by Roz Bailey
“Oh, Kevin.” She tried not to let disappointment tinge her voice. “This really is a big surprise. Huge.”
So huge, she didn’t know how she’d ever get around it.
52
Elle
Elle pulled her legs onto the smooth, oversized leather chair and tucked her knees under her chin as the lawyer went on about the codicils in Gram’s will, the odd specifications, the trust fund, foundation, and hold on the sale of her house.
“I thought Gram’s house was already sold,” Elle said. “That was why I couldn’t live there.” Not that she’d want to, since the nightmarish images of her worst summer were tied into that place. Besides, the two-story colonial on Shelter Island had been renovated to include two meandering wings that created a rabbit warren of hallways so confusing, once Elle chose a bedroom she could never seem to find it again. It was no place for a single woman to live.
“The house can never be sold.” The lawyer, Edgar Shoefield, reached into a wood-paneled box on his desk and extracted a cigar, which be popped into his mouth and let droop above the sagging skin of his jaw. Elle suspected he’d been one of Gram’s contemporaries, maybe even a boyfriend. “Right now it’s rented, being kept available for your father’s return to the area. However, if he does not occupy the house within the next ten years, it will become the property of the foundation, to be used as a nonprofit summer camp for children.”
“That sounds totally cool.” Elle had always liked the way Gram worked.
“I’m not sure your father quite agrees, but there you have it. That’s the house.”
“But what about Gram’s estate?” she asked. “She always told me I’d be well taken care of.” Those words had popped into Elle’s head when she’d so desperately wished to help Darcy hold on to the Love Mansion.
“The cash disbursements are another story,” Edgar said grumpily. “Your father has received his, but you’re not entitled to yours until you reach the age of twenty-one.”
“Which happens this October.” Duh.
“Yes, of course.”
“So why didn’t my parents tell me about any of this?”
His steely gray eyes flashed over his reading glasses. “You’re asking me?”
“Yeah, I am, Ebenezer.”
The man sighed, a raspy sound. “In my checkered experience, I’ve seen parents worry about their children receiving an infusion of cash. I’ve seen children burn away said infusions of cash. Perhaps it’s the obvious.”
“Maybe. So, how much is my inheritance?” Elle was thinking along the lines of a hundred thousand dollars . . . enough for a down payment on a small condo.
He held his cigar away from his mouth as he read from her file. “Ten million dollars, U.S.”
“What?” she shrieked, jumping up in the chair. “Are you yanking me?”
“A little decorum, Ms. DuBois,” he growled, though a smile tugged at his mouth. “I assure you, no representative of this firm has ever ‘yanked’ a client.”
“Ten million dollars?”
He nodded. “U.S.”
She slid out of the chair and went to read the file on his desk. “Edgar, I could just kiss you.”
“I know,” he said dryly. “But I’ll settle for a resolution of our meeting so that I can make my two o’clock tee time.”
“Goody gumpers!” Elle kickboxed her shadow, then jumped in a circle. “I can pay full price for the Love Mansion and still have money left over.”
“We’ll talk in October about inheritance taxes and other ramifications,” he said, extending his hand.
Elle shook, then snatched his cigar from his mouth. “You know, smoking can kill you.”
“I’m eighty-one, Ms. DuBois. Something is going to get me sooner or later.”
“Okay, then.” She shoved the cigar back onto his spotted lips. “See you in October!”
53
Darcy
“What time is the realtor getting here?” Lindsay asked as she reached under the hood and turned on the stove light.
Darcy had read that a place should be well illuminated when you’re showing it for an open house, and since the September afternoon was overcast, that meant throwing dozens of switches in the Love Mansion.
“Thirty minutes till Cruella the realtor, and the open house starts in an hour.” Darcy flipped through a stack of mail on the cooking island, pausing when she came across a newsletter from Hunter College in Manhattan. She was trying to clear up clutter before the potential buyers arrived, but she wanted to check the calendar to see when auditions were scheduled for their fall theater production. “Did I tell you I’m registered for Hunter this fall? I’m going to finish off my degree, at a more affordable price than Bennington.”
“That’s awesome! So you’ll be in the city. We can meet for movies or dinner.”
“Yup. I’m even going to try out for the next production.”
Lindsay said something about putting out fresh-cut flowers, but Darcy was only half listening, focused on the page that showed calendars of August, September, and October. Auditions were the weekend of September twenty-third. Perfect, except that she’d have her period. Oh, well, she’d deal with it during tryouts.
Except, when was the last time she’d had it? She didn’t recall anything the whole month of August . . .
“Oh, God, I’m late.” Her heart hammered in her chest.
“Don’t worry, we’ll pull it all together before the open house,” Lindsay said, breezing into the dining room. “In fact, we’ve still got time to get a pie in the oven, or cookies. That fresh-baked smell is supposed to be irresistible.”
“I’m not talking about the open house.” Darcy followed her into the next room, rolling the college calendar into a tube. “My period is late.”
Lindsay placed the Mikasa crystal bowl on the mahogany table and turned to her. “How late?”
Sick with panic, Darcy hugged herself. “Very.”
“Okay.” Lindsay checked her watch again. “Go out now and get a test kit. Neither of us will be able to stand it till we know the truth, and anyway, we need some frozen pie or cookie dough to stick in the oven.” She turned Darcy around and pushed her toward the kitchen door. “Go now, and don’t overthink it. It could be just some change in your body. Stress. You’ve had a lot of that.”
By the time Darcy returned, Gladys the evil realtor had arrived and was already taking command of the house that Darcy had nurtured all summer.
“Get the flowers out of the dining room. It’s the room for food,” she said, pointing to the fresh-cut roses Lindsay had floated in the Mikasa bowl. “In there! Much better.”
Darcy plunked the package of cookie dough in Lindsay’s hands. “I’m going upstairs to do this,” she said, unable to think of anything else.
The suspense was excruciating, her nerves so shattered that her fingers fumbled when opening the package.
A ten-minute wait, maybe twenty.
She paced in her bathroom, over the pearly marble tiles her mother had been so insistent upon when they’d renovated so many years ago. Italian marble and gold fixtures. A multifaucet shower big enough for an orgy. Well, the shower had certainly come in handy this summer, though it had only been Kevin and her, screwing like bunnies. They’d given up on condoms, but she was on the pill, right?
Sliding open the vanity drawer, she found the pill pack and popped it open. Three white pills remained, along with a blue one in another row. Okay, she’d missed three days at the beginning of the month, but that shouldn’t matter, right? She’d heard that after you were on birth control pills for a few months, you were protected from pregnancy if you missed one now and then.
There was a knock on the door. “It’s me.”
Darcy unlocked it and let Lindsay in.
“How’s it going?” she asked tentatively, closing the door behind her.
“It’s just about time to check.” Darcy stepped toward the little stick balanced on the white box, but she didn’t need to get any
closer to see the pink line.
Very pink.
“Oh, no.” She sank down to the marble tile as Lindsay stepped around her to take a look.
“I take it that means you’re pregnant?” Lindsay asked.
Darcy nodded.
“Oh.” Lindsay sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub, her tanned legs dangling, her toes working to keep her red flip-flops on. “I know that wasn’t in your plans.”
Tears stung her eyes as Darcy shook her head. “I was on the pill. Sort of.”
“You know what?” Lindsay slid off the tub and kneeled beside her. “It’s all going to be okay. Whatever you want to do, whatever you decide, it’ll be fine. And I’ll be beside you all the way, Darce. I won’t let you go through this alone.”
This . . . this pregnancy. A baby inside her?
How could that happen?
Darcy reached out to hug her friend, but as Lindsay’s hands patted her back she broke down in tears and sobbed on Lindsay’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Lindsay whispered. “You’re not alone.”
54
Darcy
“We find the defendant, Buford Love, guilty.” The forewoman of the jury turned her squarish face toward Darcy’s father and glared at him from behind her glasses, her lip curled like a Doberman ready to attack. The bitch.
Darcy wanted to stride over to her and strip that unfashionable eyeware off her face, but she figured that one criminal was enough for the Love family. In front of her, Dad’s lawyers muttered to each other, the lead counsel, George, turning to her father with a hand on his back and whispering in his ear. Darcy imagined he was giving Dad the “we did our best, gave it the old college try” speech. She’d never know, because ever since Mom dropped out of the scene Dad’s attorneys had stopped acknowledging Darcy.
Sliding down on the wooden bench, Darcy felt as if she were sinking in a black hole, the lawyers and court officers, the protestors, jury, and New Yorkers of the courtroom swirling around her, a teeming mass of chatter and sweat, hot breath and disapproving, curled lips. She was sinking, being sucked into the vortex of the noise and indignation and disapproval.
She couldn’t take it . . . the bitter animosity toward her father, who’d now left her with nothing.
How was she supposed to survive and take care of a tiny baby?
She felt herself gag and worried that she was going to throw up in the courtroom—which would make the angry mob that much more repulsed by her.
Something pressed on her shoulder, and she lifted her heavy head.
“You okay?” Lindsay asked, leaning close. An angel over her shoulder.
“I feel sick,” Darcy said.
Bending low, Lindsay slid an arm around her back and helped her up. Turning to the back of the courtroom, Darcy braced herself for more indignant faces. Instead she saw compassion, support and love in the faces of Tara and Elle, who stood waiting for her. When had they arrived? She hadn’t noticed, but she’d never been more relieved to see her friends. She wasn’t going to fall away into the vortex; her friends would help her find a way out of this.
“Looks like feeding time at the Bronx Zoo,” Elle said.
Tara touched Darcy’s cheek gently, then took her hand. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
55
Lindsay
“Lunch is on me,” I insisted behind my menu. The four of us—Darcy, Elle, Tara, and I—sat at a small, square table in Pigalle, a bistro in the theater district. “I love this place. They serve breakfast all day.” Maybe my voice sounded a little too chipper and cheerful, considering that my friends and I had just come from the courtroom where we’d heard about the big G verdict for Darcy’s dad, but in the scheme of importance, I figured Buford Love’s jail sentence paled compared to the other news Darcy was going to have to share with our friends.
“Should we order a bottle of wine?” Elle asked. “A zesty French cabernet? I’ll spring for that. I’ve actually got some good news . . . but that’s for later. Right now Darcy could use something to take the edge off.”
I choked on my water, prompting Tara to tap me in the center of the back. “How can you choke? We haven’t ordered yet.” Tara asked me.
“I’m okay,” I insisted.
Elle ordered a bottle of cabernet, Darcy sticking with water. We ordered steaks and hearty beef burgundy and eggs Benedict, and the waitress, Natalia, went on her way.
“Sorry about the verdict,” Elle said. “I know it was no surprise, but, well, sorry.”
Leaning close over the table, Tara pinched off a piece of olive bread. “I’m proud of you for sticking by your father till the end.”
“Not that he noticed,” Darcy said. “But honestly, I felt so out of it in that courtroom today. I’ve got bigger problems now.” She looked at me, and I nodded encouragingly. “The thing is, I’m pregnant.”
Elle’s eyes popped in shock. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Oh, Darcy . . .” Tara squeezed her wrist. “And what timing.”
“Okay, I’d say that’s bigger news than mine,” Elle said as the waitress poured her a taste of the cabernet. Instead of sipping she downed it, placed the glass on the table, and nodded at Natalia. “That’s what we need, and lots of it.”
Natalia laughed as she filled three glasses. “Don’t worry, we have plenty in the cellar.”
“Have you made an appointment with your gynecologist?” Tara asked. “I’m sure they could help you terminate the pregnancy, if that’s what you want to do.”
“I’ve thought about it. I’ve been turning this around and around in my mind, inside out, trying to run through all the possible scenarios.” Darcy tore off a tiny piece of roll. “Ending the pregnancy seems to make the most sense, but every time I think about it, the idea makes me sick. It’s, like, a huge sin in the Catholic Church, and I just know it would destroy my father, who’s already feeling ruined.”
“When was the last time you went to church?” I asked. “And how would your father find out you had an abortion? It’s not as if they’d print it in the prison newsletter.”
“Linds . . .” Darcy scowled at me.
“Okay, bad joke,” I said. “But when did you become antiabortion?”
“I think it should be a legal, safe option for pregnant women,” Darcy said sadly. “Just not for me.”
“And what about Kevin?” Tara cradled her wine. “Have you told him?”
“Kevin knows. He said we could get married right away. I could be the wife of a firefighter. That’s what he wants, I think, but he’s leaving the final decision up to me.”
I knew that middle-class living was the stuff of Darcy’s nightmares. “He means well,” I said. “Even if he’s not part of the Kevin and Darcy Bliss Package.”
“Not anymore.” Darcy buttered a piece of roll, shaking her head. “He’s not the guy I fell in love with, if that guy ever existed. I know my stomach is a little rocky, but the prospect of a lifetime with Kevin makes me want to hurl.”
“How about a lifetime with a baby?” Elle said. “A baby who’s going to grow into a little kid, then into a pain-in-the-ass adult like us. How does that make you feel?”
Darcy lifted her chin and smiled, her eyes a play of blue light. “That sounds sort of good. Promising, somehow.”
“Then you have to follow your heart,” Elle said, as if it were all so obvious. “Lose the father, have the baby.”
Chewing her roll, Darcy nodded. “I think that’s what I have to do.”
We were silent as everyone tried to absorb the ramifications of Darcy’s life-altering decision . . . Darcy as a single mom. I swirled the red wine in the long-stemmed glass, wishing I could see Darcy’s future. Darcy hadn’t even finished college yet. She didn’t have a job or a place to live. Her father was going off to prison and her mother had shut down emotionally and closed the credit lines. A very bleak picture, I thought, wondering how Darcy would get through it all.
“Wow.” Elle twisted the rings on one hand. “
My news is going to sound like some lame consolation prize now. But the bottom line is . . .” She screwed up her face and spewed out the words, rapid-fire: “I’m inheriting a few million dollars from my grandmother and I’d like to use some of it to buy the Love Mansion so we can all have a place to spend the summers together.”
Staring at Elle, Tara sat back in her chair and folded her elegant arms across her chest. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“It’s a joke,” I said with a laugh. “Right?”
Elle shook her head frantically. “Turns out I’m loaded, and my dipshit parents weren’t going to let me know till the last minute because they thought they’d save me from the evils of excessive fortune! I don’t want to step on your shadow, Darce, but when Milo and I worked on that house this summer, I fell in love with it, too. I want to sink some roots. I want to be able to go back next year and the year after that and after that, and since it’s in the Hamptons, Gram would have gotten a large charge out of it.”
Everyone looked at Darcy, who was now wide-eyed and pink, jarred out of her misery. “Since when did you become my fucking fairy godmother?”
Elle cocked her head. “You’re going to need more than a fucking fairy to fix your life, honey.”
Darcy took a deep breath. “I see that now. I’ve got my work cut out for me, but at least I’m calling the shots. Buy the house, Elle. I’d feel good about that, and I’m totally awed at your ability to turn straw into gold. You, girl, are a walking lucky charm.”
“Green clovers, yellow moons, pink hearts . . . big surprises!” Elle chirped, mimicking the cereal commercial.
“Here’s to next summer,” I said, raising my wineglass. “Oh, God, Darce. You’re going to have a baby next summer!”
Darcy clinked her water glass against the others, smiling despite the tears that glistened in her eyes. “I know,” she said as if it were a miracle none of us could fathom. “I know.”