“No, not dead. Just not interested. My father’s with his new wife in Florida and my mother is anywhere she can have a good time. If I hadn’t had my grandmother to give me a stable life, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
“Tell me more,” Clive asked as he spread jam on his toast.
Darcy sat down at the table and talked. About her beautiful butterfly mother, about her cold, emotionless father. About her gaggle of well-intentioned but irresponsible relatives in Chicago, about her years on the island with Penny. It was comforting, talking like this in a warm kitchen. It was ordinary, domestic, peaceful.
When Clive finished eating, he heaved a deep sigh. “That was manna from heaven, Darcy, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Consider me your surrogate grandmother of the day.” She meant only to imply that Mimi would be up and around as soon as tomorrow, that she was doing what their grandmothers did, listening, caring, helping.
“I don’t think of you as a grandmother in any way,” Clive said. And he fixed her with a steady stare that took Darcy’s breath away.
“Well.” She couldn’t think of any other single intelligent word.
His look was full of need and desire, heat and lust. Embarrassed and completely unsure of herself, Darcy pushed back her chair and rose.
“I’ll put your dish in the dishwasher—” she said.
She reached for the plate. Clive caught her wrist with his hand. He stood up, and keeping her caught by one hand, he pulled her to him with the other. He cupped her head in his hand and kissed her, a long, hard, ferocious kiss that swept over Darcy like a tidal wave. This was wrong, Darcy thought—wasn’t it? She’d made no commitment to Nash. If he could plan to buy a house without mentioning it to her, she could certainly kiss another man.
Except she realized this was not going to be a simple kiss. Clive wanted her now. She understood that urgency, it wasn’t wrong, it was natural, it was right, it was celebrating life in the midst of old age and illness and so many kinds of defeat. It was like finding a bubble of lifesaving air when you’re helplessly sinking into the dark, fathomless ocean of death. It was the triumph of lust over loss. For a few moments, Darcy could help Clive forget the shadow of death hanging over his grandmother. For a few moments, they could both take their pleasure in being young and alive.
And yet…
Darcy pulled away from his kiss. “Clive, I’m sorry. I can’t.”
He frowned. “Because of that carpenter guy?”
She started to protest that Nash wasn’t a simple carpenter guy, he was a lawyer, or had been. At the same time, she realized that it was Nash she loved, whatever his profession. It was Nash’s gentleness and his humor, his lack of snobbery, his love of reading, the dark memories that made him who he was, and his unspoken determination to turn toward the light.
“Yes, actually, it’s because of that carpenter guy.”
Moving briskly, she headed down the hall to the front door. Clive followed.
“If there’s any change in Mimi, call me, okay?” She picked up her book bag and opened the door.
“I want to walk you home,” Clive said, catching her by the wrist.
She laughed again, trying to lighten the situation. “Clive, I live next door.”
His grip tightened on her wrist. “I’m well aware of that. Still, it’s what I want to do. Indulge me.” He reached for her book bag and shouldered it.
“Fine.” She allowed her hand to lie clasped in his and stepped out onto the small porch that led six steps down to the brick sidewalk.
“Ahh.” Clive sighed, breathing in the fresh air. “I’m glad you stopped by today, Darcy. I mean, for Mimi. And the open windows, the fresh air, the clean sheets and nightgown. I didn’t have a clue about all that.”
They stopped at Darcy’s doorstep, still holding hands. “She should see a doctor. Or, maybe, you could hire a private nurse. A professional caregiver.”
“I’ll talk to Mimi about it.” In one silky move, Clive gave Darcy her book bag and brought his hands up to frame Darcy’s face. He tilted her head toward his. “Darcy, thank you. For everything. And don’t think that I’m confusing gratitude with honest personal desire. I’d like a chance to prove my point.”
“You’re welcome, Clive,” Darcy replied, ignoring his words about desire. She remembered how she’d felt when Penny was ill, how confused, how much she’d needed someone to help her realize she had her own future ahead of her. She tried to turn from him.
Clive pulled her against him and kissed her again, hotly, possessively. Her hands were caught against his chest and she tried to push him away but his kiss continued. He was not a man who liked to take no for an answer. Finally she wrenched herself from his embrace.