“But I wanted to tell him about Willow!” Darcy nearly shouted. “Your daughter. Who is only fourteen. And maybe having sex with Logan. Who is eighteen.”
“What our daughter does is none of your business,” Boyz said.
Darcy kept her voice level. “It is my business—it’s everyone’s business—if I hear a boy trying to get her to snort heroin.”
Autumn turned to her daughter. “Is this true? Was that boy making you snort heroin?”
“He wasn’t making me…” Willow equivocated.
“Why would he do that?” Autumn demanded.
Willow looked down at her hands, but she was unable to hide the emotions playing over her face—guilt, sorrow, confusion.
Darcy intervened. “Because he’s a dealer.”
“Did you take—snort—any?” Autumn asked.
Willow mumbled, “I didn’t use any. I was going to, but that’s when Darcy stampeded into the yard. She was yelling like she was mental, and she kicked Logan’s hand. He was really mad. She was going to call the police—she had her cellphone—but Logan left. He called her a nasty old bitch.” Willow smiled. “A snake-face bitch.”
Both Autumn and Boyz stared at Darcy, as if looking for the snake face.
She was relieved when Autumn relaxed. “Well, then, Darcy, thank you.”
“Yes, thank you.” Boyz stood up, as if to demonstrate that this conversation was over. “You don’t have to worry about Willow. We’ll make sure she doesn’t see this boy Logan. You won’t have to listen to Willow or have anything to do with her anymore.”
Darcy knew she was being dismissed. She rose, and then Willow cried, “But, Dad, I’m going to help Darcy at the library. I’m going to help her read to the little kids.”
Autumn gasped. “We brought you to this beautiful island, and you want to stay inside with a bunch of children and books?”
“It won’t be all day,” Darcy interjected. “And not every day. I’ll phone Willow with a tentative schedule….”
“Give me your cell number,” Autumn said to Darcy.
Darcy told her; Autumn punched the numbers in her cell. She moved to the door. “Bye, Willow.”
“Oh! Well, bye, Darcy.” Willow made an abrupt, unexpected move, pushing her chair away from the table, rising, and rushing over to hug Darcy. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” Darcy looked at the girl’s sweet face, seeing the freckles across her nose, the tilt of her pretty mouth, and a warmth moved through her and a sense of joy. Whoever collaborated to make this girl, Darcy was glad she was here on earth. And she felt, probably wrongly but still strongly, a sense of connection, almost a sense of guardianship.
She released herself from Willow’s hug and went out the door before Boyz could say something that would turn the moment sour.
Darcy couldn’t fall asleep that night. She tossed and turned so much that Muffler, who always slept next to her, finally jumped off the bed and stalked from the room, his tail twitching with indignation.
—
She woke to a day bright with sun and fresh air, as if her corner of the world had been washed clean overnight. As she walked to work, she called Jordan on her cell and told her about the drama.
“That girl has no idea how lucky she is,” Jordan said. “What if you hadn’t stopped Logan? I hate to think. Are you going to the police about this?”
“I’ll call Sheriff Perlman on my lunch break and tell him about Logan.”
Darcy turned onto Main Street and entered the core district of the town. Doors were opening, shopkeepers were sweeping the sidewalks and watering their flower boxes, a UPS truck was parked by a store, the farm trucks with their bounty of fresh vegetables waited at the corner of Main and Federal. Here and there, pairs of people sat on benches, drinking their coffee and gabbing. A woman with a Borzoi hurried into the Hub. A man in a suit—a rare sight here in the summer—came out with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
“Jordan, I’m almost at the library. I’ll call you later.”
Once she set foot in the library, Darcy cranked into autopilot mode, doing three things at once, handling the good tasks—cataloging the new books, holding a story hour with twenty children—and the more unpleasant tasks—helping a child who had vomited all over himself because his babysitter had caved and bought him a huge candy bar for breakfast. She answered the phone, shelved books, sat at the circ desk when one of the assistants needed a coffee break, gulped down a yogurt for her lunch and an iced coffee at three o’clock, and called Art Perlman to tell him about Logan’s possession of heroin. Art told her they’d been watching Logan for some time now and thanked her for the information.