Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

The timing of it all was dreadful yet somehow unsurprising — that on the cusp of finally having an honest conversation with Darcy, an interruption would come from her family, and with the whiff of scandal attached. It was in Liz’s opinion a mistake to see symbolism in one’s own life, but still, the necessity of her abrupt departure from California felt almost punitive; she wondered if she was being karmically reprimanded for her previous treatment of Darcy.

Sleep overtook her eventually. But even then, woven throughout the night’s dreams, her remorse did not abate.

WHEN LIZ ENTERED her mother’s bedroom in the morning after a run and a shower, it was nearly nine o’clock and her mother was on the phone.

“You should check again,” Mrs. Bennet was saying. “They might have gotten there right after you left.”

It was difficult for Liz to envision her father and Kitty in Chicago. Were they driving up and down Michigan Avenue or wandering on foot around Navy Pier and Grant Park? Were they loitering by the closed courthouse or entering restaurants, showing photos of Ham and Lydia from the screen of Kitty’s phone? Or were they simply, as seemed most likely, in a hotel room, watching television?

“For God’s sake, Fred, you need to find her,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” A few seconds passed before Liz realized that the phone call had ended and her mother’s most recent remark was directed at her.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Liz said.

“What’s it called when they slip pills into girls’ drinks?” Mrs. Bennet said. “They do it at fraternity parties. I wonder if that’s how Ham got her to Chicago.”

“Mom, I’m sure he didn’t give her roofies.”

“Here’s a question for you: Which locker room does Ham use when he swims? Because no one at the Cincinnati Country Club would want to change into their bathing suit around a person like that.”

“Ham can put on a bathing suit at home,” Liz said. “There are ways around it. But I bet he uses the men’s locker room. Just think of him as a man, Mom.”

“Lydia will never be able to have babies.” Mrs. Bennet scowled at Liz. “And at the rate you’re going, neither will you.”

“Lydia and Ham can adopt. Or”—it was impossible not to think of Jane—“there are other options.”

Mrs. Bennet shook her head. “When people adopt, God only knows what’s in those genes.”

“God only knows what’s in any of our genes,” Liz said, and Mrs. Bennet drew herself up into a haughty posture.

“I beg your pardon,” she said. “Your father and I both come from very distinguished families.”

“STILL NO WORD from Lydia?” Jane said.

Liz had brought her laptop and phone to the backyard and was sitting in an ancient patio chair with flaking paint. She said, “Since they didn’t take their cellphones, I assume they’re not planning to be in touch until they get back to Cincinnati.”

What Jane did then was surprising: She laughed. “Lizzy,” Jane said. “Of course Lydia took her phone. She’d sooner lose a limb.”

As soon as Jane said it, Liz realized her sister was correct. “Wow,” she said. “I’m an idiot.”

“I feel like I should be there,” Jane said. “But Mom would take one look at me and know, and this doesn’t seem like the right time for her to find out.”

“You don’t need to come home. Mom’s driving me crazy and Mary’s MIA, but I don’t know what there would be for you to do.”

“It sounds silly, but I keep picturing Ham’s goatee.”

“He must take testosterone,” Liz said, and thought of Darcy.

“What I wonder is,” Jane said, “if Ham was choosing from all the male names in the world, why did he pick Ham? I know it’s short for Hamilton, but that’s still kind of odd. Do you know what his name was when he was female?”

“No,” Liz said.

“I wish I knew him better,” Jane said. “I guess now I’ll get to.”

“I shouldn’t even tell you this,” Liz said, “but there were new unopened Horchow boxes in the front hall when I got home last night, and there’s a bunch of raw steak in the refrigerator. Oh, and doughnuts on the counter. Apparently, Mom and Dad are very receptive to our concerns about their physical and financial well-being.”

“All we can do is encourage them when they make good choices,” Jane said. “We can’t micromanage their behavior. So, Lizzy, I think I felt the baby kick.”

“Wait, really?”

“It was this flutter that didn’t come from my own body.”

“That’s so exciting.”

“I know.” Then Jane said, “Promise to call me the minute you hear anything from Chicago.”

ALTHOUGH SHE KNEW she was supposed to be concerned about Lydia, Liz felt more preoccupied with whether she’d hear from Darcy. As she had previously planned to do, he was taking a red-eye, though having seen Pemberley, she suspected he’d be flying first-class. As Labor Day proceeded in a decidedly un-Labor-Day-ish fashion — Mrs. Bennet continued to weep and brood in her bedroom, Mary hadn’t yet come to the Tudor, and Liz wasn’t sure whether to resent Mary for staying away or be relieved by her absence — Liz imagined Darcy’s activities. He wouldn’t, presumably, leave for the San Francisco airport until around midnight in Cincinnati, so she pictured him packing his suitcase in the Pemberley guesthouse, perhaps going for a run or playing Scrabble with Georgie. (Liz had no idea if Darcy and Georgie played Scrabble.) Had Caroline Bingley returned yet to Los Angeles? Liz certainly hoped so.

Intermittently, her mother would summon her to unhappily speculate about Ham, sometimes from a new angle and sometimes from angles previously explored just a short time earlier. Otherwise, Liz busied herself with tidying the Tudor, as well as with aggressive sniffing in cabinets and the corners of rooms for lingering traces of sulfuryl fluoride, Ken Weinrich’s reassurances notwithstanding.

While she wished that her impatience as she waited to hear from Darcy would cancel out her impatience as she waited to hear from Lydia, the opposite proved true; doubly restless, Liz kept experiencing phantom buzzes in her pocket, incoming texts that turned out not to exist. She began composing in her head the pseudo-off-the-cuff missive she’d send when Darcy returned to Cincinnati: Hey there, wondering if you’re free to get coffee/dinner/whatever before I go back to New York? Having already changed her plane reservations twice since leaving Cincinnati for Houston, she no longer had a ticket to New York, but she figured the implication of urgency couldn’t hurt.

In the early afternoon, Liz was driving home from the Smoothie King in Hyde Park Plaza when her phone buzzed with a real and actual text; it was not, however, from Darcy or Lydia. It was from Georgie.

Liz, the text read, it was SO great to meet you. I’m sure you’ve heard from my brother about him and Caroline and now I feel very awkward about the conversation you and I had. I really wish I’d bitten my tongue. I can’t wait to read your article about Kathy de Bourgh and I hope we cross paths again soon!

Liz’s heartbeat sped up unpleasantly, and continued to do so as she read the text a second time, searching for the part where Georgie specified what Liz might have heard about Darcy and Caroline. Really, though, was specification necessary? Still, it was shocking that exactly what Liz had feared might happen had happened. Hadn’t she been devoting enough anxious attention to this eventuality to preclude it? Had discussing the subject with Charlotte not been a sufficient method of warding it off?