Secrets in Summer

by Nancy Thayer

  “Okay,” he said quietly, waiting.

  “I’ll sell the house. It’s okay. I want to be with you anywhere. It will be hard, but I can do it. This house is my past. You are my future.”

  Nash took her mug from her hand and set it on the bedside table. He pulled Darcy against him and held her to his chest. She could feel his heart beating. His breath came faster than usual. She could sense how he was struggling to contain his emotions. Men did not cry, but she wanted to cry not only for the loss of the house but for the enormity of her feelings for Nash, her love for him that had opened her heart to all kinds of love.

  He ran his hand over her hair, nuzzled his chin against her, and when he spoke, she felt his breath on her skin.

  “Darcy.”

  She nodded, swallowing back her tears. The way he said her name said everything. This was a moment they would never forget. This was the moment of their marriage.

  Nash pulled away. He cleared this throat. He said, “I suppose my main objection to living here is that it’s not my house. It’s your house.”

  “True, but—”

  “Hang on. Let me finish. I don’t think we’ve found anything special when we looked at other houses. Nothing that makes us say, ‘Hey, this is it! We’ve really got to live here!’ ”

  “True…”

  “What if I made this house half mine?” Before Darcy could question him, he hurried on. “By giving you exactly one half of the value of the house.”

  “You mean, money?” Darcy asked.

  “I mean, money. We’ll have the house appraised and I’ll give you half its worth. We’ll have the deed changed to reflect our joint ownership.”

  “That’s a lot of money….”

  “I’ve got a lot of money. At least enough to buy half the house.”

  “Oh, I like this plan.” Darcy’s pulse sped up. Hope shot through her like a lightning bolt. “And we could do something symbolic, like planting a tree in the backyard.”

  “Or,” Nash said, “we could do something practical, like having the fireplace chimney in this bedroom repaired so we can have fires here in the winter.”

  “Oooh. Brilliant.” Darcy closed her eyes, envisioning how Penny’s old bedroom/Darcy-and-Nash’s new bedroom would look with amber flames flickering, the only light in the room at night when they made love and when they slept.

  “We’ll have to get smoke detectors,” she said.

  “We’ll have to get smoke detectors,” Nash said, at exactly the same time.

  —

  Nash’s parents came to visit for Thanksgiving. Darcy and Nash invited them to stay in their house, but they opted for a B&B. Their decision worried Darcy, who was jittery about meeting Peggy and Allen Forester until they walked off the fast ferry. Nash’s father was a tall, stern, quiet man who didn’t approve of Nash giving up the law to be a carpenter on a small island. But Peggy was warm and kind, obviously the peacemaker in the family. They hadn’t been to Nantucket before, so Nash and Darcy gave them a tour, which helped ease them all into conversation.

  The Thanksgiving dinner, prepared by Darcy and Nash together, went off smoothly. Nash’s mother was chatty and affectionate even though Nash’s father was formal and slightly distant. By the time the pumpkin and pecan pies were served, they began to discuss books, movies, and television shows, especially Downton Abbey. Darcy thought she’d send a check to their PBS station for providing subjects they could all agree on.

  The next day, Nash and Darcy drove his parents around the island again. His parents took them to a gourmet lunch at the Brant Point Grill, and that evening they had a dinner of leftovers at Darcy’s. Nash’s father was impressed by the beauty of the island and by his son’s knowledge of the island’s history. That night when they sat around the dining room table to eat, Nash told them he’d been asked to join the Nantucket Conservation Commission. His father perked up at that, and conversation flowed more easily.

  After dinner, Peggy insisted on helping Darcy clear the table. Nash took his father outside to see Darcy’s garden. As soon as they were outside, Peggy took Darcy’s arm.

  “Quickly, dear, while we have a chance…I need to ask you….Nash told you about his brother, didn’t he?”

  Darcy put her hand on Peggy’s. “Yes. I’m so sorry.”

  Peggy patted Darcy’s hand. “I’m glad he told you. Nash took it hard. It changed his life. I was afraid he’d become insular and odd, living out here where you’re all so disconnected, but Nash seems fine. He seems happy. I think that’s because of you.”

  Tears came to Darcy’s eyes. “Oh, thank you.” Impulsively, she hugged Peggy and for a moment the two women clung to each other, thinking of Nash and his brother and the past and the future.

  Peggy and Allen left for Amherst the next morning. They were a busy couple, sitting on several important boards, belonging to a bridge group and book clubs, and taking luxurious cruises in the winter. Darcy and Nash discussed their visit and concluded it had been a success. A few days later, a packet arrived for Nash, wrapped in yards of tape and heavily insured and requiring Nash’s signature. Inside, Nash found his grandmother’s engagement ring, a large, clear diamond surrounded by eight smaller diamonds.

  I thought you might like to have this, Peggy Forester had written.

  “Let’s try it on you,” Nash suggested, taking Darcy’s hand.

  “Wait. Not so fast. You have to ask me a question first,” Darcy told him, smiling but not quite joking.

  “What?” Nash frowned, then understood. He dropped to one knee, holding Darcy’s hand in his. “Darcy, will you marry me?”

  “I will.” She surprised herself as she suddenly burst into tears. “Sorry,” she told him, “I didn’t know I’d get so emotional.”

  He slipped the ring on her finger. They kissed, a light, friendly kiss. They settled on the sofa together, discussing details, while Darcy admired her ring. Darcy wanted a church wedding with a reception and all the trimmings, partly because when she’d married Boyz, it had taken place in a nursing home with very few guests. This time, she wanted something more celebratory, more of a fabulous occasion.

  “We’ll have a proper wedding,” Nash said. “And a proper wild reception.”

  “Shall we pick a date?”

  “May eighth,” he answered without hesitation.

  “May eighth? Why?”

  “That’s the day we stopped eyeing each other and actually talked.”

  “Oh, gosh, you remember the date? How romantic!”

  Nash arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you remember the date?”

  “I remember the day, the place—we were at the beach with the gang, and I approached you. I remember I asked you over for some lasagna.”

  “And I said I’d come over if you offered me a bowl of cereal.”

  Darcy melted. “Gosh. You remembered that.”

  “How could I forget?” Nash pulled Darcy into his arms and kissed her soundly.

  “But is that too soon? Nantucket’s such a wedding destination, everything gets booked months in advance.”

  “No one gets married here in May. The weather’s too iffy. Besides, you and I know a few people. That’s got to be one of the advantages of living here.”

  And, yes, amazingly, May eighth was available at St. Paul’s Episcopal church. With Christina Hall’s help, they booked their reception at the White Elephant ballroom with the Brant Point Grill to cater. When the amazing Gypsy band Coq au Vin signed on, they knew things were headed toward fabulous.

  After that, life became one perpetual party. They gave a party at their house to announce their engagement, although Darcy had phoned Jordan about two seconds after Nash proposed. Then it was Christmas with Stroll parties and Christmas Eve parties and New Year’s Eve, and Darcy was glad when January arrived. This month the island lived up to its nickname, “the Gray Lady.” Wind, snow, and cold blasted the island. The heavy seas made traveling difficult and sometimes impossible. Usually this was Darcy’s favorite time of
year. It gave her lots of long dark evenings for reading. But somehow this year was different.

  This year it was wonderful, because Nash was there, reading by her side in front of the fire. Muffler had adopted him and frequently sat on his lap.

  She and Willow had been texting about once a week. In January, Willow announced that she had a boyfriend. She told Darcy about Justin in her texts, and when her parents took her to a posh ski resort in February, Justin was invited along, staying, Willow told Darcy, in a separate room. Willow promised Darcy she’d come for a week in the summer and bring Justin, but Darcy doubted if that would happen. In April, Willow phoned Darcy to announce that Autumn had given birth to a beautiful baby boy who looked just like Boyz. Darcy asked Willow to congratulate her parents and smiled at Autumn’s good luck. After that, Willow’s texts came less frequently. Clearly the girl, now fifteen, had a baby brother and a gang of friends and a full schedule. Still, Darcy invited Willow to their wedding, both informally via email and formally with a handsome invitation. For a few weeks, Willow didn’t respond. Darcy was secretly sad. But she had always known that Willow was going to blossom into full adolescence, and she told herself to be glad the girl was happy, so she sniffed back her tears.

  In late April, Darcy checked her cell and found a new text.

  I am SO going to be there! Can I bring Justin? You have got to see him! Can we stay with you? We can sleep on the living room floor. Do I have to wear a hat? We’ll take the ferry and just walk to your house. Will you let us have champagne at the reception? Just kidding. Not. What do you want for a present? It can’t cost more than twenty dollars. Just kidding. Not. Can’t wait!

  Darcy laughed out loud and quickly texted back.

  SO glad! Bring Justin. You sleep in our guest room, Justin on the sofa, no hat required, no champagne allowed—you are fifteen! No present required—your presence is the present!

  Susan Brueckner sent Darcy a gorgeous snail mail Christmas card trimmed with red velvet and covered in sparkles, framing a photo of the Brueckner family on Nantucket. The entire family, all dressed in white, stood together on the beach, a calm blue ocean in the background, Otto’s arm around Susan and the three boys clustered in front of them, smiling their gap-toothed smiles. Darcy sent a holiday card to the Brueckners, and she and Susan each scribbled on their card that they would write soon with all the news, but somehow that never happened. When Darcy ran into a real estate agent while she was in Nantucket Pharmacy eating one of their delicious grilled cheese sandwiches, Elton, the agent, told Darcy that she hadn’t heard from the Brueckners. Another family had rented the house for the summer.

  Still, Darcy sent Mr. and Mrs. Otto Brueckner an invitation to the wedding. Unfortunately, they couldn’t attend.

  Mimi and Darcy kept in touch over the winter via emails and once or twice, Skype. In early January, Mimi phoned Darcy to explain why she wasn’t coming to Nantucket for the summer. Clive couldn’t come; he was busy with other matters, and Mimi, almost ninety, couldn’t come by herself. When Darcy told Mimi about the wedding, Mimi said, “Oh, child, I’m so happy for you!”

  But Mimi sadly told Darcy she wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding either. It was her legs, her stability, her balance. After their phone conversation, Darcy sat at her desk with her head in her hands, not thinking, and trying not to feel. It was Mimi’s rejection that hurt her most of all. She had really loved Mimi, and she’d thought Mimi had loved her.

  A few days later, an insured box arrived for Darcy from Mimi. Inside was an antique tiara made of silver-plated brass with one small diamond—Darcy had gasped when she realized it was a real diamond—set in the flower that rose above the other small silver flowers in the middle.

  I wore this to my wedding, Mimi wrote on the enclosed card. I hope it brings you as much joy as I had in my married life.

  Darcy cried so hard her shoulders shook.

  She was more cautious and less optimistic when she called her mother and her relatives in Chicago to tell them about Nash. They all congratulated her and wished her well, but regretted that they wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding. Her mother texted Darcy a message: Better luck this time.

  She cheered up when Jordan and Beverly told her they’d appointed themselves in charge of the Dress. This required a three-day trip to New York, where Edith Simon, the library’s director, had friends who ran a posh wedding boutique. Jordan and Beverly had a dog in the race, as the men liked to put it, because they were going to be matron of honor and bridesmaid and wanted to find something sexy and not magenta. Darcy was overwhelmed by the range of bridal costumes, as if this was the day the bride got to dress like her fantasy. She tried on ruffled, sashed dresses in the Scarlett O’Hara mode and dropped-waist Art Deco beaded flapper dresses in the Great Gatsby style. Little Bo Peep. Vegas showgirl. Seventies’ flower child. Finally, she found the perfect dress. Because this was her second marriage, she didn’t want to wear white. Instead, she chose a very simple silk gown of creamy, glossy ivory, with long sleeves, a plunging neckline and back, and a small train. No beads, no embroidery. The price was exorbitant, because the cut of the gown was so elegant. It had to fit perfectly, and it did.

  “It’s a bit King Edward and Wallis Simpson,” Jordan said.

  “Good,” Darcy replied, “because I want Nash to remain as gaga over me as Edward was over Wallis.”

  “Also,” Beverly said, “I think anything embroidered or beaded would be over-the-top if you’re going to wear the tiara.”

  Time blurred. Darcy and Nash, with Jordan’s calming assistance, took care of the five thousand details necessary for a simple wedding and a brilliant reception. Jordan threw a bridal shower for Darcy, complete with silly hats and ridiculous games. Lyle hosted a bachelor party for Nash, with whiskey and steaks and, Darcy was happy to learn, without strippers. Willow and Justin arrived, holding hands constantly and exchanging meaningful looks. Justin was a tall, skinny, silent boy. Willow had the same bounteous body her mother had and wore long loose shirts to camouflage her figure as she fluttered around the house. Justin hardly spoke and Willow talked incessantly. Willow glowed and danced, and Justin seemed like the string steadying the bright, flippy kite that was Willow.

  Suddenly Darcy and Nash were in the church, and a moment later, it seemed, they were married and standing in a receiving line at the reception. Darcy laughed through the toasts before the sit-down dinner of scallops and filet mignon, and drank a glass of water for every glass of champagne, and floated on air when Nash pulled her into his arms for the first dance of the evening.

  Later, as Darcy was leaning over the table to pick up a glass of water, she looked out at the dance floor, and everything seemed to freeze, as if, for a moment, time stood still.

  She saw Nash dancing with his mother. Jordan danced with Lyle, the two of them giving each other such intimate looks Darcy bet there would be another baby conceived that night. Beth O’Malley, who had conducted the women’s chorus, was in what looked like a deep and serious conversation with Juan, the Dominican carpenter on Nash’s crew. It was likely that Beth had found a new member of the church choir. Beverly Maison laughed at something Nash’s father was saying. Edith Simon, the director of the library, was dancing with her eight-year-old daughter, both of them wearing frilly lavender dresses. Karl Ledbetter, the contractor who headed up the crew Nash worked for, was in the corner of the room, chatting up beautiful Dee-Dee Folger, obviously not aware of Dee-Dee’s husband sitting at a table giving their new daughter a bottle. Dee-Dee looked mischievous; Darcy knew Dee-Dee was having fun flirting after so many months of pregnancy. Several of the local mothers who faithfully and with gratitude brought their children to story time were at one table with their husbands, laughing and looking ravishing in silk and stilettos. Eileen McFee, who had helped Penny in the garden until her death, sat next to her husband, completely focused on the wedding cake on her plate. Marlene deCosta, the real estate agent who had so gamely shown Darcy and Nash the houses they never bou
ght, was chatting up Grace Pindell, the head of the library’s board of trustees. Katherine Gibson, the town clerk, was whispering something to Ward Sullivan, the head of the board of selectmen, and Sarah Stover, Darcy’s lawyer and the town’s counsel. Willow and Justin were sneaking sips of champagne from Darcy and Nash’s glasses and Amy Tyrer was walking toward them with a determined frown. She spoke to the teenagers, who quickly put down the glasses and returned to the dance floor.

  So many people, Darcy thought. They had seventy guests, so many clever, bright, funny, adorable people. She allowed herself a brief moment to miss those not here—her parents, the Chicago relatives, and Susan Brueckner and Mimi. Yet deep in her soul she knew they were part of it all. The love she was given as a baby and child still sustained her as a grown, married woman. The lessons she’d learned from last summer’s summer neighbors were with her still, twining like climbing roses around her heart. She might never see Susan, Willow, and Mimi again, but they had changed her life, and in that way they remained with her always. She smiled when she thought of them.

  How fortunate she was.

  Tonight she and her husband would leave for their honeymoon in London. In two weeks they would return to their jobs on Nantucket.

  That summer Nash would begin building a swing set in their backyard, complete with a swing for the baby.

  To Tricia Patterson

  with admiration

  and heaps and heaps of love

  acknowledgments

  I can’t imagine living in a world without libraries and librarians. I wish I could thank by name every librarian I’ve ever met, from the kind women in Wichita, Kansas, where my mother took us to the library every Saturday long ago, to the Milwaukee librarian named Lorelei who drove a Corvette convertible.

  I’m so grateful to the women who were and are the library directors of our splendid Nantucket Atheneum—Barbara Andrews, Charlotte Maison, and Molly Anderson, and all their assistants, and all the volunteers. I want especially to thank Leslie Malcolm, director of the Weezie Library for Children at the Nantucket Atheneum. If I’ve made mistakes or perhaps changed library policy, I’ve done it in the service of fiction, and I’ll be so proud when this book is on the shelves of our island library. I want to thank Janice O’Mara, Lee Rand Burne, Christine Turrentine, Pam Kenny, Eileen McGrath, Maureen Beck, Ellie Coffin, Nancy Tyrer, Amy Jenness, Gillian Lewis, Pamela McGrady, Laura Freedman, Adelaide Richards, Christina Gessler, Ellen Young, Ben Murphy, and all the people who have sat at the circulation desk and helped me find a book or a DVD. It is true. If you want to know anything, ask a librarian.