And there it is. I've been deciding all evening how much of this to say out loud, because saying it out loud makes it real, andmaking it real makes it matter, and I have a policy about letting Finn Bardot matter.
"At the end of the day, when it was just us, when I was actually starting to think he’d grown up into some semblance of a decent human being, he said it."
"Said what?" Cathy asks.
I wince inwardly, not only because I have to say it now and admit how bad it still hurts, but because Finn actually said it. Again. After all these years.
"Dictionary Darcy."
Annie reaches over to squeeze my hand. Silence from Jules and Cathy, who didn’t attend school in Mattichogue.
"Okay," Jules says slowly. "Walk me through the crime, because I'm a dance teacher, not a cryptographer."
"It's the same joke." My voice comes out flatter than I intend. "After all these years and a few billion dollars later, when Finn Bardot reaches for something to say to me, what's there? The same old joke I always was to him. Dictionary Darcy, the nerdy girl. The girl who hid in the library and lived in books, not reality. He doesn't even know he's doing it, that's the part that..." I stop, recalibrate. "The whole day I'd been thinking, maybe the teasing and bullying was just a kid being an idiot. Kids are idiots—I know they are, I teach a hundred and forty of them. But then he opens his mouth and the first thing out is the same shorthand, like I'm a category to him. Like I've always been a category."
Annie's swing has gone still. "Darce. I’m sorry. But did it ever occur to you he might have meant it as a compliment?"
"A compliment? Back then? No. Today? Annie, he said he thought I’d have him organizing library cards all weekend."
She lifts her shoulder. "Not a bad idea, actually. Why didn’t we think of that?"
I shake my head at her. "He hasn’t changed a bit. Not that I expected he had."
So, why am I disappointed to be proven right? I’m not sure I want to know.
"Well," Annie says. "I watched him with those kids for four hours. People can fake charm. I've directed enough teenagers to know charm when it's blocking and choreography. But nobody fakes patience. Maybe it's not a performance, Darce. Maybe this is who he became when you weren't looking. Maybe you just don’t want to see that."
The porch is quiet except for crickets and the distant judgment of Mrs. Fielding's Yorkies, three streets over, barking at something that probably deserves it.
"Or," I say, "he became a man who's wonderful to everyone whose opinion doesn't threaten him, and I'm the one room in town where the old furniture's still arranged the way he left it."
"That's good," Jules says. "Bitter, but good. You should write that down."
Cathy looks at me over the rim of her glass. "Can I offer a professional observation?"
I tilt my head. "Professional? You're a vet."
"Animals don't lie." She shrugs. "A dog that's been kicked flinches at every raised hand. Smart dog. Right to do it. But sometimes the hand's just reaching for the leash, and the only way to find out is the thing the dog can't do, which is wait one extra second before deciding." She swirls her wine. "You waited about half a second today, by Annie's account. Tomorrow, maybe try a full one before you condemn the guy."
"Tomorrow," I say, grateful for the exit ramp, "is your day, actually. If you're still willing to put him to work, given that you’re sitting here telling me I’m already being too harsh on him."
The change that comes over Cathy Morse is genuinely unsettling. She sets down her glass like she's handling ordnance, folds her hands, and smiles the way I imagine people smile in the last scene of heist movies.
"Oh, I'm willing."
"What does that mean?" Annie looks between us. "What's going on at the clinic?"
"It’s Sunday," Cathy says, as if that’s explanation enough.
"Cathy." Jules sits up. "What are you going to make him do?"
"I am not going tomakehim do anything. He is a volunteer, performing community service, and I am a small business owner with a list." She picks her glass back up, serene as a lake. "Wear washable shoes, Darcy. Tell him the same. Actually, don't tell him anything."
"Should I be worried?" I ask.
"You? No." She clinks her glass against mine. "You're going to have a wonderful time."
God, I love these women. It's possible I chose my friends too well.
