44. Darcy
FORTY-FOUR
DARCY
A fish leaps out of the pond and Caleb tugs his line.
“I honestly didn’t believe you that there are fish out here.”
Caleb just smirks. “Told you.”
I survey the area surrounding it, swinging my legs off the dock. “I just don’t get it. The little bit of the creek that feeds into this is so narrow. I don’t see how any fish eggs could float down here.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Fish eggs are pretty tiny, Darce.”
“I guess,” I say, then hook my arm around his shoulder. “I don’t like that summer’s already half over and then I have to lose you. You sure you don’t want to farm forever?”
He sucks air through his teeth. “I am so sorry to say that plumbing has a far higher income potential.”
“But there’s poop,” I try.
He glares at me. “There are actual barrels of poop in the barn. At least with plumbing, it’s in the pipes.”
“And overflowing toilets,” I argue.
He laughs. “I guess there’s that. Wish I could say I was going to do all new builds, but there’s not as much of that these days.”
“You mean, not as many new things getting built?”
“Yeah. Not a lot of people moving to the area, you know.”
“Yeah. Makes me wonder what I’m doing signing up to live here again.”
Caleb shrugs. “Progress isn’t always a good thing. Nothing wrong with working with what you’ve got. I’m sure your family’s happy to have you close again.”
“They are. And if you think you get to abandon me after this summer, you are mistaken. I will plague you for the rest of your days.”
I lean back and spy Jake approaching the house. I call his name and clap a few times until he sees us. Caleb scowls at me. “Scaring off all my fish.”
“It’s high time I got to work anyway.”
“Can’t believe Mr. Lover didn’t stay with you last night.”
I stand, dusting my hands on my jeans. “When he gets back late, he doesn’t want to disturb me. Plus, it’s not like we’re married.”
“Yet,” he grumbles.
I stick my tongue out at him. “Sorry for making the most of a challenging time in my life.”
He sticks his tongue out right back. “We don’t all have that privilege.”
I squint at him. “I’m digging into that more later, Caleb Gibson.”
“No need. I can handle myself.”
I turn back to watch him. “No need, but it’s always nice to have a friend.”
“True. Get out. You’re scaring my fish.”
I walk to join Jake. “Morning,” I call.
“Mornin’.” He bends to kiss me when he gets to my side. “You have a good night?”
“Busy baking for the market today,” I say. “And . . . I finished my book.”
Jake grips my arm to stop me. “Seriously? You finished writing it?”
“First draft, but yeah.”
“Oh my god!” He sweeps me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you. That’s a big deal!”
“Thank you.”
“We should celebrate. Want to go out tonight?”
I twist my lips. “What if we stay here and just have a picnic?”
I’ve been feeling this a lot lately: preemptive nostalgia. Knowing that this summer is a precious and fleeting thing, and wanting to grasp and hold every little thing about it so that maybe if I hold on hard enough, it won’t ever end. I can live in this weird working vacation from reality.
I’ve planted the seed with Maggie that I want to stay in the fall, but I know it won’t be the same. Bill and Maggie will be here, and Caleb and Becca will be gone. And Jake . . . I don’t know where he’ll be. Worst case, he’s a half hour down the road, but that’s only until January. Then it’s back to indecision.
So if I have the option to stay here instead of going to a bar, I’m going to do it.
Jake takes my hand and they swing between us as we walk toward the pasture. “However you want to celebrate, boss.”
“Maybe look at the stars or something?”
“Sounds perfect.”
* * *
“And you believed her?”
Jake and I are on a quilt by the pond. He picked me a bouquet of white wildflowers, a gesture that made me blush harder than any dirty talk ever could. He paid attention, and even though it’s small, I’m starting to think it’s the little things that make a person.
We’re both on our sides, lacing and unlacing our fingers. Our picnic is all picked over, basically just bread and cheese. Jake sent me into the store and told me to get whatever I wanted. Apparently I wanted to order a date with testing whether or not I’m lactose intolerant.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, he’s telling me stories about his sisters.
“Well, I didn’t want to be the one to find out the hard way!” he protests.
“Also, how did every pool in America have the pee in the pool turn the water green rumor?”
He shakes his head. “I wish I knew. More whiskey?”
I hold out my glass and Jake pours another slosh into it. I take a sip and set my glass to the side. Jake settles on his back and opens his arm for me to put my head on his chest.
His hand passes over my hair. He’s learned quickly that you don’t thread your fingers through curls, but patting over them is acceptable. “You want to tell me about your book?”
I sigh. “Soon. I need to figure out what I want from it first. You spend all this time making this thing, and then you’re not even sure what it’ll be next. I already know what I want to change, and that’s just the start of it.”
“That’s understandable.”
I gasp and point to the sky. “Look! There was one! A shooting star!”
Jake chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “Make a wish.”
I know exactly what I want: more of this. This, for as long as I can feasibly have it. This, frozen in time. Would Jake and I even survive in the real world?
That’s all speculation, but I can share what’s been on my mind for a while.
“Hey, remember the night we hooked up for the first time?—”
“Yes, it was like three weeks ago.”
“Shut up,” I whine. “I know. I was there. Let me say the thing.”
“Say it,” he says, patting my hair again.
“You asked me what I want. All I could think about was that I want you. I want this. I want nights under the stars and sitting on the porch swing wrapped up in a quilt with you.” That part makes me surprisingly emotional, choking my words, but I go on. “I want the mountains and the holler and the creek, and even Paint in all of its Mayberry-like charm. I want this feeling, this moment in time, forever.”
Jake’s quiet, his hand no longer moving on me.
“Please don’t tell me I can’t have that,” I say. “I already know that. I can’t freeze time. It’s just what I want.”
Jake’s lips meet my temple, his voice gritty when he speaks. “I wasn’t going to tell you that. I was going to tell you it’s what I want too.”
His swallow is audible, as well as a long, deep breath. I shiver at his words.
“You remember when we were on my kitchen floor, and I said I wanted to bring you peace?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“And you said you wanted to give me the same, you know, peace. What I didn’t say is that I think maybe you are my peace, Darcy. Even at your most chaotic—” he huffs before going on, “you feel like home to me. You are peace. And I know we haven’t known each other long but I want to freeze it forever too.”
“I don’t want to ruin now worrying about forever, though,” I say.
“I don’t either. I think we can do our best to live in the present.”
I turn into him, hugging his ribcage while he wraps his arm around my shoulder. We stay that way for a long time: my ear to his chest, listening to his breath and his heart, his lips pressing into the top of my head.
If nothing else, we’ll always have this summer.