Rory dropped the hose and turned it off. Trixie paused a moment and then shook her coat, sending drops of water all over Rory’s face. “Thank you,” Rory muttered, and then stood up, wiping her eyes. “Isabel?” she called out, rushing past the pool. “Hey!” She was almost at the back door when Isabel walked into view.
“Hey, McShane!” Isabel called, sauntering past the roses. She was still stunning. Her denim cutoffs and sleeveless crocheted tank showed off her long, golden limbs. Her hair was pin-straight and streaked with buttery highlights, courtesy of the California sun. Looking at her now, Rory found it hard to believe that some modeling agent hadn’t snatched her up for the next J. Crew catalog. “God, it’s been forever.” She wrapped her arms around Rory. “Ugh! Why are you wet?”
“Trixie just soaked me,” Rory said, hugging her back.
“Gross,” Isabel said, rubbing her arms. “But how are you? How was graduation?”
“Okay. I survived the speech.”
“Did the breathing exercises help?”
“Not really. I told you I wasn’t a yoga person.”
“You don’t have to be a yoga person to breathe, Ror.”
“I know. How’d the play go?”
“Oh, it was awesome,” Isabel said, closing her eyes and savoring the memory. “Rosalind is an amazing part. And I finally got Shakespeare. All this time I thought he was boring. Turns out he was a genius.”
“Yeah, well…” Rory wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“When did you get here?” Isabel asked.
“Yesterday.”
“Connor must have been happy to see you,” Isabel said with a sly smile. “Not that I want to hear details.”
“Don’t worry,” Rory said. “You won’t. What are you guys doing here so early?”
“Fee wanted to beat the traffic.”
Just then, Rory caught a glimpse of her aunt Fee walking over from the driveway. Now that she’d replaced Bianca as house manager, Fee’s uniform had gone from a unisex green polo and khaki pants to a more elegant outfit of a belted shirtdress and round-toed flats. It was as if Aunt Fee had finally earned the privilege, in the Rules’ eyes, of dressing like a woman.
“Fee!” she yelled.
“Hello, my dear!” Fee said, rushing over to hug her. “Welcome back!” In two seconds, Rory was engulfed in one of her aunt’s iron embraces.
“Nice duds,” Rory said when she pulled away.
“You think so?” Fee said, glancing down at her dress. “I’m a little on the fence about it, to tell you the truth. I feel like a nurse. How was last night? Everything go okay?”
“There was a dinner party.” At which I totally embarrassed myself, she wanted to add.
“I’m so glad I missed that,” Isabel said, rolling her eyes.
“Well, you girls get caught up. I need to run off to the market with Mickey and do some shopping.”
Rory had met the new chef before dinner, and he seemed even more intense than Eduardo, the first chef she’d met last summer. Mickey had worked at some restaurant in San Francisco and talked ceaselessly as he moved around the kitchen, as if he were directing staff. All right, let’s get this one cooking—more fire under that one! How about a teaspoon of cilantro there—no, the saffron! It had been a little unnerving, and she’d made a quick and silent exit.
“You need me to come? I can help,” Rory offered.
“Not at all,” Fee said. “You’re a guest this summer. Mickey and I can take care of most of it.” She gave Rory’s arm a squeeze. “Come visit me later,” she said before walking into the house.
“Where is everyone?” Isabel asked. “Still sleeping?”
“I think so,” Rory said. “No one was up when I left.”
“Good,” Isabel said, grabbing her arm. “ ’Cause we need to catch up. Come on,” she said, picking up her carry-on and leading the way inside the house.
Up in Isabel’s room, Rory settled herself on a chair and eyed the pile of enormous FedEx boxes that lay in the middle of the ivory shag rug. “Are you starting a business or something?” Rory asked.
“Oh, this is my stuff from school,” Isabel said, kicking one of the boxes. “It’s so much easier than shipping it regular mail.”
“Right,” Rory said, pretending to agree.
Isabel dropped her carry-on on the floor and then went to the window to pull open the curtains. “God, this is weird,” she said, looking out at the front lawn.
“What’s weird?”
“Being back here.” Isabel stared out the window. “Don’t be offended or anything, but I tried to stay in California.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. Mr. Knox was going to try to get me a job as a PA for one of the movie studios. But my mom wouldn’t let me do it. What a surprise.”
Rory sat down on the bed and scratched at a mosquito bite on her knee. “Is it because of what’s going on with your parents?” she asked.
Isabel turned from the window.
“I heard,” Rory said. “Connor told me. I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah, well, we both saw that one coming, didn’t we?” She sat down on the floor and reached for one of the FedEx boxes. “I can’t believe it took them this long. The more important thing is that I’m going crazy.”
“Crazy?”
“Guy deprivation,” Isabel explained. “It’s finally kicked in. It’s been almost a year since I kissed someone.”
“But that was by choice, I’m sure.”
“Maybe.” Isabel ripped open one of the boxes. “But it’s over now. I think I’ve reached my breaking point.”
“Are you going to get in touch with Mike?” Rory asked, as delicately as possible.
Isabel froze. “Uh, no. Why would you even say that?”
“Because I’m sure he’s still around this summer.”
“So what?” Isabel said, pulling out a cluster of blouses on tied-together hangers. “He never called me once all year. Not once.”
“Well, you did break up with him.”
“Yeah, but he could have at least tried to call me and get me back. That’s the least he could have done.”
“When you were in California?” Rory countered.
Isabel gave Rory a look and pulled out another cluster of blouses. “Forget it. But I’m totally open to a very cute, very nice stranger. Not that I would have any idea what to say if he started talking to me.”
“I’m sure it’ll come back to you,” Rory said.
“Isabel?” Mrs. Rule called from out in the hall. “Are you here?”
“Oh god,” Isabel groaned. She looked up at the ceiling. “I’m not ready for this.”
Mrs. Rule breezed into the room and stopped short in front of the barricade of boxes around her daughter. “How are you, honey? How was the trip out?” She seemed more hesitant, less imperious, than she had been waltzing into Rory’s room yesterday.
Isabel ripped open another box. “Fine,” she said tonelessly.
“I’m surprised you got such an early start.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
There was a pause. Mrs. Rule glanced at Rory and gave her a tight smile. “We’re all just going down to breakfast now.”
“I already ate,” Isabel said sullenly.
“That’s okay.” Mrs. Rule pursed her lips. “Tonight is First of Summer.”
“That’s great,” she said icily.
“I’d like it very much if you’d come,” Mrs. Rule said. Her voice sounded needy.
“You know I didn’t want to come back here,” Isabel said.
“Isabel, it’s one night of your life. Everyone else is going—”
“So?” Isabel dumped a pile of jeans on the rug. “I have plans.”
Mrs. Rule turned around and closed the door behind her. Rory knew what was coming. “Isabel,” Mrs. Rule said, visibly trying to stay calm. “I don’t want to start off the summer like this. You’ve been home five minutes—”
“Why is it so important we
all go to the Georgica?” Isabel asked, finally looking at her mother. Her eyes flashed with anger.
“Because it’s our club. It’s the beginning of summer. It’s a family event.”
“No. You just want to parade us all around—so nobody’ll know that you guys are getting a divorce.”
Mrs. Rule’s smile disappeared. Rory wished she could melt into the bed. “Fine, stay home, if that’s what you want,” she said. “But I want you to know that this rebel-without-a-cause routine is getting a little old.”
Rory noticed that Mrs. Rule didn’t deny the divorce.
“I don’t know why you made me come back here,” Isabel said. “Mr. Knox said he could get me a job in LA this summer. He was all set to help me—”
“Do not talk about that man in this house, do you understand me?” her mother said sharply. “I have no interest in what he has to say. None.”
Rory stared at the rug. She hoped she’d never have to look Mrs. Rule in the eye again.
“Fine,” Isabel said. “Be in denial. You can’t make me be there, too.”
“I’m going downstairs,” Mrs. Rule announced. “I hope you can bring yourself to say hello to the rest of the family.”
“Except for Dad, right? I’d have to go to his new house to do that.”
Mrs. Rule made a sound of disgust. “Good-bye, Isabel,” she said. Then she turned on her heels and shut the door.
There was silence for a few moments.
“That was fun,” Isabel quipped.
“So your parents are getting a divorce?” Rory asked.
“Yup.” Isabel started to fold the pile of jeans.
“Connor said he didn’t know. That he wasn’t sure. He made it sound like they were just separated.”
“He would,” Isabel sniffed.
“So he does know?” Rory clarified.
“My mom called us all a couple of weeks ago,” Isabel said. “She told us that they’d decided to separate and that they were headed for a divorce by the end of the year. And that my dad was getting his own place in Sagaponack and that we were all going to ‘proceed normally’ for now, i.e., hide it from the rest of the world.”
Rory felt a pit form in her stomach. Connor had deliberately downplayed the situation to her, then. That wasn’t good. “Is it about the thing with Mr. Knox?” Rory asked.
“What do you think? Of course.”
“But Connor doesn’t know about it,” Rory said.
“Nope. My parents don’t want anyone to know. You haven’t said anything, right?” Isabel said.
“Nope. Haven’t said a word.” Not that it’s been easy, she wanted to add.
Isabel looked at her watch. “I have a riding lesson. You want to come?”
“No, thanks,” Rory said, remembering her one experience at Two Trees with Isabel and Connor’s ex-girlfriend Julia.
“Okay. What about later? We can go to the beach, right?” Isabel asked.
“Sure. And what about tonight at the Georgica? I’m pretty sure I have to go. And it’s not like I’ll know anyone there.”
Isabel scratched her arm, mulling this over. “Okay. I’ll go. I mean, if you’re gonna get dragged there, then it’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks,” Rory said, getting to her feet. “Have a good ride.”
“I’ll try.”
As Rory left the room, she realized that the pit in her stomach had doubled in size. If she’d thought that being an errand girl for the Rules was hard, being a guest of the Rules was going to be even harder. At least last summer she could pretend not to know about any of the Rules’ private drama. Now she was right in the middle of it, whether she wanted to be or not.
Isabel turned onto Montauk Highway, thinking about the question Rory had posed about Mike. Truthfully, he had popped into her brain a few times on the flight home. But how couldn’t he have? The last time she was in East Hampton she’d been crazy in love with the guy. Or at least she thought she’d been at the time. But she had no plans to call him. When she thought about him now, she knew that it hadn’t been love. It had been sex. Pure physical attraction, and not much else. He didn’t know anything about her school, her family, or her friends. Looking back, she wasn’t even sure what they’d talked about in between their hookup sessions. Even so, it had taken a while for his spell to finally dissipate. When she got back to school, there would be times walking around campus when he’d suddenly invade her thoughts and she’d have to force herself not to call him. Then there’d be times when she’d be hit with a hookup flashback so intense it would distract her for the rest of the day. And still other times she’d obsess over how carelessly, and cruelly, he’d hurt her. Using their relationship to get info about a stupid real estate deal of her dad’s… stringing her along so he could report back to his uncle… it was unforgivable, really. She’d let him off way too easy that day at the stand. For a good two months afterward she’d worked on the speech she should have given him, just in case he called. But he never did.
By Christmas, the pain had lessened. But that didn’t stop her from having those flashbacks. Her and Mike in his tiny, stuffy room, shadows on the walls from the votive candle flickering on the bedside table, Bob Marley playing from the iPod dock—Is this love? Is this love? Is this love? And her on his bed, kissing him, reaching to pull off his T-shirt and then running her hands down his back, his chest, the hard terrain of his stomach…
Suddenly the white SUV in front of her slowed down. She slammed her foot on the brakes. With a screech, her car came to a stop, but not before her front bumper just touched the back of the SUV.
The SUV turned its hazard lights on.
Great, Isabel thought.
The other car moved slowly out of the traffic jam and into the parking lot of a roadside bagel shop. Isabel followed. Being at boarding school, she’d gotten a little rusty behind the wheel. But at least she’d stopped. And bumpers were made for bumping. Weren’t they?
Isabel pulled into the empty spot beside the SUV. The car’s engine turned off, and the driver-side door swung open. A small, wiry woman wearing yoga pants and a tank top emblazoned with the Hindi symbol for om walked right around to her back bumper without saying a word. Isabel got out of her car.
“So sorry about that,” Isabel started, and then the woman whirled around.
“Didn’t you see me stop?” The woman pointed to her bumper. “Look at that dent! Look at that!”
Isabel searched for the imaginary dent. It looked perfectly fine. “I don’t see anything—”
“There’s a scratch right there,” the woman said, cutting her off. “Don’t you see it?” She pointed, and Isabel leaned in closer to look.
“I honestly don’t see anything.”
“Uh, you guys need help with something?” a voice asked.
Isabel turned around. A guy about her age was walking toward them from the bagel shop. In his hand was a brown paper sack.
“She rear-ended me,” the woman snapped. She folded her toned arms. “Look at that dent.”
The guy walked up beside Isabel and took a look. “I don’t see anything,” he said.
“It’s right there,” the woman said, pointing.
The guy turned to Isabel. His expression seemed to say, Is it me, or is this woman totally nuts? He was actually kind of cute. Messy bed-head hair that hovered between dirty blond and brown. Large olive-green eyes. Friendly eyes. “I gotta be honest,” the guy said, turning back to Yoga Woman. “I don’t see anything.”
“Whatever. This isn’t any of your business.” The woman turned to Isabel. “Can I get your insurance information?”
“But there’s nothing there,” Isabel said.
“I’ve always been a big believer in letting things go, personally,” the guy said. “You know, not sweat the small stuff. Live and let live. Be kind to your fellow yogi.”
The woman narrowed her eyes.
“Not take-advantage-of-your-fellow-man, extort-helpless-young-girls-for-money stuff,” he added wi
th a grin. He held up his hands. “Sorry. Thinking out loud here.”
“How deep,” she said. Then she glanced at her watch. “I have a class to teach. But you,” she said, pointing a finger at Isabel, “you watch where you’re going, do you understand?”
“Uh, sure,” Isabel said, trying to keep a straight face.
The woman got into the car, and they both watched as the SUV pulled back onto the highway.
“I have this theory,” the guy said, turning to Isabel. “The higher up you drive, the farther you reside within your own butt.”
Isabel laughed.
“It’s a theory, still working it out.”
“Well, you might be on to something,” she said, smiling at him. “Thanks for your help. She was kind of a nightmare.”
“Just another blissed-out yoga person,” he said with a slight roll of the eyes.
“You got it,” she said. She looked down at the bag in his hand. “Those smell good.”
“You want one?” he said, opening the bag of bagels. He pulled out a cinnamon raisin. “It’s all yours. I got way too many.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” she asked.
“No, no. Take it.”
She took the bagel, which was still warm, and tore off a piece. She popped it in her mouth. “Wow, that’s good,” she said, savoring the sweet taste of the bread.
“Do you not have food where you live?” he asked.
She giggled. “I’m hungry.”
“I can see that. I’m Evan.”
“Isabel. And I don’t do yoga.”
“No wonder you’re such a happy person.” He looked back at the parking lot. “I should probably get going. My roommate’ll kill me if I don’t bring these back,” he said. “But…” He reached into his back pocket and took out what looked like a crumpled receipt and a pen. “If you have any more fender benders, you can always give me a call. Be warned, though. I might have to charge you next time.”
Isabel smiled. “That’s okay.”
He scribbled a number on the receipt. “Here,” he said, giving it to her with a flourish. “That’s until I have business cards.”
She took it. “I’ll let you know.”
Since Last Summer Page 3
