“Want to bring it to my house?”
“No, I think I’d like to grill it here. I’ve got some new potatoes, too. You could bring over a few of those green things you insist on eating.”
“Vegetables,” Darcy said, knowing Nash liked vegetables as much as she did, except for kale and spinach, which he said made him gag. “I’ll bring a big salad. Do you have wine?”
“I do. White and red and, yes, I know white is supposed to be eaten with fish, but you’ve been on a tear recently about drinking red because it’s got antioxidants, so I bought both kinds.”
Darcy smiled. It was very nice to have someone remember what you liked to drink. “I’ll be over as soon as I can get there.”
She knew Nash lived in an apartment over a garage, but this would be the first time she’d been there. She was excited. She’d find out more about this man—was he a slob, was his place all giant-screen TV and video games, what did he keep in his fridge? Plus, his invitation seemed to indicate a deeper level of intimacy. He’d been in her house a lot, and in her bed a lot, but she’d never been in his. Would the sheets be clean?
Nash lived on Meadowview Drive, a long curling lane of homes with big yards and mature trees. She parked in the driveway behind his truck. The house itself had that closed-up look. She remembered he’d told her the owners were in France for the summer.
Nash came out to meet her. His blue eyes were warm and he smiled as he took the salad bowl from her arms. “The grill’s back here.”
Behind the garage, a lawn opened up, stretching to a bank of rose of Sharon bushes not yet in bloom. A small stone patio extended from the back of the garage, with a grill on one corner, a small table and four white plastic chairs in the middle, and a line of terra-cotta pots with cherry tomato plants growing in them.
“Pretty,” Darcy said.
“You’re pretty,” Nash told her. He set the salad bowl on the table, took her in his arms, and kissed her for a long time.
She pulled away. “Tonight we are going to eat and talk before we do anything else.”
“Well, that sounds ominous.”
“It’s not, really. It’s just complicated. I need to tell you about some stuff, and I’d like your advice on something.”
“Okay.” Nash moved away. “Let’s talk.”
“Wouldn’t you rather eat first?”
“No, let’s talk. It will take only a minute to grill the fish and the potatoes are ready.”
They sat across from each other at the round table.
Darcy took a deep breath. “All right. It’s more about Willow. My ex-husband’s fourteen-year-old stepdaughter.”
She explained how she overheard Logan trying to convince Willow to try heroin last night. How she ran around to the other yard and kicked Logan’s hand and sent him away. How she calmed Willow—and herself—with hot chocolate and television. How she explained it all to Boyz and Autumn when they came home.
“So,” she finished. She looked at her beer bottle. It was still full, and she’d peeled off most of the label. Nash’s expression was stormy. “I didn’t try to eavesdrop on Willow. The hedge is so thick and on their side, a tree provides a nice nook to hide in from anyone in the house….” Darcy couldn’t get a read on Nash’s thoughts. “Do you think I was wrong, to interfere?”
Nash reared back as if she’d hit him. “Do I think you were wrong to interfere? Good God, no, Darcy. You did the absolutely right thing. Except if it had been me, I would have called the cops and slugged that asshole hard enough to break his nose. That Willow is lucky—she doesn’t know how lucky—that you were there, that you cared. Her parents sound like idiots.”
The intensity of his response surprised her. “I know. I’m going to keep an eye on her. I’ve asked her to help me with story time at the library. I really like her, Nash. It’s just kind of odd, I guess, wanting to spend time with my ex-husband’s wife’s daughter.”
“She’s a kid. Someone ought to keep an eye on her.”
“Well, it’s not like I’ll be seeing her every day. Plus, I don’t know how to say this—” Darcy hesitated, tearing the last bit of label off the beer bottle. “I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m interested in Boyz. He—”
“I don’t think that.” Nash abruptly shoved back his chair, rose, and paced away from Darcy. His hands were clenched at his side.
She could see the tension in his shoulders. Oh, no, she thought. He’s going to tell me he’s seeing someone else. She waited.
“Look,” Nash said suddenly, turning to face her. “I don’t talk about this to anyone. And I don’t want to dwell on it. You don’t need to say anything. But I want to tell you. Not just because of Logan and the heroin.”
Darcy didn’t move a muscle. She had no idea what he was going to say, and the need to know burned like a fire in her heart.
Nash stared at the horizon as he spoke. “I had a brother. He died of an overdose of heroin. He was twenty-two.”
“Oh, Nash. That’s awful.” She sat quietly for a moment. “What was his name?”
“Edgar. What a hell of a name. Grandfather’s.” Nash sat down in his chair, his eyes looking far away. “We used to call him ‘Edsel’ because of the car thing, you know, Nash and Edsel. Our family lived in western Mass. Dad taught at Amherst. Mom did the mom thing. We were a typical more or less happy family. I’d just joined a law firm and moved to Boston. I had an apartment near BU. Edsel hadn’t finished college yet. He’d been using for three years but I didn’t have a clue. I thought he was bored, because he was really smart. He was scary smart. He started and stopped going to college several times. When I found out, I thought if he came and lived with me, in Boston, you know, where no one knew what a fuckup he was, where there were lots of colleges, and I could keep an eye on him…” Nash set his elbows on the table and leaned his head in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “I was such an asshole. Going off in my fucking suit and tie, carrying my fucking briefcase. But he was cool about it. I told him to use my laptop to look for jobs. When I got home at night I’d fix dinner or bring takeout, and we’d eat and watch TV and make stupid jokes and drink beer.”
Darcy leaned as far as she could over the table. She could barely hear Nash. It was as if he was talking to the ground.
“He told me he had a job, just grunt work at a removal firm. I believed him. He’d come home exhausted, he’d tell me about the guys he worked with. Man, Edsel was a major bullshit artist. About a week after he ‘started work,’ I came home and found him on the bathroom floor with a needle in his arm. I called an ambulance right away. They got there fast, but he was gone.”