Darcy paused. Nash didn’t move from the counter but continued to stare at her emotionlessly. Anger kindled in her chest at Nash’s unyielding face, at his lack of sympathy. And she had told him she loved him! Didn’t he hear? Didn’t he care?
She pressed on. “It’s excruciating to see your grandmother fading. I know how Clive feels, because I went through it. I’ve told you about that.”
Nash took a deep breath. “So that kiss was his way of thanking you?”
“No, of course not.” Darcy spoke with an honesty and a quiet passion that she knew would bring Nash around. “It was about desperation, about needing to be reminded of the simple joys of walking unaided, of seeing with clear eyes the faces of people you love, of breathing, of laughing and singing and walking and hearing, of having an appetite, of being hungry and then being fed.”
“So you fed him.”
“What? Oh, come on, Nash! Don’t twist my words around.”
Nash walked past her to the door. He opened it and stood next to it. “You should go.”
“Nash, don’t do this. You’re breaking my heart.”
“Call the guy next door. Maybe he can comfort you again.”
“You’re being horrible—and really damned stupid!” With as much dignity as she could muster, Darcy stormed past him, out the door, down the stairs, around the house to her car. She was angry, she was hurt, she was inconsolable.
And in the midst of her rage and confusion, she knew one thing for sure. She was not going to tell Susan about Autumn and Otto. Who knew what their marriage was like? How could Darcy judge when she’d known the Brueckners for only a few weeks? Maybe Susan was frigid, maybe Susan had a lover of her own back in Boston, maybe Susan was grateful to have someone else bear the burden of Otto’s arrogance and self-absorption.
When she reached her house, she switched off the ignition but sat as if captured in her car while her mind raced with thoughts.
How did anyone ever stayed married? Why was Nash so pigheaded? If he was this angry because of a simple kiss, didn’t that mean he loved her, that he wanted her to belong to him; didn’t it mean that when she said she loved him it moved him, it mattered to him? How could he hear her say she loved him and not respond?
She hit her head against the back of her seat as if she could knock some sense into it. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. It was dark now. Lights were on in the Brueckners’ house and in the Rushes’. She hadn’t left lights on in her own house. Poor Muffler must be confused and worried.
Empty of emotion, exhausted by her thoughts, Darcy left her car and walked up the steps and let herself into the house. She needed a shower. She needed to be washed clean.
20
On summer Saturdays, the children’s library was always crowded with families returning a week’s worth of books and DVDs, and searching for and checking out new ones. The small area arranged for toddlers, surrounded by low shelves of books, became an unofficial preschool as mothers traded gossip while their little ones sat triumphantly in the jumbo-size stuffed fuzzy bear chair or stood clutching the chair and shrieking to be lifted into it. Older children were left to choose their books while their parents slipped over to the adult section; and when the older children were collected and herded off to other places, the books they’d scanned and rejected were left in towers on the round reading tables and the floor.
This Saturday, Darcy worked up in the children’s library, helping keep some semblance of order. She returned books and DVDs to their shelves, sat at the circ desk to check books in and out, and reshelved books in their proper alphabetical order. It was impossible to spend a moment in her own private thoughts, and Darcy was glad for the relief.
By afternoon, the crowds had dispersed. Darcy and Beverly took separate breaks for lunch and tidied the room. Sunday the library was closed, and usually Darcy was glad, but this weekend loomed emptily before her. She couldn’t join the gang on their regular Sunday beach picnics, not if Nash was going to be there, cold-shouldering her. She couldn’t summon up the energy to be around other people, anyway.
The August day was hot and muggy. After she closed the library, she walked down to Jetties Beach for a swim. For a long time, she floated on her back, feeling the sun beating down on her face, trying to relax, to empty her mind. Instead, flashes of yesterday flickered behind her closed eyes. Mimi, so weak, so dependent. Nash, so cold, so enraged—so hurt. Tears seeped out of her eyes and trailed down her face into the salty water, and this seemed so frankly pitiful Darcy had to laugh at herself. Flipping over, she submerged her face and forced herself to swim as fast as she could, up along the beach and back.
She bent over her bag, pulled a towel out, and dried her face, then pulled on the loose sundress she carried and slid her feet into her sandals. As she headed up the boardwalk, her cell rang. She snatched it up, praying it would be Nash.
“Darcy, where are you? You’ve got to come over!” Willow’s voice was half whisper, half scream.
“Willow? Are you okay?”
“Mom told Boyz. They’re yelling at each other!”
“Oh, Willow. Oh, honey, I know that’s terrible. I’m sorry. But I can’t do anything about it. It’s between your mother and Boyz.”
Even as she said she couldn’t do anything, Darcy picked up her pace, walking so fast she was nearly running.
“You have to do something! They won’t listen to me. They won’t pay any attention to me, no matter what I say. What about poor Susan?”
Welcome to the messes adults make, Darcy thought. Willow had scarcely entered the tempestuous teenage years with all its misery, elation, drama, and hormonal rampages and here she was, caught up in the adult world of jealousy. But what could Darcy do? What should she do?
“Willow,” Darcy said, impressed by the authority in her tone, “I want you to leave the house and walk down to Main Street and meet me. We’ll walk home together and try to figure something out.”
“But Mother and Boyz—”
“You just said they won’t pay attention to you.”
“But—” Willow began to protest.
“If you leave, it might surprise them enough to calm down.”
“Oh. Okay…okay, I’ll meet you on Main Street.”
“Good girl.” Darcy clicked her phone off, thinking I have no idea what I’m talking about. She couldn’t stop the quarrel between Boyz and Autumn, but she was removing Willow from the scene of her parents’ argument. That was something.
And when she arrived at her house, what then? Should Darcy charge to the rescue—but how, and who would she be rescuing? She didn’t give a fig about Otto Brueckner or about Boyz’s wounded pride. But she did care about Susan and her sons. But how could Darcy believe she could help Susan when she’d made such a mess of her own life? And Mimi. Willow needed to know about Mimi.