“You’re more than welcome to join us.”
Then they just stood there, looking at each other. She wished that kissing him was not impossible. Was kissing him impossible? Surely so, with his sister and her aunt and uncle and cousin and friend on the other side of the glass door. It then seemed that maybe they were going to kiss after all, in spite of the lack of privacy and the confused circumstances, because he stepped toward her, and she stepped toward him. He said, “Since you left Cincinnati—” At that moment, Georgie walked in and said, “Did Alberta leave the serving knife in the main house? Oh, sorry.”
“It’s right here.” Darcy turned, opened a drawer, and handed the knife to Georgie.
Both the eye contact and the spell had been broken. And yet Georgie’s apology—it was proof to Liz that a spell had existed; she wasn’t just imagining it.
She said to Georgie, “I’ve got the dessert plates.” Because Liz didn’t wish to increase Georgie’s discomfort—also because Liz didn’t know what else to do—she followed the other woman out to the patio. A moment later, Darcy emerged after them. It was Aunt Margo who cut the torte.
Since I left Cincinnati what? Liz thought. Though she wasn’t alone again with Darcy before they departed, her heart had swollen during that encounter in the kitchen, and it did not shrink again until some hours after she had climbed into the guest bed at Willie and Charlotte’s house.
IN CHARLOTTE’S CAR on El Camino Real, returning to Pemberley the following afternoon, Liz pulled down the sun visor and looked at herself in the mirror, which was something she’d already spent a not inconsiderable amount of time doing at Charlotte and Willie’s house, where she’d carefully applied foundation, mascara, and lipstick. In the car, she said, “Is it weird we’re going?”
“Liz, the ST between you and Darcy is threatening to engulf Northern California in a fiery ball. It’s your duty to save us all by having sex.”
“I’m glad this is providing you with so much entertainment.” Liz pulled her lipstick from her purse, applied a fresh coat—one of the many tips she had learned during her years at Mascara was to begin at the center of her lips and move toward the corners—then rubbed her lips together. “For real, though, I hope Caroline doesn’t think we crashed the party.”
“Who cares what Caroline thinks?”
Liz slid the cover across the sun visor mirror and folded the visor back into place. “True. Did you wear earplugs again last night?”
“It was like an angel rocked me to sleep. Thank you for suggesting it.” Charlotte turned off El Camino Real and said in a more serious tone, “I know Willie isn’t dashing like Darcy. But I think he loves me, and I want to make it work.”
“I’m sure he loves you.”
“It’s weird,” Charlotte said, “because if your dad hadn’t had a heart attack, you and Jane wouldn’t have come back to Cincinnati this summer, and if you hadn’t come back to Cincinnati, Willie wouldn’t have visited with Margo, and I’d never have met him. Sometimes it amazes me how much these defining parts of our lives hinge on chance.”
“I know. I think about that all the time.”
They both were quiet, and the fence of Pemberley came into view. “Are you on the Pill?” Charlotte asked. “Because we can turn around and go buy a condom.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Liz said.
“WHAT A COINCIDENCE that you happen to be in town the same weekend Darcy is here,” Caroline said to Liz by way of greeting. They stood on the lawn near the covered pool, where the croquet equipment had already been set out: the wickets inserted into the grass, the mallets and balls waiting in tidy rows. Along one side of the pool, a buffet lunch still looked vibrant, despite the fact that it was midafternoon: various sandwiches and salads, enormous cookies, lemonade, iced tea, beer, and white wine. Surveying the scene, Liz had the somewhat troubling thought that she was starting to understand Darcy’s unfavorable view of Cincinnati; it would be difficult for any place to compete with these lush gardens, blue skies, and magnificent spreads of food.
“I’m visiting Charlotte,” Liz said to Caroline. “You may have heard that she’s dating my cousin Willie.”
“I guess beauty really is in the eye of the beholder,” Caroline said.
Liz was fairly sure Charlotte didn’t overhear the insult, because she was being introduced to the half dozen other guests, but the remark seemed too rude to simply let stand. “Is it my cousin or my oldest friend that you’re implying is ugly?” Liz asked.
Caroline shrugged. “Take your pick. When two people like that get together, I never know if I should be happy for them or just pray they don’t reproduce.”
You’re awful, Liz thought. You’re even worse than I remember.