Darcy's proclamation that it's 'just a house' unravels the minute Muriel sweeps in the door, sparking off a flurry of activity and laughter that's infectious. Slim and athletic with short dark hair, she could pass easily for Darcy's mother, and at times acts like her sister.
"Who says seventy-four has to be old?" she says, clasping Steve's hand tightly in her own. "But you're making me wish I was forty. God love it, will you look at those baby blues?"
All of one hundred and fifteen pounds, Muriel pulls Steve through the house like a drill sergeant, stopping here and there to call out random points of interest. There's the step where Darcy fell and split open her chin when she was six, or the shadow box of medals that her older brother, Darcy's Great-Uncle, received during World War II. He follows dutifully, trying not to laugh at the way she colors her stories with little asides and dramatic eye rolls. Not only does Darcy favor her aunt physically, she has her energy and sarcasm, too.
"This is my favorite room in the house," she declares as they enter the kitchen. "Not that I cook well, but I just love the way it feels. Now sit," she commands.
Steve hesitates, not sure if she's speaking to him or the dog.
"Darcy, honey, will you open a bottle of wine? There are a few bottles in the pantry. Maybe a cabernet? I'm going to throw some steaks on the grill, and I think merlot will be too heavy."
They're throwing around words that are foreign to Steve, but the hustle and bustle of day-to-day life takes the edge off. He pulls a chair back from the table, studies it for a moment, then flips it around backwards so that he can face the activity. It's clear he doesn't want to miss a moment of this Lewis family reunion.
"May I help with anything, ma'am?" Steve asks. He's no good in the kitchen, but he was raised to always be polite, even if he didn't have anything to offer.
Muriel's drops an armload of vegetables on the table, tomatoes and carrots and big, bushy heads of lettuce. Lightning fast, her hand is out, clasping his cheek between her thumb and forefinger.
"So sweet," she says, gently patting his cheek to sooth away the sting of her pinch. "Thank you, but no, you're a guest. Now sit right there and talk to me. I know the basics - Jabber jaws out there won't shut up about you. But she censors the good stuff."
"What would you like to know?"
Muriel snaps the rubber band free from bundle of carrots and chops off the tops with a large knife. "Did you really try and argue with our girl about Korea?"
"Which part?" he asks sheepishly. They've debated a number of things, so many that Steve can't keep track of who's won or lost.
Muriel throws back her head, and her laugh is deep and full. It brings Heckle trotting into the room, pink tongue lolling to the side. He stops at his mistress's leg, sniffing once before moving on to Steve. All it takes is one or two strokes across the brow for Heckle to drop his snout on Steve's knee and sigh contentedly.
"I see you're winning my entire family over." Muriel says. She uses the knife to force the sliced carrots to the side, and starts in on the bright red radishes. "This visit may end up being more interesting than I thought."
"I hear obnoxious laughter," Darcy calls from the pantry. "IS she flirting with you?"
"Just a little," Steve admits. It earns him a wink from Muriel.
Darcy reappears with two bottles of wine. "Honestly, woman, you are so bad! "
She places the bottle on the table and drapes her arms loosely around Steve's neck, her fingers lacing loosely together to form a circle. "If you could have seen the things that she got up to with my Uncle Jonathan…." She shudders melodramatically. "Young children are stunted by that level of sappiness."
"Careful there, kettle," Muriel warns, "The night is young and the apple didn't fall far from the tree."
O-O
Dinner is excellent, the steaks and salad simple and perfect. Darcy and Muriel drink wine, and even though alcohol has no effect on him, Steve steals a sip or two from Darcy's glass. It's heavy and warm and tastes like blueberries and sunshine. Once when Muriel is out of the room, he catches Darcy and pulls her close, basking in the way she tastes like wine and chocolate.
Once the table is clear, they return to the living room, where Muriel's more than happy to explain the provenance of the paintings throughout the house. It seems that everything here has a story, a little memory or a laugh. This is the kind of house that people long to grow up in, not just for the opulence, but for the love and the laughter. They finish the second bottle of wine, and Darcy nestles into his side, her head resting lazily against his shoulder.
"You okay?" he whispers when Muriel excuses herself to go to the powder room.
"Perfect," she says, her words slightly slurred. "Tired, but perfect. What do you think of Auntie M?"
"I like her a lot," Steve admits. "Not that I expected otherwise."
Darcy smiles, her eyes drifting shut. "She likes you, too."
"Good, because I think I'd be scared to think if what she'd do if she didn't."
She starts to laugh, but it quickly turns into a yawn.
"I think I need to go to bed," she says, slowly sitting up. "All that wine and the fresh air did me in."
Steve helps her to her feet, his hand braced on the back of the couch, ready to follow. "Do you need me to walk you up?"
"I think I can get to my childhood bedroom okay from my living room," she teases. "Plus Heckle will follow. He likes to cuddle."
"Lucky dog."
"Are you jealous?" she asks, her smile lazy. "Me, Heckle, and your size infinity pajama pants. It's a hot party."
"Temptation." He kisses her hand, not wanting to let go. "See you in the morning?"
"MMM," she's drifting toward the door, wobbling a bit.
"Off to bed?" Muriel meets her at the door, her arms open wide. Darcy walks easily into them, and the two women rock back and forth for a moment, murmuring things too low for Steve to hear.
"Good night, love. Sweet dreams," she says, kissing Darcy gently on the cheek. "I'll make sure Steven gets tucked in all safe and sound."
"My boyfriend," Darcy says, swatting unsteadily at her aunt. "Hands off."
They giggle and tip their heads together in one more brief embrace before Darcy floats, albeit a little unsteadily, up the steps.
Muriel reclaims her place across from Steve, leaning to the side so that she can tuck her feet up underneath her body.
'It's good to see her smile like that. My Darcy has a smile that can light up an entire city when she wants to."
"You love her a lot."
She takes a sip of her wine, and leans her chin in her hand, staring directly into Steve's eyes. Jekyll trots into the room, turning twice in a circle before lying down at her feet.
"I can see I'm not the only one," she says.
Somewhere in another room, a clock chimes softly. It's the only sound in the house, but it's not uncomfortable at all.
"Steven," she says, her voice even. "I don't have children, and I don't have a husband anymore, god rest his soul. Darcy's all that's left to me in the world, and I want to see her happy."
"That's all I want, ma'am," he says, overwhelmed by the need to justify his intentions.
Muriel holds up her wine glass, watching the way the light shines through the ruby liquid. "I heard someone compare the concept of love to a falcon once. It sinks it's talons into you when it lifts you up, and then you are soaring higher than you've ever been. It's beautiful and amazing, but if you lose it, there are holes were it sank into you, and they never fill back in."
She twirls the wine around in the bowl, watching the way the liquid clings to the glass.
"To outsiders, it probably looks like Darcy has everything. What they don't see is what she never talks about - growing up in boarding schools because her parents were too busy to care. Being disappointed time and time again by friends who weren't really friends at all," Muriel pauses, letting the words sink in. "Darcy does not let people in easily, Steven. She's been abandoned too many times, and it hurts her too much. But somehow, even with all that disappointment, she opened up to you, and it's transformed her. She's happier than I've ever seen her."
"I think that," he admits, "but then there are times when she's so…fragile." He shifts his gaze down to the barely transparent circles on his pants leg, flecks of drool from a dog too happy to turn away from a good ear scratching.
"You mean the incident in Jane Foster's lab?"
Steve looks up sharply. "She told you about that?"
"She couldn't very well show up here with cuts on her face and a shiner, could she?" Muriel continues to stare directly at him, her focus unwavering. "Jonathan and I were the only ones to ever put her first, you know. I think it's second nature for Darcy to expect people to let her down, or to not care."
"But she has friends in New York, people who care about her…"
"True," Muriel says, "But they also love other people. She's not…how do you say, top of mind with them. But with you, she is. She needs that – more than most people do."
It's a small detail, but it's the missing piece that helps all the other parts come into focus. All those little disjointed moments, the actions and reactions to things that Steve could never quite understand, they all form together to show him what he's been missing.
Muriel smiles and stands, startling Jekyll out of sleep. She strokes the dog's head, and when she speaks, the vibrancy is gone, replaced by something much quieter. "You're like me, aren't you, Jekyll? You look good for your age, but it's creeping up on you fast."
When she looks up at Steve, the spark of life is gone. Muriel isn't invincible or ageless, even if she tries to act that way for Darcy. "She needs you, not someone, but you, Steven. Take care of her for me, please?
She steps close enough to touch his cheek, but this time there isn't any pinch, just the warm pressure of her fingers against his skin. "You have my approval and my blessing."
Steve catches her hand, squeezing it gently.
"Sleep well," she whispers, and slips away into the darkness of the house.
O-O
Instead of going to bed, Steve sits in the living room, replaying scenes from the past, both near and distant. He files away the time here in this house, promising that it won't be the last time talking with Muriel like this, or feeling that magic that comes from being part of a home.
When the clock chimes one, Steve finally gives, walking quietly up the steps to his bedroom. At the third floor landing he hesitates for just a moment, then turns, quietly scaling the final set of steps up to the fourth floor.
Smaller than the rest of the house, the top floor is one full room, with French doors at the back end opening on to a small patio. A large sleigh bed and an overstuffed chair dominates the other side. Bookshelves cover the walls, recessed lights casting a gentle glow over clusters of photos and other mementoes. There are pictures of Darcy at all ages - some with Muriel, others with Muriel and a man, who must be her husband Jonathan, holding hands. There's a recent one, her lying in her back in the living room, Heckle stretched out underneath her head for support. The absences speak volumes….no friends, no photos of her parents. A lone snapshot of her and Jane Foster, wedged into the corner of a frame, is the only representation of life outside of these four walls.
It's all so obvious to him now, the little comments, her devastation at being forgotten.
At the foot of the bed, Heckle begins to chuff quietly, his paws scrambling frantically. Darcy throws a leg over the dog's body, mumbles something, and hugs a pillow close to her chest. The plaid flannel of Steve's pajama pants is bright against Heckle's black fur.
Not wanting to wake her, Steve pulls the comforter up over her exposed shoulder, and then slips quietly back down the steps to his own room. The bed is large and comfortable, but without Darcy there beside him, Steve tosses and turns until finally dropping off to sleep.