Rory watched Isabel go up the back stairs. “I think I should go spend some time with Fee.”
“Okay. G’night, then.” He leaned over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
He went up the back stairs as she went down the stairs. A kiss on the cheek? she thought. Something was definitely wrong.
She had a feeling that Fee was still in the same room, despite her promotion. At the closed door at the end of the hall, she raised her hand and rapped lightly.
Fee opened the door. “Hello, dear,” she said. “You’re just in time for the end of The Bachelor.” She wore a fluffy white bathrobe with FLM monogrammed above the left breast. She got back onto her bed and tucked her feet in under the covers. “Where on earth do they find these girls?” she said. “They’re all a bunch of train wrecks.”
Rory sat on the edge of Fee’s bed and pulled off her high heels. “That’s a nice robe.”
“A gift from the Rules,” Fee said, looking down at it. She grabbed a cellophane bag of Jordan almonds from the nightstand. “Settling in?”
“It’s a little strange not to be working here, if you want to know the truth.”
“Ah, you’ll get used to the life of leisure,” Fee said, then held out the bag. “Want one?”
Rory shook her head. “And it’s also a little strange, what’s going on here this summer. You know, with the Rules.”
Fee nodded. “So Connor told you?”
“Isabel’s been a little more clear about it all.”
“Truth is, I’ve seen it coming for a while now. It started right after we went back to the city after last summer. I’d hear them arguing, sometimes so loudly that there was barely a place I could go in the apartment where I wouldn’t hear them. And then Mr. Rule would leave for a few days and go to a hotel.”
“Would Mrs. Rule talk about it to you?”
Fee selected a baby-blue almond from the bag and popped it in her mouth. “She’d say that he was on a business trip. Then she stopped trying to explain it. It got to the point where she knew that I knew, and there was nothing she could say. Eventually he’d come back, and things’d be fine. And then they’d have another barn burner, and poof! He’d be gone again.” She closed the bag of almonds and put it in her nightstand drawer.
“What were they fighting about?” Rory asked.
Fee shrugged. “It was different every time. What kind of tuxedo he should wear to the opera, whether to sell their house in Bedford, what time to have dinner, whether to let the chef go… little things. Suddenly everything was a fight.”
“Do you think there was something behind it all? Like, one main reason?” It wasn’t exactly an honest question, but she needed to know if Fee had any suspicions.
“Hard to say,” Fee said. “It was never the most affectionate marriage. In eighteen years I don’t think I ever saw them kiss each other. But they were happy, in their own way. I don’t know what happened. It all was so sudden.” She opened the nightstand drawer once more and took out the bag of almonds. She popped another in her mouth. “Did Connor mention a reason to you?”
“Nope.” Rory looked down. It wasn’t a lie. But she was starting to get that pit in her stomach again. “Whatever the reason for it, the Rules seem to want to keep it between them.”
“Oh, yes,” Fee said. “They want to keep the entire thing between them. It’s why she got rid of Bianca. Didn’t trust her. She knew that Bianca liked to gossip with some of her friends from the other houses out here, and she didn’t want anyone hearing that they were having problems. She’s trying to keep as much of this behind closed doors as possible.”
“But why? People get divorced all the time. Especially in New York.”
Fee clicked off the TV and closed the bag of almonds again. “Because they’re perfect, I suppose. They’re not supposed to have flaws. Or they don’t think they are. Speaking of flaws, how’s your mother?”
“She and boy-toy Bryan broke up.”
“Again?” Fee asked, arching a brow.
“Yep. But I’m sure they’ll be back together again by next week.”
Fee shook her head. “At least you have college to look forward to,” she said, putting the bag back in her nightstand drawer. “And then, my dear, you can really get on with your life.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Rory stood up and went to the door. Then she turned back. “Connor’s their favorite, isn’t he?”
Fee gave her another skeptical look. “You’re just figuring that out now?”
“I mean… because of that he feels very protective of them. Doesn’t he?”
“Well, he’d never do anything to disappoint them, that’s for sure,” Fee said. “He’s a good boy. And that’s what you love about him, isn’t it?”
As much as she wanted to dispute that, she knew that Fee was right. She’d loved that about him last year. There were so few truly good people she’d ever met. But perhaps all of that goodness came with a downside. “Have a good night,” she said. “Sleep well.”
“You too, dear,” said Fee.
As she walked back into the cool, dim hall, she thought about what Fee had just said about getting on with her life. Obviously she’d meant leaving behind her mother and all her drama, but now Rory wondered if it meant leaving the Rules behind, too. She’d always assumed that she and Connor would last forever, or at least through her college years. It had been one of the reasons she’d picked Stanford.
But what if she and Connor weren’t meant for forever?
It was just one stupid argument, she told herself as she climbed up the stairs. Nothing to get all worked up about.
The next morning, Isabel tapped lightly on Rory’s closed bedroom door. “Rory? You up?” If Rory and Connor had spent the night together in her room, then hopefully both of them were up and dressed by now. “Rory?” She knocked again.
“Yeah!” Rory opened the door. Her hair was wet, and she wore a silk blouse and black pants that made her look like she was interviewing at a law firm. “Sorry. Are we supposed to be at breakfast or something? I’m running a little late.”
“No, it’s fine,” Isabel said, breezing into the room. “You can get yourself something from the kitchen if you’d like.” She flopped down on the bed. “So the party sucked last night. Thayer and Darwin were just as bitchy and awful as I thought they’d be.”
Rory stood at the mirror, raking a brush through her hair. “Can we talk about this later?”
“It wasn’t anything that I didn’t already expect,” Isabel said, disregarding Rory’s hurry and yawning into her open hand. “But five minutes with them is totally soul killing. And I’ve been thinking. I can’t—can’t—spend the summer at the Georgica. I can’t. I need to find something else to do.”
“Like what?”
Isabel bit her lip. “Like a job.” She crossed her legs and examined her already-fading tan. “What about at the film festival place? Can you ask if they need someone?”
Rory looked over her shoulder, her brush stuck in her wet hair. “That might be a little tricky. I mean, it’s my first day.”
“Fine. Then where else?”
“What about something at Calypso? Or Blue and Cream?” Rory ran into the bathroom.
Isabel wrinkled her nose as she mulled this over. “I shop at those places. And Thayer and Darwin go there all the time.”
Rory rushed back out of the bathroom with an eyeliner in her hand. “Okay—what about waitressing?”
“Waitressing?” Isabel exclaimed. “Seriously?”
“It can be fun,” Rory said. “And I’d think there’d be a lot of places out here that still need some help.”
“Waitressing…” Isabel muttered. She thought about all the waitstaff that she’d glimpsed in her life. A montage of bad outfits, sneakers, and harried, sweaty faces ran through her mind. Her enthusiasm wilted.
“Yeah, it’s probably a bad idea. It’s harder than it looks. I mean, phy
sically hard.” Rory pulled her wet hair back with an elastic band. “Last night wasn’t great for me, either. Connor and I had a weird moment. I told him that I knew about the divorce. He got a little defensive.”
“That’s because he’s in denial. Someone ought to make him face reality.”
Rory pulled the elastic out of her hair and shook it loose. “Does this look okay? This outfit?”
“It looks fine,” Isabel said, sliding off the bed. “If you’re trying to get a job as a paralegal or something.”
Rory sighed. “Why don’t you call that guy? Maybe he could meet you for coffee or something?”
“You don’t have to worry about my day or anything,” Isabel said, heading for the door. “I’ll be fine.”
“Just call him,” Rory said. “It’s time you got back out there.”
Isabel turned around at the doorway. “Are you telling me to ask him out?”
“Yes. You’re Isabel Rule. If you can’t do this, nobody can.”
Isabel thought about this for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right,” she said, and walked out of the room.
As she made her way through one of the alleys that led from the parking lot to Main Street, Isabel checked her reflection in the window of a jewelry store. She wasn’t sure if this was a date or not, but just in case it was, she wanted to make sure she looked decent. Her text had deliberately walked the line—or tried to—between asking him out and saying a quick, friendly hi.
Hey, thanks for the impromptu defense yesterday. Can I buy you coffee to thank you?
Funny, sweet, and flirty—but not overly so.
Evan wrote back ten minutes later.
Have to work later but coffee sounds great. Starbucks? Or much cooler, artisanal, single-pour place that I don’t know about?
Btw, I HATE the word “artisanal.”
She smiled. This guy was good. Possibly even more of a master texter than she was. And funny. Mike hadn’t been funny. He’d been too cool and mysterious for that. What a pain in the butt he’d been, she thought as she pulled open the door to Starbucks.
Her eyes scanned the long line in front of the counter, and then she saw Evan coming toward her. He was taller than she remembered, with a mop of dark tawny hair and a build that was just on the right side of gangly. Not her usual type, but she didn’t quite know what her type was anymore. “Hey. I got here early, so I took a wild guess.” He handed her an iced green tea latte.
“Thanks,” she said, more delighted than she expected to be. “I love these.”
“You do?” His eyes were large and green and alive with mischief, as if he was in on some joke that she didn’t know about. He wiped his brow in an exaggerated way. “Phew.”
“Didn’t you get something?”
He held up a bottle of water. “I don’t do the hard stuff.”
“Got it,” she said, smiling. “Well…” She took in the line snaking in front of the counter. “Should we leave, then?”
“Please.” He ran to the door and held it open for her as she walked out. So he has manners, she thought. Mike had never done something like that.
They stepped outside onto the street. Isabel searched for something witty to say, but her mind was a blank. “That place was crazy,” she said, at a loss for anything better.
“I have a theory about Starbucks,” he said as they started walking toward Newtown Lane. “That it’s only contributed to world anxiety.”
“How so?” she asked.
“Think about it. Before Starbucks, people made coffee at home. Now they leave the house, wait in line for it, pay three times as much as it costs to make it, and wonder why they’re in a bad mood and can’t sleep. Doesn’t make any sense.”
“So you’re against all fast-food places?” she countered.
“I have no argument with Cinnabon. No argument at all.”
She laughed. “But you can only find them in airports.”
“That’s what’s so great about them. I’m all about the combo Burger King slash Pizza Huts. They’re the best. No other smell like it in the world.”
“Ugh, gross,” Isabel said.
“What? Obviously you don’t appreciate fine cuisine.”
“I guess not.” She laughed again, and then she worried that she was laughing too much. “Thanks again for yesterday. That was really cool of you to help me out.”
“No problem. I love sticking it to the Man. Or in this case, the Yogi.” As they walked past BookHampton, he craned his head to see what was in the window. “Sorry, I have a physical reaction when I see an actual bookstore,” he said. “And I mean something that doesn’t look like it belongs in a strip mall next to a Costco.”
“You want to go in?”
He glanced at the store, looked at her, and then took her hand. “Let’s do it. Before they’re extinct.”
They walked into the store. She watched as Evan appraised the tables and shelves with an expert eye, taking everything in. “Not bad,” he said.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Oh, here we go,” he said, walking over to the film-and-television section. He surveyed the books on the shelf and then began pulling one book after another out of the tightly packed row. “These are great,” he said. “They’ll remind me to stay focused.”
“Focused on what?” she asked. She looked at the books piling up in his arms. One was on independent film in the nineties. Another was titled Classical Hollywood Storytelling. The last book was about writing for television.
“My roommate, Jeff, and I are writing a screenplay,” he explained. “My roommate from school.”
“Where do you go?”
“Providence College.” He walked to the register and put his books on the counter.
“Is that where you’re from?” she asked.
“No. I’m from Wilton, Connecticut. I like to say it’s small-town living at its smallest.” He paid the salesclerk. “We’re writing a comedy. But don’t ask me to tell you what it’s about. Nothing ever sounds funny when you describe it.”
“So you’re writing a comedy that’s not that funny,” Isabel teased.
“No, it’s just… our sense of humor is a little weird. Jeff and I make these shorts that we put up on YouTube, and they barely make sense to us most of the time. Thanks, man,” he said to the cashier, and waved. He grabbed his bag of books and they headed toward the door. “But what we really want to do is write for SNL. When we graduate, you know. The screenplay would just be a writing sample.”
“SNL?”
“Saturday Night Live.”
“Oh.” It was hard not to be impressed by Evan’s ambition. None of the guys she’d dated had ever wanted to write for Saturday Night Live. Or do anything right after they graduated.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, holding the door open for her as they left.
“I want to be an actress. I’m going to Tisch in the fall.”
“That’s cool,” he said. “I can see how you’d be good at that.”
“How can you see that?” Isabel asked.
“You’re gorgeous, to begin with,” he said. He gave her a sheepish smile and looked away. “Sorry. I know that probably sounded cheesy.”
“No, it didn’t,” she said, feeling her heart swell with the compliment. “It was nice.”
“Thanks,” he said. He shook his head and sighed. “Yeah. So that wasn’t embarrassing. Anyway…”
“I’ll change the subject. How’s that?” she asked.
“Great idea,” he said, blushing. Isabel couldn’t believe how charming that looked.
“Why are you out here if you’re writing a screenplay?” she asked.
“We were gonna live in the city this summer and find jobs there. But then Jeff’s uncle told us we could use his guesthouse in Sag Harbor. And rents in New York are pretty ridiculous so,… we’re working there.” He pointed across the street at the Baybreeze Café.
“You’re working there?” she asked.
“Yeah.
Why?”
The Baybreeze Café, once the Hamptons’ hippest eatery, was one of the few places on Main Street that had refused to keep up with its newer, fancier retail neighbors. Its awning was still an ancient forest green, and its signage—big white bubble letters that reeked of the eighties—proudly defied chic. Isabel had never actually gone in there, and nobody she knew had, either.
“We heard that the guy who started Saturday Night Live eats there sometimes—”
“He does?” Isabel asked. “I hate to tell you this, but that place hasn’t been cool for decades. Nobody goes there except tourists and people who don’t have a clue about the real Hamptons. Sorry.”
“Wow,” Evan said. “Talk about shooting down a dream. And what are you doing this summer?”
“You mean for work?” she asked tentatively.
“You don’t really need to get a summer job, right?” he asked. “That’s the vibe I’m getting.”
“Why would you say that?”
“The riding pants yesterday kind of tipped me off.”
“Oh.” She thought quickly. “Well. Yeah. I’m not out here just for the summer, if that’s what you mean. My family has a house here.”
“That’s cool,” he said. “And I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t,” she said.
“It’s just that I heard that the summerhouse people sort of keep to themselves,” Evan said as they crossed Main Street. “Like, there are the people who come out here to work for the summer, and then the people who come out here to not work for the summer. And the two of them don’t really hang out.”
“That’s a little simplistic, don’t you think?” Isabel countered.
“Or maybe I’m just full of shit,” Evan said, and laughed.
She laughed, too.
They reached the curb and stopped in front of the restaurant windows. “There’s Jeff,” he said, pointing to a short, muscular guy with a blond buzz cut and blue eyes.
The guy waved to them and turned around, pretending to drop his pants. “Hey, stop it!” Evan yelled.
Jeff looked over his shoulder, grinned, and went back to folding napkins.
Since Last Summer Page 5