“I do.”
“I want my body cremated. I want my ashes buried in the garden. It may or may not be legal. Lie if you have to, tell the authorities you tossed me into the ocean. I’d like to be next to the lilacs. If that doesn’t freak you out too much, of course, to enjoy a garden with your crippled and cranky old grandmother haunting it.”
“Penny, I—”
“If I had the power to arrange such things, I would have you live in the house all your life. I would have you marry a man who reads books and have several children who would play in the backyard, and I want you to know I will not be upset if you put up one of those hideous play sets for the children to climb on and slide on and whatever. I like to think I’ll be able to hear their laughter.”
Tears spilled down Darcy’s face.
“You should sell my jewelry. No one wears such heavy pieces anymore, and the proceeds should help you pay taxes and so on. I know librarians don’t make much money. The furniture is up to you. Some of it is unsightly, uncomfortable, or useless. Still, much of it is antique and could bring you a pretty penny.”
Darcy reached over to put her hand on her grandmother’s. “You’re my pretty Penny.”
That brought a smile to her grandmother’s face. “You’ve always been such a clever child.” Her body stiffened as she endured a wave of pain. “Go, now, Darcy. Please. Go.”
“Penny.” Darcy stifled her sobs, which she knew would irritate her grandmother. “I love you so mu—”
“Dear Lord, save me the melodrama. I know you love me. I’ve always known. Just as you’ve always known I love you. No more bedside banalities. Just go.” Penny took a deep breath. “And ring for the nurse on your way out.”
Three days later, Penny Cotterill, eighty-seven years old, died in her sleep.
Darcy obeyed her grandmother’s wishes and embroidered on them, just a little, by not informing her father down in Florida about his mother’s death until after Penny had been cremated and sprinkled in the garden by the lilacs. She was not surprised when her father’s first question was “Has the will been read?”
All her life, Darcy had secretly yearned for a loving father, just as she had wished her mother had been more maternal. But she had learned how love comes in many forms, and often from unexpected directions. She had been blessed to have Penny in her life.
She moved into her grandmother’s house on Nantucket. She kept the room she’d always been in, added a luxurious bathroom, and bought a few new appliances for the kitchen. She decided to take her time dealing with the rest of the house. Two weeks after Penny’s passing, Darcy applied for a job at the Nantucket Atheneum. To her amazement, she was hired immediately, as the assistant children’s librarian. It was March, summer would be upon them before they could blink, and they needed her, especially since she had housing on this crescent-shaped shoal of sand where rents were astronomical in the summer.
All this, she knew, was not magic. But she couldn’t help believing in even the most rational corner of her mind, that somehow Penny was still somewhere at Darcy’s side, nudging, warning, praising. Helping.
Loving.
That was three years ago. As Darcy settled into her new home, she felt lonely, so she went to the Safe Harbor animal shelter and adopted a homeless cat. Muffler was a skinny, skeptical, long-haired black male who’d been abandoned. When she brought him home, he hid under the sofa for two days before the odor of expensive cat food drew him out. Slowly, he grew to trust Darcy. Now he slept on her bed, sat on her lap when he wanted, and bossed her around. She was delighted with his company. Gradually Darcy accustomed herself to the seasons of the island. The library was insanely busy in the summer and quiet in the winter. She made friends with the other librarians; she made friends with other women her age.
So, on this ordinary weekday morning, Darcy woke to her alarm clock. She lay in bed for a while, enjoying the sun slanting through the window, thinking of the day ahead.
Then she remembered yesterday. Boyz. Boyz here, living on the other side of her hedge.
She went down to the kitchen for her morning cup of coffee. She felt like a cat with her hair standing on end because her kitchen looked out at the garden, and it was only natural, a habit, to look out her kitchen window. But now, on the other side of the garden hedge, lived her ex-husband and his family. She couldn’t see Boyz’s entire yard, but she could see much of it—the driveway, the side porch, a door. Lights in their windows.
She wanted to buy a powerful telescope, set it up, and aim it at their house.
Oh, dear.
Interesting, that she’d never thought about Boyz after they were divorced. She had made a mistake—and so had he. She had not liked the life Boyz lived, and his glamour dissipated for her when she was with him up close every day. After the divorce, she hadn’t been inconsolable. She didn’t yearn for him. Dream of him. Gaze at old photos of him. She hadn’t even googled him, although she’d thought of doing so once or twice.