Secrets in Summer

“Thanks. Let’s give them thirty minutes.”


“It will take Willow that long to shower.” Laughter.

They sounded so happy together. So complete. How had it happened that Darcy had been captivated by Boyz, and he by her, and they had married, and then everything absolutely went to shit? They had married too soon—she knew that was why, she’d thought about it endlessly, talked to friends, talked to a counselor—and she had gotten over it, she was over it, but what in the world did it mean that Fate had set him down right there, on the other side of the hedge of her own backyard?

Fate probably had nothing to do with it. It was only a mistake—people made mistakes all the time— but still, how could she trust her own instincts? Was she going to end up like her mother, going from man to man, genuinely infatuated at first, then losing that rush and needing another, like some kind of drug addict? Was that sort of thing genetic? But, no, she wasn’t like that, she hadn’t gone from man to man; after Boyz she had retreated into herself; it had been three years since Boyz left her for another woman, and she hadn’t even kissed another man for the first two years. Finally, she’d slept with Nick Diaz. It was a cold winter, her friends urged her to just do it, and Nick was a really good guy. It had been very pleasant, too, going to bed with Nick, but they both knew it wasn’t the beginning of a serious relationship. They never hooked up again, although when they saw each other at parties they were both friendly. After Nick, Darcy had a self-imposed drought before meeting Nash this spring….

“Okay, so I’m going home.” Nash stood up, yanking her back to the present.

How long had she been caught up in the chaos of her thoughts? Long enough to cause Nash to leave. “I’m so sorry, Nash, I’m not usually so hopeless, at least I hope I’m not—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Leaning over, he kissed her forehead.

She inhaled the good strong scent of Nash, soapy and sweaty and masculine and she wanted to take him by the hand and lead him up to her bedroom. Instead, she trailed behind him as he went under the arbor and around the side of the house to his truck. She didn’t want him to leave, but she couldn’t promise herself her mind wouldn’t wander.

“I’m always like this at the beginning of the summer,” she told him as he stepped up into the cab.

“Good to know.” He smiled at her—a genuine, not-forced smile—and took off.

She dragged herself up the steps and into the house by the front door, not wanting to expose herself to any more backyard conversations. She shut the door and leaned against it, suddenly lethargic. She had to do something about this. She couldn’t hide in her house, missing the joys of her backyard and garden. She wasn’t a weakling. The crazy thing was that she hadn’t missed Boyz ever, so why was she turning into such a nut job when she overheard him and his family? On the other hand, what the hell was Boyz even doing here? He should be at Lake George. Did this mean that the gorgeous Autumn had insisted on spending their vacation anywhere except with all the other Szwedas? Darcy could imagine that Autumn had distanced herself from Boyz’s sisters and mother. Maybe that was exactly what Boyz needed.

She had to stop thinking about Boyz! She wanted to reach into her mind with invisible tweezers and yank out all knowledge of him. Or swallow a magic pill that would erase all thoughts of him—that would do the trick.

“Buck up!” Darcy told herself. In the low policeman’s voice she used sometimes when reading stories to the children at the library, she added, “Miss, walk away from the door.”

Behind her back, someone knocked on the door. Darcy let out a small shriek of surprise. Good, she thought. Nash was back.

But she opened the door to find a pretty and rather distraught woman standing there.

“Oh, thank heavens you’re home!” She was wringing her hands. “I’m Susan Brueckner, we’re renting next door for the summer”—she pointed to the house on her right—“and I forgot to buy milk. Otto said he wasn’t coming but now he is and the boys can have their cereal raw—I don’t mean raw—what do I mean? Dry! I mean dry! But Otto has to have milk in his coffee, and he always has a cup in the evening, and I’m wondering if I could borrow some milk? I’ll pay it back tomorrow. The boys—they’re nice boys, truly, Henry is ten, George is eight, and Alfred is six—are unsettled right now, we only just arrived, and I can’t pack them all back into the car and I don’t know where the grocery store is!”

Susan Brueckner was not the normal Nantucket visitor, but Darcy was instantly charmed. Did people even ask a neighbor for anything these days? Susan Brueckner expected the world to be helpful, and Darcy liked her for that. Susan was a pretty blue-eyed blonde, rather—wasn’t the German word zaftig?—plump but comely.

When she paused for breath, Darcy held out her hand. “Hello, Susan, I’m Darcy Cotterill. I’d be delighted to give you some milk. Come in.”

“This is so very kind of you. I’m not usually so disorganized….” Susan followed Darcy down the hall and into the kitchen, her voice trailing off as she looked at the house, the thick Persian rugs, handsome furniture, and oil paintings that had been Penny’s, Penny’s pine table with pink and lavender snapdragons in a white vase centered neatly in the middle. Darcy’s kitchen counters were shining clean, with delft blue and white ceramic canisters filled with flour, sugar, salt, and rice.

Darcy poured milk into a pitcher and handed it to Susan.

Susan said, “Please tell me you don’t have children.”

For a moment, Darcy was puzzled, but when Susan gestured around the room, Darcy understood. If Darcy had three boys, this was not how her kitchen would look.

“I don’t have children.”

“Oh.” Susan put a hand to her chest. “I’m so glad. Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but my house has never looked so calm, so neat.” Susan took the pitcher of milk and stared down into it. “It is a great disappointment to Otto. I wish I could change, but with three boys…” Susan bit her lip impatiently, holding back, Darcy imagined, a flood of words.

“I’m a children’s librarian,” Darcy said, “so I do understand the chaos children cause.”

“Thank you! And for the milk, too. I’d better hurry back before our house is destroyed.” At the front door, she paused. “I’ve never been to Nantucket before. We live in Boston—my husband’s a lawyer—I didn’t know everything would be so perfect here, so beautified. I wish we hadn’t come here, my boys make so much noise, and all the women are thin and it’s like dust wouldn’t dare exist!”

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