When Nash phoned on his way home from work around eight-thirty, she told him she had been Perfect Darcy all day. His laugh boomed over the phone, making her laugh, too.
“Tell me what you do to be Perfect Darcy,” he said.
“Okay, well, first of all, I try to remember to have good posture, to walk as if I’m holding a penny pinched between my shoulder blades. That makes me stand up straight, hold my tummy in, and keep my shoulders down.”
“Sounds like it would make you stick out your breasts, too.”
“You would think that”—Darcy laughed—“and you’re right, although that’s not the purpose. And when we hang up, I’m going to read a new biography of Ben Franklin.”
“Very admirable, Darcy, but forgive me if I never attempt to have a Perfect Nash day.” He was quiet for a moment before asking, “Are you atoning for anything?”
“No!” Darcy said, perhaps a beat too quickly, because maybe she kind of was. She shouldn’t have kissed Clive, not when she was with Nash, but was she with Nash? Exclusively? She couldn’t ask him about that now, when he was tired from a day’s labor and had to get up early tomorrow.
Nash remained silent, as if he knew her response was a lie.
“All right, I suppose I am,” Darcy admitted. “For some reason, I’m spending too much time worrying about my neighbors. Oh, I sound nuts, I know. Let’s talk about it when we have more time.”
“Good. I think I’m headed for my sofa and the Red Sox game. Maybe we can get together tomorrow when you’re not so perfect.”
Darcy laughed and headed for her own sofa. She’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt and flip-flops. Tonight, cozy and casual, she would spend with Ben Franklin, improving her mind. Usually she alternated reading a good novel with a good biography, but something about this summer made her yearn for books that made her laugh or cry, that allowed her to free the emotional chaos inside her. When she was engrossed in a book, some kind of barrier broke and all kinds of feelings and questions and needs spilled out. It was like this sometimes—not always, but sometimes—when she saw an especially adorable commercial for dog food.
“Why don’t I have a dog?” she would wonder out loud, while her cat sat looking as if he’d roll his eyes if cats could roll their eyes. She’d weep and ask the empty room why didn’t she have a brother or a sister, why were both her parents so absent from her life, why did Boyz choose Autumn who was six years older than Boyz—okay, Autumn had huge breasts, but that couldn’t be the only reason—why was Darcy thirty years old with no children of her own and no husband and here she was, alone in this great big house and why was she so selfish and self-centered, she should become a nurse and take care of people with incurable diseases….
Tonight, she slammed Ben Franklin shut. “You’re not doing it for me tonight, Ben.” She hadn’t had wine with dinner, so she poured herself a glass and kicked off her flip-flops and walked out into her backyard. It was all out here, fresh air, the mingled scents of flowers, the laughter of people passing by on the lane, the lounger that held her in perfect comfort, and when she looked up, so many stars in the sky.
It was quiet. Not the slightest breeze stirred. No one spoke. The lights were out in all the houses around her. It was only about nine thirty. Where was everyone? And why did she even care? She rolled her own eyes at herself.
“My parents aren’t home.”
It was Willow speaking. The way the girl was cooing her words suggested she was talking to Logan.
“I like it out here. It’s cozier. More hidden. When do your parents get home?”
“Not till late. They’re out at a party on someone’s yacht.”
Okay, so much for relaxing under the stars. Darcy was going inside. Boyz didn’t want her interfering with his stepdaughter, he said he and Autumn knew what was going on, and Darcy did not want to sit out here and listen to the sounds of teenage passion.
“Hey, baby, maybe we’ve got time for some extra fun.”
“What do you mean?” Willow asked.
Silence, then, “Ever done heroin?”
Darcy froze.
Willow’s voice got smaller, almost a whisper. “No, Logan. That’s way too scary for me.”
“Hey, don’t I take care of you? When we had the vodka the other night, I didn’t give you too much. You didn’t throw up, did you? I know how to get a good high without causing any downside.”
Willow’s voice shook. “Couldn’t we just smoke a joint again? Or we could get some vodka from the house.”
“Baby, baby, don’t be scared.”