Rules of Summer

by Joanna Philbin

  “When you say us, who do you mean?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who’s my father—really? Dad or Mr. Knox?”

  Her mom looked astonished.

  “I saw Holly,” she said. “She looks just like me. Same hair, same eyes, same walk. And I spoke to Mr. Knox. He told me that he’s my dad. He told me, Mom.”

  Mrs. Rule smoothed a curl out of her face. “Isabel—”

  “Just admit it.”

  Her mother looked down and slowly nodded.

  “How could you keep that from me, my whole life?” she exploded. “How could you do something so psycho?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” her mom asked. “Tell you that your real father lives three thousand miles away and hasn’t seen you since you were born? A man I haven’t seen in fifteen years? Was that what I was supposed to do?”

  “Yes! You should have told me!”

  Isabel ran to the back stairs and took them two at a time. She got to her room and slammed the door, but her mom rushed in, right on her heels.

  “Okay, hear me out, all right?” her mom yelled. “You don’t know anything of what happened.”

  “How could I?” Isabel yelled.

  “I was very, very young when I got married,” her mom said, “and soon after Gregory was born, I knew that your father and I were a mistake. But there I was, a young mother, living on Park Avenue, married to a handsome man who wasn’t just living off of my money, like the rest of my friends’ husbands were. So I stayed. And then I met Peter. The four of us went on trips, we went to Le Cirque, we had parties. But there was always something there between Peter and me. He understood me in a way that your father never had. And then one night—”

  Isabel held up her hand. “Please. Don’t even say it.”

  “I loved him so much. There was nothing I could do about it. And when I found out I was pregnant with you, I almost ran away with him.”

  Isabel wanted to fling herself on her bed and bury her head in the pillows. But she stood her ground. “Go on,” she said stoically.

  “But I couldn’t do it,” her mom said. “I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. The kids were just too young. And your father would have taken everything. We had no prenup, nothing.”

  “What about Dad?” she asked dully, not looking at her mother. “Did he know?”

  “Not at first. It took a little while. But then, eventually, he asked me. He could tell that you didn’t look anything like him.”

  “No wonder,” Isabel said, thinking about her dad.

  “By then, Peter and Michelle had moved to Los Angeles. He’d had to move, to save his marriage. His wife caught on, eventually. He knew about you, though. I made sure to tell him before he left.”

  “So this is why Dad has no idea how to talk to me,” Isabel said.

  “I think you’ve had a good father, Isabel. I do.” Her mother came to stand beside the bed. “He loves you.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He treats me like I’m a freak.”

  “It’s me he doesn’t love,” her mother said. “And I suppose I can’t exactly blame him for that.” Isabel felt her mom cautiously begin to stroke her hair.

  “I just wish you’d told me,” Isabel said. “It just feels really selfish of you both not to tell me this.”

  “I know,” her mom said. “I’m sorry. I really did want to tell you.”

  Isabel sat up and wiped away the tears that had begun to stream down her face. “Then I want you to do something for me. I want you to stop being so hard on Rory and Connor.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” her mom asked.

  “Rory makes him happy. I think she’s the first girl who ever really has. So don’t kick her out. At least don’t kick her out just because you don’t like her.”

  Her mom tightened the sash of her robe. “Do you know that Bianca caught her with a boy in her room the first week she was here?”

  “That was a boy I was trying to sneak in. Rory had nothing to do with it.”

  Her mom blinked.

  “That was my boyfriend. Or, my ex-boyfriend. I snuck him in and didn’t know it was Rory’s room. Rory had no idea what that was all about. And then she covered for me. She took the blame. When it wasn’t even her fault. What person does that if they’re not kind of awesome?”

  Mrs. Rule thought about this. “Well, maybe I have been a little hasty.”

  “And Mom, even if she did sneak a boy into her room, what does that make her? A slut? Please. I’ve done so much worse. And so have you.”

  “Isabel,” her mom said, pointing a finger. “I’d like everything I told you to stay between us for the time being. The others will find out later, when they have to. When I’ve decided what to do. Can I count on you to keep your mouth shut?”

  “On one condition,” Isabel said. “That Rory can come back.”

  “Fine,” her mom said after a moment. “She can come back. She can stay. And what’s going on with that boy?”

  “Nothing,” Isabel said. “It’s over. Way over.”

  Her mom put her hand to her chest. “Oh, thank god,” she said. “Sorry. I just… Well, you can’t blame me for being a little concerned. I mean, a surfer, from the North Fork, who lives in Montauk…”

  Isabel sighed. “I’m going to be just fine. No matter what. You know that, right?”

  Her mother nodded. “I know.”

  “I never want you to keep anything like that from me again. Okay? Life is hard enough.”

  “Okay,” her mom said. She reached out to hug Isabel, who submitted to it quietly, passively, hardly moving.

  Felipe had been right that evening at the beginning of the summer, she thought. This house held more secrets than she’d ever guessed. All this time, she’d felt like she was the thing that didn’t belong here. She’d felt that she was the freak, the screwup, the smear on the family name. But the seeds had already been planted for trouble before she’d even been born. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Her parents had.

  Isabel broke away from her mom’s hug and got up from the bed. “I’m gonna go find Rory. And for the rest of the summer, she doesn’t work for us anymore. She’s a guest, just like anyone else. Agreed?”

  Her mom slowly nodded. “I’ll have Fee put the guest towels back in her room.”

  Isabel sighed as she walked to the door. Her mom had just confessed her deepest, darkest secret, but she’d always prefer to stay on the surface of things.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Rory sat double-parked on Main Street, watching for any police cars in the rearview mirror as she spoke on her cell. “I want a seat on the first one out,” she said. “Whatever is the next jitney. From East Hampton to midtown Manhattan.”

  “All-righty,” came the breezy, corporate-trained female voice on the other end. “Okay, there’s a jitney leaving from East Hampton in fifteen minutes, at six thirty, with one seat left. Shall I book it?”

  Rory took a deep breath. She could just park the Prius in the parking lot and send a text to Fee to pick up the car later. “Yes, please.”

  “One-way?”

  “Yes.”

  Rory drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the clerk put her on hold. She was doing the right thing. After she drove around the back roads of East Hampton for an hour, her gut had finally beaten her heart into submission. The creepiness of Mrs. Rule’s voice still clung to her like a bad cologne. They don’t want you here anymore, she thought. Connor will understand. He’ll come see you. But you have to leave. Now.

  “Okay,” said the jitney clerk as she clicked back on the line. “You’re all set. The stop is across from the Palm restaurant on Main Street.”

  “I know, I’m looking right at it,” Rory said.

  “Be there in the next ten minutes to be sure you get on board,” the clerk said.

  “Great. Thank you.” Rory clicked off, relieved. Now for the hard part. She had to write Connor a text. Isabel clearly didn’t care if she stayed or went.
But Connor would be upset. She had no idea what to say. She began to type:

  Hey, can’t get you on cell. Your mom has asked me to leave.

  I think it’s best that I go ASAP. Call me when you get back.

  She deliberated over the next line.

  I love you.

  Yes, she would say it first. Even Isabel had broken that particular rule, and she’d survived it. Rory had meant to tell her how proud she was of her for that, and for the way she’d risked being open with Mike from the start, but it was too late. She should have told her about Connor. Her hesitation to tell her was exactly the reason why she should have. They weren’t ever going to be friends, especially now. It was amazing how accurate first impressions remained, even after you got to know someone.

  She hit send on the text and then dropped her phone in her bag and turned off the ringer. Otherwise she’d be subconsciously waiting for a call that wouldn’t come for hours anyway. Then she backed the Prius up into the public parking lot. She got out and left the keys behind the back wheel. It was East Hampton, she thought. Nobody was going to steal a Prius.

  A crowd had already started to form in front of the green curb that was the East Hampton jitney stop, and attractive people loitered attractively with their designer duffel bags, their cell phones pressed to their ears. She thought of the people she’d seen streaming off the train the first day. It would be good to get home, she realized. There she wouldn’t have to worry about what kind of sandals she had on or how she wore her hair. She could finally be herself.

  She was about to dig around in her bag for her book when she saw a black Porsche convertible glide down the street. It was going east, but as soon as it passed Rory, it stopped, veered into an illegal U-turn, and careened to a stop in front of the crowd. Isabel pulled off her aviators and waved at her from behind the wheel. “Hey! Where the hell are you going?”

  The jitney-goers looked at Rory with annoyed curiosity.

  Rory walked over to the car and crouched down to see Isabel behind the wheel, grinning madly.

  “What are you doing?” Rory asked.

  “I passed the test,” Isabel said. “I got my license. What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving,” she said. “Your mom asked me to.”

  “Get in the car,” Isabel said abruptly. “She changed her mind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She doesn’t want you to go,” Isabel said. “I just spoke to her. Get your ass in the car.”

  “I just bought a fifty-dollar ticket home,” Rory said.

  “So I’ll reimburse you,” Isabel said. “Get in the goddamn car!”

  Not sure what else to do, Rory opened the car door and got inside.

  Isabel pulled back into traffic. “You can’t leave my brother like this,” she said. “It’ll kill him. And then he’ll kill me.”

  “So now you care about what happens with me and your brother?” Rory asked. “And slow down.”

  “I’m sorry I acted like such a bitch to you,” Isabel said. “I think I was just jumping to the worst conclusions. That you were using me to get to Connor.”

  “You know that’s ridiculous,” Rory said. “Right? Totally ridiculous.”

  “Well, then, why didn’t you tell me about him?” Isabel asked.

  “Because I wasn’t sure you’d think I’d be good enough for him.”

  Isabel pulled over to the side of the road, in front of the cemetery. “Hey, listen to me,” Isabel said, taking Rory’s hand. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened in my dumb brother’s life. I’m sorry if I didn’t make you feel that way.”

  “It’s okay,” Rory said.

  “No, I’m serious. And you’re the best thing that’s happened to me. The best friend I’ve ever had. And you deserved more from me than the cold shoulder all this time.”

  Rory smiled.

  “I’m sorry, Ror.” Isabel leaned over and hugged her.

  Rory felt Isabel squeeze her ribs. “That’s okay.”

  “So are we friends again?” Isabel’s eyes were bright and happy, but slightly moist from tears.

  “Sure,” Rory said.

  “Good.” Isabel pulled back onto the road. “Oh, and one more thing. Mr. Knox is my real dad.”

  “Are you kidding?” Rory asked.

  “He told me today. He’s the one who took me to my test. It explains a lot. But I can’t tell anyone. My mom made me promise not to say anything.”

  “Jesus,” Rory said. “Are you okay?”

  “I think I will be,” Isabel said. “One day. It’s probably going to take me the next year to even process it all. But at least I understand so many things now. So many more things make sense.” She turned onto Lily Pond Lane and sped down the center of the empty street. “Damn, this car feels good to drive,” she said.

  “Just don’t get us killed, okay?” Rory asked, as kindly as she could.

  LABOR DAY WEEKEND

  They sat on the blanket in almost the exact same spot where they’d watched the fireworks almost two months before, and this time, Connor sat behind her with his arms around her as she looked out at the water. The sun had set behind them, and the sky was a perfect blend of gray, gold, and pink.

  “How’re you doing?” Connor asked in her ear. “Everything good?”

  “I can’t believe this is my last night,” she said. “It’s too weird.”

  “It’s your last night before we go back to the city,” he said. “If you play your cards right, I might even be able to let you sleep in my room tomorrow.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. “California’s so far away.”

  “I’ve already got you a ticket,” he said. “You’ll be there at the end of September.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said.

  “Um, excuse me!” Isabel said, trudging over to them across the sand, an open bottle of Cristal dangling from her hand and a large paper bag in the other. “No making out in front of me, okay?”

  Rory and Connor laughed as she flopped down on the blanket next to them. “I had no idea you were so uptight,” Rory said.

  Connor opened the paper bag and took out the items that Marisa had packed for their dinner picnic. “Yum. Fried chicken. Potato salad. Coleslaw. This is awesome.”

  “Hey, let’s make a toast first,” Isabel said, pulling out the champagne flutes that she’d snuck into the bag. She poured them each a glass of champagne and handed Rory and Connor their glasses.

  “What are we toasting?” Rory asked.

  “To Connor,” said Isabel, “for finally quitting the swim team.”

  She held up her flute as Connor rolled his eyes.

  “Dad will probably never get over it,” he said.

  “Congratulations,” Isabel said. “And to me, for learning how to drive.”

  “And not getting a speeding ticket yet,” Rory wisecracked.

  “I second that,” said Connor.

  “And to Rory McShane,” Isabel said. “Amazing driver. Wonderful friend. Terrible temper.”

  Rory laughed.

  “This summer would not have been the same without you. And I’m sure my brother feels the same way,” Isabel said with a grin.

  “Maybe just a little bit,” Connor said, kissing Rory on the side of her face.

  “But seriously, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you this year. Who’s going to yell at me to slow down? Who’s going to listen to me talk about guys? Who’s not going to judge me when I do stupid stuff?”

  “And to you guys,” Rory said, holding up her glass. “I came here not knowing anyone or anything. And now I have two new best friends.” She felt herself getting a little teary. “Who are both going off to California and deserting me.”

  Connor squeezed her. “You’ll be there so soon.”

  “And then you’re coming to visit me, right?” Isabel said.

  “Absolutely,” Rory said.

  “So I got you a little something,” Isabel said. “Just a little so
mething so that you’ll never forget us.” She reached down into the paper bag and pulled out a small box. She handed it to Rory. “Go on. Open it.”

  “You sure you want me to do it here?” Rory asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Isabel said. “Go for it.”

  Rory opened the box to see a gold charm bracelet lying inside. She pulled it out and let it dangle from her hand. Two charms—an I and an R—shone in the light.

  “As much as I love your rope bracelets,” Isabel said, “I thought this might be an improvement.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Rory said, slipping it on.

  “And I got myself the same one.” Isabel held up her wrist so Rory could see the gold R.

  “I’ve had the most incredible summer,” Rory said. “Thank you for having me, you guys. I’ll never forget being here.”

  “Then you’ll just have to come back,” said Isabel. “Next summer.”

  Rory looked at Connor. “Really?”

  “Definitely,” he said.

  Rory nodded. “Okay, then.”

  “You swear it?” Isabel asked.

  Rory smiled. “I swear.”

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Enormous thanks go to Becka Oliver once again for her supreme guidance, support, and friendship. My editor, Elizabeth Bewley, believed in this book from the start, gave me incisive notes all along the way, and seemed to know these characters better than I did at certain points. Thank you, Elizabeth. Cindy Eagan’s wholehearted enthusiasm and good humor kept me on course, as always. Tracy Shaw, cover whiz, designed a beautiful image yet again. And big thanks to Christine Ma, copy editor extraordinaire, for getting me clear on exactly what (and where) I was talking about in the Hamptons.

  Henry and Peggy Schleiff provided warm hospitality, and a lot of laughs, out in Water Mill. Blake Davis and Mariah Mitchell Davis answered my e-mailed questions within minutes. Cassidy Catanzaro responded to every text about Stillwater and Sussex County with amazing detail. Sarah Mlynowski and Courtney Sheinmel welcomed me into the hallowed halls of their writing lounge, not to mention the Twitterhood of the Butt-Lifting Pajants.