THE OAKLEY SKYLINE Chili wasn’t the closest one to the Freedom Center, but it was Liz’s favorite, the location the Bennets had frequented during her childhood, long before she’d realized the famous combination of spaghetti, cinnamon-and-cocoa-infused ground beef, shredded cheddar cheese, and crumbled oyster crackers was actually fast food. It was after two o’clock and the restaurant was mostly empty when Liz and Willie entered. Right away, Liz noticed him: Sitting at the counter, apparently alone, was Fitzwilliam Darcy. He wore a navy polo shirt and seemed to be eating a three-way, so named for its noodles, chili, and cheese; a four-way would include either beans or raw onions as a topping, and a five-way would include both.
She pretended not to see him. Willie ordered two cheese coneys and Liz a four-way with beans, and as Willie commenced a lengthy analysis of Bitcoin, Liz was grateful to remember that among Skyline’s attractions was the efficiency of its service; no more than five minutes had passed when the waitress delivered their loaded-up oval plates.
“Admittedly, the client isn’t where it needs to be vis-à-vis user-interface,” Willie was saying as Liz crushed oyster crackers and sprinkled the crumbs over her chili. “But it’s not that far away. Why are you doing that?”
“You just do. It’s part of Skyline.”
“Is it mandatory?”
“Yes, and the chili police will arrest you if you fail to comply.” Willie looked confused, and Liz said, “I’m teasing, Willie. Do whatever you want.”
He took an individual cracker and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Go like this.” Liz scooped up a handful, smashed them in her fist, and dropped the cracker dust onto his chili. “Don’t overthink it.”
“I had no idea that you offer private tutorials,” a voice said, and Liz knew without looking up, though she did look, that it was Darcy.
Gesturing across the table, Liz said, “My cousin Willie is in from out of town.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Darcy said, and extended his hand.
Willie stood and, as they shook, said, “Will Collins.”
Semi-sarcastically, Liz asked Darcy, “Are you a regular here?”
“I try not to come more than once a week.” He patted his abdominal region, which was flat. “Everything in moderation.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed you for a Skyline fan,” Liz said. “We have to make sure visitors try it, but usually people who didn’t grow up in Cincinnati don’t like it.”
Darcy’s expression was haughty. “I believe we’ve established that there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Nodding once at Willie, Darcy said, “Enjoy.” A moment later, he was gone.
ON MOST NIGHTS after dinner, Mrs. Bennet and varying combinations of her daughters gathered in the den behind the first-floor staircase to watch television. On this particular night, the family matriarch was joined by Liz, Mary, and also Aunt Margo; Jane had gone to Chip’s apartment, and Kitty and Lydia were at a birthday party for one of the members of their gym. (The cake—Liz had not been able to resist asking—would be made with almond flour and coconut oil frosting.)
Just as some people enjoy knitting in front of the television, Mrs. Bennet was fond of perusing housewares catalogs; indeed, the sound of pages turning, that quick flap when no item caught her eye and the pauses when something did, the occasional businesslike lick of the index finger, was one of the essential sounds of Liz’s childhood. This habit was also, apparently, what allowed Mrs. Bennet to maintain a belief that she had not actually “watched” a wide variety of shows even though she had been in the room for the duration of entire episodes and, in some cases, entire seasons.
They were midway through a reality cooking show when Willie popped his head into the room. He said, “I was wondering, Liz, if you’d like to go for a walk.”
“Me?”
“It seems like a nice night.”
Liz was slouched on the floor, her back against an ottoman, and she glanced over her shoulder, first at her mother, then at Aunt Margo. How irritating, Liz thought, that rather than fulfilling her obligation to Willie, giving him a tour had instead made him see her as his special pal.
“Liz and Jane run in the morning,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You should go with them tomorrow, Willie.”
“Running with three people is kind of awkward,” Liz said, then immediately felt mean. “But we can go for a quick walk. Want to come, Mary?”
Unapologetically, Mary shook her head.
Liz feared that Willie wanted to bring up the conversation they’d had about the prostitute—perhaps he wished for further reassurance that she wouldn’t repeat it—but once they got outside, he seemed to have no particular agenda.