Festival.” She threw her arms around Darcy, squeezed her so hard it hurt, then took a few steps in place, like a jogger waiting at a traffic light. “Thanks, thanks, thanks!”

  Willow was gone. It was like a light being switched off. That fast, that conclusively. Darcy stood at her doorway like a coma patient, and not until Muffler rubbed up against her ankles did she close the door.

  Her mind flooded with questions. Did Willow know Autumn was pregnant? How would Willow feel about that—probably thrilled to have a baby sister or brother. Willow was starting high school next week, always a turbulent period of life. She would seem more grown-up. Well, Willow was more grown-up, and a great many events had happened in her brief time on Nantucket to blast her out of the world of innocence and, in a way, out of the Garden of Eden. Willow had seen her mother with another man. Willow had been seduced by a handsome older boy into sex play and invited to try drugs. Willow had learned that the deliciously painful emotions of attraction and desire could lead her into all kinds of trouble. That was good. Willow needed to know that, and she’d come through it all stronger and more optimistic. Willow had chosen to spend the summer in safety, with pleasant older women and with children. She was about to be plunged back into the world of adolescence. Darcy wished the girl well. And she doubted that Willow would return for the Cranberry Festival. Maybe Darcy could go up to Boston someday and take Willow out to lunch….

  “Stop it!” Darcy said aloud. She had to wrench her mind off Willow. She had to return to her world and her own challenges. Would she give up this house, her house that held all her memories and hopes, and was also a fabulous house in a wonderful location…would she give it up in order to live in another house with Nash?

  It was much easier to wonder about Willow.

  Finally, Mimi and Clive left. Clive and Mimi enjoyed a goodbye dinner at Darcy’s the night before, and Mimi and Darcy had promised to email and text and phone. Mimi still had a bit of a cold but promised she had tucked nasal spray and throat lozenges into her purse. Leaving was an emotional time for Mimi, who might never see the island again, so Darcy promised to drive out to the airport to wave goodbye.

  It was always hard to see someone off on a plane. The passengers had to mill around in a small holding area like cattle, waiting for their release to the plane.

  “I bought this paperback to read, but I’m not sure it will hold my interest,” Mimi murmured to Darcy, fishing around in her enormous bag for the book.

  “Mimi,” Clive said, “you’ve got your e-reader with you. You can order another book or you can work a crossword puzzle on it.”

  Mimi brightened. “Oh, yes, of course, what was I thinking?”

  Darcy and Mimi had said their goodbyes and hugged each other several times, and still they were left to wait restlessly in a kind of limbo. Then suddenly the flight was called and the mob morphed into an orderly line, and the passengers went out through the gates, waving and calling goodbye, goodbye.

  And Darcy was left standing alone. She gave herself a moment to recover from the sadness that had settled on her. Then she walked out the door and called Jordan and told her she was taking Jordan and Kiks out to lunch.

  —

  September was always an orphan month, not still summer, not yet fall. When Labor Day passed, people thronged to the ferries and planes, going back to school, back to work, back to reality. Many of the beautiful houses on Darcy’s street were empty, their windows dark. Landscaping crews came around to keep the grass cut, to water and prune and fertilize, and to empty the window boxes or fill them with orange gourds and purple mums, which were unsettling, still unseasonal.

  At the library, Darcy and her colleagues did the professional version of cleaning up a house after a wild party. Books were reshelved properly, emails were caught up, and the staff had a chance to linger and reevaluate the summer and discuss plans for the fall.

  On a rainy Tuesday morning, Beverly Maison came into the office carrying her umbrella and a floppy foul-weather hat.

  “You’re here early,” Beverly said.

  “It’s the perfect time to clean up this desk and go through all the papers I’ve been avoiding,” Dar
cy told her.

  Beverly shut the office door. She took off her raincoat and hung it on the stand and leaned her umbrella in the corner. She smoothed her hair down and settled in at her desk. She swiveled her chair around so she could face Darcy.

  “Let’s talk a moment,” Beverly said.

  “Okay.” Darcy picked up her coffee cup and drank. The coffee was still nicely hot.

  “You know I’m not so young anymore,” Beverly began.

  Well, this was odd. “You seem young to me,” Darcy said.

  Beverly laughed. “You’re a good friend, Darcy. And a good librarian. You did a sterling job keeping the children’s library on track this summer.”

  “Oh, well, thank you, Beverly.”

  “I had a meeting yesterday afternoon with Edith and Grace.”

  Darcy swallowed and her thoughts flashed a red alert. Edith Simon was the director of the library, Beverly’s boss, and therefore Darcy’s superboss. Grace was the president of the board of trustees, and therefore everyone’s boss.

  “We talked about the future,” Beverly continued. “I told them I’d like to retire in about three years—”

  “Oh, no, Beverly!” Darcy’s cry was genuine. What would they all do without Beverly?

  “And we all agreed that you should become head of the children’s library then.”

  Darcy said, “Oh.”

  “With a view in mind of eventually, in ten years or so, making you director of the library.”

  Darcy couldn’t help it. She grinned like a child at Christmas.

  “It’s not a done deal, of course,” Beverly continued. “We agreed that you’ll need sprucing up in several areas and responsibilities. We’d like you to take some courses in administration, fiscal management, and fundraising. Not all at once, of course. One or two a year, and done via the Internet. You would continue your duties here and have half a day off for course work.” Beverly smiled. “What do you think?”

  “There are no words,” Darcy said. “It’s beyond my wildest dreams.”

  “If I recall correctly, I don’t think it is,” Beverly said. “When I first met you, you told me your goal was to be director of the Boston Public Library.”

  “That’s true,” Darcy said. “But, believe me, if I became director of the Nantucket Atheneum, I’d be over the moon. I never want to leave this island. Gosh, Beverly, this is amazing.”

  “Well, it’s not carved in stone. But it’s our plan. Keep it to yourself, please. I’m not retiring for two or three years.”

  “Can I hug you?” Darcy asked.

  “No. Nothing has happened yet. Hug me in three years. For now, we’ve got work to do.” Beverly swiveled to face her computer.

  Darcy faced her computer, too, but for a long while she sat smiling, unable to stop smiling, unable to think a single practical thought.

  —

  That Sunday, Darcy and Nash joined Jordan and the gang at the beach. More and more they had free run of the beaches as the summer people left. Nash was patient, never mentioning the choice Darcy had to make, and, thank heaven, for Darcy found herself incapable of thinking of moving out of her house and just as incapable of imagining not being with Nash.

  The second Sunday of September, a tropical storm near the Outer Banks of North Carolina blew north, flooding the eastern coastline. Gale force winds screamed across Nantucket Sound and joined the high tides to send the seas thrashing through the harbor. In spite of the Weather Channel’s dire warnings, quite a few of the islanders delighted in these storms. Nash took off work and drove Darcy out to Cisco Beach, where they stood facing the surging waves, watching them tower and plunge as the wind, as if personally insulted, slammed against their bodies, trying to make them back off; and, of course, when they were both drenched and shivering, they slogged their way back to the truck and drove home.

  First they took hot showers together, which led to spending a luxurious day in bed, making love and napping. By early afternoon the sky was dark with storm clouds, and inside the house it was cold and damp enough for a fire. Nash built one in the living room fireplace while Darcy brought out wine and crackers and cheese. She’d started a beef stew in her slow cooker that morning, and its mouthwatering aroma mingled with the scent of the crackling wood.

  They sat together on the sofa, their feet propped on the table, gazing at the fire. Darcy wore yoga pants and an old flannel shirt. Nash wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

  Darcy wondered if there was a movie they’d both enjoy watching when Nash spoke.

  “I have an idea,” Nash said.

  “Oh?”

  “What if I moved in with you for the winter? We could see how we muddle around together in the house—”

  “Oh, Nash!”

  “I’m not finished talking. And while we’re living in this house, we’ll work with a real estate agent to see if there are any other houses on this island that would be as good, or better, for us.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.” Darcy forced herself to speak mildly, as if this wasn’t the most exciting news she’d heard in months.

  “And maybe we’ll clean out this house, clear it of a lot of the stuff that isn’t essential to you, and figure out how it would work if I lived here.”

  “Oh, yes, absolutely. I’ve been intending to do that for months.”

  They began working on the house on Sunday. The storm was still raging. None of the group of friends wanted to leave their cozy houses. Perfect weather for decluttering. With Nash at her side, Darcy went through her house, determined to get rid of books or end tables or mementos she didn’t really need or want.

  She was astonished at how many cardboard boxes they filled to take to the Seconds Shop. Some of the books had been Penny’s—and she’d probably gotten them from the Seconds Shop to last her through the long winter nights. Also, there was the glass unicorn a friend had brought back from a trip to Venice, and the wooden bison bookends another friend had brought from a trip to Wyoming. Several pitchers and vases for all the flowers Penny used to grow, more than Darcy would ever need. Into the Seconds Shop box. Penny had collected small, intricately constructed boxes not large enough to hold a paper clip, made from wood or porcelain or cleverly folded paper. Seconds Shop. Old rubber boots. Ripped raincoats.

  And upstairs! During the week, Darcy and Nash continued their task every evening after work. First, they tackled Penny’s room. Darcy was still sleeping in her childhood bedroom, which was too small for two people. Finally, Darcy thought, she’d outgrown that sweet room with its bookcase full of Nancy Drew mysteries. Penny’s bedroom was spacious, with large windows welcoming in light. With Nash’s help, she plunged into Penny’s room. She was surprised at how little she wanted to keep. The ancient mattress had a trough down the side where Penny had slept. Most of the furniture was antique but oddly impractical, and everything was slightly warped, cracked, or missing a leg and propped on hardback books piled to attain the right height. Boxes of costume jewelry, clip-on earrings, a seventies assortment of chains with Buddhas, astrological signs, peace signs, and one odd brass cylinder that might have held rolling papers. More books. Framed photos of relatives and old friends whom Darcy had never met. Brocade drapes thick with dust and a chest at the end of the bed filled with heavy, scratchy wool blankets that Penny had put away when she discovered the warm, light pleasure of down comforters.

  When they finished, they’d cleared the room of almost everything in it. They carried it all down to put into Nash’s truck to go to the dump.

  As the days passed, the storm moved away. True autumn arrived, with its crisp air and pumpkins. Nash worked on the construction crew every day, returning home to Darcy and dinner and television or sometimes dinner out. Often, they simply sat talking about everything, sharing anecdotes of school days and family foibles. They took long walks on Sundays, crunching through the forest at Squam Swamp or viewing the darkening ocean from the Bluff Walk in ’Sconset. During the winter, when blizzards kept them indoors, they w
ent around the house more carefully, deciding if there was anything they’d really like to have. Gradually, Darcy and Nash freshened up Penny’s room. They swept it clean and washed the floor and windows. They painted the walls a pale cream with marshmallow-white woodwork. They leaned shoulder to shoulder in front of the computer, discussing and comparing furniture, and one day a beautiful, sleek, king-size bed arrived. For weeks they slept in the bed, with nothing else in the room. The bed was quite enough.

  All this time, they spent most Sundays touring houses with Marlene deCosta. They saw houses in the quaint small village of ’Sconset and on the other end of the island in Madaket. They saw historic houses that “needed work” and newer houses in pristine condition. They saw houses with small yards and houses that bordered the moors and seemed to have yards going on forever. They ran spreadsheets on mortgage rates and real estate taxes. They discussed the advantages and disadvantages of Penny’s in-town house for the children they just might have in the future.

  One gray Sunday in November when the rain fell steadily and the temperature dropped to the low forties, they lay together in bed, drinking the coffee Nash had brewed and brought up. It was almost noon. They’d spent much of the morning making love and napping. Now it really was time to get up.

  “Let’s talk,” Nash said.

  “Mmm.” Darcy murmured, but her pulse began to race. “I know. I know we should talk. I’ve been dithering about, but I’ve made a decision. About the house.” If she could do this now, while they were sitting here in what was practically heaven for them both, she knew she loved Nash more than anyone or anything she had ever loved.