Liz’s sisters, by contrast, were horrified, though in Lydia’s case the horror contained a rather gleeful undertone only partially compensated for by Ham’s immediate offer to let any Bennets bunk at his house in Mount Adams. However, that very day, Mary and Kitty found a two-bedroom apartment—just, as it happened, a few blocks from Darcy’s—and Liz was the one to pay the first month’s rent and cosign their lease. Not wishing to risk the transport of spiders into this new living space, Mary, Kitty, and Liz drove to the Ikea thirty minutes north of Cincinnati, where Liz bought each sister a bed and, to share, a couch, a kitchen table, and chairs.
She wasn’t ignorant of the advantages to her of underwriting their acquisitions: Now beholden, they’d have no choice but to obey the directives she laid out for after her departure from Cincinnati, among them instructions about monitoring their father’s diet; keeping the Tudor in a state appropriate to be visited by Shane, other real estate agents, and their clients; and making themselves available to their mother for miscellaneous errands in the forty-eight hours prior to the Women’s League luncheon. Though the luncheon itself was little more than two weeks away, Liz had decided not to remain in town for it. She just couldn’t stand Cincinnati anymore. She didn’t want to spend another night in the now-spidery, soon-to-be-chemical-laden Tudor. She didn’t want to sleep for two weeks on Mary and Kitty’s couch. And although she appreciated the offer, she didn’t want to move in with Ham and Lydia and watch them kiss and coo and drink kale smoothies. With an abrupt urgency, she wanted to be home, in her home, which was Brooklyn. She wanted to get saag paneer and samosas delivered from her favorite Indian restaurant and eat them alone on her living room couch while reading a magazine, blasting her air conditioner, and not defending her lack of a husband.
“Do you think it’s awful if I go straight back to New York after I interview Kathy de Bourgh in Houston?” she asked Jane over the phone, and Jane said, “I’m not exactly in a position to tell you not to.”
Lying on Mary and Kitty’s new $500 couch, Liz couldn’t decide whether her behavior as a daughter and sister was exemplary or indefensible. On the one hand, she had in recent days exerted herself to an unprecedented degree to ensure the welfare of her family members. On the other, she would not be waiting even until the aeration stage of the fumigation was complete to leave. She’d be in New York in time for Labor Day weekend, and indeed, the main impetus for her flurry of activity was the knowledge of her departure.
THE WAY LIZ packed her suitcase and purse was to drive them empty in the trunk of her father’s Cadillac from the Tudor to the small lawn in front of her sisters’ new apartment; also in the trunk were full trash bags containing her clothes, toiletries, digital recorders, and laptop computer. She knelt in the grass and examined each article of clothing, each item from her Dopp kit, to ensure that no spider was clinging to it. She wondered if another resident of the building would complain—it probably looked like she was setting up for a garage sale—but no one did, and she found no spiders. When she’d finished, she carried her full bags into her sisters’ apartment, relieved that she would never be anyone’s mother and thus would never need to pick through the scalp of a child, searching in just this way for lice eggs.
HAVING NOT SEEN Darcy for nearly a week, Liz forwent the pretense of a run and simply walked from her sisters’ apartment building to his and knocked on the door. He didn’t answer, but as she left the building, surly about the lack of gratification, she encountered him on his way in, carrying several plastic grocery bags in both hands.
“I assumed you were working,” she said, and he shook his head.
“I go in tonight at six. Is something wrong?” She was deciding how to answer—was he trying to make her feel foolish?—when he added, with some degree of awkwardness, “Or did you just come over to, ah—right. Come in. By all means.”
“Here.” She extended her hand. “Give me a few bags.”
As she followed him back up the stairs, she took a perverse delight in sharing the latest news about her family, though instead of mockingly declaring his lack of surprise that the Bennets were harboring an insect plague of biblical proportions, he said, with what bordered on sympathy, “Old houses have a lot of issues. That’s a shame the buyers retracted their offer.”
“Well, Kitty and Mary are your neighbors now,” she said. “They’re at the corner of Millsbrae and Atlantic, in case you need to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“I’m surprised a landlord would rent to two people without jobs.”
“It’s my name on the lease.”
They had reached the second floor, and Darcy said as he unlocked his door, “You’re not worried about destroying your credit?”
“Oh, I assume I will. But I don’t see what the alternative is.”
Inside, Darcy put away the groceries requiring refrigeration while she sat on a kitchen stool; he offered her beer and water, both of which she declined; and within ten minutes the true reason for her visit had been not only initiated but, for both parties, successfully completed.