Chapter 5

Posted on: 2013-07-22

Richard knocked on Caroline's door. "Caroline?"

"Go away. I don't want to talk to anyone."

"Please?"

The door opened, and Caroline appeared. "What do you want?"

"Are you going to let me in?"

She sighed and nodded silently as she walked back to sit on her arm chair.

"I'm sorry about Anne," said Richard.

"It's fine. I just want to be alone."

"Caroline...-" Richard sat down on the bed. "Talk to me."

"I really don't need your pity right now. I'll be fine."

"I know you'll be fine. I just wanted to see if you were in the mood to talk about it."

"No, I'm not. Will you go now?"

"No, I don't think I will." Richard smiled.

Caroline glared at him. "You're so annoying, all of you."

"Even me?" Richard pretended to be wounded.

"I know what you guys think of me. You tolerate me for Jane's sake. And that's fine. I don't need you to sit here and pretend, ok?"

"You really think that's true?"

Caroline nodded. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

"I don't think you're stupid."

"Really? You don't talk about me when I'm not around? Make fun of my job and interests? I know I'm not as smart as you guys, but I like what I do, and that's enough for me."

"Don't let Anne get to you. No one thinks those things about you. And who cares if they do?"

"Whatever. You done with your pep talk? You can tell Liz I'm fine. I know she sent you."

"She didn't. Did it occur to you I'm here because I wanted to make sure you were ok?"

"But why?"

"Because I like you. You're amazing. You're immensely talented and creative. And smart. And funny."

Caroline was silent for a moment. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"I never say things I don't mean."

Caroline looked at him, her puzzlement apparent. A life in quest of beauty was necessarily a life focused on aesthetics in a manner that some might consider superficial. To Caroline, fashion was art, and her fabrics were her blank canvas, waiting for a story to unfold with bright colors and straight lines. Every creative endeavor requires the subjugation of self and the exhaustive process of emotional honesty, and Caroline often wondered if there was enough of her left over to share with anyone else. She was not naive enough to think that what she did was important, but was there not room in the world for beauty in all forms? And was her creative output any less respectable if the end result took the form of a handbag rather than a painting? It certainly did not help that her industry was inhabited by jealous and self-important narcissists. Caroline worried that those character traits would prove to be contagious and that eventually she would be consumed by a world that was as shallow as it was seductive. She found that her friendship with Jane, and by extension Elizabeth, grounded her, and she hardly cared about the opinion of others. But it was impossible to hear the constant jabs and not wonder whether she deserved the kind of love she so intensely desired.

"I don't get you," said Caroline, noticing Richard's gaze steadfastly fixed on her.

"Well, I guess you'll have to stick around long enough to figure me out."

Caroline smiled. "Unfortunately for you and your cousins, I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't speak for my cousins, but I'm happy to hear that and to see you finally smile."

"I can speak for your cousins, I think, and I'm pretty sure they don't share your enthusiasm."

"Forget them. They are a bunch of idiots, anyway."

"Yeah." She paused. "Will and I are never going to happen, huh?"

"Probably not. Why do you want it so much?"

"I don't even know anymore. Habit maybe?"

"I suggest you get some new hobbies."

"You're probably right. Liz tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen to her. I hate it when she's right."

"Me too. She's usually right, though."

"I know. So annoying," said Caroline with a sigh. "I've been making such a fool of myself over Will. I can't get myself to stop. I probably deserved some of what Anne said tonight."

"Don't worry about Anne. She doesn't know how to deal with people she doesn't understand."

"And you think you understand me?"

"More than you know."

Caroline could not help but feel that he was mocking her somehow. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. When we get back to the city, let me buy you a drink and tell you all about it."

She looked at him with suspicion for a moment and then said, "Sure."

"Great." Richard stood up and walked to the door. "You find happiness when you least expect it and usually when you stop looking." He paused as he reached the door. "I read that in the elevator the other day."

Caroline laughed. "Works for me."

The departure from the cabin the next day was a welcome occasion for most involved. Appropriately heartfelt apologies had been delivered, but Anne and Caroline were ready to not inhabit the same house, a sentiment shared by Darcy and Elizabeth for their own reasons. Jane was recovered enough to satisfy Charles and Elizabeth that she was ready to endure a long car ride home. And so, they were off - at an ungodly hour, according to Caroline - and reached New York by lunch time. Charles dropped off Jane and Elizabeth at their apartment and returned with an overnight bag. Elizabeth smiled privately at his presumption as she had not heard a formal invitation, but the happiness in Jane's eyes was all the confirmation anyone could desire that no invitation was needed. Elizabeth brought out their stack of delivery menus as she looked through her phone.

From: Lydia Bennet [bennet.lydia@gmail.com]
Date: March 4, 2013 12:15 PM
To: Jane Bennet [jbennet16@yahoo.com], Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Guys!

I have AMAZING news. I got a job! Well it's more of an unpaid internship, but that's a start right? Anyway, it's at this big ad agency in New York, so I'll be moving up there in a few weeks. Don't worry, I won't try to crowd you guys... remember my friend Harriet Forster? Her parents have this amazing apartment right in Union Square and she lives all alone, so she invited me to stay with her while I'm in the city. Isn't this SO fun? I can't wait!!!

xoxo

PS - mom and dad will probably help me move up. Mom is already talking about throwing a dinner party for your friends. Just a heads up.

"Umm... Jane, you may want to check your email," said Elizabeth. Jane was sitting on her bed, scrolling through her email when Elizabeth poked her head in.

"Oh man," said Jane.

"Something wrong?" asked Charles.

"Kind of," said Jane.

"Our youngest sister is moving to the city," said Elizabeth by way of explanation.

"And that's bad?" asked Charles.

"You'll have to meet her to understand," said Elizabeth.

"Mom's probably already emailed Caroline," sighed Jane.

"Oh?" Charles said.

"Sounds like our mom wants to throw a dinner party when she's up here to help Lydia move in to her new place," said Jane. "She's done it a few times before, and since our place isn't as big as Caroline's, we've just imposed on Caroline."

"I'm sure Caroline doesn't mind," said Charles.

"Yeah," said Jane. "Caroline is so sweet. And mom just adores her."

"I think it has something to do with the fact that Caroline got her that handbag once," said Elizabeth.

"Caroline knows how to charm when she wants," smiled Charles. "Well, I can't wait to meet your family."

Jane exchanged a panicked glance with Elizabeth. "Umm... you don't have to. I mean, it's early, and you don't have to feel pressured into meeting my family so soon."

"Are you uninviting me to a dinner at my own sister's apartment?" Charles asked with a mock frown.

Jane hesitated. "Not exactly."

"Don't worry about it," said Charles. "I don't scare so easily."

"That's not what Caroline tells us," said Elizabeth.

Charles smiled at her, then looked at Jane as he said, "Will you believe me if I say this time is different?"

Elizabeth looked at her sister with sympathy, but Jane was too distracted to notice. Every potential suitor would need to pass the 'Bennet test' eventually, and it seemed as though Charles' turn had arrived a lot sooner than expected.

If the purpose of family was to remove all artifice and expose your honest self, Elizabeth was certain that proximity to her family reflected poorly on her. She watched her mother and younger sister chat excitedly with Charles and felt herself wince. Age had not subdued Mrs. Bennet, and since Lydia had acquired their mother's propensity for inane conversation and high volume, the twosome was giving Elizabeth a migraine, which did not bode well as the evening had only just begun. Charles seemed to be bearing it tolerably well, and fortunately for Jane, patience and an even temperament were her supreme virtues; so she stood with them, a smile fixed on her face. Mr. Bennet had found himself a glass of scotch and a quiet corner to read the newspaper, making him the most content man in the room. Caroline was arranging some appetizers on a serving platter with the excellent help of Richard, and Darcy was otherwise occupied staring out the window. That left Elizabeth to observe the scene with Anne with a mixture of dread, annoyance and embarrassment.

"You forget how loud they are," said Elizabeth with a sigh.

"Yeah. But you know how my mom is. I barely notice volume anymore," said Anne.

"I wonder if I should rescue Jane?"

"It's going to be hard to distract your mom from Charles."

"How do you think he's handling it?"

"He seems ok, no?"

"Well, he insisted on coming tonight, so really, he has no one to blame but himself."

"It had to happen sometime, I guess."

"Yeah if he can't make it through this, then it wasn't meant to be."

"Exactly."

"Let me make sure my dad's ok. I'll be right back." Elizabeth walked over to her father who was engrossed in the paper. "Hey dad, you ok?"

Mr. Bennet looked up and smiled. "Perfect." Elizabeth sat down next to him. "How you doing, Liz?"

"Ok, I guess. I start my new gig this week."

"We're very proud of you."

"Mom is just excited that she doesn't have to say her daughter is a freelancer."

Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes. "Yeah, probably. She's proud of you too, in her own way."

Elizabeth laughed. "Don't worry. I stopped worrying about her approval many years ago."

"How are things otherwise?"

"Fine," Elizabeth lied.

"You're not sleeping."

"Jane tell you that?"

"Nah, I can just tell."

"It'll pass, dad."

"Ok." He didn't pry any further. "So this Charles guy seems nice."

"He is. Jane is very happy."

"Will he last?"

"I think so. And I'm not an optimist, as you know."

"Good. She deserves it. Hopefully your mom won't scare him away." Even as Mr. Bennet spoke, his wife was loudly proclaiming Jane's superiority relative to their neighbors' daughters. "At least she hasn't started talking about the wedding."

"Yet."

Caroline thankfully distracted Mrs. Bennet with a reminder that the kitchen needed her attention, allowing Jane and Charles somewhat of a respite. Lydia filled the void left by Mrs. Bennet by analyzing the level of attractiveness of the men in her building and discussing her high hopes for the city's nocturnal diversions. Having been blessed with sisters, Charles was generally adept at dealing with women, but even he was at somewhat of a loss as to how to converse with Lydia. Elizabeth exchanged glances with her father, but quickly ascertained that although he disapproved, he was not likely to interject in the conversation. She felt the familiar pangs of anger at her father's utter lack of interest in the family's antics, which generally exposed them all to ridicule. Perhaps with better discipline and proper supervision, Lydia would have modulated her baser instincts, but at any rate, it was too late for such reproaches for at 25, Lydia's character and temperament seemed quite decided. Lydia was a determined flirt whose mind was almost always preoccupied with men and romance and all the pleasures a hedonistic existence can afford.

"So when do you start your internship, Lyddie?" asked Elizabeth in an effort to distract her sister.

"On Friday," said Lydia brightly.

"You excited?"

"I guess. It's a job."

"We all have to have one," said Elizabeth wryly.

"Yeah, being a grown-up is no fun."

"Didn't realize you considered yourself a grown-up," Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

"Are the people in the office nice?" Jane asked.

"Yeah, I think so." Lydia shrugged. "Everyone seemed a little too dorky, though. Didn't see anyone that could be boyfriend material."

"Do you ever think about anything else?" Elizabeth lost her patience.

"Just because you've been sulking about Dylan for years doesn't mean the rest of us can't have some fun," Lydia shot back.

"Lydia!" Jane jumped in. "Try to behave, please."

Elizabeth said no more. She sipped her drink, glared at her sister and walked to the window to stare at the city landscape along with Darcy. Night had fallen over the Manhattan skyline, and lights illuminated countless windows like floating lanterns over the skies of Chiang Mai. The otherwise starless, cloudy sky was punctuated by the blinking lights from commercial flights landing in and taking off from the city's three airports. The yellow taxicabs almost looked like toy cars from the 32nd floor, and the screech of their brakes and shrieks of their honks served as rhythmic melodies of an urban music box. Elizabeth could not bear tearing herself away from the window to rejoin the living room and was thankful that even though Darcy looked at her quizzically when she first joined him, he did not ask her any questions; his taciturn nature a source of satisfaction and not displeasure for once.

"Another cappuccino?"

Elizabeth looked up from her laptop and smiled. "No, thanks, George. I'm ok."

"Ok, whatever you say. I'm here if you change your mind." He flashed her a brilliant smile.

"Thanks."

"You starting your new gig this week, right?"

"Uh huh."

"That's pretty exciting."

"Yeah."

"You sound bummed. You're going to write for The New York Times. Most people would kill for that job."

"I know. I feel like an idiot. I just don't know if I like the idea of giving up control and being part of such a big organization. On my own, I could write the stories I wanted."

"But then no one got to read them. At least the Times still has circulation."

"Yeah, you're right."

He sat down across from her and reached out to touch her hand. "Hey, if you need to decompress, I have a break coming up in 15 minutes."

She looked at him for a moment. "Very thoughtful offer, George, but I believe I've made myself clear on this topic before."

He withdrew his hand. "That you have, my dear, but can't blame a guy for trying."

George Wickham got up to help other customers. Elizabeth had met him through the freelance circuit. He used to be a photographer, but now worked odd jobs, including as a barista at this midtown coffee shop that Elizabeth frequented. He was handsome in a dashing sort of way, and Elizabeth had found him intriguing until she had discovered he was a casanova wannabe and not serious enough to be her type anyway. It's not that she strictly disliked levity, but the absence of at least a modicum of gravitas in a grown man was a red flag as far as she was concerned. Although she never consciously admitted this to herself, she also could not fathom the idea of another photographer that could live up to the memory of the one she had already loved and lost. But George was a pleasant enough guy, who made her laugh and gave her free coffee, so she didn't mind his friendship. She returned her attention to her emails.

The ten year anniversary of the Iraq invasion had come and gone the prior week, and all of a sudden, media outlets were interested in talking about the conflict again. Old contacts had reached out to her for notes and comments for nice stories about the war and what it had taught America. Nothing like nostalgia to make war a fashionable topic once again. An agent she had once contacted had reached out to her to ask about the book she had begun writing. This could be the right time to have a book on Iraq published. Had she ever finished it? Good question. The book was supposed to tell the story of their time in Iraq; her stories and his pictures. She had begun to put the pieces together while they were still in Baghdad, and when she had come home, she had been too broken physically to attempt much writing. And by the time it was feasible to write again, she had discovered that no one cared about the war except for politicians who wanted to give warm speeches about the valor of the troops and presidential candidates who wanted to debate the appropriate timeline for a drawdown. And so she stopped writing and looking through photographs and tried to forget it had ever happened. But as she subsequently found, it was the remembering that was the most difficult to contain.

"Hey."

Elizabeth looked up to see Darcy. "Hey."

"What brings you here?"

"Coffee," Elizabeth replied with a chuckle.

"Right. I, ah...- had a meeting in the neighborhood." He paused. "So that was an interesting dinner last night."

"Yeah."

"Liz, you sure you don't want to come for a walk? I'm about to head out for a smoke break." Wickham came to her table and stopped when he saw Darcy. "Oh...- hi Will."

Darcy stared at Wickham, glanced at Elizabeth, then cleared his throat. "I'll see you later, Liz."

As she saw Darcy quickly exit the coffee shop without a coffee in hand, she looked at Wickham and said, "You know William Darcy?"

"Oh, yeah."

"He didn't seem thrilled to see you."

"No, he didn't, did he?"

"How do you know him?"

"It's a long story."

"Well, you were going on a break, weren't you? I'll come with, and you can tell me all about it."

Wickham smiled. "Now that's an offer I can't refuse."

Chapter 6

Posted on: 2013-08-05

Elizabeth and Wickham walked outside and stood on the sidewalk. It was a reasonably pleasant March day that promised the right mixture of warmth, sun and residual chill. March was one of Elizabeth's favorite months; unpredictable, whimsical and promising. It could bring a blizzard one year and Mediterranean climate the next, and strangely, Elizabeth found that inconstancy comforting. It was the mid-morning lull, or at least, as much of a lull as midtown Manhattan ever experiences. Office dwellers were already at work, the tourists had not yet come out in force, and the hot dog and halal carts were busily preparing for the lunch rush. In that moment, there was an ephemeral sense of quiet serenity that Elizabeth had come to cherish. Calm before the storm. Order amidst the chaos. The city was an elaborate machine, an organism, comprised of countless moving parts - businesses, government agencies, residents and visitors. That it functioned at all still struck Elizabeth as somewhat of a miracle.

"So?" Elizabeth prompted.

"Will and I went to high school together."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Andover."

"You went to Andover?"

"Hard to believe, huh? Well, I was a scholarship kid. How do you know him?"

"His friend is dating my sister."

"And what do you think of him?"

"You want the truth?"

"Always."

"I find him annoying. He's always so quiet, like he's too good to talk to anyone. He's full of himself. There's something about the way he carries himself that just angers me. He looks down on people. He runs around like he owns the world."

"He does own the world."

"Yeah, well, that only makes it worse. So there you have it. What's your story?"

"My dad worked at Pemberley with Will's father. He was really one of Mr. Darcy's right hand men, a trusted advisor who helped oversee the empire. Mr. Darcy was very fond of my father and by extension, me. Mr. Darcy treated me like a son. In fact, Will and I would play together at his family estate when we were young. When it came time for high school, Mr. Darcy insisted on helping me get to Andover. He made some calls and got me a scholarship, and so I went. He really was a great man."

"Interesting. Then what?"

"Will and I grew apart at Andover. I don't think his crowd really cared for a scholarship kid. But I was just happy to be there, so I didn't mind. After college, I went to work for Pemberley. Both my father and his wanted that. Unfortunately, they both passed away too young. But I know they were happy that Will and I were at Pemberley. Passing the legacy on to the next generation and all that."

"Uh huh. So what did you do at Pemberley?"

"I went to work for the magazine, Pemberley Review. I was a photographer for them, but really setting up to become an editor."

"Why did you leave?"

"I was fired."

"Why?"

"We were working on a story about one of the contractors in Iraq. Turns out they were bribing someone in the government in order to win all the contracts. They were costing us billions of dollars and really couldn't account for much of the money. The story was a gold mine. And then, one day, word came down that we were getting shut down. The story would not be published."

"Why?"

"Exactly. We didn't know. I thought I'd use my relationship with Will to ask him about it. I did, and he told me to back off. I pressed him. He never said it, but I think Pemberley had some sort of business relationship with the contractor."

"So they just buried the story? Sounds about right. Will doesn't care much about the Fourth Estate."

"Yep."

"And they fired you... why?"

"I think because I dared to question Will. He said as much himself."

"Really?"

"Well, I don't know that he ever liked me. He was always jealous of me because his father liked me. Not sure why. Maybe he saw me as competition? I think he hated that I worked at Pemberley. As long as his father was alive, he didn't dare do anything about it. But this was his chance to get me out."

"Wow."

"It gets worse."

"Is that even possible?"

"I tried to get work after I was fired, and it turned out, no one wanted me. Seems like there's some kind of unofficial black list, and I'm on it."

"Are you serious?"

Wickham nodded. "So I freelanced, but you know how tough it is out there. Eventually, I gave up on photography."

"I knew he was a resentful jerk, but this is way worse than anything I could have imagined. How can you even stand saying hi to him?"

"Look, I don't want to stay bitter. I owe a lot to his father. I don't want to say or do anything that hurts the Darcy name. I want to be the better man."

"You already are the better man. I really can't believe Will. To stoop to this level to hurt someone...? I know he doesn't care much about other people, but this is low, even for him. And all because you tried to do the right thing and publish a story that needed to be told?"

"Yeah, well. You don't get rich by playing nice."

"I remember he boasted once that he's resentful. What a total jerk. But his friends and family... they can't all know this side of him?"

"No, I'm sure he can be charming and nice when it suits him. He is very proud of his family and the clout his name brings. He would never jeopardize that. It's amazing how much pride drives him. He is also proud of his sister and generally is considered a good brother."

"What sort of girl is she? Gia, right?"

"Yeah. I wish I could say she was not like him. Unfortunately, she is also very arrogant and proud. She used to be a sweet girl and was always very fond of me. But now, she is very much like her brother."

"That's a shame."

"Yeah. Look, I have to get back. My break is about over."

"Ok. Thanks for giving me the full scoop."

"No problem. Just try to never cross him or he'll ruin your life."

Elizabeth managed a smile as she watched Wickham return to the coffee shop. No part of Wickham's story really surprised her, and maybe that was the real revelation. She expected the worst of Darcy and was somewhat satisfied to know that he lived up to her expectations. And now all her various grievances had found a proper outlet. Men with money and power have ruled the world for centuries. They have been responsible for the starting of wars, the ending of wars and everything in between. Who could or would hold them accountable? The average citizen who did not seem to care? Or the news media that was also beholden to those same moneyed interests? Darcy had boasted to her that his only duty was to his shareholders. She believed him. And if the interests of his shareholders demanded the burying of an inconvenient story or the ruining of an inconsequential life, then so be it. Elizabeth relayed the entire sordid affair to Jane and extracted a vow of silence as she did not wish to involve others in their circle. Wickham had not authorized making any of the story public, and besides, Elizabeth had no desire to hear Darcy's friends and relatives' defense of his character. Jane could not believe that such deliberate cruelty existed and clung to the hope that there must have been some misunderstanding. Elizabeth had no such qualms for she knew cruelty existed in this world, and it was almost always deliberate.

From: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 2:43 PM
To: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com], Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Subject: Question

So you know how I have this charity ball thing in a couple of weeks? Gia thinks I need to take a date. Do I?

From: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 2:46 PM
To: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com], Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Umm, yeah, probably. Is that a problem?

From: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 3:12 PM
To: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com], Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Is it sad that I literally have no one in mind?

From: Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 3:20 PM
To: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com], Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Don't you have a supply of plastics for these occasions? Or are they all in Boston?

From: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 3:27 PM
To: Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com], Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Very funny. It was never a 'supply.' I'm too old for that anyway.

From: Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 3:33 PM
To: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com], Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Dude. If you think you're too old, you're doing this all wrong.

From: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 3:37 PM
To: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com], Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Cc: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Ok, as usual, I'm actually going to step in and offer a constructive solution. Copied Liz here.

Liz - Darce has a charity event in a couple of weeks and he's too pathetic to find himself a date. Want to help him out and go with?

From: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 3:45 PM
To: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com], Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Cc: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Anne has a charming way with words. But, yes, Liz, if you're free on the 21st, it's a black tie benefit that my foundation is hosting. There should be some good food and music.

From: Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 3:46 PM
To: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Really??

From: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 3:48 PM
To: Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

What? You know it makes sense. Anyway, it's good for them both to step out of their comfort zones. Wouldn't hurt to lighten up a bit too.

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 7:13 PM
To: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com], Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com], Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Cc: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Umm, black tie? I think you got the wrong person. Adding Caroline to the mix. I think we would all agree that she's better suited for something like this.

From: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 7:40 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com], William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com], Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com], Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Aww thanks for the vote of confidence, Liz! I'm actually busy that night. But don't worry about the black tie portion. I got you covered. Just come by my place sometime and we'll figure something out.

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:05 PM
To: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com], William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com], Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com], Richard Fitzwilliam [richard.fitzwilliam@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Well... ok, then. Will, I guess you're stuck with me unless a better alternative comes along.

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:06 PM
To: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

If you ambush me like that again, I am going to kill you.

From: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:11 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Oh c'mon, it's just a stupid event, not a big deal. Plus there will be plenty of people to make fun of and I know how much you love that. You could always just say no if you don't want to go. It was just a suggestion.

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:16 PM
To: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Whatever. I don't want to be rude. It's fine. I'll go.

From: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:20 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Good girl.

PS - since when is Caroline ever too busy to pass up on an opportunity to hang out with Darce??? I know she hasn't been throwing herself at him recently, but still...

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:23 PM
To: Anne de Bourgh [anne.debourgh@fdba.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Yeah wondering the same myself...

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:24 PM
To: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Too busy to spend an evening with Will? What else could be that important? Inquiring minds want to know...

From: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:26 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Ha! Well... I've been keeping it on the DL, but I've sort of been seeing Richard. Only Jane knows. Don't say anything yet. We kind of want to see how it goes before going public with it. Don't want to deal with all the judgment. Well - mostly from Anne, let's be honest!

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:31 PM
To: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Really??? I had no idea. Jane didn't say anything. Who knew she could keep secrets, especially from me?! I'm SO happy for you. How long?

From: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:35 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Since our ski weekend at the cabin. So I guess about 3 months. Yikes!

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:45 PM
To: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Whoa really? I thought I saw you guys making eyes at each other at dinner the other night. I want to hear more details. Can I come by on Sat to debrief on this and also look through dress options? I think the nicest dress I own is from Old Navy... and Jane's stuff won't fit me.

From: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 8:48 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Yeah, totally. I'm around. Maybe we can have brunch with Jane and then look through outfits? That's like my perfect Saturday, haha. Richard's great. I'm still waiting for him to figure out that I'm really just a stupid fashion girl. I can't hold his interest for that long, can I? I have to admit... it does feel good to finally be seen. With Will I've always felt invisible. And you know my track record otherwise. It's a nice change of pace.

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: June 10, 2013 9:07 PM
To: Caroline Bingley [carobingley@gmail.com]
Subject: Re: Question

That says more about Will than it does about you. I've always felt that way.

Anyway, I'll check with Jane re: Sat.

From: William Darcy [william.darcy@pemberley.com]
Date: June 11, 2013 6:10 AM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: Question

Thanks for agreeing to go with me, Liz. I know it's not your thing, but hopefully we can have a bit of fun anyway? See you soon.

Chapter 7

Posted on: 2013-08-16

Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror and once again, felt the familiar sensation of staring at a stranger. In these moments, life existed in the third person, and she felt no ownership of the person staring back at her. There stood an overeager sophomore, arguing with her professor about a grade on a paper. And there she was, driving cross country to drop off her sister at college in her old Toyota Corolla, Red Hot Chili Peppers blasting from the radio. And look at her, the intrepid journalist packed up her bags and moved to Baghdad weeks before the invasion against the advice and pleading of everyone in her family. A slightly less intrepid journalist returned home in pieces; do you see those ugly scars? Those events, those decisions, those life choices had occurred in another realm, with someone else in charge. Elizabeth could, at that precise instant, judge everything with an objective eye and an unforgiving temper. And today, she saw a woman in a stunning dress about to embark on what could only be a tedious evening at best. An entire evening with the upper echelons of New York society was ahead of her, but at least she looked the part thanks to Caroline, who had insisted Elizabeth borrow her prized Carolina Herrera gown. And so Elizabeth donned the black chiffon gown and put her hair in a bun and smiled. Trust Caroline to know how to make a girl feel like a princess.

She had insisted on meeting Darcy at the venue, so she checked her hair and makeup one last time and left her apartment to hail a cab to the Mandarin Oriental. Darcy had texted her several times to ensure that she was capable of arriving at the hotel alone, and she assured him that she was equal to the challenge. Maybe it was mere chivalry and courtesy that motivated Darcy, but Elizabeth suspected it was a symptom of his distrust of others' competence and punctuality. She prided herself in possessing both qualities in spades and was especially excited when she found a cab quickly for she could not bear the thought of giving Darcy the satisfaction of her tardiness. And in all honesty, she was somewhat curious to observe the scene. The Darcy Foundation, the philanthropic arm of the Pemberley Media empire, had been established by Darcy's parents and funded many worthy causes across the globe. This particular benefit was meant to raise awareness and donations for pediatric cancer research, and Elizabeth could find no apparent flaws with the event, even if she was somewhat suspicious of the motives behind its existence. She often wondered whether the rich liked going to benefits to prove their humanity and magnanimity and to absolve themselves of any sense of duty and responsibility to society they may have otherwise felt. She didn't really have any grounds to object, she supposed, especially if pediatric cancer research was to be the beneficiary of their largess.

She paid her cab fare, entered the building and took the elevator up to the ballroom. She had never been to the Mandarin Oriental and already began to feel a little out of place. Her elevator companions were an older Upper East Side couple, who probably would have never looked at her twice had she not been wearing an expensive dress. But as it turned out, appearances did matter, and they smiled at her as though she belonged. The lady even complimented her gorgeous gown, and Elizabeth made a mental note to thank Caroline again for her generosity, while shifting in her heels a little uncomfortably. As she emerged from the elevator, she paused for a moment to catch her breath. The famed ballroom had certainly earned its reputation. Floor to ceiling glass windows overlooked Central Park and Columbus Circle and revealed a magnificent panoramic view of a city she had come to love. The urban jungle sparkled like the crown jewels from this vantage point, and Elizabeth observed that the ballroom itself almost equaled the beauty of its view. Candles and flowers and hanging lanterns accentuated the warmth of the space that also benefited from the musical talents of an excellent jazz band. Elizabeth was just about to go and find her date when she felt a pair of eyes on her and turned around to find Darcy staring at her intently.

"Oh, hey, there you are. I was just going to try to find you," said Elizabeth.

"Liz..." Darcy trailed off as if he was trying to find the right words. "I, ah... you look amazing."

Elizabeth felt herself blush. "Umm... thanks. I got the dress from Caroline."

"Caroline has good taste."

"Yeah. Very expensive taste. I'm almost afraid to eat anything in case I manage to spill on myself." Elizabeth paused. "You clean up pretty well yourself." And he did. A tux suited him, Elizabeth thought, almost more than it should. Together, they looked like something out of a James Bond movie, and she almost felt ridiculous.

"Thanks. So... shall we?" He offered her his arm, which she accepted after a little hesitation. "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," replied Elizabeth.

"Thanks again for coming tonight."

"Yeah. You owe me." Elizabeth smiled.

"I certainly do."

He led her expertly through the crowded ballroom. She felt herself gripping his arm a little too tightly and ordered herself to relax. She had reported from a war zone. There was nothing here she couldn't handle. She felt or imagined all eyes in the ballroom on her. Darcy was notoriously single and took a series of disposable dates to events such as this, according to Anne. She imagined gossip columnists and other interested parties were trying to ascertain her background and connection to Darcy. She wondered if she appeared as vapid and listless as the other women she saw hanging on to their men with bored looks in their eyes. One such woman stared at her for a while before giving her a small, knowing smile, and Elizabeth felt herself shudder. Darcy claimed her attention by introducing her to some friends, who turned out to be the couple with whom she had shared the elevator.

"Ruth and Phil Taylor. This is my friend, Elizabeth Bennet. The Taylors were my parents' good friends."

"Nice to meet you." Elizabeth shook their hands.

"Likewise," said Ruth. "So, Elizabeth... How do you know Will?"

"We have common friends," said Elizabeth. "My sister is seeing one of his close friends."

"I see," said Ruth. "You've been in New York long?"

"Three years," said Elizabeth.

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a journalist."

"Noble profession," said Phil.

"Dying profession," said Elizabeth with a wry smile. "And not always so noble."

Darcy excused himself as he was wanted elsewhere, but Elizabeth stayed with the Taylors. Phil said, "That's a bleak outlook you have."

"Maybe. Although more realistic, I think."

"What kind of journalist are you?"

"I cover foreign affairs. Middle East, mostly."

"That explains the pessimism."

Elizabeth smiled. "I disagree. To cover that part of the world, you must be an optimist at heart. You have to believe things can change for the better eventually. Otherwise, what's the point?"

"Have you been there?" asked Ruth.

Elizabeth nodded. "I was in Iraq during the early part of the war."

"Oh really? For how long?"

"Four years."

"That's a long time," said Phil.

"Yeah. Or maybe not long enough. I can never decide."

"And you think it was the right decision?"

"To go, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I think so. Give me another lifetime, and maybe then I can say for sure."

"You seem much too young to have seen so much already, my dear," offered Ruth.

"I think you can say that about everyone in Iraq - journalists, soldiers or civilians."

"I see why Will brought you here today," said Ruth with a smile.

"You do?" asked Elizabeth with a confused expression on her face.

"You're not like the usual girls he brings to these things," said Ruth.

"Oh?"

"Much smarter."

Elizabeth smiled. "That may say more about those girls than me."

At that instant, Darcy reappeared. "We ok here?"

"We were just chatting about your girlfriends," said Elizabeth.

Darcy smiled. "Then I guess I came just in time. You can't talk about a man when he isn't there to defend himself."

"We like her," said Ruth, looking at Elizabeth. "Don't mess this one up, Will."

"We're not together, Ruth," said Darcy, uncomfortably.

"Oh," said Ruth. "I don't get you kids these days. Everything is so complicated now. Why, in our day, you either dated or you didn't. Right Phil?"

Elizabeth just smiled in response and glanced at Darcy, who quickly changed the topic. They chatted with the Taylors for a little while longer before excusing themselves. "They're nice," said Elizabeth.

"Yeah."

"They don't like your taste in women, though."

"No," agreed Darcy. "That's their favorite topic, too. I guess since my parents passed away, they like to keep an eye on me."

"That's nice of them. I think you could use someone keeping an eye on you." Elizabeth laughed.

"Really?" He looked at her. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, it seems like you bring vapid debutantes to these events normally, so clearly your taste needs some improvement."

"Don't believe everything Ruth tells you."

"Oh yeah? What about Anne?"

"Definitely don't believe everything Anne tells you."

"Hey pal, I have two sources corroborating the same story. That's enough for me."

"It's not what it sounds like."

"Sounds to me like you're a rich playboy. No? What does it sound like to you?"

"It's not like that, Liz," said Darcy, a little too forcefully.

"Sorry," she said. "Just having a little fun with you."

Darcy sighed. "Look. A man in my position has to bring dates to a lot of social events. I do the best I can. I don't really have the time or energy to date. They're all nice women... sometimes, not the brightest. What can I say? It's all pretty casual."

Elizabeth had hit a nerve unwittingly and tried to backtrack. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Will. I was just kidding."

"No, you have a point. As do Anne and Ruth. I'd love to have what Ruth and Phil have. Or what my parents had. Just never happened for me."

"So you've never been in love, huh?"

"No." Darcy shook his head.

"Well, consider yourself lucky. I think being in love is overrated."

"You speak from experience, I take it?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Yeah."

"Didn't end well?"

Flashes of heat and light appeared before her eyes. "No."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Elizabeth. "See what I mean... love will get you down years after the fact in the middle of a great party. Trust me, you're better off without it. Come, let's go find a drink."

Elizabeth led him to the bar, her head spinning with conflicting emotions. Darcy was such an unusual combination of warmth, charm and vulnerability tonight that it took her by surprise, and she almost had to remind herself that she hated the man. Maybe it was the tux or the fact that he was playing the benevolent host, but if Elizabeth had met him tonight for the first time, she may have even found him attractive. Maybe this was the version of him that Anne and Richard and Charles saw? Where had he been hiding all these months? Jane often admonished her that she was quick to form a judgment and much too slow in altering said judgment when new facts emerged, and perhaps, this was one of those occasions. Even his Upper East Side blue-blooded friends had turned out to be lovely people, and Elizabeth was actually marginally ashamed at having judged them in the elevator. But she recalled that even Wickham had agreed that Darcy could be charming when he pleased, so maybe this was one of those rare occasions when Darcy saw it fit to grace the common people with his good humor and friendliness. The thought of Wickham brought back the violence of her animosity towards Darcy and all that he represented, and she shuddered at her moment of weakness. Trusting her instincts had served her well so far in life and had kept her alive on more than one occasion. She was not about to start doubting herself now. She caught him looking at her and adjusted her dress uncomfortably. He smiled at her tentatively, and she could not help but respond in kind.

"You want to dance?" Darcy asked.

She could think of no reasonable excuse, so she said yes. As he led her to the dance floor, the band started playing Coleman Hawkins' rendition of It Never Entered My Mind. He looked at her awkwardly for a moment before putting his arm on her waist and grabbing her hand. She allowed him to lead and discovered he moved effortlessly, gracefully even, undoubtedly due to professional lessons. She had never been this close to him before and noticed that he smelled wonderful. She had expected fancy cologne, but instead detected just a hint of aftershave, maybe Old Spice? He said nothing, but his eyes regarded her with such intensity that it made her blush. Although his face was inscrutable, she thought she detected a hint of a smile, which only puzzled her and caused her to look away. She resolved not to break their silence, but then suddenly realized that being forced to speak may be a greater punishment for her dance partner.

"This is my favorite version of the song," Elizabeth said softly. He just nodded in response, so after a brief pause, she said, "It's your turn to say something, Will. I talked about the song, and you could make some kind of remark about the size of the room or the number of people dancing."

He smiled at her. "I can say whatever you want me to say."

"Ok. That will do for now. Maybe eventually I'll observe that this dance floor is a lot nicer than most, but we can be silent for now."

"Do you talk by rule, then, while you're dancing?"

"You have to speak a little. It would be odd to dance together for a while and say nothing. But maybe sometimes it's best to say as little as possible."

"Are you speaking for yourself or do you think you're speaking for me?"

"Both," she replied with a smile. "We're pretty similar in many ways. We can be antisocial and taciturn and don't want to speak unless we can amaze the whole room."

"That doesn't sound like you at all. And I'm not sure I can have an objective opinion on whether that sounds like me. I guess you think it's an accurate description?"

"I can't be my own judge, Will."

He looked at her with unbridled curiosity for a moment, then said, "So you're liking your new job?"

"Yeah, I think so. Although I do miss keeping my own schedule and bumming around in coffee shops in the middle of the day. The freelance lifestyle is pretty awesome - minus the whole not making any money part."

"You enjoy coffee shops, huh?"

"Who doesn't? Especially if you can score some free coffee." She paused, but couldn't help herself, so she continued, "That's what I was doing when you ran into me that time - milking a friendship for free coffee."

The effect was immediate. Darcy's face stiffened and he visibly struggled to regain his composure before saying, "George is blessed with such a pleasant personality that he is good at making friends. Whether he's equally capable of keeping those friends is less certain."

"He has been unlucky to lose your friendship...- and under circumstances that he's likely to suffer from for the rest of his life."

Darcy didn't respond and seemed as though he wanted to change the subject. At that moment, one of Darcy's acquaintances appeared close to them, meaning to pass to the other side of the room. But on seeing Darcy, he stopped to exchange some pleasantries. Introductions were made, and Darcy amicably chatted with his acquaintance for a few minutes before returning his attention to Elizabeth.

"Sorry, Luke's interruption made me forget what we were talking about."

"I don't think we were speaking at all. Luke couldn't have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We've tried two or three subjects without success already, and what we're going to talk about next I can't imagine."

"Books, maybe?" he said, smiling.

"Books? No way - I'm sure we never read the same books or at least, not with the same feelings."

"I'm sorry you think that. But if that's the case, at least we won't be in need of a conversation topic. We could compare our different opinions."

"No. I can't talk about books when I'm on a dance floor. My head is always full of something else."

"The present always occupies you in such surroundings, does it?"

"Yes, always," said Elizabeth, without knowing what she said, for her mind had already wandered to a different subject. "I remember you once saying, Will, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was impossible to erase. You're really careful, I suppose, as to its being created?"

"I am."

"And you never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

"I hope not."

"It's especially important for those who never change their opinion to be sure they judge properly at first."

"Can I ask you what you're getting at?"

"I'm just trying to figure you out."

"Any luck?"

"No." She shook her head. "I hear such different accounts of you that it's really quite confusing."

"I can easily believe that you may hear some conflicting reports about me. I wish you wouldn't try to sketch my character right now, Liz. I'm afraid your performance wouldn't reflect well on either of us."

"But if I don't do it now, I may never get another chance. Who knows how long you'll even stay in New York? Or me, for that matter."

He regarded her for a moment, then coldly replied, "I would never stand in the way of your happiness."

She said no more, and they danced silently for a few more minutes before heading to the bar. They were both dissatisfied with the conversation, though not to an equal degree. Darcy felt strongly enough about her such that he couldn't stay unhappy with her for very long, and soon, his anger was directed towards another, more rightful recipient. Elizabeth felt somewhat victorious at having needled him successfully, but the triumph was short-lived for she still had to endure many more hours of his company, and it appeared that an unhappy Darcy was even colder and more taciturn than usual, if that was even possible. The fleeting moments of charm and warmth she had witnessed earlier in the evening had all but disappeared. She did find him stealing pensive glances at her, but he quickly looked away whenever he was caught. She almost imagined he seemed somewhat wistful, but dismissed that notion immediately. She supposed it was unfair of her to expect warmth and friendliness when she had purposefully irked him, but given all that he had done to Wickham, he really didn't deserve her mercy. She watched him mingle with his guests with the effortless poise that accompanies a life of privilege. An Andover and Harvard education. Vacations in Europe. Summers spent at Martha's Vineyard. She imagined he had been groomed to take over his family's empire his entire life and wondered whether he ever felt stifled by the weight of inevitability and expectations.

Elizabeth found the social scene was exactly what she had expected with the notable exception of Ruth and Phil Taylor. The genders self segregated in the manner of a middle school dance. The men talked about business and politics, while the women mostly just smiled politely or complimented her dress. Elizabeth found that she belonged with neither group. On occasion, she managed to sneak into the political discussions, but eventually had to stop after an innocent conversation about Iraq resulted in Darcy having to almost physically restrain her from a fist fight. Even he agreed that she had been in the right, but she knew he was disappointed by her lack of self restraint. And so was she, if she was being honest, but she assured him - rather unconvincingly, judging from Darcy's skeptical look - that she would not have resorted to violence. After that minor incident, she was relegated to talking about fashion with the women, and thanks to Caroline, she had more to add to the topic than she would have thought possible. She imagined the woman who was unfortunate enough to become Mrs. Darcy would have to spend many an evening in this manner and shuddered at the thought. Interminable evenings with rich, arrogant men and their trophy wives and girlfriends? She'd rather spend an eternity in the desert chasing a mirage. After an hour of mingling, Elizabeth quietly escaped to the bar.

If Elizabeth was hoping for a peaceful respite, it was not her night for she heard a familiar voice as soon as she got to the bar. "Lydia!"

Lydia squealed at seeing her sister. "Oh Liz! I didn't know you were going to be here."

To Elizabeth's horror, she realized her sister was beyond drunk. "What are you doing here?"

"Harriet scored an invite. I lost her though... don't know where she went. You like my dress?"

It was too short and too revealing, but Elizabeth shrugged. "You can barely stand up, Lyddie. Why don't I take you home?"

"No!" declared Lydia loudly, slurring her words. "Get your hands off me."

"Keep your voice down, please," Elizabeth pleaded.

"You're always trying to ruin my fun."

"Lyddie..."

"No!" Lydia nearly shrieked.

"Everything ok here?" Darcy appeared out of nowhere.

"Will, you remember my sister," said Elizabeth, nearly dying of embarrassment.

He looked at her with undisguised contempt. "Right, Lydia. Good to see you again."

Lydia smiled at him. "No, it's good to see you. Liz, he's hotter than I remember. How did you score him??"

Elizabeth thought about choking her, but was saved the trouble as Lydia suddenly swooned and landed on the floor. Before anyone could respond with concern, Lydia laughed loudly and dragged herself up to her feet. Almost on cue, her friend Harriet appeared and after one glance at Lydia, quickly determined the right course of action. She almost dragged Lydia out of the party. Lydia - never one to go quietly or with grace - accused Harriet of being in cohorts with Elizabeth. Before they stepped into the elevator, Harriet glanced back at Elizabeth and gave her a sheepish shrug. Elizabeth took in a deep breath and wondered if she should go after her sister, but after a moment's consideration, decided against it. It was probably safer for all parties involved if Elizabeth stayed away tonight, but in the morning, Lydia was going to be on the wrong side of a long and probably futile lecture.

"Is she going to be ok?"

Elizabeth had forgotten about Darcy. "Yeah, she'll live." She paused, then looked at him. "I'm sorry."

"Unfortunately, you can't choose your family," said Darcy with a shrug, his disapproval palpable.

Friends on the other hand... Stung by his words even though she had sometimes thought the same herself, Elizabeth just nodded in response.

Darcy looked at her for a moment and then left her at the bar alone with her thoughts. They barely spoke rest of the evening, but at the end of the night, he insisted on driving her back to her apartment. They rode in the back of the car in silence. Exhausted by a long evening, Elizabeth found herself closing her eyes as soon as the car began moving. When they stopped at a light, she opened her eyes and saw Darcy regarding her with a small smile.

"What?" asked Elizabeth.

"I can't believe you almost punched Harvey."

"I didn't though, right? Don't I deserve some credit for that?"

"Only because I intervened."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I can be incredibly passionate, I'll grant you that, but I don't believe violence is ever the answer." She paused. "For what it's worth, I think that guy is a world class jerk and deserved every bit of my ire. Why you're friends with him is beyond me."

"What makes you think I'm friends with him? It's just business, Liz."

"Everything is always business with you, isn't it?"

"Some of us have people depending on them."

She was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "I wasn't embarrassed, just entertained. You don't need to apologize."

Elizabeth remained unconvinced as he hadn't seemed that entertained by Lydia's antics. Suddenly feeling a bit defensive, she cleared her throat. "Well, you knew what you signed up for when you settled on me as your date. So don't complain about it now."

"I wasn't complaining."

Unable to decipher his tone, she just said, "Sure you weren't."

They relapsed into an uneasy, if not entirely unwelcome, state of quiet stillness. When the car arrived at her apartment, he said, "I had a nice time. Thanks again for letting Anne talk you into rescuing me."

He spoke softly, but his tone was unmistakably warm, and his dark eyes were exploring the contours of her face as though she were a marble sculpture in the halls of a storied museum. She felt her skin burn from the intensity of his gaze and forced herself to look into his eyes with a feigned calm she did not feel. There was something unnerving about his probing, piercing, inscrutable eyes. What they searched for, she could not even begin to guess, but it was enough to make her vaguely uneasy. He seemed tense, like there was a thousand more things he wished he could say, but he remained stubbornly silent. There was a momentary glimmer of quiet desperation in his eyes that reminded her of shopkeepers in Baghdad who had been too afraid to talk to her. She looked at him with unabashed wonder for a moment and then shook her head almost imperceptibly. If he was not going to tell her what was on his mind, she was certainly not going to ask, and so an awkward silence descended between them. Warm and charming one moment and impossibly boorish the next, he was such a bundle of contradictions that it made her head spin. She felt too exhausted to even think about it anymore. She was ready to escape his whimsical moods and demanding eyes. An entire evening with him had been enough.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, she forced a smiled as she said, "Who knew the venerable William Darcy needed rescuing?" After a brief pause, she added, "Thanks for the ride, Will. Good night."

And with that, she was gone.

Darcy stared at the empty seat next to him and sighed. "Good night, Liz."

Chapter 8

Posted on: 2013-08-26

"Well, it's official. You've run a man out of town."

Elizabeth opened her eyes and squinted to see Anne, who was standing over her. It was one of those glorious summer days in New York. Not a cloud in the expansive blue sky. Warm, but not oppressively hot. An almost imperceptible breeze whispering in your ears. It smelled like a street fair, like a mixture of corn on the cob and hot dogs and funnel cake. A perfect day to picnic or play frisbee in the Park. Apparently everyone in the city had had the same idea, but Elizabeth had managed to find a spot for her blanket after considerable effort. She had given up the idea of reading after a few minutes and had indulged in people watching instead. Eventually, she had been content just looking up at the sky and enjoying the oasis amidst the concrete desert. If it hadn't been for the sounds of the traffic or the looming Manhattan skyline, she would have scarcely believed she was surrounded by eight million other souls.

"Don't tell my mom," replied Elizabeth. "Wait, what man?"

"Darce, of course," said Anne as she sat down. "Why, are there other men I should know about?"

"No." Elizabeth laughed. "What do you mean?"

"He texted me last night to say he was going to Europe for a little while. Some sort of work thing."

"Ok. What does that have to do with me?"

"Don't you think it's strange that he had to leave just a week after your date?"

"First of all, it wasn't really a date," said Elizabeth. "I was just doing him a favor. Or let's be honest, I was doing you a favor. And second of all, he may just have work stuff."

"Maybe. It's a lot more interesting to think that you drove him out of town. So I'm going to stick with my version if it's all the same to you."

Elizabeth just shrugged in response.

"So how was the charity thing anyway? I only called you ten times. You never called me back."

"I was working. I thought you'd take the hint. Anyway, it was fine."

"It was fine?? That's the best you have for me?"

Elizabeth sighed. "We were actually having a nice time. We danced and talked, and it actually felt like he didn't mind being there. But then we got into one of our arguments, as you like to call them. And then he was pretty cold and distant rest of the time. Oh - and Lydia showed up drunk. You can guess how that turned out." She paused. "I think that about sums up our evening."

"Oh man. Lydia always finds a way to get herself invited everywhere, doesn't she?"

"That's her special talent." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "One of these days, she's going to get herself into a bad situation. And I won't be there to protect her. Or Jane. And it's going to be awful."

"Don't assume the worst. Maybe she'll grow out of it?"

"She's 25, Anne. We've all been waiting a long time for that to happen. Anyway, I felt bad enough about the whole situation on my own, but Will made it way worse."

"No, really?"

Elizabeth nodded. "He wasn't particularly gracious. I could feel his disapproval in my bones."

"Oh Darce." Anne shook her head.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, the argument we had earlier in the evening may have been partly my fault. I sort of needled him."

"Good of you to admit it."

"Yeah, well. I was thrown off by him. He was being warm and charming - almost suspiciously so. And vulnerable, if you can believe it."

"He may like to pretend otherwise, but he is human, Liz."

"Is he? He puts up a good front, don't you think?"

Anne laughed in agreement. "Yes, but it's just a front. That's the key to understanding him."

"So he's not a condescending jerk. He just pretends to be one?" Elizabeth regretted her tone the instant the words escaped her. Darcy was Anne's cousin, after all, and she was putting her friend in a difficult position.

"It makes me sad that you despise him so much. He's not so bad."

"Sorry. I don't really despise him."

"You know I can tell when you're lying. I'm not sure why you even try. I get that he's not too warm or friendly, but what's with all the hate?"

Elizabeth searched for a polite way to convey the depths of her animosity towards Anne's cousin. She hated everything about him; his cold, aloof and uneven manners, his misplaced sense of superiority, his abominable pride, his casual dismissal of others. But perhaps those failings could have been overlooked had it not been for his abuse of the immense power afforded to him by the accident of birth. It was bad enough that he squandered all opportunity to harness his power for the good of intelligent discourse, but his willful and flagrant suppression of information for the sake of profit was beyond unforgivable. If an informed citizenry is the backbone of a free and just society, then, in Elizabeth's mind, Darcy was no better than a corrupt despot. For a moment, Elizabeth toyed with the idea of relating Wickham's tale to Anne to get her objective opinion. There was a part of Elizabeth that wondered why Wickham had shared such a personal story with a virtual stranger. But it made no sense to create such elaborate fiction with facts and details, especially considering he had nothing to gain from the deception. And besides, nothing in his story had been particularly surprising to her. Maybe that was the key. Darcy had behaved exactly as she would have predicted, and Elizabeth didn't trust Anne to do anything but blindly defend her cousin against such allegations. It was better not to involve her in the mess at all.

Elizabeth said, "Let's just say I don't think we were meant to get along. For what it's worth, I think the feeling is mutual."

"You're wrong about that," replied Anne with remarkable certainty.

"Which part?"

"All of it."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "Agree to disagree?"

Anne nodded. "I'm mad at you, by the way."

"What did I do now?"

"You didn't tell me about Richard and Caroline!"

"It wasn't my place to tell you. Richard wanted to tell you himself."

"How long have you known?"

"A few weeks."

"I can't believe they told you and not me."

"Well, Caroline let it slip to me. It wasn't intentional. They were just waiting for the right time to tell you. Are you ok with it?"

"I guess if she makes him happy...-"

"She does. Haven't you seen the goofy grin on his face lately?"

"Yeah," Anne agreed reluctantly.

"It's going to really hurt him if you don't make an effort with her."

Anne sighed. "I'll try. I'm not as bad at lying as you are, but I'm close."

"Who knows. Maybe you'll actually like her. You've never given her a chance."

Anne didn't bother to disagree. She was quiet for a moment, then said, "Can I tell you something awful?"

"Always."

"I want to be happy for Richard, but a part of me wants him to stay single so I don't lose him."

Something in the seriousness of Anne's tone surprised Elizabeth, so she sat up. "You're not going to lose him."

"I know," said Anne in the way people do when they really aren't so sure.

"What are you really afraid of?"

"I don't know. I guess Richard has always been there for me. Whenever I've been sick or lonely or just scared. And I know it doesn't make sense to expect that things would be the same forever. But it feels daunting to have to face things alone. He's the big brother I never had. I'm just worried about being on my own again."

"You're not going to be on your own."

"But I am, Liz," said Anne. "And it's ok. I've chosen my path, and I don't have any regrets. It's just that the thought that Richard may not be there the next time I have surgery just kind of rattled me."

"You feeling ok?" Elizabeth asked.

"It's been a little rough this week, but not too bad in the grand scheme of things."

It was difficult to remember how sick Anne really was sometimes. Her delicate features, pale complexion and slender frame suggested a frailty that was more than offset by her boundless energy and contagious spirit. Anne didn't want any special attention or consideration and always made a concerted effort to keep her health issues private. But those closest to her knew when the flare-ups made it difficult for her to walk or sit or just exist without pain. The changes were mostly subtle. She would talk less and smile sparingly. She would lose her normal boisterous spark and allow teasing insults to go unanswered. She would painstakingly labor through the most mundane tasks, all her energy sapped by maintaining the appearance of normality. The summation of all the little changes resulted in an almost unrecognizable Anne that only her mother truly recognized and constantly envisioned; weak, delicate, sick. Searching Anne's face, Elizabeth saw the remnants of a tough week in the dark shadows under her eyes and berated herself for not returning Anne's calls.

"I'm so sorry. I should have called you back. I didn't know you weren't feeling well."

Anne smiled. "It's ok. How could you have known? I wasn't calling for sympathy, anyway. Just wanted some gossip."

"You sure you're feeling better now?"

Anne nodded. "I just kind of freaked myself out about Richard. It'll be ok. Won't it?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth. "He's always going to be there for you, Anne. As am I. I hope you know that."

"I'm going to hold you to it. Even if you're off gallivanting in the desert."

Elizabeth laughed. "I think my gallivanting days are over."

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Anne with some gravity. After a pause, she added, "You know the worst of it? This week I kept hearing my mom in my head. You should have married an appropriate young man from our circle. He would have taken care of you. Why are you working yourself to death as a lawyer? You don't need to work. You're a de Bourgh."

Elizabeth shuddered. "I have those weeks sometimes. Nothing like a parent's eternal disappointment to bring joy to your day."

"I guess they're trying to protect us in their own way."

"You ever wonder if our mothers have been right all along?"

"About what?"

"About love. That without it, the rest almost doesn't matter."

Anne studied Elizabeth's face for a moment. "You believe that?"

"No. But I worry that they may be right."

"Wouldn't it be worse if they were wrong?" said Anne. Elizabeth just raised an eyebrow, so Anne continued, "I'd rather live in a world where love is possible. The kind of love that makes you do impractical things. It keeps me hopeful." Anne paused, then seeing Elizabeth's dubious expression, added with a smile, "It's good to dream now and then, Liz."

"I have plenty of dreams, Anne," said Elizabeth, "and I can assure you that falling in love is not high on the list."

The moment Elizabeth walked into the apartment, she knew something was wrong. Jane was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing in particular, a small frown on her face. She was listlessly rotating her phone in an endless circle on the couch, something she only did when she was nervous or anxious. Despite her obvious melancholy, she still exuded the aura of an Ingrid Bergman, of a classical beauty endowed with the kind of grace and elegance that almost seemed anachronistic. There was something ethereal about her smile. It made her seem unattainable, like she was an apparition that could vanish in the blink of an eye. But today, there were no smiles, not even when Jane looked up to greet her sister. It was enough to graduate Elizabeth's concern from mild curiosity to full-blown alarm. Jane always smiled. Something was very wrong.

"Oh Liz. How was your afternoon with Anne?"

"It was lovely. It's so nice today," replied Elizabeth. "Why are you sitting here all alone? I thought you were hanging out with Charles?"

"I was."

"What happened?"

Jane looked at her and shrugged. "I don't know actually."

"Jane, are you ok? You're beginning to freak me out."

"Charles and I broke up. Or we're on a break. One of these days, I want someone to explain the difference to me."

"Wait, what?! I don't understand."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you, Liz. I don't really understand myself. I don't know where to start."

"Just start at the beginning."

Jane sighed. "I don't know. We had brunch, and everything seemed fine, normal. And then he started talking and making no sense. He...- he thinks that while we really like each other, we have to make sure we're really compatible and that it's not just infatuation."

"And he thinks time apart will help with that?" Elizabeth asked dubiously.

"I guess." Jane nodded. "He was saying so much so quickly, I don't even know if I caught it all. He said that compatibility is not just about the two people, but about two families coming together."

"Umm... ok. Is this about Caroline somehow?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Lydia then? Has she been making a fool of herself again?"

"Who knows? Maybe. But she's our baby sister, and if Charles can't deal with her, then he's not the right guy for me."

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed.

"Oh Liz... there's more. Last week, he asked me to move in with him when our lease is up."

"Really?" Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to, but was still processing it. And you've been so busy. I didn't want to bother you."

Elizabeth felt the pangs of guilt. Too busy for her best friend and sister. She needed to be more present. "What did you say?"

"I told him that it was tempting, but too soon. We've been together less than six months, and I don't want to rush into this. I don't want to make the same mistakes I've made in the past. I thought he would get it."

"You think that's what brought this on?"

"I don't know. You tell me. One week he wants to move in together and the next he's not sure we're compatible. What else am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe he just panicked because you said no? You know how much men hate rejection."

"It wasn't really rejection, Liz."

"Maybe he doesn't see it that way?" Elizabeth mused. "Remember how Charlotte always had that theory about how men are all so insecure that they need to be shown more love than you feel, not less."

"You hate that theory," said Jane. "And would never practice it yourself. Why are you advocating it for me?"

"I'm just saying that maybe he just misunderstood your intentions?"

"No," said Jane firmly. "We're not going to make excuses. Whatever he felt or didn't feel...- he should have talked to me about it. How can I trust him if he runs every time there's an issue or disagreement or misunderstanding?"

Elizabeth suddenly felt immensely proud of her sister. "You're right. Have you talked to Caroline?"

"No. I came home, and I've been sitting on the couch ever since."

"Talk to her. She always told us her brother could be impulsive. I had my doubts about him early on, remember? Maybe it's nothing, and we'll all laugh about it tomorrow."

"Maybe," said Jane with a look of doubt on her face.

"Jane, it doesn't add up. I've seen the two of you together. If you're not meant to be together, then there really is not justice in this world. It'll be ok. Trust me."

"You think so?" A tiny smile finally graced Jane's face.

"Yes, absolutely." Elizabeth nodded. "And if not, then I will happily hate him for the rest of eternity."

Jane laughed. "I don't need you to hate him, Liz."

"No?"

"No. I love him. I don't know what happened or why, but he asked for some time and space. So that's what I'm going to give him. But even if he decides we're not compatible, that doesn't mean I'm going to hate him. Or that I'd want you to hate him. He's a good guy, Liz. Regardless of what happens between us."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Excuse me if I'm not so charitable. I'm withholding judgment for now. But only because I'm convinced that it's some sort of mistake. If he's actually stupid enough to walk out on you, I reserve the right to hate him as much as I want."

"It's been known to happen before," said Jane softly. Seeing Elizabeth's confused look, she added, "Guys walking out on me. I thought it was different this time. None of those other times were actually real. The last time I was really in love was almost ten years ago. Can you believe it's been so long? And we were so young. We barely knew what we wanted or who we wanted to be. But this felt different. It felt like it could be something. You know? But I can be wrong. That's also been known to happen."

"Oh Jane." Elizabeth felt her heart lurch at her sister's words. "I'm so sorry. What an awful way to spend such a beautiful day."

"It wasn't what I had in mind when I woke up this morning," Jane agreed.

Elizabeth reached over and hugged Jane tightly. "Just give it a day or two, and it'll all blow over."

A day turned into a week and a week into three, and there was still no sign of a resolution. Quite the contrary, in fact, for Charles left the city - supposedly for work - soon after his discussion with Jane about their future or lack thereof. Jane managed her disappointment the way she managed her happiness; with poise and aplomb. She poured herself into work, spending long hours at Longbourn reshaping the menu and contemplating a redecoration. She picked up extra volunteer shifts at the local soup kitchen. She experimented with new recipes at home in her spare time, such as it was, often pushing herself beyond her creative boundaries. And so, it seemed that everyone around Jane would benefit from her heartbreak. If she felt anger or self-pity, she was careful to never allow it to consume her for more than a moment. Born to loving parents in a middle class family in one of the richest countries in the world, Jane was keenly aware of the advantages she had been afforded in life. And so she never allowed herself the indulgence of regret or dissatisfaction. Besides, it was not in her nature to dwell on the past, so she moved onward, scarcely mourning the loss of the life she had almost lived.

The grace with which Jane accepted her turn of fate only served to anger her sister further. That Jane was a magnanimous human being was an incontrovertible fact, but nothing rankled Elizabeth more than the knowledge that Jane's good heart and generosity of spirit were being squandered on an unworthy recipient. And after three weeks of silence and cowardice, Elizabeth was ready to pronounce Charles unworthy. At first, she had maintained steadfast optimism that it was all a misunderstanding. Then, she had hoped that he would quickly come to his senses and realize the colossal error of his ways. Finally, she had suspected that something nefarious was afoot, something to do with Charles' business interests that would explain his sudden departure from the city. She had even questioned Caroline extensively and incessantly until the latter begged her to stop. There was no conspiracy. There were no easy answers. Charles Bingley had just proven himself unworthy, and Elizabeth was left to observe a heartbroken Jane smile bravely as her dreams vanished before her eyes.

"Hey Liz."

Elizabeth looked up to see Caroline. "Oh hey. You coming or going?"

"Going. I just stopped by to check on Jane."

"Ok. Want to stay for breakfast? I picked up some bagels on my way home."

"No, thanks. I actually have some work to do." Caroline paused. "I don't know how you run in this weather."

Although it was barely 9 in the morning, it was already oppressively hot and humid. A typical July day in New York. Elizabeth shrugged. "Habit, I guess. How is she?"

"Ok. I hope you're hungry. She's planning on trying three new muffin recipes today."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I should call Lydia to see if she wants to come over. If Charles doesn't come back soon, I'm going to gain 50 pounds. It's going to give me another reason to hate him."

Caroline sighed. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Being a Bingley."

"Why?" Elizabeth eyed her suspiciously. "Do you know something?"

"No, I don't."

"Then why are you apologizing?"

"Because my brother is just an idiot. And I know you kind of blame me."

"I don't." Elizabeth protested weakly.

"C'mon, we both know you do. You wish that I had never introduced Charles to Jane."

"Well, yes. But that wasn't strictly your fault."

Caroline smiled at Elizabeth's words. "Like I said, you blame me."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Look, it doesn't matter. It's in the past. We can't change anything. You were always upfront about his...- shall we say, deficiencies? Jane took a risk falling in love. I guess that's what love's about. That's what they tell me, anyway."

"You can't hate my brother more than I already do. I've barely heard from him at all since he left. All his emails are very cryptic and about work. I really don't know what's gotten into him. He's costing me the only friendship that's ever meant anything to me."

"Luckily for you, Jane is, by far, the most generous Bennet sister. She doesn't blame you in any way."

"I know. I think that makes it worse somehow. I feel like I can't be around her without reminding her of Charles."

"Don't be silly. If you're looking for pity, you're talking to the wrong person. You better just deal with whatever emotions you have about this. Jane needs you. And if another Bingley walks out on her, I'm going to come find you and...- you don't want to know what happens next."

Caroline laughed. "Thanks. I needed that. But I hope you know that if it comes down to choosing sides, I'm always going to choose Jane."

"You better," said Elizabeth as she turned to walk into her building. "I think Jane wins on the deliciousness of her muffins alone."

When Elizabeth walked into the apartment, she found all the evidence of an epic day of baking ahead. Flour and baking powder and sugar and eggs lay strewn on the kitchen counter along with a mountain of recipe books and an assortment of bowls and pans. It smelled vaguely like vanilla and childhood, and for a moment, Elizabeth felt safe as though nothing could go wrong in her world. She looked around for something to sample, but unfortunately, had to satisfy herself with a banana. It sounded like Jane was in the shower, so the bagels would have to wait. She sat down to catch up on her emails, but the gods were conspiring against her. Her laptop was acting up yet again, and she knew that her phone needed to be charged. Sighing, she decided to borrow Jane's laptop and went in search of the clunky, old Thinkpad. She found it hiding on the couch under the newspaper. It took a few minutes to awaken, humming loudly like a steam engine. Bless Jane. She never spent any money on herself. Elizabeth made a mental note to look into a new laptop or netbook or maybe one of those spiffy Chromebooks for Jane. When the screen finally glowed, she saw that Jane was logged into her email. She was about to log Jane out when she stopped in her tracks. It couldn't be. Her pulse quickened as she squinted and looked closely. There was no mistaking it. The letters jumped at her like a predator in the wild, clawing at her flesh and bones and sanity.

A folder named Dylan.

She knew she was invading Jane's privacy, but could not stop. She had to know why Jane had a folder bearing that name. An old Welsh name tied to the sea. A name that would forever evoke the lyrical poetry of Bob Dylan and Dylan Thomas. A name that made her shiver, even in the heat. She clicked on the folder and flinched as she saw emails. Dozens of emails. As she read them, she heard his voice in her head. There hadn't been much occasion for them to exchange emails, so she had very little to remind her of his voice, the way he expressed himself. And here they were. His words. Words on a screen screaming new information at her. Information that her sister had concealed for six years. Six whole years. Everything was crashing around her, and she felt physically ill. She looked up and saw Jane standing by the doorway. She saw Jane's lips move and knew instinctively that Jane was talking to her. But she couldn't hear anything. Her thoughts were so loud, the world was on mute.

Unmute. "Liz? You ok?"

"Jane. What the h*** is this?" She looked down at the Thinkpad in front of her.

And just like that, all the color drained from Jane's face.

Chapter 9

Posted on: 2013-09-09

"Liz...- " Words seemed to fail Jane. "I can explain."

Elizabeth crossed her arms, but didn't rise. "Oh yeah? I can't wait."

Jane walked towards Elizabeth slowly. "Look, you have to understand. It was complicated."

"I bet," said Elizabeth softly, staring into space.

"I was going to tell you."

Elizabeth looked up sharply, stood up and walked to the window. "When were you going to tell me?"

"I, ahh...-"

Elizabeth turned around to face Jane, her voice rising. "When were you going to tell me, Jane? When? All this time, you knew. And you didn't tell me? He was going to ask me to marry him. I can't believe you knew. All this time, Jane. I can't believe it."

Jane stood absolutely still, almost afraid to move.

Elizabeth continued. "I trusted you. And you lied to me. Again and again. You heard me talk about all my doubts and fears and questions, and it never occurred to you to tell me. Not even once."

"Of course it occurred to me," said Jane quietly. "I just didn't know how."

"What does that even mean?"

"You've had such a tough time since you've been back. I just didn't know how to tell you about it. It would have made you upset. Like it's making you upset now. I just never found the right time."

"I'm not upset because of Dylan. I'm upset because of you. He's dead, Jane. I can deal with that. But you...- you let me believe that it would never have worked out between us."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. I said it so many times. But you never contradicted me."

"It was your coping mechanism. If you believed that it wouldn't have worked, it hurt less. I couldn't take that away from you. Not after everything you've been through."

"What do you know about what I've been through?" Elizabeth thundered as she began pacing. "You saw some shrapnel and some scars and think you're an expert on war? Well, let me tell you something. You're wrong. You weren't there. You don't know anything. I've seen up close what human beings are capable of doing to each other. If you saw what I saw, you wouldn't be able to sleep at night either."

Jane sat down on the couch in silence.

Elizabeth struggled to contain her anger and only continued when she was able to speak in a more subdued tone. "You can't protect me. And it's not your job... I never asked for that. Your lies hurt more than the truth ever could."

Jane sighed. "You never came back. Not completely. I was waiting for you to come back, Liz. I would have told you. But you never came back."

"It was not for you to decide," said Elizabeth, her voice no more than a whisper. She sat down next to Jane and put her head in her hands. "Maybe finding out the truth would have put me over the edge and killed me. Or maybe it would have made me stronger. Either way, it was my truth. It was my past. My reality. How could you choose what I deserved to know? So many things happened. He died, and I lived. So many others died, and I lived. I stay awake from the guilt of it all. How did you determine that this piece of information was worth keeping from me when all the rest gnaws at my soul? It was not for you to decide."

"I'm sorry, Liz. I really am." Jane tried her luck and put her arms around Elizabeth.

"He wanted to marry me," Elizabeth whispered through the tears that were streaming down her face.

"Of course he did. Who wouldn't?"

"He wanted to marry me," Elizabeth repeated as if in a trance.

Jane pulled her close. "It's ok. It's ok to cry, Liz."

"Don't...-" Elizabeth pulled away. "Don't pretend like nothing happened."

"I'm not...-"

"Everything's changed, Jane. Don't you see that? I trusted you. More than anyone or anything. More than my own thoughts and sense of reality, sometimes. How can I trust you again?"

Jane fought back tears of her own. "You have to forgive me."

"Do you even regret what you did?"

A flurry of emotions flickered across Jane's face, but she replied calmly. "No."

"Well, I'm glad we're being honest," said Elizabeth with some bitterness.

"What do you want me to say?" said Jane. "You're my sister. Do you have any idea what it's like to find out that your baby sister has been injured, maybe fatally? To sit on a transatlantic flight to a military hospital, waiting, hoping, praying. To not know anything except that in your gut, you know she's alive. To finally see her and realize she's completely shattered and broken. To know she almost didn't make it. And then months of surgery and rehab later, to see her walk again. Except you don't see her because she didn't totally make it, a part of her never came back. What am I supposed to say, Liz? I don't have any words to describe it. You're the writer. You tell me." Jane paused and took in a deep breath. "I tried to tell you. But I just couldn't. And I'd do the same thing again. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry that all of this happened in the first place. But I'm not sorry for what I did."

"You don't have to remind me what it was like. I was there, remember?"

"I'm not as brave as you, Liz. None of us are. We almost lost you then. And I was afraid... to do or say anything that would make things worse. And I honestly thought that telling you the truth would make things worse. But if I lose you now... all over again, I don't know if I can take it."

Elizabeth said nothing, and they sat silently together for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Elizabeth asked, "Do mom and dad know about this?"

Jane shook her head. "No one knows except me."

"I think they would have liked him."

"Yes, definitely."

"Did you like him? From the emails, I mean."

"Yes. He seemed perfect for you."

"Yeah."

"I couldn't get myself to delete the emails. It felt wrong."

"I'm sorry I read your emails. It was by accident."

"I know. It's ok."

"I almost wish you had deleted them, Jane."

"Yeah."

Elizabeth stared straight ahead at nothing for a moment. "I don't know if I was ready for marriage."

"He wouldn't have rushed you."

"Maybe. I guess we'll never find out."

"I'm really sorry, Liz."

"Yeah. I know."

"Can you forgive me?"

Elizabeth looked at Jane a long moment. "I don't know."

Jane's face showed the disappointment she felt. "Ok. I understand."

Elizabeth stood up. "I have to go."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. I can't stay here."

"No. You stay. I'll go."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I need to clear my head." She grabbed her bag and keys and walked to the door. Looking back at Jane, she softly said goodbye. Before Jane could respond, she was gone.

Shorjah Market, Baghdad - September 19, 2006

It was an incredibly hot day, even by Baghdad standards, and yet, the market was bustling. The start of Ramadan was only a few days away, and it seemed that every household was in the midst of frenetic, last-minute preparations. The market had been the central commercial artery of the city for almost 700 years, dating back to the Abbasid era, and some shopkeepers could trace back their lineage almost as far. Only the heavy presence of security forces hinted that anything was different this Ramadan versus the hundreds of others that had come before. Otherwise, Elizabeth imagined that the scene might have been quite similar, donkey carts and all. Rows of vegetables and dates and lentils and olives and bulgur wheat created a panoramic mosaic of reds and yellows and greens and browns. The air smelled of a particular mixture of cinnamon, dill, honey, leather and human sweat, creating an aroma so unique that sometimes when Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled deeply anywhere in the city, she thought she was back in this market. She could imagine how a merchant may have known he was close to his destination hundreds of years ago. The smell would have been hard to miss.

"Are we there yet?" asked Dylan. "I think I might die of thirst."

"Yes, you big baby," said Elizabeth. "This sharbat is worth the wait, I promise."

"You sure it's safe?"

"Yeah, I've had it a hundred times. And I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Ok."

Elizabeth led Dylan to her trusted sharbat vendor, who turned out to be a 70-year old shopkeeper in a cramped space filled with all kinds of jars and bags. "As-sal?m 'alaykum."

He looked up and smiled at Elizabeth. "Wa 'alaykum as-sal?m."

As Elizabeth chatted with the shopkeeper, Dylan wandered around to take some photographs of the chaotic scene around him. Three older women in hijabs argued loudly with a vendor about the price of his haloumi cheese. A young boy, probably no more than five, played with a stray dog and then ran after a cart through the narrow street laced with potholes. A teenager wearing jeans and a bright yellow Gap T-shirt helped check out customers in a shop selling all kinds of rice, barley and other grains. A few steps away, an old man in his 80s sat in a store overflowing with metal utensils of all shapes and sizes that hung from every available inch of the ceiling. He was dressed in a three-piece suit and some sort of fashionable taqiyah*, even though it was over a 100 degrees. He was staring at the street at no one in particular, but feeling Dylan's eyes on him, he looked over and smiled for the camera. He held Dylan's gaze for a second and then looked away. Dylan could not help but think that this man almost looked like Miss Havisham in her wedding gown - all dressed up with nowhere to go. A young uniformed soldier in dark sunglasses patrolled the market, his head on a swivel, sweat dripping from his forehead. Dylan did not envy his job. It was tough enough to capture the scene on camera; how was one supposed to keep it all under control?

"Dylan! Your sharbat is ready," Elizabeth yelled.

Dylan walked over to her. She was a vision to behold with her flushed cheeks and dazzling smile and those dark, mesmerizing, laughing eyes. This is how he wanted to remember her. Always questioning, evaluating, challenging. Always stubborn and fearless. Sometimes maddening. But never anything short of breathtaking. He had never met someone so effortlessly poised, beautiful and brilliant. She seemed so at ease in this setting. Maybe it was the fluent Arabic or her fascination with history, but Dylan almost wondered if she hadn't been born for this job. She was wearing green khaki pants, a long sleeved cotton shirt and a silk head scarf, her long, dark brown hair tucked away in a simple braid. Despite her best efforts at modest attire, it was hard for her to blend in or conceal her whiteness and American-ness. But even though she didn't quite blend in visually, she had a knack for winning people's trust with her fluency in their language, history and customs. They could sense she wanted to tell their story, and often, that's all they had ever really wanted. Someone to listen to them and tell their side of the story.

She handed over a bright red drink. "It's rose flavored, and it's divine. You're going to love it."

Dylan sniffed the drink with some suspicion and said a silent Hail Mary before drinking it. It was surprisingly cool, sweet and refreshing. "It's good."

"See? I told you. I can't believe you haven't tried it yet."

"Shukran," said Dylan to the shopkeeper tentatively, self-conscious at his heavily accented Arabic. Somehow it didn't sound quite so awkward when Elizabeth spoke. "Yeah, well. Trust the guys in the desert to come up with the drink that hits the spot in this heat."

"Yeah, they drink it all over the Middle East and South Asia. Now you can see why." She exchanged some more words with the shopkeeper, who gestured at Dylan enthusiastically. She laughed, said her goodbyes, and then, they were on their way.

"Have I ever told you that you're absolutely sexy when you're speaking Arabic?" said Dylan

"Yeah, pretty much every time I speak it in front of you."

"Can't help it." He smiled. "Successful trip?"

"Yeah, he's going to let me quote him on record for the story."

"That's good."

"Yeah, it's becoming so difficult. Everyone is so afraid to talk to Americans."

"I think they're just afraid to talk to reporters."

"Yeah, maybe."

"What did he have to say?"

"There's a rumor that they're going to shut down the market if things don't get any better. Obviously that would be terrible for Ahmed, but he seems to be resigned to it. His business hasn't been doing so great anyway, what with the inflation and the violence."

"Yeah I wouldn't be surprised if they shut it down. This place is a hornet's nest."

Elizabeth seemed displeased at the comment, but said, "He asked me when I was leaving Baghdad, and I told him I wasn't sure. And you know what he said? He's afraid of the day all the reporters leave. The world doesn't care about them now. What's going to happen once no one writes about them anymore?"

Elizabeth said no more, and Dylan could think of no response, so he changed the topic. "So what was that about at the end? He kept pointing and laughing at me."

"He thinks I've lost weight and that if I want to marry you, I need to learn how to cook."

Dylan laughed. "Well, the man's got a point."

"It's too hot to eat. And who has time to cook?"

"Well, luckily for you, my dear, I'm not too bad with a grill. And the rest I'm sure I can pick up."

"Good for you," she said with more gravity than she had intended.

"All right, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You've been acting really strange for a few days. Well, stranger than normal."

That earned him a tentative smile. "I'm working something out in my head. Don't want to talk about it yet."

"That sounds like trouble."

"Depends on how you look at it."

"Well, you've been distant. So in my book, that's trouble."

"I haven't been distant."

"Ok, Liz. Whatever you say."

"I'm sorry." She sighed.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Fine. But you can't judge me."

"Never."

"I had this dream..."

"Uh oh. Nothing good has ever happened when you dwell on your dreams."

"Dylan! You want to listen to this or not?"

"No, no - continue."

"So I had this dream. I woke up one morning, and you were gone. I looked for you everywhere, but there was no trace of you. You didn't say goodbye - you just disappeared like you had never existed. And then, I just walked around like I was missing half my body... you know, like they talked about in that thing Plato wrote. What was it called? I can't remember. And then the world was in black and white, and I never saw colors again."

"Ok, wow. Well, first of all, I'm not going anywhere."

"That's not the point."

"It's not?"

"It's not about whether you leave or not. I can't be so dependent on you."

"I see."

"Don't take it personally. I mean, is it really supposed to be like that? My world can't fall apart if you're not in it."

"But mine would if you weren't in it."

"Really?"

Dylan nodded. "I mean, I'd survive. Just like you would. And eventually I'd be happy. But what we have has to mean something, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Why so morose?"

"I don't know. It just feels so foreign somehow. Like how can we be independent and self-reliant and still mean so much to each other?"

"I guess that's love, Liz."

"Is it? Well, like I said, I'm working it out in my head." She paused. "Hey, can I borrow some cash? Want to get a snack, and I'm all out."

He looked at her solemnly. "That depends, Liz. Won't it make you dependent on me?"

She looked at him for a moment to see if he was serious, and then, they both burst out laughing.

The future is certain; it is the past that is unpredictable. Elizabeth smiled ruefully as that old Soviet saying reverberated in her head. She finally understood what it meant to have an unpredictable past, and she had to admit it was not particularly pleasant. She could trust nothing and no one, maybe not even herself. For years, she had been walking on a tightrope, inching slowly and deliberately towards a future that seemed safe, even practical. No more risking of life and limb for a story that no one would read. No more impractical love affairs in the middle of the desert. No more wondering if she could be happy with an ordinary life. Happiness seemed overrated; contentment would suffice. And now suddenly the tightrope was swaying, and she found herself looking backwards, wondering how many other lies had masqueraded as facts. The end result of such queries could only be the unmooring of her sanity as she fell into the abyss she so desperately feared. But it was too late to stop looking, to stop wondering. She closed her eyes as she stepped out of her apartment building and into the embrace of the unyielding summer day. She started walking with the purpose of a woman determined to outrun her thoughts. It was easy to lose yourself in New York, and for that, she had never felt more grateful.

"Spare change for a Vietnam vet?"

Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. She could never walk past a homeless veteran. She saw an older man sitting on the sidewalk, holding a cardboard sign and an American flag. He wore tattered old jeans and a grey T-shirt and a smile on his face that belied the tragedy of his situation. He reeked of alcohol and despair, and the smell was so pungent that even sympathetic pedestrians quickened their pace as they approached him. Either he didn't notice or didn't care for he yelled god bless you at every person that walked by. He almost seemed surprised when Elizabeth walked towards him. He looked up at her suspiciously and held his cup of change a little closer. Elizabeth pulled out her wallet and dropped $20 into his cup. The look of suspicion melted into something akin to wonder, and he stared at his cup for a long moment before looking up at her again in disbelief.

"Thank you for your service," said Elizabeth.

It seemed like such a trite thing to say, but she could think of no words that would capture the horror of young boys returning from a far-off place in various stages of disrepair to near-universal indifference. As she uttered those words, she saw a moment of clarity in his eyes. He said nothing, but his eyes confessed the agony of a life lived in the shadows of what could have been. And before she knew it, the moment was gone, and the clarity was replaced by a blank smile. It was probably easier this way, and really, who could blame him for wanting to forget? He gestured for her to come closer, and as she leaned in, he loudly whispered once you go to the jungle, you never come back. She jumped back in surprise. He started loudly chanting his mantra over and over again. Elizabeth resumed her walk towards the subway, his words echoing in her head. Once you go to the jungle, you never come back. She wondered whether that sentiment held true for the desert as well.

Elizabeth walked to Grand Central and hopped the 7 train, hoping that the multilingual chatter of the crowded train would distract her from her thoughts. But there was no such luck for her today. She heard a woman speaking Arabic and smiled at the memory of how much her language skills had impressed Dylan. She sighed. Though they go mad they shall be sane / Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again / Though lovers be lost love shall not / And death shall have no dominion**. It felt so redundant to mourn him all over again when she had reconciled herself to his loss a long time ago. She had fallen in love in the most unlikely of places, and it almost seemed logical that their time together had been finite. He had understood her in a soul mate kind of way and had cherished her, faults and all. And she had allowed herself to love him with an openness she had not thought possible. And yet, there was a corner of her soul that she had saved for herself, saved for the inevitable day when he would be gone. Somehow it did not help. She woke up alone in a strange hospital one day, and her world still fell apart. And she knew then that she had always had the right idea. It just never made much sense to fall in love. So now, armed with all the wisdom of experience, she faced life the best she could and accepted the guilt that would not go away. Guilt of having survived. Of having moved on. And most of all, the guilt of maybe not having loved him quite as much as he deserved. Most days, she managed to squelch all the guilt long enough to function. And with any luck, someday she would sleep through the night again. And death would have no dominion.

Jane's emails danced in front of her eyes, a jumble of words picking at her old, festering wounds until they bled. It almost felt like a conspiracy. Dylan and Jane arranging her life behind her back as though she was not to be trusted with her own future. He had never mentioned marriage to her once, not in concrete terms, anyway. And yet he had thought it fit to plan it all with her sister, stupid diamond rings and all. Had it never occurred to him that maybe she didn't want any of it, that maybe she would never be any good at it, that maybe she could never make him happy? Or maybe all of that had occurred to him, and so he had wisely chosen to say nothing to her, hoping, instead, to dazzle her into accepting a life for which she may not be suited. It almost felt like he hadn't known her at all, and everything she believed was a lie. She had often wondered about their future, about where fate could have taken them in another life. Inevitably, her thoughts would lead to marriage and white picket fences and domestic felicity, and she would immediately chastise herself for her naive and fruitless ramblings. It made no sense to dwell on the version of her life that would never become reality, and it made even less sense without knowing Dylan's intentions. And now that she was privy to Dylan's intentions, things somehow seemed a lot worse.

Anger and betrayal battled with sorrow and longing for a piece of her consciousness until she could barely breathe. It was odd to grieve the loss of a future she didn't even want. She wished she could talk it through with Dylan. He had a way of making everything seem just a little less daunting and disconcerting, even in the middle of a war zone. But that was her problem. There was no more Dylan, and she would have to make sense of it all without him. Maybe Jane was right. Maybe she had no business knowing the truth. Maybe it did hurt less to lose something that could never have worked. She didn't know whether to feel frustrated at not having known the truth for so long or confused at not knowing what that truth implied. Could it have worked? She sighed. What difference did it make anymore? Only one thing was clear. Baghdad had just claimed another victim, and this time it hurt even more than when she had woken up in Landstuhl with all the tubes and the cuts and the burns. This time she had lost the one person that mattered more to her than any man ever could. If there was a way to trust Jane again, to make their relationship whole again, she wasn't aware of it. She was a prisoner of war who had finally realized that she wasn't making it out alive. There was nothing to keep her sane anymore. There was only darkness.

Elizabeth rode the subway for hours. By the time she returned to the city, it was dusk. The idea of going home and facing Jane's anxious eyes made her want to hurl, so she went to the only other place that made sense. "Anne? I need a place to crash."

If Anne was surprised to see her, she did not show it. She just nodded and gave Elizabeth a long hug.

* A taqiyah is a short, rounded cap, often referred to as a 'prayer cap.'
** Excerpt from 'And Death Shall Have No Dominion' by Dylan Thomas.

Chapter 10

Posted on: 2013-09-19 15:08:45

"You ok?" asked Anne as she handed Elizabeth a chamomile tea.

"I've been better," replied Elizabeth.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No, not particularly."

"We've been worried about you."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "I guess you talked to Jane, then?"

"Of course," said Anne. "You realize you've been gone for almost ten hours, right?"

Elizabeth confessed she hadn't really noticed the time. "I just wanted to disappear for a bit."

"You could have left your phone on." Anne frowned in a way that reminded Elizabeth of Darcy.

"You don't know how this disappearing thing works, do you?" Elizabeth responded with a smile.

"I should let Jane know you're here," said Anne as she got up to find her phone. Elizabeth only nodded in response. After she had texted Jane, Anne continued, "She's been really frantic all day."

"Yeah, you mentioned that already."

"Right. Sorry."

"How much do you know?"

Anne shifted on the couch uncomfortably in a manner that suggested she knew everything.

Elizabeth studied her for a moment. "How long have you known?"

"I just found out today, Liz."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes," said Anne. "Do you know how paranoid you sound?"

Elizabeth sighed. "I can't help it. I don't know what to think anymore."

"I'm really sorry, Liz," said Anne, her head tilted and her eyes brimming with concern.

A flash of anger appeared in Elizabeth's eyes. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I need your pity."

"Ok. All right. Sorry." Anne turned her gaze towards the carpet.

Anger replaced by contrition, Elizabeth hung her head in exhaustion. "I'm sorry, Anne. I've just had a truly awful day."

"I know. It's ok. You don't have to apologize to me."

"I hate feeling like everyone pities me, like I'm weak and can't handle the truth."

"I don't think Jane thinks of it like that."

Elizabeth crossed her arms and cocked her head, daggers waiting to fly from her eyes again. "Are you defending what she did?"

Luckily Anne was prepared this time and answered with as much honesty as she could muster. If Elizabeth wanted to hear the truth, she might as well start now. "No... I don't think so. Oh I don't know. It's tough, Liz."

"Would you have done the same?" Elizabeth pressed.

"You want the truth?"

Elizabeth sensed she wasn't about to like the response, but said, "Yes."

"I honestly don't know. I wasn't there at the beginning. I didn't know you then. But I can't imagine going through that horrific experience and not wanting to protect you. I know that's not what you want to hear. I know you don't want anyone's protection. But there you have it."

"Why does everyone think I'm some sort of delicate rose that needs protection?" There was nothing Elizabeth hated more than being considered a delicate anything, but a delicate rose seemed especially objectionable.

"Because we love you."

"Well, you sure have a strange way of showing it. Lying to someone for six years qualifies as love these days?"

"What would you have done in her shoes? Told Jane the truth?"

"I would like to think so."

"I don't know if I believe you."

"Why not?"

"I think you would have done anything to prevent Charles from hurting your sister. Including trying to break them up preemptively. To protect her. Tell me that's not true."

Elizabeth couldn't deny the truth in Anne's words, so she took a different route. "That's so not the same thing."

"Really? And why is that?" Anne smirked, sensing victory.

"He was just playing her. She's too sweet to even think that's possible. If I had just trusted my instincts..."

"See? It's natural, Liz. Wanting to protect someone you love. And sometimes that means a little bit of lying, a little bit of omitting facts. Life's messy. And there are times when you have to choose between truly imperfect alternatives. And I don't think either of us can really know how we would have reacted to this particular set of circumstances." She paused. "I can't judge Jane for what she did. And I'm not sure you should either."

"What is this, Anne de Bourgh's School of Hard Truths?"

Anne pictured a neon sign over an industrial building in a trendy part of Brooklyn and laughed. "I kind of like the sound of that."

"You would, wouldn't you?" Elizabeth said with a smile. She paused, then added, "I'm too exhausted to think about this anymore. Can you save the rest of your wisdom for another day?"

"Yeah. Why don't I get you set up in the guest room?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Thanks for letting me crash here. I really appreciate it."

"Of course. Anytime." Anne squeezed her hand.

"I'm going to grab my stuff tomorrow when Jane's at work."

"Ok."

"It's ok if I stay a while?" Elizabeth searched Anne's face.

"Yes. You know I'd love to have you."

"But?"

"Don't be too harsh on Jane. At least talk to her. She's devastated."

Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken at the thought and shook her head. "I can't. Not yet."

"Ok. I'm sure Jane will understand." There was a hint of reproach in Anne's voice.

"She should," Elizabeth shot back. "She's had six years to digest all of this. Don't I get a few weeks at least?"

Anne was silent for a moment. "You're going to be ok, you know?"

"Yeah." Elizabeth nodded. "I know."

"Liz, what's another word for disappointment?"

Elizabeth looked up at Cole. "Dissatisfaction? Discontent? Disenchantment? Disillusionment?"

"I know this game. What is...- words that describe how Cole's dates feel at the end of the night?" Krish flashed a self-satisfied grin as he sat on Elizabeth's desk.

"Very funny, Krish." Cole shot him a look suggesting he was not amused. "Don't you have a wedding to write up or something? Run along. We're trying to report on actual news here."

"Sheesh, touchy today, aren't we?" Krish said. "What happened? You woke up and realized that it's another day and that you're still reporting on "actual" news that no one cares about?"

"Children, please. Do I have to babysit you two or can we get some work done?" Elizabeth glared at Krish, who reluctantly got up and walked away. Elizabeth returned her attention to Cole. "Ok, where were we?"

"Disappointment," said Cole with a sigh.

"Right. What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm just trying to add a little more spice to this one paragraph...-"

"Can you save the spice for your Great American Novel, Cole? I really need you to finish your part so I can merge it with what Saira sent me last night."

"Sorry, almost done, Liz. Give me 20 more minutes?" Cole grabbed his tenth Diet Coke of the day and took a big gulp. "I also haven't had time to look into all of Rowhani's quotes on the nuclear program yet. Will get to it right after I send you my part."

"Don't worry," said Elizabeth as she nibbled on her pen, absentmindedly. "I got Rowhani's quotes."

"How? Saira?" Cole was too exhausted to feel inadequate.

"No, I looked into it myself," responded Elizabeth, her eyes trained on her screen, her fingers typing furiously.

"When?" Cole was incredulous. "I thought Jamie sent you home to sleep last night?"

"He did. Couldn't sleep, though. I find that I get my best work done at 2 am."

"I've got to give this insomnia thing a try," Cole muttered.

"It definitely has its advantages."

"No one likes a show-off, Liz."

Elizabeth smiled. While she did, on occasion, miss the solitude and flexibility of freelancing, she had come to revel in the manic energy of the newsroom. She loved the chorus of humming screens and chattering keyboards and loud phone calls. She loved the smells of a deadline, a mixture of bitter coffee and day-old pizza and cheap deodorant. She loved the chaos of last minute quotes and hurried edits and panicked rewrites. But most of all, she loved the unconcealed enthusiasm of all the Cole Sullivans that surrounded her. As yet untouched by the unpalatable realities of the craft they had chosen, these young journalists reminded Elizabeth of what was still possible, of what had attracted her to this life in the first place. So much passion for the truth, such ambition to elucidate events of global significance, so many hopes and dreams that would all inevitably be washed away by the relentless tide of pragmatism. But for now, they still held the nuanced views and the principled stances that were only possible before the advent of all the compromises and half-measures and broken promises. It was as inspiring as it was heartbreaking, and she almost wondered if she should alert them to the travails that lay ahead for they had chosen a path littered with indifference and threatened by irrelevance. But she never said a word. It was a truth best discovered all alone in a dive bar somewhere with a bottle of cheap tequila. And after all, who was she to interfere with tradition?

"Liz? Can I see you for a second?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Sure, Jamie." Rising, she looked at Cole. "20 minutes?"

"Yes," said Cole. "Definitely."

Elizabeth followed Jamie to his office and took the seat he offered her. "So? What's up?"

"You get right to the point, don't you?" Jamie smiled.

"Yeah. We're a little busy, Jamie."

"I know. You've been doing a great job training Cole. I appreciate it."

"He's a good kid. Going to make a good reporter."

"A good teacher doesn't hurt."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" Elizabeth looked at him dubiously. Jamie Long was not really one for compliments.

"No. I need a favor."

"Shoot."

"Have you heard of the Rosings Sun Valley Conference*?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's an annual conference where a bunch of powerful people get together and congratulate themselves on how well they're running the world."

Jamie laughed. "You're close."

"My friend's mom organizes it, actually." Elizabeth smiled.

"You're friends with the de Bourghs?" Jamie's surprise was evident.

"Don't look so shocked. I do have friends, you know. And I'm not friends with the de Bourghs. Just the one."

"Ok. Well, I got a call from the organizers. They had a last minute cancellation. They need someone to fill in on a panel on the ethics of wartime journalism."

"And you want me to go?"

"Yes. If you don't mind."

"Without any adult supervision?" Elizabeth's eyes twinkled.

Jamie laughed. "If you can manage it, yes."

Elizabeth suppressed a grin and assumed faux gravity as she said, "I'll try my best to not malign the good name of The New York Times."

"Thanks, Liz. I owe you."

"When's the panel?"

"Panel is on Tuesday, but there's also some sort of drinks event on Thursday. Why don't you just stay the week since you're going to be all the way out there anyway? Good chance to mingle and whatnot."

"Yeah. I love to mingle." Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"You know, most people in your shoes would kill for the opportunity to be surrounded by so many media CEOs. A lot of really good exposure."

"I'd rather be in the newsroom, Jamie. You know that."

Jamie shook his head. "You're something else."

Elizabeth shrugged. "So, my friend had actually invited me to go with her to this conference. I assume you're ok if I head over there on Saturday then?"

"Of course. Judging from the time stamp on all the emails you've been sending me, you'll have no trouble keeping up with everything here."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"Speaking of which, I thought I sent you home to sleep last night? Why was I still getting emails from you?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Everything ok?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Nothing I can't handle."

Elizabeth checked her phone as she walked back to Anne's apartment. Four missed calls from Caroline and one missed call from Dr. Matthews' office. She sighed. She could handle Caroline, but she wished Dr. Matthews was slightly less persistent. After resuming the relationship, Elizabeth had gone back to Dr. Matthews a handful of times earlier in the year, but had stopped for the same reasons she had always stopped before. It seemed silly, indulgent even, to continue to occupy the good doctor's time when she had no real problems to speak of and when there were undoubtedly many other poor souls who needed Dr. Matthews' help and attention. Elizabeth had yet to resort to drugs or alcohol and often wondered whether dream-induced insomnia even qualified as an issue requiring medical attention. And truth be told, she had learned how to live with less sleep and found that the extra hours of productivity outweighed any potential adverse health impact.

When she arrived at Anne's apartment, she found Caroline waiting for her outside. "Caroline? What are you doing here?"

"Did you wear that to work?"

Elizabeth looked down at her loose black pants and old Banana Republic sweater. "Yes. You have a problem with it?"

"No. Sorry. Old habit. I talk about clothes when I'm nervous."

"Ok. Why are you nervous exactly?"

"You can be intimidating sometimes."

"You came here, remember? No one is forcing you to come talk to me, Caroline." Elizabeth crossed her arms.

"Ummm... yes, right. Well, I've been calling you."

"Yeah. I know. Sorry. I've been busy."

"You have a second to talk?"

"Sure. Come up. But make it quick. I need to pack. I have an early flight tomorrow."

"Where are you going?"

"Going to this Rosings Conference...-"

"Oh, you mean with Anne and Richard? I thought they already left?"

"No, not exactly. Going to speak on a panel. My boss just told me about it yesterday. But I'll be staying at their place, so I'll at least get to see them."

"Oh that'll be nice. Richard told me it's beautiful out there. I'm sad I can't go."

"Ok. Caroline? You didn't come here to talk about my trip. What's up?"

Caroline looked uncomfortable. She waited until they walked into the apartment, then said, "No. You're right. I came here to talk about Jane."

"What about Jane?"

"I think she's literally dying of heartbreak, Liz."

Elizabeth scowled. "I'm going to kill Charles."

"No, not Charles. You."

"Me?"

"Oh, please. Don't act so surprised. You haven't seen her or talked to her in two weeks. What did you think would happen?"

Elizabeth was silent for a moment. "That's none of your business."

"I understand. But I'm Jane's friend. And I'd like to believe I'm your friend too. I can't stand to see her suffer like this."

"You don't know anything, Caroline. I suggest you stay out of this."

"I know," said Caroline solemnly.

"Know what?"

"Everything."

Elizabeth saw the concern in Caroline's eyes and realized instantly that Caroline was telling the truth. "I can't believe Jane told you."

"It was Richard. Don't be mad at him. We tell each other everything."

"Well, I'd be happy for you if I wasn't so annoyed."

"I'm really sorry, Liz."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's fine. But you need to talk to Jane."

"I don't have time. I'm leaving first thing tomorrow, and I have a million things to do."

"Just send her an email then? Something. Anything. This silence is killing her. Even Lydia noticed that something was wrong."

"Ah did Jane tell Lydia everything? My whole family will know. I'm not ready to talk to my mom about this yet."

"No, of course not. Jane hasn't said a word to anyone. Give her some credit, Liz. I just saw Lydia at Longbourn the other day, and she asked me if Jane was still down about Charles because she seemed especially sad."

"How perceptive of her." Elizabeth couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Yeah, I thought so, too. Look, Jane is not going to reach out to you. She's going to give you space. But I'm worried about her."

That piqued Elizabeth's interest. "Why? Is she ok?"

"She hasn't been eating or sleeping. And I'm not just saying that to make you feel guilty."

"She needs to eat. She gets really light-headed when she doesn't eat. Why are you letting her do that?"

"Do you think she listens to me? She just smiles and tells me she's fine. She needs you. I don't care how upset you are with her. Please just email her. That's all I'm asking."

"Ok."

Caroline's face registered her surprise. "You'll do it?"

"Yes. I'll email her tonight."

"And talk to her when you get back?"

"Don't push your luck."

Caroline smiled. "It was worth a try. Thanks, Liz."

"Yeah. You're a lot more persuasive than you think."

Caroline laughed. "Yes, well, apparently Richard has been discovering the same thing." Caroline gave her a hug and headed to the door. "Have a great time in Sun Valley."

"Thanks." Elizabeth thought for a second, then said, "Caroline?"

Caroline glanced back at her. "Yes?"

"Thanks for being such a good friend to her."

"Of course. It's the least I can do after everything she's done for me."

"What has she done for you?"

"Saved me from myself."

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: August 2, 2013 11:34 PM
To: Jane Bennet [jbennet16@yahoo.com]
Subject: Hi

How are you?

It's been weird not talking to you. Really weird. I miss you. Are you taking care of yourself?

These last 2 weeks have been hard, Jane. But I just needed some time to think. I hope you can understand that. I know we need to talk. I'm leaving for a conference tomorrow. I'll be back in a week. Maybe we can talk when I'm back...?

I love you.
Liz

With the formidable Rockies looming in the background and nothing but the open road ahead of her, Elizabeth smiled as she adjusted the volume of the satellite radio. Two flights and a seven hour journey separated Boise from New York, but it might as well have been a world away. It suddenly became abundantly clear to her why all self respecting journeys of introspection occurred on the open road. And it certainly didn't hurt that this particular open road was almost something out of a postcard. The sun shone brightly in the early afternoon sky, illuminating almost desert like terrain on either side of the two-lane highway that stretched for miles and miles ahead of her without another soul in sight. The air was clean, the sky was vast, and everything seemed so inconsequential against the backdrop of the spectacular mountains that rose towards the heavens and seemed to possess the answers to all of life's existential questions. The majesty of it all took her breath away. She imagined she was a member of the Lewis and Clark expedition, discovering the beautiful mysteries of the vast continent that she called home. It seemed to her that at that moment, surrounded by so much natural beauty, it would be quite impolite to dwell on all the thoughts lurking in the darker corners of her mind. Instead, she allowed herself to savor the solitude that was never possible in the bustle of city life. And it felt glorious to be alive.

Elizabeth had almost forgotten how much she loved to drive. After all, she had been without a car for more than ten years now. And so, she had received the news that she was to drive from Boise to Sun Valley with unconcealed delight. Flying into the small airport in Sun Valley was stupidly expensive, and given the state of the newspaper's budget, the decision had been rather easy. Of course, when she had arrived at the car rental desk and found that the last available option was a red Ford F-150, she had laughed at the absurdity of a self-proclaimed city girl scurrying along the lonely highway in such a monstrosity. The truck was a definitely a beast, but Elizabeth had to admit that she was enjoying it immensely. It was powerful and handled surprisingly well, and had she been a man, she would have felt the right level of macho pride at mastering such a large vehicle with such effortless skill. As she accelerated further, suddenly she saw a black car pulled over in the distance with two figures standing beside it. She surmised it was car trouble, and seeing as they were miles away from the nearest exit, she thought about stopping to offer assistance. Just as she was determining the probability that she would be stopping for ax murderers, she realized that she knew one of the figures, a man in what seemed like an expensive suit.

It was Will.

* Inspired by the Allen & Company Sun Valley Conference, which takes place in Sun Valley, Idaho every summer. The conference typically features business leaders (especially from tech and media), political figures and other major figures from philanthropic and cultural spheres.