“You know how important it is to me to expand my contacts. I’m in a competitive business. And you—a librarian!—have been no help at all in my work. Instead of joining the right clubs, you sit around doing crossword puzzles! You read! You hide from me in your books.”
Darcy’s entire body was trembling now as adrenaline hit. As the truth hit.
She nodded toward the bedroom. “So that was Autumn in there, helping you with your work?”
Boyz sucked in air as if he were going to roar. Instead, he paced away from her and then returned to sit on a nearby sofa. “I hate it when you’re sarcastic. But, yes, actually, Autumn does help me with my work, because she makes me feel adored. Autumn would do anything for me, and she makes me feel like a king.”
“Does she work?”
“She’s a bit older than I am, and divorced. She’s sophisticated. She knows how things work. She has a daughter, Willow, who is eleven years old. Autumn was well provided for in her divorce.”
Oddly, that cheered Darcy—to know that a divorced woman could be loved.
“You were so eager to please when we first married,” Boyz continued. “You were such fun.”
“I was so malleable,” Darcy whispered, more to herself than to Boyz.
“I thought you’d be an asset to the family business. But you insist on isolating yourself with your books, like, I don’t know, like a little old lady. I’m not trying to insult you, Darcy, I still think you’re beautiful, but you’ve grown more and more distant. Frankly, my entire family thinks so.”
Darcy nodded her head. She couldn’t disagree. Still, it stung to know all the other family members had been discussing her.
“If you could change, Darcy”—Boyz held out his hands toward her, as if offering her a gift—“or if you were pregnant, at least, and could give me an heir.”
“What about me?” Darcy asked quietly. “What about what I want?”
“What else could you possibly want?” Boyz looked genuinely curious.
Darcy buried her face in her hands. She wanted to laugh hysterically; she wanted to sob. She’d thought she was getting a family when she married Boyz. She’d thought they would never divorce—she would never be like her mother. But would she ever have a family?
But she did have a family. She had Penny.
4
While the legalities of the divorce were grinding along, Darcy moved down to a small rented apartment on the Cape so she could visit her grandmother daily. By then, Penny’s vision was so compromised by aging that she couldn’t read or even watch television. She was seldom hungry, and when she ate, her digestive system caused her great discomfort. She was on various medications for the lingering consequences of Lyme disease, and the side effects of the medications were almost worse than the pain the disease caused.
Darcy brought fresh-picked flowers from a nearby farm stand to place in Penny’s room so she could enjoy the familiar fragrances. She brought expensive delicacies—chocolates, figs, tomatoes fat and red and just picked that morning. Penny did her best to enjoy them, but by then the effort of eating offset the pleasure of the taste. Darcy spent hours reading to her grandmother—old British favorites such as Nancy Mitford’s Love in a Cold Climate, or a biography of Virginia Woolf and her sister. Penny listened, nodding or chuckling at a certain passage, but she was always rubbing her hands, her arms, trying to ease the arthritic pain. When Darcy closed the book, rose and bent to kiss Penny goodbye for the day, she noticed the relief that swept over her grandmother—how glad Penny was that she no longer had to keep up some kind of pretense, that she could take more pain medication and sink into the oblivion that distanced her from her discomfort.
One day Darcy entered her grandmother’s room to find Penny sitting in a chair, dressed and apparently having a good day.
“You look good,” Darcy cried happily, kissing Penny’s wrinkled pink cheek.
“I don’t want to read today,” Penny replied tersely. “Sit down.”
Darcy obeyed, pulling a chair close to her grandmother. “Does the doctor—”
Penny cut her off. “Just listen.”
Darcy nodded. “Jack Truman, on Nantucket, is my lawyer. He has my will. I’m leaving everything to you.”
“Oh, Penny—”
“Don’t interrupt. I hope you won’t sell the house. I hope you will live in it. You know Nantucket has a fine library and I think you could be happy on the island.”
“Yes, but—”
“I don’t want any kind of memorial service. The people I liked are all dead now, and I don’t want Eugene or Lala rushing up to cry crocodile tears and try to convince you to sell the house and split the proceeds with them. Do you understand?”