Page 5 of It’s You

D arcy stared at Jack like he was a dream or a ghost or an impossibility.

What do you say to the man who was the beautiful boy who kissed you once, twenty years ago, and changed your whole world, consigning you to a lifetime of relentless longing in the space of a single moment? What in the world do you say?

“Darcy Turner.” He breathed her name the same way he had that night.

She nodded vaguely, focused on his face. Her breath came out in a whoosh as she grabbed the back of the chair she had been sitting in.

I think I’m going to faint, she thought, staring into his eyes.

No, you’re not.

Wait! What?

He smiled at her as she wrinkled her brows in confusion.

Had he spoken? Had he just said that out loud?

She darted a glance at Willow, who was chatting with Amory. She’d heard their conversation so clearly, but no one else appeared to.

Looking back at Jack, she found him devouring her face with his gaze, the brown of his eyes glinting with shards of molten copper.

Suddenly, he turned away sharply, looking over her shoulder, back into Proctor Woods.

He rubbed his jawline between his thumb and forefinger, as if to collect himself, then turned his eyes back to her.

They were brown again, all traces of fire gone.

“Let’s sit down,” he suggested. “It’s…it’s been a long time.”

He moved his hand to hers, peeling her fingers from the back of the chair. The heat of his skin was almost unbearable, and she flinched, pulling her hand away, and sitting down as he sat across from her.

Vaguely, she heard Willow mutter something about getting a drink and some answers, but barely noticed as her friend grabbed Amory’s jacket sleeve and pulled him away to the bar.

Darcy swallowed, trying to calm her racing heart. Of all the things she thought might happen today at Honoria Fellows’s bright and sunny spring wedding, seeing Jack Beauloup again had not come close to making the list.

He was a touch taller than he had been at eighteen, maybe six feet four or six feet five, a good half-foot taller than she.

His hair was thick and wavy black, but as she had observed watching him from the church, lightly peppered with gray at his temples.

His face showed a five o’clock shadow, altogether more gray than a peppering, which gave him an older, more mature, more masculine appearance.

Not that he was short on manliness. His chest was massive and looked hard and toned under his simple blue dress shirt.

He didn’t wear a tie, and she stared at the open neck of his shirt for a moment, swallowing again, almost hypnotized by his tan skin against the light blue combed cotton.

His eyes were the same brown that she remembered, with little copper flecks that caught the sunlight as he grinned at her, surprise and amusement written all over his beautiful face.

Quit it! You’re checking him out like he works at a strip club, she thought.

He chuckled softly, as though he could read her mind. Her cheeks colored pink, and her ears buzzed with embarrassment.

“You’ve, um…you’ve grown up,” she said.

He nodded slowly, holding her eyes for a long moment before dropping his deliberately, to take his time to look at her too.

She could have sworn she saw his fingers twitch as his gaze rested on her neck, where he had pressed his fingers against her pulse in the dusky light of the Carlisle High School backstage curtains.

His eyes dropped lower, and his nostrils flared, staring at her chest. The hunger in his face made her feel hot and faint, even though the early afternoon breeze was cool.

Suddenly, his lips turned up and his brows furrowed.

He was staring with confusion and amusement at the multicolored mess of taffeta sunset exploding below her conservative cardigan.

His eyes snapped up to meet hers in question.

“I didn’t choose it!”

His smile exploded into laughter, deep and rumbling, crinkling the tanned edges of his eyes. “Didn’t think so.”

Her face grew stony as she regarded him.

It’s not like you know me, she thought.

I know more than you think.

His lips hadn’t moved, but his smile faded as she heard these whispered words in her head, and his eyes were holding hers fast.

Darcy bit her bottom lip and watched as his eyes dropped to her lips.

I’m hearing voices. This is intense. Too intense.

She took a deep breath and reached for her champagne glass, turning away from him slightly to finish the rest of the glass in a single gulp.

“So…how have you been?” he asked, eschewing hot glances for polite conversation.

“Fine. You?”

“Good.”

“Twenty years,” she said. “Since The Music Man .”

He nodded, his smile tentative. “Best summer of my life.”

“Really?”

“Surprised?”

“Very. You seemed…um, brooding. Like you were angry for most of that summer.”

He smiled at her more confidently then, and she noted the white shininess of his teeth. They were much whiter and shinier than most men in their late thirties.

He must take good care of himself.

I do.

He winked at her. “Probably just hormones.”

“Huh.” She looked away. Everything he said was throwing her off. She didn’t know how to respond.

“So,” he asked, “is it still Darcy Turner ?”

The way he asked, she had a strange feeling he already knew the answer to this question.

“Yep.” She poured herself another half glass of wine and held up her left hand, naked of any rings.

“Never took the plunge, huh?”

“Maybe someday,” she said, peeking at him over the rim of her champagne flute.

Don’t do that. You hate that.

She heard his voice. Heard it. But his lips hadn’t moved.

She sat up straighter, and her heart started racing, beating faster and faster against her ribs, almost painfully.

Now, going inside was one thing. She’d been going inside for years, for most of her life, in fact. But hearing voices? Specific people’s voices? In her head? In the middle of the day?

Maybe Willow’s idea was a good one. She’d ask Willow to set up that MRI as soon as possible. She’d?—

“Sun’s bright today.” He said this loudly, gesturing to her head.

“Mmm. Oh!” She forgot that she had sunglasses on her head and pulled them down. Immediately, she felt her heart start to slow down until it returned to normal. Her cheeks cooled, and she filled her diaphragm with air.

Since when did sunglasses work faster than Xanax?

She let the question in her head linger for a second, relieved when she didn’t hear an answer in Jack’s voice.

He topped off her champagne glass and turned over an empty glass, filling it for himself. Righting the bottle, he looked at the label. “This is decent stuff. We should toast.”

“To Honoria and Bob?”

Jack smirked.

“To…” She held up her glass.

He lifted his, and she heard the pleasant ping of glass barely touching.

“To Darcy and Jack,” he said.

She didn’t raise her drink, and he paused, his glass resting against the pillow of his lower lip.

“There is no Darcy and Jack,” she said, unable to keep the slightest bit of bitterness out of her tone. You left before that could happen.

He stared at her for a moment, motionless except for the embers which crackled and leaped savagely in his eyes. Then he tilted the glass back and swallowed the champagne in a single gulp, never taking his eyes off her.

Willow returned shortly after to find Darcy and Jack sitting in prickly silence, facing away from one another.

“Well, this is quite the happy little reunion.”

Darcy raised her eyebrows. “Jack Beauloup, this is Willow Broussard. Willow, Jack.”

Willow put out her hand, shaking Jack’s before taking the seat between them. “Good to meet you. Amory’s at the bar.”

“Guess I’ll join him there.” Jack stood up gracefully, leaving the women alone.

Darcy pushed her sunglasses back up on her head. She watched Jack move away from her toward the bar and felt a queer pulling in her heart, like she wanted to jump up and run after him. Stay as close to him as possible. Not let him out of her sight now that he was returned to her.

Willow missed none of this high emotion. “After all these years, it’s still like that, huh?”

“What is?” Darcy turned to her friend.

Willow raised her eyebrows at Darcy. “Darcy and Jack.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” she mumbled.

Darcy looked beyond Willow to the edge of the church clearing and Proctor Woods beyond. She could smell the pine on the breeze, and Darcy wished she could leave the wedding behind and clear her head with a walk in the woods.

“How long before the cake do you think?”

Willow shrugged. “They’ll probably let everyone get good and liquored up. Then dancing, then food, then dancing again, then cake. A few hours. You’ve got time. What happens at the cake?”

Darcy made a sour face. “Pictures.”

“And you, the very picture of a happy bridesmaid.”

“I have to clear my head.”

Willow nodded. Anyone who knew Darcy knew there was no place as soothing to her as the woods. “Do you have shoes?”

“In my car. I’m gonna grab them. If anyone asks, I’ll be back soon.”

She looked at Darcy thoughtfully. “You want to talk about it?”

Darcy shook her head, standing up. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Willow nodded, running three shiny black fingernails through her close-cropped black hair. “Wind’s whipping up a little. Be careful. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

For years, Darcy had fantasized about seeing Jack again.

In the very beginning, she jumped every time the phone rang, racing to answer it, sure it would be Jack’s sultry voice on the other end of the line, calling from far away, unable to live another day without connecting with her.

It never was Jack, but Darcy’s hopes were undaunted.