“Ah, so that’s what made you angry enough to write that other book, is it?” Ted asked, chuckling quietly.
Even the eyes that had not already been focused on Elizabeth shifted to her. “I’m not angry.”
“Yeah, who cares about a bunch of commies?” Lydia asked. “Why are you writing that anyway?”
“You’re writing a book aboutcommunists?” Caroline sounded as if she’d smelled something bad.
“Damn reds. Socialized medicine will ruin scientific inquiry,” Herb huffed.
“Well, Lizzy?” her father tipped his Mets cap back on his head. “You have been rather secretive. Communists? Of which variety?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, furious that her family knew—and quite deliberately misunderstood—what she was working on. They’d been less than understanding about her desire to pursue her master’s, andeven her father’s encouragement had waned when she’d focused on creative writing rather than Roman poetry or German philosophy.
Darcy’s voice, soft and measured, broke the tense silence. “This is the book you mentioned about the Red Scare and the Hollywood blacklist?”
A bit dumbfounded by his knowledge, she turned to him and nodded. “A novel about the American government’s investigations into the private lives and the long-ago decisions that affected thousands of citizens—and destroyed hundreds of lives.”
Her uncle nodded grimly. “Joe McCarthy. He was a nasty piece of work.”
“What a fascinating idea for a novel!” Maddie exclaimed. “I can’t wait to read it.”
“They went after Lucille Ball!” Barbara snorted. “I think her grandfather went to a meeting once, and they tracked down the records.”
“Awful stuff,” her husband agreed. Ted smiled at his second daughter. “Clever girl. Bringing home musclemen to cover up your own enigmatic interests.”
Charles laughed. “Ted, I hope you’re including me in that group of Queens-bound musclemen?”
Jane squeezed his biceps. “Oh, honey, these ‘guns’ are registered to me and me alone.”
A collective chuckle went around the pool. Elizabeth looked at Darcy and found his eyes still on her. She wasn’t sure how he knew what she’d been researching, but she was grateful to him for his polite, timely intervention. She smiled at him, hoping to convey that emotion, and she was happy to receive a warm smile in return.
Darcy’s mind churned as he stared at her. The spot on the chaise where she’d sat next to him still bore her imprint, and he was sorry she moved away. He tried to process what it meant that she remembered his back was scarred. Did she only remember what they’ddoneat Netherfield, not what they’d talked about? Why was she so surprised he knew about her book? How soon before they could be alone and talk again?
He needed to knowexactlywhat she remembered from that night. Was the connection they’d made—however slight—only the result of a chemical influence? Or was it something real but now buried underfoggy memories and the hurtful words they had hurled at each other the next day? Could they ever just clear the air, especially now, when she seemed to be hinting that she wanted to?
Charles wandered into the house to check on the leftovers, and Herb followed, curious about whether a “speck of pie” could be found. Jane’s phone chimed and she stared, frozen, at the screen before tapping it.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hellooo, Janiekins! How is my blushing bride?”
“Great, I’m great.” Jane looked at the screen, a smile plastered on her face. Elizabeth sighed and readied for her fate. She hated FaceTime calls with Sylvia, especially with an audience. They required a high-wire performance to keep the conversation neutral and on topic. Both sisters’ expressions became more pained as their mother’s adopted Southern accent filled the air.
“Show me the house, baby!” Sylvia demanded.
Jane rose and held the phone out in front of her. “Hey, everybody! My mother, Sylvia Bennet-LaRue, would like to say hello. Can you all introduce yourselves?”
The Gardiners waved and splashed their greetings, Ted and Barbara smiled. Caroline, now perched by her sister, peered at the iPhone and seemed to be formulating the best response to the woman on the screen chattering at them.
“Speak!” Sylvia cried. “Wait, are you the twins? Charlie’s sisters?”
Louisa smiled grimly and introduced herself and Caroline.
“By gosh, you gingers are just as I pictured ya! And staying out of the sun with that naturally flaming red hair, eh? Better make sure Janey picks out bridesmaid dresses that won’t clash with that color.”
Jane quickly moved away with the phone, holding it up for quick, desultory waves from Mary and Lydia, and descended on her sister. With a pleading expression, she pushed the phone into Elizabeth’s hand and headed off in search of Charles.
“Hi.”
