Darcy swallowed and her thoughts flashed a red alert. Edith Simon was the director of the library, Beverly’s boss, and therefore Darcy’s superboss. Grace was the president of the board of trustees, and therefore everyone’s boss.
“We talked about the future,” Beverly continued. “I told them I’d like to retire in about three years—”
“Oh, no, Beverly!” Darcy’s cry was genuine. What would they all do without Beverly?
“And we all agreed that you should become head of the children’s library then.”
Darcy said, “Oh.”
“With a view in mind of eventually, in ten years or so, making you director of the library.”
Darcy couldn’t help it. She grinned like a child at Christmas.
“It’s not a done deal, of course,” Beverly continued. “We agreed that you’ll need sprucing up in several areas and responsibilities. We’d like you to take some courses in administration, fiscal management, and fundraising. Not all at once, of course. One or two a year, and done via the Internet. You would continue your duties here and have half a day off for course work.” Beverly smiled. “What do you think?”
“There are no words,” Darcy said. “It’s beyond my wildest dreams.”
“If I recall correctly, I don’t think it is,” Beverly said. “When I first met you, you told me your goal was to be director of the Boston Public Library.”
“That’s true,” Darcy said. “But, believe me, if I became director of the Nantucket Atheneum, I’d be over the moon. I never want to leave this island. Gosh, Beverly, this is amazing.”
“Well, it’s not carved in stone. But it’s our plan. Keep it to yourself, please. I’m not retiring for two or three years.”
“Can I hug you?” Darcy asked.
“No. Nothing has happened yet. Hug me in three years. For now, we’ve got work to do.” Beverly swiveled to face her computer.
Darcy faced her computer, too, but for a long while she sat smiling, unable to stop smiling, unable to think a single practical thought.
—
That Sunday, Darcy and Nash joined Jordan and the gang at the beach. More and more they had free run of the beaches as the summer people left. Nash was patient, never mentioning the choice Darcy had to make, and, thank heaven, for Darcy found herself incapable of thinking of moving out of her house and just as incapable of imagining not being with Nash.
The second Sunday of September, a tropical storm near the Outer Banks of North Carolina blew north, flooding the eastern coastline. Gale force winds screamed across Nantucket Sound and joined the high tides to send the seas thrashing through the harbor. In spite of the Weather Channel’s dire warnings, quite a few of the islanders delighted in these storms. Nash took off work and drove Darcy out to Cisco Beach, where they stood facing the surging waves, watching them tower and plunge as the wind, as if personally insulted, slammed against their bodies, trying to make them back off; and, of course, when they were both drenched and shivering, they slogged their way back to the truck and drove home.
First they took hot showers together, which led to spending a luxurious day in bed, making love and napping. By early afternoon the sky was dark with storm clouds, and inside the house it was cold and damp enough for a fire. Nash built one in the living room fireplace while Darcy brought out wine and crackers and cheese. She’d started a beef stew in her slow cooker that morning, and its mouthwatering aroma mingled with the scent of the crackling wood.
They sat together on the sofa, their feet propped on the table, gazing at the fire. Darcy wore yoga pants and an old flannel shirt. Nash wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
Darcy wondered if there was a movie they’d both enjoy watching when Nash spoke.
“I have an idea,” Nash said.
“Oh?”
“What if I moved in with you for the winter? We could see how we muddle around together in the house—”
“Oh, Nash!”
“I’m not finished talking. And while we’re living in this house, we’ll work with a real estate agent to see if there are any other houses on this island that would be as good, or better, for us.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Darcy forced herself to speak mildly, as if this wasn’t the most exciting news she’d heard in months.
“And maybe we’ll clean out this house, clear it of a lot of the stuff that isn’t essential to you, and figure out how it would work if I lived here.”
“Oh, yes, absolutely. I’ve been intending to do that for months.”
They began working on the house on Sunday. The storm was still raging. None of the group of friends wanted to leave their cozy houses. Perfect weather for decluttering. With Nash at her side, Darcy went through her house, determined to get rid of books or end tables or mementos she didn’t really need or want.
She was astonished at how many cardboard boxes they filled to take to the Seconds Shop. Some of the books had been Penny’s—and she’d probably gotten them from the Seconds Shop to last her through the long winter nights. Also, there was the glass unicorn a friend had brought back from a trip to Venice, and the wooden bison bookends another friend had brought from a trip to Wyoming. Several pitchers and vases for all the flowers Penny used to grow, more than Darcy would ever need. Into the Seconds Shop box. Penny had collected small, intricately constructed boxes not large enough to hold a paper clip, made from wood or porcelain or cleverly folded paper. Seconds Shop. Old rubber boots. Ripped raincoats.
And upstairs! During the week, Darcy and Nash continued their task every evening after work. First, they tackled Penny’s room. Darcy was still sleeping in her childhood bedroom, which was too small for two people. Finally, Darcy thought, she’d outgrown that sweet room with its bookcase full of Nancy Drew mysteries. Penny’s bedroom was spacious, with large windows welcoming in light. With Nash’s help, she plunged into Penny’s room. She was surprised at how little she wanted to keep. The ancient mattress had a trough down the side where Penny had slept. Most of the furniture was antique but oddly impractical, and everything was slightly warped, cracked, or missing a leg and propped on hardback books piled to attain the right height. Boxes of costume jewelry, clip-on earrings, a seventies assortment of chains with Buddhas, astrological signs, peace signs, and one odd brass cylinder that might have held rolling papers. More books. Framed photos of relatives and old friends whom Darcy had never met. Brocade drapes thick with dust and a chest at the end of the bed filled with heavy, scratchy wool blankets that Penny had put away when she discovered the warm, light pleasure of down comforters.