The question had nothing to do with Estelle’s new novel, but it was one that Estelle took on regardless. Darcy was surprised. Estelle gripped her microphone hard, then said, “I am terribly sorry for your loss. Nothing can prepare you for that.” She cleared her throat. “How can I answer this? I’m still trying to figure it out myself. I’m wondering what kind of writer I’m going to be. I’m trying to find the strength to rewrite a story that I thought was already set. But the truth is, nothing in life is everset. It’s all changing, always. I suppose that’s sort of why I came on this book tour. I wanted to see the world again. I wanted to figure out what kind of woman I was in that world, now that I’m a widow.”
The first woman thanked Estelle and handed the microphone to the next woman. But the next had more questions about Estelle’s new status as a widow. Apparently, she, too, had recently lost her husband. As the questions wore on, it seemed clear that many of the women in the audience, many of whom were around Estelle’s age, were now widows. It was as though they’d all taken this dramatic and heartbreaking step together.
Estelle thanked each of them for their honesty. She said she was sorry because each story was unique. She talked about her concepts around dating—how she wasn’t sure if she would ever be up for it. Roland was her greatest and only love, she knew. The other women nodded knowingly.
And then, the microphone landed in the hands of a man. Darcy hadn’t noticed him before. He wasn’t the only man in the audience—there were three others, it looked like—but it seemed that this one had come on his own. This was a surprise, given that Estelle’s readership was mostly women. He was maybe in his mid-seventies, with salt-and-pepper hair and a handsome face. It was clear he’d been very good-looking when he was younger, as though he’d been an actor or a model, or could have been. His suit jacket told them he was made of money.
“Hi, Estelle,” he said. There was a lilt to his voice, something musical about it. “My name is Albert. I’ve been a longtime reader of your works. I wanted to ask you a more specific question about one of your previous books. I hope it’s all right to get off-topic a bit?”
Estelle laughed generously. “I think we’re up for a topic switch. We could talk and talk and talk about widowhood. But there are other things to say, I’m sure.”
Albert smiled. “Good. I wanted to ask about the character of Ronnie inThe Dark Foil. I wanted to ask about your characterization of him and whether he was based on someone you knew. He reminds me a great deal of someone in my life, suffice it to say.”
Darcy knew that her grandmother loved it when her readers asked her specific questions about her characters. She knew they were perceptive and caring readers.
“Maybe I based the character on the person in your life?” she teased.
Albert laughed. “That’s what I’m wondering!”
“I can’t say I did,” she said. “He came out of my imagination, I suppose.”
“How disastrous for you!” Albert said.
Estelle tilted her head. “I always kind of liked Ronnie.”
“Everyone likes people like Ronnie,” Albert said. “That’s the biggest mistake any of us ever makes.”
Darcy’s eyes flitted from Albert to her grandmother, and back again. There was a buzzing in the air between them. It occurred to Darcy that she’d never seen her grandmother flirt before. It was a funny thing, but also very sweet. Eventually, Albert passed the microphone on, and Estelle regrouped. But the energy in the bookstore had lifted for good. Soon enough, the Q&A session ended, and everyone grabbed glasses of champagne and mingled.
Darcy hugged her grandmother and congratulated her. Estelle blushed happily. She looked sweaty but eager. She knew she had many conversations left, Darcy guessed.
Now that the talk was over, Darcy decided to step outside to call Steven and check on things at home. Steven answered on the third ring, sounding breathless. She knew that bedtime was over, that Steven had probably had to fight their kids tooth and nail to get them to settle down. Such was life at their place.
“How did it go?” Steven asked.
“Grandma killed it, as usual,” Darcy said. She gazed down the long, flat road, watching taxis buzz between other cars, honking. “Thanks for covering things at home so I could come here. I’m loving it.”
“Of course! It’s a pleasure,” Steven said. “And your grandma needs support right now.”
Darcy sniffed. “How was Remy tonight?” Remy, their youngest, had had trouble calming down lately. She’d been jittery and unfocused and unwilling to listen to them.
“Sort of the same,” Steven admitted. “But she’s probably just going through a phase.”
“We’re all going through phases, I guess.” Darcy laughed. “She’s young enough to get away with it.”
It was then that Darcy realized she wasn’t alone outside, that Albert, the man from the Q&A session, had joined her to smoke what looked to be an old-fashioned pipe. He was a good five feet away, so the smoke didn’t bother her. But he looked like someone who’d time-traveled.
Eventually, Darcy and Steven said they loved one another. They said good night. Darcy put her phone back in her purse and headed back inside. But before she could, Albert puffed out the smoke from his pipe and said, “Evening!”
Darcy smiled. “Hi.”
“How was the reading for you?” Albert asked.
“Oh, it was incredible.”
Albert furrowed his brow. “You know, you share some of Estelle Coleman’s features. You aren’t related to her, are you?”
Darcy was surprised. She’d always thought Rachelle looked more like Grandma Estelle than she did. “She’s my grandmother, actually.”
