Eligible (33 page)

“Do you think it’s awful if I go straight back to New York after I interview Kathy de Bourgh in Houston?” she asked Jane over the phone, and Jane said, “I’m not exactly in a position to tell you not to.”

Lying on Mary and Kitty’s new $500 couch, Liz couldn’t decide whether her behavior as a daughter and sister was exemplary or indefensible. On the one hand, she had in recent days exerted herself to an unprecedented degree to ensure the welfare of her family members. On the other, she would not be waiting even until the aeration stage of the fumigation was complete to leave. She’d be in New York in time for Labor Day weekend, and indeed, the main impetus for her flurry of activity was the knowledge of her departure.

THE WAY LIZ
packed her suitcase and purse was to drive them empty in the trunk of her father’s Cadillac from the Tudor to the small lawn in front of her sisters’ new apartment; also in the trunk were full trash bags containing her clothes, toiletries, digital recorders, and laptop computer. She knelt in the grass and examined each article of clothing, each item from her Dopp kit, to ensure that no spider was clinging to it. She wondered if another resident of the building would complain—it probably looked like she was setting up for a garage sale—but no one did, and she found no spiders. When she’d finished, she carried her full bags into her sisters’ apartment, relieved that she would never be anyone’s mother and thus would never need to pick through the scalp of a child, searching in just this way for lice eggs.

HAVING NOT SEEN
Darcy for nearly a week, Liz forwent the pretense of a run and simply walked from her sisters’ apartment building to his and knocked on the door. He didn’t answer, but as she left the building, surly about the lack of gratification, she encountered him on his way in, carrying several plastic grocery bags in both hands.

“I assumed you were working,” she said, and he shook his head.

“I go in tonight at six. Is something wrong?” She was deciding how to answer—was he
trying
to make her feel foolish?—when he added, with some degree of awkwardness, “Or did you just come over to, ah—right. Come in. By all means.”

“Here.” She extended her hand. “Give me a few bags.”

As she followed him back up the stairs, she took a perverse delight in sharing the latest news about her family, though instead of mockingly declaring his lack of surprise that the Bennets were harboring an insect plague of biblical proportions, he said, with what bordered on sympathy, “Old houses have a lot of issues. That’s a shame the buyers retracted their offer.”

“Well, Kitty and Mary are your neighbors now,” she said. “They’re at the corner of Millsbrae and Atlantic, in case you need to borrow a cup of sugar.”

“I’m surprised a landlord would rent to two people without jobs.”

“It’s my name on the lease.”

They had reached the second floor, and Darcy said as he unlocked his door, “You’re not worried about destroying your credit?”

“Oh, I assume I will. But I don’t see what the alternative is.”

Inside, Darcy put away the groceries requiring refrigeration while she sat on a kitchen stool; he offered her beer and water, both of which she declined; and within ten minutes the true reason for her visit had been not only initiated but, for both parties, successfully completed.

“This so-called hate sex,” Darcy said then. “Is it the norm for you?” Their latest encounter, like the earlier ones, had been consummated above the sheets, and they were presently positioned near each other but no longer touching; in order to comply with cuddle avoidance, Liz had rolled away from him and lay, as he did, on her back.

Liz laughed. “If you have to ask if someone’s slutty, that probably means the answer is yes.”

“That’s hardly what I was implying. I just wonder if you find it more expedient. Though you did say you recently got out of a relationship, if I remember correctly.”

“No, hate sex isn’t the norm for me, but neither is living in Cincinnati. And as a matter of fact, I’m about to leave. I go tomorrow afternoon to Houston to interview Kathy de Bourgh, and I’ll fly on to New York from there.”

“You’re leaving town tomorrow?” Darcy seemed surprised.

“Don’t be too heartbroken,” Liz said. “Have you ever tried online dating? If not, you should.”

“Have
you
ever tried online dating?”

“Sure, and I definitely would do it if I lived here.”

For a few seconds, Darcy was quiet. Finally, he said, “Is the person you just broke up with Jasper Wick?”

“If it were, that’d be scandalous, wouldn’t it? Since he’s a married man
and
a Stanford outcast.” Liz glanced at her watch. “A part of me is tempted to offer to write your online dating profile, but I’m not sure it’s ethical to inflict you on another human woman. It wouldn’t be very sisterly, if you know what I mean.”

She had been teasing, but the expression on his face seemed to be one of genuine displeasure. He said, “I don’t need your help with an online dating profile.”

“Fair enough. You do have a PhD, I hear.” Liz swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her clothes on the floor. She was fastening the clasp of her bra when she heard Darcy say, “That tattoo always surprises me.”

It was two inches by one inch, an image of a typewriter on the small of her back. Without turning, she said, “Want to guess how old I was when I got it?”

“Twenty?”

“Even worse. Twenty-three. The irony is that I thought it was much cooler than a flower or a Chinese symbol. I was declaring my serious ambitions as a writer. But somehow, all these years later, it’s never been the right moment to show it to any of the people I’ve interviewed.” Liz glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe you should get the Hippocratic oath on your butt.”

“Maybe so,” he said, and Liz felt a twinge of something. She still didn’t particularly like him, but it was hard not to wonder if they’d cross paths again. He tapped his left biceps. “Or the Skyline Chili logo up here.”

She had pulled on her shirt and underwear and she stood, turning to face him as she stepped into her jeans. Presumably, it was the last time they’d see each other before she left town, and this unexpected welling of emotion—it was gaining rather than decreasing in intensity. Also, rather bizarrely, there was some chance that a few minutes earlier, during what had appeared to be the height of his pleasure, Darcy had uttered the words, “My darling.” If this had indeed happened, Liz was confident the utterance had been accidental, and certainly it had been acknowledged by neither of them. In any case, what was she supposed to do now—hug him goodbye like a co-worker? No, she would not hug him.

“You’re way too good for Jasper, if that’s who it was,” Darcy said. He seemed simultaneously like a stranger and someone she knew extremely well; there was either an enormous amount to say or nothing at all.

She tried to sound lighthearted. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“AFTER I LEAVE
town, my parents might tell you they’ve changed their mind about selling the house,” Liz said to Shane. She had met him at Coffee Emporium on Erie Avenue. “My mom especially, but don’t trust her. If that happens, call me right away.”

“I appreciate the sensitivity of the situation,” Shane said. “But this could quickly get beyond the legal scope of what a real estate agent can do.”

“They want to sell the house,” Liz said. “Or at least my dad recognizes that they have no choice. If they say otherwise, just treat it like static. And the minute you know another agent is planning to show it, call me, I’ll call Mary or Kitty, and one of them will make sure it looks okay and get my parents out.”

Shane squinted in a way that took Liz a few seconds to recognize as fake casual. “Speaking of Kitty,” he said, “how old is she?”

“Twenty-six.” Liz felt a mercenary and possibly disloyal temptation to add,
And if you sell our house, she’s all yours.
But he hadn’t yet asked if she was single; he was wondering, Liz could tell, but he hadn’t asked.

“I FIGURED OUT
where Mary goes,” Kitty said. “And it’s hilarious.” Liz had been lying on the Ikea couch in Kitty and Mary’s living room, reading a long article on her laptop in the newest issue of the magazine where she and Jasper had once been fact-checkers.

“Where?” Liz asked.

Kitty held up car keys. “Come with me.”

“Is it good or bad?”

“Just come,” Kitty said. “It’s worth it.”

They drove through Oakley—this was the route they had followed to the campus of Seven Hills for countless mornings of Liz’s life—but instead of continuing to Oaklawn Drive and making a left, Kitty turned right into the parking lot of Madison Bowl.

“She bowls?” Liz said.

“She’s in a
league.
” Kitty’s voice was thick with amusement. “And it’s not a hipster league. It’s middle-aged fat people.”

“That’s not against the law.”

“Once you see them, you’ll think it should be.”

As Kitty pulled into a parking space and turned off the car, Liz said, “She’s in there now?”

“I followed her here a few weeks ago. I needed to make sure she wasn’t in a satanic cult before we became roommates.”

“Did you tell her you’d followed her?”

Kitty shook her head.

“So what’s your plan? We go inside and yell ‘Surprise!’ at her?”

“Last time, she changed in her car into a red-and-black uniform,” Kitty said. “Don’t you think it’s weird that she’s so secretive about something so dumb?”

“Because she knew this was how you’d act if she told us.”

Kitty had parked near a light pole, and in the sallow illumination it provided, the sisters looked at each other. Petulantly, Kitty said, “You’re no fun.”

“You know what, Kitty? You can decide to be a good person. If you’re lucky, you have a long adulthood ahead of you, and you might actually be happier if you’re nice instead of mean.”

“I
am
a good person,” Kitty said. But it was with clear resentment that, to Liz’s relief, she started the ignition.