by Mary Strand
The circus troupe left town, and I started the unpaid but cool summer internship I’d landed at Medtronic. In the next few weeks, Lydia added a few muscles and got skinnier, but she still had the grace of a water buffalo in skimpy tights. Cat moaned like a water buffalo, especially after scouring the want ads only to find a summer job at McDonald’s, flipping burgers. Inspired by all that ground beef and years of eating Mom’s lousy cooking, she’s now a vegetarian.
Other than that? Same old. Jane and I were talking again, somewhat, partly because she looked so pathetic all the time. How could she still miss Charlie? Even if Alex hadn’t warned him against Jane, did she really want a guy who’d dump her without even saying a word?
I also hadn’t heard anything from Alex, but what were the odds of a guy asking me out again after I crushed him like a cockroach under my Birkenstock the first time he asked? Zippo. I told myself I was glad.
But, then, I tell myself a lot of things.
June finally arrived, and Lydia left for Wisconsin Dells, but only after asking Dad if she could take the Jeep. As if! Dad just smiled at her over his reading glasses and said a single word: “Greyhound.”
As the summer passed in the usual blur—and without any word from Lydia—I managed to avoid another trip to Fargo despite Rachel’s constant begging. But my internship ended in August, and I was salivating over the prospect of Pronto Pups and Sweet Martha’s chocolate chip cookies at the Minnesota State Fair when my cell phone rang one day in mid-August. Aunt Molly.
Finally. My turn to visit New York. So I booked a flight, packed, and made one last stealth trek to Victoria’s Secret, emerging for the first time with a shopping bag in my sweaty palm and a semi-shocked look on my face.
I was ready for New York. I hoped.
When I arrived at LaGuardia, the game plan changed. We weren’t going to stay at Aunt Molly’s and Uncle Ed’s house in New Jersey. We weren’t even going to stay at their condo in the city. With their kids at summer camp, we were going to drive to Connecticut, roaming the countryside where Aunt Molly had gone to boarding school a million years ago.
So close to New York, and I’d been thwarted. Argh!
Our first stop: Greenwich. It reeked of money and reminded me of Alex, but what were the odds of running into him? Less than zero?
Friday night, we checked into Aunt Molly’s idea of a cute little country inn, which looked more like the Taj Mahal. The rooms were huge and lavish, the bathroom a shrine to marble and gold. But the pool? The size of a postage stamp. Aunt Molly and Uncle Ed had an Olympic-size pool at their house in New Jersey, and they came here? To swim in a bathtub?
Late Saturday morning, after sleeping in, I stared at the postage-stamp pool and bit my lip.
Aunt Molly sneaked up behind me. “Not much of a pool, I suppose, but that’s not what we’re here for, is it?”
Now that she mentioned it? Yes.
She dragged me to Uncle Ed’s silver Lexus. I trudged along, annoyed that I was too old to pout. But if I couldn’t hang out in New York City, couldn’t I at least stay at Aunt Molly’s and Uncle Ed’s? Lie by the pool? Work on my tan?
We stopped for lunch at an art-deco café offering fancy salads and nothing resembling a juicy burger, then hopped back in the Lexus. Uncle Ed revved the engine and glanced at Aunt Molly, who just nodded. We pulled out and were soon zooming along smooth back roads. A sea of imposing mansions, set back from the road, greeted us on each side. I couldn’t imagine why we were here. Sure, Aunt Molly loves her quirky road trips, but still. Was this her idea of showing me a good time?
Apparently. We soon turned in at a gated driveway. Uncle Ed mumbled something to the guard, who nodded and stepped aside. We crunched along the gravel drive until it forked. At the end of the left-hand fork, a mansion loomed.
“Who lives here, Aunt Molly?” I craned my head, trying to get a better peek at the monstrosity. I glanced down at my faded jeans, wishing I’d worn something decent.
Aunt Molly fluttered the fingers of one hand. “Oh, we’re not visiting. I don’t actually know them, although—”
She broke off, gave me a too-bright smile, then glanced at Uncle Ed. His hands suddenly swerved on the steering wheel, taking us on the right-hand fork that led away from the mansion, heading toward...a carriage house. Huh?
We drew nearer, and I spotted a small, elegant sign over the door. Nicole’s. An art gallery. Mystery solved. I rolled my eyes and climbed out of the back seat.
The gallery didn’t look much bigger than the hotel swimming pool. As Aunt Molly and I moved closer, Uncle Ed sidestepped us. Unlike me, he’d long since paid his dues with Aunt Molly and didn’t have to participate in yet another of her art adventures. As Uncle Ed headed toward a small brook that wound around the property, I wanted to follow him. A cute little bridge, barely big enough for a poodle, crossed the brook.
Sighing, I stepped inside the gallery on Aunt Molly’s heels. A tiny bell over the door tinkled.
Inside, I blinked. The place looked straight out of New York City. Stark white walls, dotted with vivid paintings, and white pedestals holding sculpture. A few of the pieces looked almost familiar. Weird.
As I frowned, Aunt Molly strolled around the small space, hands clasped behind her back, oohing and aahing over every little thing. This brush stroke, that use of primitive shapes. Personally, I think people who paint or sculpt primitive shapes just haven’t progressed beyond third grade, but I didn’t share my opinion with Aunt Molly. I still had faint hopes of talking her into New York City.
A little old lady in a navy blue dress and matching shoes sat on a chair along the farthest wall from the door. She nodded at us, smiling faintly. Aunt Molly took that as an invitation.
“Good afternoon! What an excellent gallery.”
The older woman swayed in her chair. As I prayed she didn’t fall over and die, I kept glancing at the painting I’d been drawn to since we’d walked inside. It almost looked like—
“Has the Darcy family owned this very long?” Aunt Molly aimed a sneaky smile in my direction when I gasped out loud. No wonder! The painting I’d been staring at looked like a younger version of Alex!
The remains of lunch curdled in my stomach.
The older woman scorched us over the tops of her cat-eye glasses. “How do you know the Darcys?”
I waved a shaking hand in the air, trying not to look alarmed. “Oh, I just, uh, know Alex. Not too well.”
Aunt Molly jabbed me in the small of my back until I tripped forward, toward the woman. “Liz met Alex and a couple of his friends in Minnesota last fall.”
I got to know him even better over spring break, but I sure didn’t plan to mention it.
The woman squinted at me, sweeping her gaze from the ends of my messy hair to the tips of my beat-up running shoes. “Whom shall I say stopped by? I’ll let Alex know.”
“No need.” Beads of sweat spiked my hairline, and a frantic urge to escape flooded through me. “He’s not around right now, is he?”
The woman looked at her watch. Not a good sign. “I don’t expect him, no. Not until tomorrow.”
I started to back toward the door, pushing against Aunt Molly’s hard knuckles, still pressing into my back.
Aunt Molly smiled again at the woman. “I’m Molly Gerber and this is my niece, Liz Bennet. Liz can be shy sometimes.”
Oh?
The woman fluttered a wrinkled, paper-thin hand. “I’m Gloria Renaldi. Nice to meet you.”
As Aunt Molly chatted up a storm, I finally escaped her knuckles and started inching backward to freedom. When Aunt Molly didn’t follow, I went to the one window in the place and looked outside. All I could see was Uncle Ed, still hanging out by the brook.
Aunt Molly moved around the room at a glacial speed, commenting on this and that. Finally she stopped at an odd portrait, done in shadows, very unlike the others. I’d noticed it immediately, but it wasn’t close enough to the door to allow an easy escape.
Mrs. Renaldi pointe
d a bony finger at the painting. “That’s Alex.” She gave me an indulgent smile. “Doesn’t it look just like him?”
Not particularly. Alex was cuter, even in jerk mode.
Aunt Molly lit up. “Does he spend much time here?”
“When he can. He’s in the city quite often, working, but he spends more time here in the summer.”
I turned my back on Aunt Molly and Mrs. Renaldi. I didn’t mind getting the scoop on Alex, but prickles of fear were dancing up and down my spine. I needed to leave. Now!
Aunt Molly wasn’t budging, though, so I kept my position near the window, watching nervously outside while she inspected every square inch of the tiny gallery. Even if it didn’t belong to Alex’s family, I would’ve been through the place in five minutes. Knowing Alex might show up, maybe more like thirty seconds. Tops.
The bell tinkled over the door again. I whirled—and faced Alex. In the flesh.
I mean, he had clothes on. Not that I’d ever tried to imagine Alex without clothes or even wondered if I’d ever get another chance to kiss him. Like, for hours. Just thinking about it, I felt my face flush.
Worse, I suddenly realized I’d stepped into a nightmare. Alex already thinks he’s God’s gift to the world, and now he’ll think I traveled all the way to Connecticut to find him.
Shit!
As my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, Alex’s mouth opened in disbelief.
I hadn’t seen him in five months. Not since I slammed a door on him, then got a frozen butt and more questions than answers. As thoughts flooded my brain, I realized, staring at a tan face that suddenly went pale, that I didn’t hate him. I also wasn’t afraid of him anymore—or, really, of what The Book might do to me. I just wasn’t sure what I felt.
Or where I was.
Oh, yeah. In a little art gallery on Alex’s family’s huge estate with Aunt Molly. Crap! I’d forgotten all about Aunt Molly. I whirled around to see what she was doing. Maybe she was still fixated on some dumb painting in a primitive style.
Nope. Zeroed in on me.
“Liz?” “Liz?”
Alex and Aunt Molly both called my name at the same moment. I didn’t know what to say, and I hadn’t spied an emergency exit. Alex had the front door covered.
Sighing, I glanced back and forth between them. “Alex Darcy, this is my aunt Molly. Molly Gerber.” I turned to Alex, holding my hands up in surrender. “I swear, I didn’t have a clue that you lived here.”
Alex grinned, startling me.
“Alex?” Aunt Molly stepped forward, a tiny line running down the center of her forehead. “So you’re Liz’s friend.”
“Yes.” “Not exactly.”
Aunt Molly leaped past me, in her brisk, I-work-in-New-York way, and extended a hand. As Alex shook it, I tried to remember what his hand felt like. Not like I’d spent any time holding it or anything. Argh. I needed to slap myself.
“Isn’t it a lovely coincidence that your friend Alex owns this gallery, Liz?”
A coincidence? I looked at Aunt Molly, eyebrows raised. Aunt Molly knows who owns every gallery in the five-state area, which artists they’re exhibiting, and probably what the owners had for lunch.
Alex shrugged. “Actually, it’s owned by a family trust for the benefit of my mom’s favorite charities.”
Aunt Molly looked innocent, which meant she was absolutely guilty. “I’d heard there was an art gallery in the vicinity, and the name sounded familiar, but I—”
“Aunt Molly...” If she weren’t my favorite aunt, I’d kill her. In fact, I still hadn’t ruled it out.
Alex stepped into the civil war erupting between Aunt Molly and me. “My mom owned a lot of cool artwork. After she died, not many people got to see it anymore, so Dad set up this little art gallery in the old carriage house. It’s just open in the summer months. Not a big operation.”
I glanced around at walls sprinkled with works by Degas and Cézanne and wondered how Alex would define a “big operation.” And where was the security? A crumpled little old lady nearly passed out on a chair? I’d hire someone with an Uzi.
In my silence, Alex spoke up again. “My mom was an artist, but she hid her own paintings and sculptures in the attic. Dad thought they should be here, too, even though I wasn’t sure about these gross ones of me.”
Gross? Alex was a lot of things, but he wasn’t gross.
“We have to be going now, don’t we, Aunt Molly?” I backed toward the door, trying to get around Alex without touching him.
“Oh, no rush. I told Ed we’d be here a while.”
“But Alex is a busy guy.” I tried to ignore him, even though all six-feet-two of him rose before me like Vesuvius. Sidling around him didn’t work. I could swear he kept shuffling his feet in whichever direction I turned.
Alex tapped me on the shoulder. “You don’t need to rush away, Liz. I thought I saw you walking in here when I drove in from the city, and I had to check it out.”
“Well, great to see you.” In a painful sort of way. “But we really have to be leaving.”
“Liz!”
As Aunt Molly gave me a quick frown, Alex looked at his watch. See? Already tired of me. “It’s nearly three. Did you have plans for dinner?”
“Yes.” “No.”
Aunt Molly and I glared at each other. “Aunt Molly, you must be forgetting the reservations you made for tonight.”
She waved a hand. “Reservations can be cancelled.”
Alex jammed his hands in his pockets. “How about dinner up at the house? Both of you, of course, and...your husband? Didn’t I see a man come in with you earlier?”
Aunt Molly lit up. “My husband, Ed, is out wandering the path along that charming little brook that crosses your property. He’s seen a few too many art galleries in his lifetime, if you know what I mean.”
She actually winked at Alex. I mean, she’s nearly forty. And married. I gazed longingly at the window in the corner. I’d have to climb onto a bench, smash the pane with my hand, and wedge myself through the tiny opening without getting shards of glass embedded in me. Hmmm.
Alex’s voice broke through my mental calculations. “Liz? Are you interested?”
In Alex? As if! I examined my scuffed-up sneakers. “Okay, I guess. If Aunt Molly wants to.”
“Oh, we’d love to. What time? Liz, would you like to go back to our hotel and change first?”
I skimmed my gaze from my sneakers upward, catching the food stain on my jeans and the tiny rip—hardly noticeable—on the bottom edge of my Jerry Garcia T-shirt. “Uhhh...”
“My dad is in Paris this week, but Charlie and Stephanie are up at the house. I’m sure they’d love to see you.”
Talk about doubtful. I still remembered Charlie’s short, snotty email. Would he be like that in person? The Charlie I’d known and Jane had stupidly loved?
I frowned. “Why?”
“Liz!”
Alex shook his head. “It’s okay, Mrs. Gerber. I’ve heard much worse from Liz.”
“Call me Molly. But I see you do know her.” Aunt Molly chuckled, even as Mrs. Renaldi looked like she’d pass out on the floor.
I sighed. For Jane’s sake, I’d brave it. I could deal with Stephanie, and I needed to see Charlie. One last time.
“Fine. What time should we be back?”
“Come up anytime. But no need to change on my account.” Alex grinned, startling me. “This isn’t exactly the first time I’ve seen you dressed like that.”
And he’d asked me out anyway. “I wasn’t planning to dress up. We just need to go back to the hotel.”
“We do?” Aunt Molly frowned. “Why?”
“Because —” I broke off, partly because I couldn’t think of an excuse, but mostly thanks to the loud splash that reached our ears. “Because Uncle Ed probably wants to change. It sounds like he fell in.”
The three of us dashed outside, Alex’s shoulders colliding with mine as we squeezed through the door. Uncle Ed lay sprawled in the water, a splint
er of wood still in his hand.
He caught sight of Alex and waved the large splinter in the air. “Sorry! Excellent brook you have here, but the bridge has seen better days.”
Surprising me for the fourth time in ten minutes, Alex laughed. “You know, most of my guests just ask if they want to go fishing. If you want to swim, we have a pool.”
A pool? Fine. Maybe I would come back. Just for that.
Or so I kept telling myself.
Aunt Molly started in on me the moment we got in the car.
“Alex is so nice. Almost...sweet.”
I blushed despite myself. “I guess you met him on a good day.” Frankly, I’d been amazed at how nice he’d been. Almost like a normal person.
As Uncle Ed put the Lexus into gear and slowly cruised back up to the front gate, Aunt Molly stared out the side window. “It was certainly thoughtful of him to invite us to dinner.”
“Especially after I broke his damn bridge.” Uncle Ed’s eyes twinkled in the rearview mirror. “I offered to pay for it, but he turned me down.”
I snorted. “You offered him twenty dollars.”
“Still.”
All three of us laughed. Aunt Molly turned around in the front passenger seat to look at me. “He can afford the bridge repair, Liz. From the looks of that house, he can afford just about anything he wants.”
Except me.
Aunt Molly exchanged a quick look with Uncle Ed that I couldn’t decipher. Uncle Ed returned his gaze to the road, silent. As usual.
Finally, Aunt Molly turned back to me. “Jane was in town twice and never managed to run into Charlie. You’ve been here less than a day, and you’re having dinner with all of them.”
So even Aunt Molly didn’t know that Jane ran into Charlie—in a big way—in January. And Jane had been staying with Aunt Molly. I snorted. “Just call me lucky.”
“Lucky.” Aunt Molly smiled, then studied me a lot more closely than I appreciated. “But are you sure you’re not attracted to Alex? You seemed awfully tongue-tied in the gallery.”
Shaking my head, I tried to picture myself making out with Alex in a closet. No way. Of course, the closets in Alex’s mansion are probably the size of my parents’ living room. As Uncle Ed’s Lexus glided along the winding road, my stomach gurgled. I rolled down the window.