The Harder They Fall (23 page)

Darcy’s heart fluttered. It was one thing to hear a man tell her she was beautiful when she knew he was trying to seduce her. It was another to hear that he’d shared that view with his mother. “Thank you. So are you.”

Mrs. Davidson laughed. “Oh, I’m just an old lady.”

Darcy shook her head. “No.” She couldn’t stop herself from blurting out the thoughts whirling in her head. “But you’re so tiny! How did you ever manage to carry Michael, Mrs. Davidson?”

Her laughter tinkled through the room. It was light and airy. “Please, call me Laura.” Absently, she took up her needles and began knitting again, as if she couldn’t bear to sit idle. “Michael was only a little bigger than the average infant at birth. But he made up for it rather quickly. He had to learn to walk early, because I certainly couldn’t carry him for long.” Her eyes paled a little with what Darcy thought was sadness. “Michael had to learn a lot of things much earlier than he should have had to.”

Darcy had no idea how to respond to that. Her cheeks warmed. She felt uncomfortable knowing the details of this woman’s life.

Mrs. Davidson sighed. “Has Michael told you about his childhood?”

“Just bits and pieces. He told me how much you did for him.”

Peering over her glasses, Mrs. Davidson frowned. “He’s still spouting that nonsense, is he?”

“Well,” Darcy said, wondering why that seemed to consternate the older woman. “He’s grateful.”

“It’s hogwash, you know. I only did what any mother would have done.”

“He seems to think,” Darcy said quietly, “that you sacrificed your life for his.”

Mrs. Davidson’s knitting dropped to her lap, and she clucked in disgust. “I should box that boy’s ears.”

Darcy stifled a giggle. Michael’s mother would need a ladder to reach his ears.

The woman clucked again. “My children
are
my life. I can’t believe he’s still carrying around all that baggage. What utter nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

Mrs. Davidson laughed. “Darcy, did Michael happen to tell you anything else about his childhood, other than the fact that his mother was some sort of martyred saint?”

Darcy smiled at the mirth in those gray eyes. Happy to hear any and everything about Michael, she shook her head.

“You might have noticed that Michael is . . . hmm, somewhat organized?”

Darcy snorted. “He could give lessons to the military.”

Michael’s mother nodded, grinning. “He has been like that since he was in diapers. Even before he could write, he kept inventory of his toys.”

Mrs. Davidson took up her knitting. “He would travel down to the toy store and pick out something he just
had
to have. He’d calculate down to the penny how much more money he needed than he had saved to buy it. Then he’d walk up and down the street, offering to do chores for the neighbors in exchange for pennies, nickels, quarters.

“As soon as he earned enough money, he’d march down to the toy store and buy that precious toy. Inevitably, he’d see something else he wanted, so the cycle started all over again.”

Mrs. Davidson paused, then smiled sadly. “After . . . his father left, all of that changed. He never once set his sights on a toy again. Instead, he’d see that there were holes in Annie’s socks, so he’d earn money to buy her new ones. The toaster would break and, within a week, he’d buy a replacement.”

Darcy ached for the little boy who’d had to go from nurtured to nurturing overnight. She ached for the man who carried the weight of guilt for so many things beyond his control.

“The only luxury he spent his money on was flowers.”

Darcy looked up sharply. “Flowers?”

“Flowers,” Mrs. Davidson repeated, pointing to the bouquet Michael had bought at the airport. “He knew how much I loved flowers. Once a week, like clockwork, I’d get flowers from him. Sometimes, when he didn’t have the money, he’d pilfer flowers from the park. I could always tell when he’d had to go searching for them.”

Mrs. Davidson shook her head, then held up her knitting to survey it. “By the time Michael was ten, he was a workaholic. He was never satisfied. Every time he accomplished a goal, he looked around wildly for another one to take its place. Then he’d come home and proudly announce what was next on his plate.”

“God, I love this man,” Darcy whispered under her breath.

Apparently, there was nothing wrong with Mrs. Davidson’s hearing. She lowered her knitting. “I’m glad to hear it. Maybe you can be the one to get him to stop chasing titles and start chasing children.”

Darcy snapped stiff. “Please, Mrs. Davidson, don’t pin your hopes on me. Michael hasn’t mentioned anything about commitment, much less marriage or children. I . . . think he was just lonely in Washington, and I . . . was convenient. Pretty soon he’ll be returning to New York and he’ll be busy with his new job . . . and—”

His mother’s brows furrowed. “New job?”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, maybe he was saving the good news until he actually got named senior vice president.”

“No, I knew about it. But he told me, not an hour ago, not to count on it. As if I care whether he runs the whole country, just so long as he’s happy.”

Darcy stopped tracing the seams on the chair. “He found out he’s not getting the promotion?”

Laura shrugged. “Not exactly. Apparently, this big deal he’s been working on down in Washington isn’t going to go through.”

“The deal in Washington?” Darcy croaked. “What does that have to do with it?”

“He said when he comes back empty-handed, he’ll be lucky to keep his job. He’s exaggerating, probably. Michael always lands on his feet. But I know how much he hates to fail, and I’m sure he’ll consider that a failure. So you just make sure to be there to comfort him.” With that, she laughed.

Darcy quietly closed
Mrs. Davidson’s door behind her, then walked to the staircase. There she stopped and gripped the railing, taking deep, steadying breaths.

Michael’s promotion, maybe even his job, depended on the restaurant deal. The stakes were that high. And he’d never even told her that.

Why
hadn’t he told her that? Was it pride? Or something more sinister? It hurt terribly, but she’d be a fool not to consider the possibility. Was Michael using her? Making her fall in love with him so that he could manipulate her into giving her father the go-ahead? Was he that much of a conniving bastard?

After all, just the way he talked about his family made it clear that they came first with him. He’d do anything for them. Would he do this?

Darcy tried to think. When had Michael started showing interest in her? It seemed like he’d been around about three weeks. Soon after her father had come to town.

Her father. What had her father told him? Had he told Michael she had the final say? Probably. Which of course would explain Michael’s sudden turnaround. And the reason he hadn’t mentioned the takeover to her for quite a while. He’d wanted to soften her up first.

No, she wouldn’t believe that. Even if he’d started out trying to soften her, he wasn’t faking his feelings now, was he? If so, he deserved an Oscar.

Her mind was jumbled, her insides shaking from the thought that any or all of these possibilities were based in fact. If so, her heart was about to be shattered.

Somehow, she had to find a way to ask Michael about what she’d learned. She desperately hoped he had a reasonable explanation. Like that he’d fallen madly in love with her, couldn’t live without her, and would she please marry him and bear him two-point-five children.

Darcy made her way down the steps, her heart pounding. She didn’t know how she was going to ask him without making an utter fool of herself. But she had to know, before she invested any more emotional capital in him.

As she started down the hall to the kitchen, she heard the murmur of voices, one male, one female. Michael’s angry “No!” brought Darcy up short.

“But, Michael, I can’t live off you forever. Until I make a sale, I think I should go to work.”

“You
are
working. Your writing is your work.”

“My writing is my dream.”

“That’s even more reason. I’m not going to let you give up on your dream.”

“You are such a pain!”

“Thank you very much.”

“What happens if you
do
lose your job?” Annie said softly.

Darcy wasn’t an eavesdropper by nature, but at the moment she couldn’t force herself to move, to make a sound that would alert them to her presence.

“I’ll get another paper route,” Michael said dryly.

“Be serious!”

“I sincerely doubt that will happen, Annie-bell. So stop worrying your little head over it.”

“Why don’t you just tell Darcy the problem? Maybe she’ll agree—”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“Mike, I think she really cares. If she knew your predicament—”

“I said no,” he interrupted again, his voice like steel. “You have your dreams and Darcy has hers. I’d no more ask her to give up her dream because of me than I’d ask you. We’ll find a way, Annie. Trust me, please.”

“When are you going to stop promoting everyone else’s dream and start working on your own?”

“Quit being so dramatic, Annie. I’m doing just fine.”

“What about Darcy?”

“What about her?”

“Do you . . . like her?”

Darcy tensed, waiting for his answer.

“Yeah, Annie-bell, I do. A lot.”

“I do, too.”

“Good.”

“She’s nothing like your usual girlfriends.”

Michael chuckled. “You know what’s funny about that? I think that’s exactly why I like her.”

Darcy slumped against the wall, both elated and frightened. A man had never professed to really liking her before. A man had never cared more about her dream than his. A man had never meant so much to her. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned love. But she was just optimistic enough to hope they would progress to that part.

And in that moment, Darcy knew what she had to do.

That night, Darcy dreamt of her mother. It was the summer of Darcy’s seventh year, and she and her mother were enjoying a rare afternoon together. They’d gone to see a Disney movie, which had made Darcy cry because an animal had died in it.

Afterward, her mother took her to Baskin-Robbins. They carried their cones to the park across the street, and sat in the warm noon sun.

Darcy licked a drop of chocolate ice cream from her hand. “What happens to animals when they die?”

“They go to heaven, just like people do, Darcy. God loves all of his creatures.”

“If he loves us, why does he let us die?”

“Because he wants us with him, eventually.”

“I don’t want you to go be with him. I want you to stay with me.”

Her mother hugged her. “I plan on staying with you for a long, long time, baby.”

The image melted, and another took its place. Darcy stood in her family’s large country kitchen, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. Luli, their housekeeper, was hugging her, trying to comfort her. “Now, sugar, your mama’s gotta do what she gotta do.”

“She promised she’d be here for my birthday.”

Just then her mother entered, looking harried and hurried. Darcy turned her head the other way and let out a loud wail.

Her mother took her shoulders and turned her around. “Oh, honey, you know I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.” She pushed Darcy’s hair out of her face. “When I get back we’ll have the biggest party you’ve ever seen.”

“You love the restaurants more than me.”

“No! That’s not true! Why do you think I’m doing this, Darcy? For me? No. This is for you, for your future.”

“I don’t want them. I hate them.”