Tiny Island Summer (11 page)

Darcy retrieved her bike from the ground. Without a word, she started to push it away. After about twenty minutes of walking through heavy rain and pushing the bike next to her, the sun appeared and dried up the last cloud in an instant, like it had always been a gorgeous crystal-bright day.

Like it had never happened,
she thought. Darcy made it to the road, hopped back on the bike, and peddled along. Detouring through the woods had completely thrown off her sense of direction. It seemed like no matter where she looked, she could only see trees. Darcy turned the bike around to what she thought might possibly be the way home and peddled.

She came across John and Char nearly half an hour later as buildings began to appear alongside the road. They waved her over and she noted the totes filled with all the trappings of a day at the beach.

“I got caught in the rain,” Darcy said stupidly as she dismounted and joined them as they walked.

She wanted to tell them everything, but she didn’t think she could without breaking down. Suddenly it occurred to her that she could pretend nothing had happened for at least a little while longer.

“Us too,” Char told her.

“Should we get something to eat? I’m hungry,” John chimed in.

“Sounds great,” Darcy beamed. “And a cocktail. I need a cocktail.”

“The Bell Street Tavern it is,” John announced.

The trio made their way to the restaurant, Darcy parked her bike, and they climbed the stairs to eat on the covered terrace. They’d each ordered a drink and several appetizers when John pulled out his phone.

“I should call Ben and invite him,” he said.

“No, don’t,” Darcy said in a rush.

Both Char and John turned to look at her quizzically. Darcy bit her lip, unsure how to proceed. Could she trust herself to say what she needed to without ruining their meal? Probably not, but Char was her best friend and over the past month John had proved himself to be a caring friend too.

“I’m fired,” she said quietly.

“What? What did you say?” Char asked.

“I . . . I’m fired.”

“What? How did that happen?”

“Ben,” Darcy whispered.

Their drinks and food arrived and everyone took a long sip of their beverage.

“Darcy, that makes no sense. How would Ben know anything about your job?” Char asked.

“Because, and I’m so sorry John, believe me, please. Because it turns out that the appraisal I did, the make-or-break-my-career appraisal that I did, was for your mom. And apparently, I’m a vulture and I’m the worst human being ever and I have no empathy. And there will never be any circumstance where the auction house gets the estate.”

Char and John sat and stared at her.

“It was for my mom?” John asked, more curious than accusatory.

“Please don’t be mad at me, John. Please. She called me. I swear to you, I did not go after her. I didn’t even know your last name was Hampton until Ben confirmed it.”

“No, no. Darcy I’m not mad. I believe you. I do. I’m surprised,” he said taking a thoughtful bite of bruschetta.

“This is all conjecture. I refuse to believe it,” Char said pushing her chair away from the table and standing up. “I’m going to get your phone, and we will know one way or the other. But I can’t sit here and watch you dread what might be happening.”

Darcy looked at her with a mix of relief and fear. She needed Char to step up and take care of her in that moment, but she didn’t know if she wanted to hear the messages.

“Can I stay here and drink?” Darcy pleaded.

“Yes, and John you’re staying too. I’ll ride the bike. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

John nodded and Darcy looked down at the empty glass in front of her. Char pushed her sangria over in front of Darcy and left. Darcy and John sat without speaking for several long minutes. While she’d never known an uncomfortable silence with Ben, Darcy couldn’t relax with John.

“Something occurred to me. But I don’t know if you want to hear it,” John said after about ten minutes.

Darcy looked at him quizzically but didn’t verbally respond.

“How would she have gotten your name?”

Darcy shook her head.

“If you didn’t contact her, then how did she know about you?”

“I have no idea, John. I don’t. Maybe one of the antique dealers I’ve met gave her my name?”

John pursed his lips and shook his head dismissively. “I don’t think so. I think maybe Ben told her about you.”

Darcy turned bright crimson. “It doesn’t matter now, though.”

“Give him some time, Darcy,” John said softly.

Darcy raised her head to smile. John made an excellent big brother. It seemed a role he’d never be able to escape.

“Okay, I’m back,” Char announced as she walked over to the table followed by a waitress carrying a tray of lemon drop shots.

“Did you already listen to it then?” Darcy asked.

“No, I swear I didn’t. But no matter what, I think you’re going to need these.”

“Okay,” Darcy agreed.

The waitress cleared the appetizers and drinks, deposited the shots, and promised to return with dinner.

“On three,” Char announced after placing a shot in front of each of them. “One, two, three.”

They each downed their drink, and then Charlotte pulled out Darcy’s phone, put it on the table, and played the messages on speakerphone.

“Darcy, this is Joanne. I’ve heard from a very irate owner. You are fired. Your unprofessionalism put this man over the edge. I cannot have you work for my company. You are a liability.”

“That’s it?” Darcy asked after a minute.

Neither Charlotte nor John spoke.

“After everything, I don’t know. I guess I expected more—more anger, more yelling, maybe something more dramatic.”

“Is that good?” Char asked.

“I don’t think there is a good or bad. I think it’s just about moving forward now.”

“Good point, Darcy,” John added.

Darcy sighed. “To think about all the hours I put in and that I’m not even going to be able to use this as a reference, that’s the worst of this. What did I do it all for?”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Char told her, putting a hand on her hand.

Darcy felt her eyes tear then stopped herself. “Nope, I’m not doing this. I’m not going to let this be the end. This is going to have to amount to something. There is just no other option.”

“Good girl,” John said and nodded his head with approval.

“I think I need a little more time out,” Darcy announced after dinner.

Char and John shared a significant look.

“I can’t go home yet guys. Once I get home, it’s going to be real.”

Char nodded her understanding, but John looked unconvinced.

“Maybe it could be a girl’s night out?” Darcy offered.

“I like it,” Char responded immediately before John could object.

“Fine, but I’ll come pick you up,” John said.

“John it’s barely five o’clock now. I don’t think we’ll be out past seven. We can easily walk home,” Darcy argued.

“No. I’ll get you. Give me a call when you’re ready. No arguments.”

“Okay,” Darcy grumbled. “Please don’t say anything to your brother,” Darcy begged as they walked downstairs and crossed the road toward Tom’s Burned Down Café.

“Darcy, I can’t—”

“No, please? Just don’t say anything to him about it?” Darcy interrupted. “I wish I hadn’t gotten you involved, and I don’t want to complicate it any further. Just leave it, okay?”

“Okay. But does he understand what he’s done? Does he get the consequences?”

“It doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t. It’s too late now. I don’t want to get you involved in this mess.”

“Fine. I’m heading home now. I’ll take the bike back with me. Call me when you’re ready,” John announced, kissing Char on the cheek before setting off for home.

On an island in the middle of nowhere where every shop and restaurant was seemingly pandering to tourist’s vanilla tastes, Tom’s was the unexpected and delightful burst of butterscotch. The bar had caught on fire and nearly burned down. Without any insurance on the building, the owner came up with a clever idea—throw a big top–style tent over the whole place. Tom’s was the kind of bar that was so original and authentic, that thousands of others had tried to copy it for its inherent sense of cool. The outside area next to the fire by one of the bars looked like part campfire, part Phish concert—all unique. While everything in the place looked reclaimed—from the old Cadillac nearly submerged under the building to the slapped together bench seats—it all fit. Anywhere else, it would look like a pile of junk that should be torched again. But here, it worked.

After the bouncer checked their IDs and marked their hands with stylized claws, they approached the bar. Surveying the crowd, Darcy realized Tom’s had a mix of overt hippies, wayward travelers, and relaxed locals, ranging in age from midtwenties to midsixties. Darcy ordered the hoppiest beer on tap for herself and the girliest cocktail they could make for Char.

“To a night off from . . .” Darcy began as she raised her glass.

“Working!” Char added.

“I was thinking worrying about what I’m going to do with the rest of my life,” Darcy muttered.

“Oh,” Char bit her lip. “Well, cheers.” Char toasted.

After taking their first sips, they moved over to the bench running along the perimeter and sat down.

“Char, what am I going to do?” Darcy asked, finally able to voice the phrase without nearly collapsing from anxiety.

“I have no clue,” Char whispered.

“This has been my whole life.”

“I know,” Char agreed. “I think it’s a good thing that this happened. You need to stop being so afraid of living your life.”

“When did that happen?” she asked her best friend thoughtfully. “I wasn’t always like this, was I?”

“No, not at all,” Char replied. “You used to be almost recklessly spontaneous.”

“We had a lot of fun in college,” Darcy agreed wistfully.

“You can still have that.”

Darcy tensed up. “Can I? I’m so out of practice.”

“You and Ben seemed to be hitting it off. Well, when he wasn’t busy dating other women or getting you fired.”

Darcy winced.

“Not funny yet?” Char asked.

“Give it a day,” Darcy replied.

“I think we need to get some of your spontaneity back. You have earned at least a week off from working, right?”

“I guess?”

“Perfect. Then let’s have some fun. Why don’t you finally get that stupid tattoo you’ve always been talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, it’s tiny anyway. Just a little strawberry on your ankle on your birthmark.”

“Okay, let’s say I agree to do this, where would we go?”

“I have no idea, but I think that guy might.” Char nudged Darcy and nodded her head toward a guy seated at the bar.

“Char, no. I couldn’t,” Darcy whispered.

Char had found the most attractive guy in the entire bar, maybe even on the island. Sure, his arms were heavily tattooed in an intricate and delicate design. But he also looked like a cross between a rock star and a werewolf. He had thick, dark hair, a chiseled face, the broadest shoulders and chest Darcy had ever seen, and judging by the lanky limbs draped on the bar and stool, he probably stood close to six feet four inches. Darcy had always had a thing for tall guys.

“Yes, you can. Go on, I dare you,” Charlotte egged her on.

Darcy rolled her eyes as Char practically shoved her to the floor.

“Hey.”

“Sorry, but go on.”

Darcy stood up, smoothed down her T-shirt—instantly regretting that she hadn’t dressed up—and walked over to the bar. She casually stood a few stools away from him and ordered another beer from the bartender. From the corner of her eye, Darcy could tell that she hadn’t made any impression whatsoever on him. He was reading a book.

“Hi, is this seat taken?” she asked.

“Please,” he replied, offering her the seat next to him and turning toward her as she approached, startling her with his jade-green eyes.

She sat in silence for a second, as he turned back to his book. Feeling bold, Darcy got the bartender’s attention.

“Can I get a shot and get him another of whatever he’s drinking?” she asked, blushing furiously the whole time.

“I have to thank you. I don’t think anyone has ever bought me a drink,” he replied.

“I thought it might be a nice touch since I have a confession to make.”

“A confession? That’s rather serious for just meeting someone. We haven’t met before have we?” He furrowed his brow in concentration as he more thoroughly appraised her face, looking for the hint of anything familiar.

Darcy’s boldness threatened to earn her nothing but embarrassment. She refused to give in to it, however. She missed her old spontaneous self too. Darcy forced herself to relax as he surveyed her.

“No,” he continued. “I would have remembered you.”

“Do you remember everyone you meet?” she asked, intrigued.

He nodded his head slowly. “I do. I’ve been a journalist for nearly fifteen years, and I’ve often found that my ability to remember names, faces, and places has saved my life a few times.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Have you been in war-torn countries then?”

He took a long sip of his beer and nodded. “Not quite. You can find plenty of trouble in ‘civilized’ countries.”

“Are you here on an assignment?”

He smiled. “No. I’m taking a break. I came up here to help a buddy out a year ago and I stayed. Now I’m thinking about writing something longer.”

She smiled at that. “I came here to change direction too.”

“A kindred spirit? Maybe before I ask you what that is, I should ask your name. I’m Eric, by the way,” he extended his hand.

“Darcy.”

“So Darcy, how are you changing direction by coming here?”

“I came here to take a chance on myself, for my job.”

“And how’s that going?”

“I got fired today.”

“Ouch, sorry.”

“It’s . . . okay. It’s probably for the best, to be honest. I have a hard time finding a balance between work and my life. I just wish I’d had more time, to look for something before it happened.”

Eric nodded thoughtfully. “But if you’d had time, would you have been looking?”