“Hi, I’m Darcy,” she said with an extended hand, leaning in toward her.
She looked at her blankly, looked at the hand with a raised eyebrow, and looked back. Catching onto her annoyance, Darcy lowered her hand into her back jeans pocket and stepped back.
“And this is my friend Charlotte,” she continued. Charlotte ever so slightly raised her hand in greeting. “I want to get a tattoo, and everyone says that you’re the best.”
Marjorie inclined her head at that, not impressed with her brownnosing. After a few more minutes of awkwardly facing each other in silence, Marjorie finally spoke. “Who’s everyone?” she asked indifferently, allowing a glimpse of her tongue, confirming the tongue ring.
“The townies who hang out at Tom’s,” she replied without missing a beat.
She nodded then and smiled, which shocked Darcy more than if she’d pulled out a gun. Her features were as delicate and dainty as her sister’s, no doubt she had adapted her scowl as a counterbalance. When she smiled, she looked girlish and pretty, her seventy plus years melting away before their eyes.
“What about you?” she asked Charlotte.
Charlotte quickly shook her head.
“No, no. I’m here for moral support, that’s it,” she rapidly replied.
Marjorie shrugged her shoulders and added, “suit yourself.”
She finished her cigarette, threw it on the porch, and smashed the butt with her heel. Darcy looked over at Marcelina, who was barely containing her fury. Anyone could see how badly she wanted to yell at her sister, but her good manners held her tongue in check in front of customers. Marjorie looked over at her and gestured for her and Char to follow her inside.
Marjorie led them inside through the orchard shop, a tidy little room full of coolers holding pies, freezers with frozen berries, shelves stacked with jams, jellies, salsas, and spices, and one wall dedicated to their fruit wines. Darcy would definitely need to go back for a few samples. She looked over at Charlotte , who nodded her agreement, intrinsically knowing the question from the look on Darcy’s face. They passed through a supply room with empty jars and bottles in neat rows on shelves waiting to be filled, baskets for the fall apple picking and smaller ones for the current berry picking, labels, and boxes. Quite the cottage industry Marcelina had set up. Darcy wondered how much she sold in a year, if she had a mail-order business, how she had gotten started. She wanted to know it all.
Marjorie came to a stop in front of a locked door. She reached into her vest pocket again and pulled out her keys. After fitting a key into the lock, she pushed open the door and motioned for us to enter first. The room was dark, dank, and dusty. Darcy couldn’t see inside very clearly at first, as heavy black drapes hung over the windows, but it smelled of neglect, that indefinable must of stale air, mothballs, and old Naugahyde.
Marjorie walked in behind them, flipped on a switch, and the single light bulb above blinked into life after a couple false starts. Their eyes had barely adjusted to the artificial light when she threw open the curtains. Darcy blinked hard again and took another look around. The wall opposite the windows had been entirely covered in mirrors, like a dance studio. Where the ballet bar should be, a black lacquered shelf jutted out holding all sorts of containers and needles for tattooing. In front of the shelf sat a row of three stools covered in black Naugahyde. A stack of four banquet chairs sat in the corner and directly in front of the window sat a flat black Naugahyde daybed.
Everything was covered in approximately two inches of dust.
“I never let Marcelina in here,” Marjorie offered as means of explanation to their unspoken questions.
Darcy started to get nervous. She wanted a tattoo, not tetanus or hepatitis C, and she was having serious misgivings about the cleanliness of the shop. She was there on the word of a good-looking man. When Darcy stopped to think, that probably wasn’t a good enough reason to be doing something. Right at that moment, Marjorie moved to the locked closet Darcy had missed in her perusal of the shop. Marjorie unlocked it and opened the door to reveal an organized set of shelves with pristine needles and well cared for pigments. Darcy let out a sigh of relief.
“I closed the shop about ten years ago and left everything the way it was on that last day. Sorry it’s a mess, I don’t get in here to clean as often as I should.” Or ever, she wanted to add. “But I always tend to my tools.”
Marjorie walked over to put everything on the table and patted one of the stools. Darcy sat on it gingerly at first, then thinking how stupid it was to be concerned about getting a little dirty, she relaxed. Char walked over to the daybed by the window. After thoroughly inspecting the cracked seat underneath a liberal covering of dust, she put one leg underneath her and half sat, half perched.
Marjorie had been too busy prepping her station to pay any attention to them.
“What do you want?”
Darcy pulled out the sketch of strawberry leaves with a tiny flower to surround the birthmark on her ankle. Immediately, she started apologizing about the tattoo design being so small. She couldn’t help but think back to one of the first things Ben had ever said—that she apologized too much. Maybe he was right. Marjorie listened and nodded her head then stopped her with a hand.
“Enough, I get it.”
She then proceeded to ignore Char in favor of the ankle. She reclined the chair to bring the footrest up to the height of the table and lifted her foot gently. Darcy giggled.
“Sorry, it tickles,” she said sheepishly.
Marjorie shot her a questioning look. Darcy didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t. She maintained eye contact with Marjorie, and after a minute, the older lady shook her head.
“It’s going to be a lot worse than ticklish. Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” she replied clearly.
And that was the end of talking.
She grabbed a thin-tipped marker and began to sketch the bud and leaves. Darcy stole a few glimpses and what she saw was stunning. She knew better than to say anything else. Marjorie would not have taken any suggestions from her with good grace. After studying her design from a few different angles, she nodded to herself then over at Char. That was the big cue that the needle would start and she’d need to help hold her down.
Darcy had never realized that something so little could cause so much pain. It gave her real misgivings about the labor and delivery of a baby. She blacked out as the pain persisted. She didn’t remember much after Char had to put her weight on Darcy’s torso to keep her in the chair.
When Darcy came to, her ankle burned and Char stood over her, fanning her.
“Is it over?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“A while.”
She flushed. “At least no one else was here to witness that.”
Char nodded slowly. “I’m going to drive us home, okay?”
“That sounds good. I’m ready to get up now.”
Char helped raise her to a sitting position then out of the chair. They wandered back the way they had come, finding Marjorie outside on the porch smoking another cigarette.
She nodded at her, took one final drag, and then threw the butt out into the gravel.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“It happens more than you think,” Marjorie said.
Darcy nodded, pulled out a wad of cash, and paid her.
“If there are any problems, call me,” she said, handing her a piece of paper.
“I will. Thank you,” she replied.
Marjorie gave her a meaningful nod and stepped inside. Darcy turned back to Char and shrugged, following her to the car. They pulled out of the driveway and retraced their route back to town.
“Stop the car!” Darcy shouted.
Char nearly rolled the car into a ditch on the edge of Bayfield but managed to pull into the gravel driveway near a little yellow house instead.
“What’s wrong with you? Why did you scream that
? I could have just killed us.”
Darcy jumped out of the car and made her frantic way over to the door of the little house.
“What are we doing here? Do you know these people?” Char asked.
“No, of course not,” she said, surprised. Then she caught on to her misunderstanding and pointed to the small sign resting against the door. “This is a bakery. It’s the best in town, from what I’ve heard.”
Char perked up at that. And they were in luck. It was a Friday, apple doughnut day. Darcy salivated at the smell of baked goods coming out of the small bakery and left with a pie and a dozen doughnuts.
They took their doughnuts and drove to the park on the lake in the center of town. They walked down to benches that were a little out of the way, the better to enjoy fatty delicious treats without being judged by prying eyes. Darcy had her first bite of doughnut, enough to make her sigh with pleasure, when the phone rang. She looked to Char, half expecting it to be her on the other end. Char looked back at Darcy quizzically and grabbed the doughnut so she could pull the phone out of her pocket.
The number displayed was listed as unknown, so Darcy quickly swallowed that first bite whole and said a bit unsteadily “Hello?”
“Hi? Darcy?”
“Yes?”
“Hi, it’s Eric.”
“Oh, hi,” she said brightly.
Darcy wondered if he could hear the smile in her voice. Char hit her on the knee and mouthed who? She ignored her and got up from the bench to get a little bit of privacy.
“I was actually getting my tattoo. It’s so funny that you called.”
“You did? Good for you.”
Darcy laughed a bit nervously in response.
“I was wondering if you wanted to meet up for dinner tonight?”
“I can’t tonight. I’m busy,” she said smoothly.
“What are you doing?”
Darcy paused, which was unfortunate. She hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth for fear that he might actually come. She was probably tone-deaf. Singing karaoke wasn’t going to win her any points with him. But thanks to the pause, if she wasn’t entirely honest, it would be too easy to think she was lying. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t want to see him.
“I’m going to the Bell Street for karaoke with some friends.”
“Oh,” Eric replied.
He seemed to be at a loss. Did he believe her or think she had made up some story? She didn’t want to take a chance on a miscommunication, so she elaborated. “My best friend is putting me up to it. I’m mortified thinking about it, to be honest.”
“I might see you there then.”
Darcy was disappointed. She’d hoped he say he was coming or at least would ask her out for another night. Was he saying see you there as a brush off?
“Great,” she said a touch too brightly. “I’ve got to go. I’m out with a friend.”
“Of course. I’ll see you around.”
“Absolutely. Bye,” she replied, trying to sound noncommittal and happy.
Darcy walked back over to Char and sat down on the bench a little dejected. She reached her hand over for her doughnu and took another bite, the initial rush of sugar soothing her.
“So . . . ” Char began slowly. “Who was that?”
“Eric,” Darcy said softly.
Char didn’t respond, so Darcy looked up at her and saw the blank look of ignorance on her features.
“The guy from the bar.”
“Oh, Adam Levine.”
It was Darcy’s turn to be confused.
“That’s what John called him. And I think it’s pretty spot on. He’s a lot buffer than Adam Levine, though.”
“Yeah,” she sighed breathlessly.
“What did he want?”
“To go out tonight.”
“And?” She asked. The broad smile on her friend’s face gave her pause. Darcy bit the inside of her cheek.
“I said I had plans,” Darcy replied.
“Darcy,” Char gasped.
“What? I do,” Darcy whispered. Her ears burned and she looked away from Char.
“Oh my—John and I are not plans! Not when there is a good-looking man who wants to take you out to dinner.”
Darcy took a bite of her doughnut, nearly eating the rest of it whole.
“Darcy, come on,” Char said. She nudged her friend’s shoulder and sighed.
“He said he might see me there,” Darcy continued through a full mouth. She paused to swallow and consider. “But he didn’t ask me out for Saturday. He’s probably not interested,” Darcy said, still feeling defensive and hurt.
“I’m sure he will, and I’m sure he’ll come tonight,” Char reassured.
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”
They ate three doughnuts each. By mutual consent, after realizing they had each eaten their entire caloric intake for the day, they did what any sane girl would do. They got off the ferry and immediately picked up a pizza. They ate it cold after dropping off the remainder of the doughnuts for John. Then it was time for naps to sleep off the food and rest up for the evening ahead.
Chapter Eleven
The problem with being on a boat alone, Ben found, was that you were on a boat alone. Having no one around to talk to, Ben had spent an entire day thinking and pacing. The bright blue sky had been wasted on him. Dark clouds fit his mood better. He’d finally admitted to himself that maybe he hadn’t acted in an entirely blameless manner when it came to Darcy. He’d let his emotions about his mom affect him, and she’d been the unwitting scapegoat.
Ben liked her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He could picture something with Darcy. He could imagine a future and a life with her in a way that he’d never let himself dream about with any other girl. He didn’t know that he wanted that right now. But maybe his mom had a point too. Maybe there never would be a good moment.
After a day spent cruising around the islands, he’d moored the boat at the yacht club, walked down to town for dinner, and returned to the town homes to find them dark and shuttered for the night. Ben glanced at his watch. It was only eight o’clock, but typically the outside lights would be on by now, if anyone was home.
He walked into a dark house, turned on the kitchen light, and at the bottom of the note he’d left for John, he found one meant for him.
“Ben—I’m out at the Bell Street Tavern. If you decide to apologize and want to come out with us, you’re more than welcome.”
Ben sighed. He didn’t want to go and apologize. But he knew he had to. He headed upstairs, decided to take a quick nap before he showered and headed over there.
- # -
“What’s your brother’s problem?” Darcy asked John boldly.
John held her gaze for a moment, long enough for Darcy to squirm and turn to look away.
They’d been at the Bell Street Tavern for a while and had already downed two drinks each and a round of shots. Darcy had enough of a buzz to relax, but not enough to claim she didn’t know what she was doing. Char had wandered off to the bathroom, leaving John and Darcy alone. They’d developed a friendship of their own, and while it probably wasn’t appropriate to put someone on the spot about their sibling, she thought their connection was enough to finally get some answers.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, why is he . . .” her mind trailed off. Darcy was searching for a word but her brain was slow from inebriation.
“You have him wrong, you know,” John said to Darcy, pulling her back to their conversation. “He’s not . . . there’s a lot going on with him right now.”
She dramatically rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t have him wrong. First impressions are never wrong,” she told him.
“Says you.”
“Says me,” she agreed.
They let the conversation drop off awkwardly. How long had Char been gone? Had she taken the ferry back to Bayfield to find a bathroom? Darcy pulled out her phone to text her, when John spoke again.
“Why do you care so much?” John asked with his usual, mischievous grin. “Why bring him up?”
“Because,” she stalled, twirling the hem of her skirt between her fingers. “Because I can’t stand that someone doesn’t like me based on their misinterpretation,” her words tumbled out in a petulant rush. She sounded like the prepubescent version of herself. Darcy wanted to kick herself then hide under the table.
John stared at her intently, carefully measuring his response. “But Darcy, isn’t that a two-way street?” he asked in all seriousness.
Darcy stared at the ground and thought about his question. She tried to give the impression that she was absorbed in her shoes, desperately trying not to let her inebriated self declare the truth screaming in her eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled as Char rejoined the table.
“I leave for three minutes, and now you’ve both gotten so serious?” Charlotte waved their waitress over. “Another round of shots, if you please. This time two Jägerbombs and . . .” she paused, pointedly looking at Darcy, “a lemon drop.”
Darcy sat up straighter, “thank you,” she primly told Charlotte, crossing her legs in a more ladylike manner.
The moment her shot glass hit the table, she felt a hand grazing her lower back. Darcy turned and instantly smiled. Eric smiled back.
“Hi,” she said in her lowest voice.
Darcy was feeling sexy and attractive and confident. Seeing Eric felt perfect. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something good might happen with him if she could let herself relax around him.
“Hi,” he replied, staring deeply into her eyes.
After a moment’s hesitation, enough to make her blush in a very girlish way, Eric turned to her companions. He nodded hello to Charlotte and reached across the table to shake John’s hand.
Darcy almost giggled. She felt like she was introducing him to her parents. Eric pulled a bar stool over from another table and sat tantalizingly close to her. His thigh almost touched hers and she could feel the heat of it against her bare legs. Their arms rested on the table next to each other.
Tiny Island Summer Page 11