“And have you been able to say anything to Isabel? About what we talked about?” She leaned over her vanity table mirror and applied some crimson lipstick.
“I don’t think that’s my place, Mrs. Rule.”
“It’s Lucy,” said Mrs. Rule, putting the lipstick down. “And it is your place. You’re part of this family now. Oh. And I almost forgot.” She disappeared into her walk-in closet and came out with a small periwinkle-blue bag. “I got you something.” Mrs. Rule handed Rory the shopping bag. The black lettering on the side read TIFFANY & CO. “Go ahead. Take it.”
Slowly, almost as if she were fighting her better judgment, Rory reached for the bag. Inside was a small, smooth periwinkle box. She opened it to find a gold necklace with an inky-blue stone pendant resting on the cushioned interior.
“I can’t take this,” Rory said.
“Of course you can. Put it on. After all, that dress you’re wearing needs something.”
Rory put the bag and the box on a nearby chair and draped the chain around her neck.
“Here,” said Mrs. Rule, helping Rory to fasten the necklace. “Now, look.” She pulled Rory over to the full-length mirror. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
Rory looked at herself. It was true. The necklace elevated everything—her makeup, her hair, her plain dress. It was the most glamorous thing she’d ever seen on herself.
“It’s blue topaz,” said Mrs. Rule. “I thought it would look pretty on you.”
“You should give this to Isabel. It would look just as good on her. Probably better.”
“She wouldn’t appreciate it,” Mrs. Rule said in a cynical tone. “Now, would you be a dear and go run and tell Mr. Rule to come up here around six thirty? That would really help.”
Rory watched Mrs. Rule flit back to the mirror. “Okay,” she said. Now that she had this around her throat, there was little else to say.
She left Mrs. Rule’s room and couldn’t help but notice Isabel’s closed door across the hall. A thin sliver of light showed from underneath it.
“Isabel?” she said, gently knocking. “Can I come in?”
Rory listened. There was no sound inside. Apparently Isabel wasn’t ready to forgive her yet.
Isabel sat curled up in her tufted chair by the window, nursing her second Jack and Coke and watching cars come up the drive. Her mom had hired the same caterers as she had for her dad’s birthday party last year, and luckily their serving policy hadn’t changed. Last year a ten-dollar tip had gotten her a nicely mixed drink without ID. Tonight a twenty-dollar tip had gotten a nicely mixed drink brought straight up to her room.
She sipped her drink, savoring the fiery taste of the whiskey. It reminded her of who she used to be out here in the Hamptons—the girl most likely to stay out all night, the girl most likely to break hearts and not care, the girl most likely to instill fear in anyone who wound up on her bad side. Last year, she could have reduced Thayer Quinlan to tears if she’d wanted to. But here she was, being taunted by Thayer in front of Thayer’s mom at Citarella, of all places. Waiting tables. Dating a guy who felt like more of a friend than anything else. Unappreciated by a best friend. Ignored by a man who said he was her father. And part of a family whose refusal to be honest was making her sick.
Isabel closed her eyes and took another long sip of her Jack and Coke. Mike had betrayed her, too, most importantly. Of course, she’d sort of asked for it, going to see him like that, throwing herself in his path. And he hadn’t disappointed. His smug, self-righteous attitude still rankled her. And at least right now, she knew exactly what to do about him.
She took out her phone and scrolled down to his number. Just a simple text would do. Nothing more.
Don’t ever bother me again, she wrote and hit send.
A tiny voice said that she might regret that later. She took another sip. Better keep drinking, just in case.
Mrs. Rule’s party looked more like a celebrity wedding than a simple, intimate birthday party. Four-foot-high centerpieces of white lilies, roses, and peonies topped the tables flanking the pool. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling of the clear plastic tent erected between the pool and the beach. A bevy of hurricane candles flickered on every conceivable surface outside. Inside the tent, Rory waded among tables laid with cheese and charcuterie, sushi and tempura, tiny bite-size hamburgers, and mini lobster rolls. All this to show people that everything’s fine, she thought. What a waste of money.
More white-suited cater waiters were posted here, standing guard behind each area, ready to serve. “Lobster roll?” one of them offered, gesturing to a geometric display of tiny rolls topped with lobster salad.
“No, thanks,” she said.
So far most of the guests had yet to leave the flagstone patio in front of the pool and come in here. After a few moments she could see why. Mr. Rule stood in the center of the crowd, sipping his Scotch on the rocks and laughing and chatting. Maybe a part of him is secretly enjoying this, Rory thought. After all, nobody was forcing him to show up here and play the happy host. He seemed more than willing to participate. Still, she couldn’t approach him and tell him to run upstairs to their bedroom. It made her feel like more of an accomplice in their little charade than she already was.
“Rory,” a voice said.
She turned. With a start she watched Evan walk into the tent, and her heart raced.
“Wow,” he said, looking around at all the food. “I’m pretty sure we could feed most of Detroit in here.” It was the first time she’d seen him since the beach. She almost didn’t recognize him. His sport jacket gave him a more polished look, even though he wore it over a T-shirt instead of a button-down. And he seemed to have tried to do battle with his permanent bed head using a comb and a little bit of hair product. Rory wasn’t sure if this was Isabel’s influence, but it was working. “You look lost,” he went on. “Too many choices?”
“It’s a little overwhelming,” she said.
“Isabel said to wear a jacket. She didn’t say anything about a lobster bib, though,” he said, pointing to the mini lobster rolls.
“Annie Hall,” Rory said, pointing at him.
“Nice,” he said.
“It’s the scene where he meets her parents. I love that scene.”
“I love the one where they’re in line to see the movie, and the guy behind them is being so annoying?”
“Oh my god, that’s the best,” she said. “I love that movie.”
“Me, too. I saw it when I was twelve. It took me years to get all the jokes.”
In the pause that followed, she ambled over to the sushi.
“Where’s Connor?” Evan asked.
“He’s coming. I think.”
“You think?” He smiled gently. “What does that mean?”
“Well… we had a bit of a fight today.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it was just one of those things,” she said, feeling him getting closer.
Suddenly Evan put his hand on her arm. “How are you?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
“Evan,” she said, moving away.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. And Isabel and I… I don’t think it’s gonna work out. Whatever it is, it’s totally separate from you and me.”
“Evan, there is no you and me,” she said. “What about Isabel?”
“Are you guys talking about me?” Isabel said, walking toward them. The blue silk dress fit her perfectly. It set off her toned, tanned shoulders and made her waist appear even narrower than it was. Looking at her now, Rory knew that she would never have been able to do that dress justice. But she also noticed that Isabel’s gait was a little unsteady. “Ah, hair product,” she said, tentatively touching Evan’s mane. “I like it.”
“Yeah, I went crazy with the hair gel,” he said. “Didn’t want to be afraid of it anymore.”
Isabel took another step and stumbled.
“Are you okay?” Evan asked.
“I’m great. Do you want somet
hing to drink? Or eat?” She pawed Evan’s arm. She had yet to look Rory in the eye. “Or maybe we should get out of here.”
“How about we eat something?” Evan said. “What looks good?”
Isabel wrinkled her nose. “Nothing.”
“Are you serious?” He chuckled. “Come on, I’m sure something looks appetizing.”
Isabel let go of Evan’s arm with what looked like a gesture of disgust. “Stop freaking out. I’m getting another drink,” she said, and marched out of the tent.
“Is she drunk?” Evan asked.
“We had kind of a fight earlier,” Rory said. “I think she’s had a rough day.”
“She smells like a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.”
“I’ll go to her,” Rory said,
She hurried out of the tent and past the pool toward the group of people milling around. The party had doubled in size by now. Waiters passed by with trays topped with all kinds of delicacies: blinis covered with caviar, tiny grilled cheese sandwiches, sushi rolls. Isabel was nowhere to be seen. She spied Mr. and Mrs. Rule standing together in a knot of guests, their arms draped around each other’s waists. She’d forgotten all about reminding Mr. Rule to go upstairs.
“Rory!” cried Mrs. Rule. “Rory, come here, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” Mrs. Rule didn’t seem to even notice that Rory had forgotten her errand.
“Rory, meet Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox,” Mrs. Rule said, gesturing to a tall, older couple. “They’re dear old friends of ours.”
“Hi,” Rory said, shaking their hands.
“Rory is Connor’s girlfriend,” said Mrs. Rule in a doting voice. “Is Connor back yet?” Her voice was sweet, but her gaze was startlingly direct.
“He should be here any minute.”
“He’s probably finishing up a run,” said Mr. Rule.
“That’s right, he’s quite an athlete,” said Mr. Wilcox. “How’s the swimming going?”
“Well, he’s done with that,” said Mr. Rule. “But now running is his passion. Though I like to say that he gets that from me.”
“Larry has run five miles a day since the day we met,” Mrs. Rule said proudly.
“That’s so funny you mention running,” said Mrs. Wilcox. “I saw you running the other day. But not around here. It was in Sagaponack. Near Gibson Lane.”
Mrs. Rule smiled even wider. “Larry likes to run all over town,” she said, with a tinkly little laugh.
“But it was late, after dark,” Mrs. Wilcox went on. “I wasn’t sure it was you, even, because it was so dark, but then I noticed that you had on the Georgica Club Paddle Tennis championship T-shirt. And then I knew it was you. I thought, there’s Larry Rule.”
Rory saw Mrs. Rule dart a nervous glance her husband’s way.
“It probably was me,” Mr. Rule said, prompted by his wife’s look. “Sometimes I’ll start a little too late, and not even realize that it’s gotten dark.”
“Oh, good,” Mrs. Wilcox said, placing a dramatic hand on her chest. “So there’s no truth to the rumors.”
“What rumors are those?” Mrs. Rule asked.
“Patty,” cautioned her husband.
“Oh, Martin, there’s no truth to it, obviously,” Mrs. Wilcox said, waving him off. She directed her attention to Mrs. Rule. “It’s all so silly.”
“What is?” Mrs. Rule asked, her gaze becoming even more focused.
“There’s some rumor going around town that the two of you are living in different houses this summer,” said Mrs. Wilcox.
Mr. and Mrs. Rule’s faces stayed blank.
“It’s ridiculous, I told you,” Mrs. Wilcox said.
Mrs. Rule shook her head. “Wow. That’s a new one,” she said, glancing once more at her husband.
“I wonder where that came from,” Mr. Rule said, though not quite as convincingly.
“I should probably go look for Connor,” Rory said. “It was nice to meet you.” She stepped back into the crowd as quickly as possible and headed straight for the house. The Rules’ discomfort had been too much to witness. As much as she wanted the act to end, it was uncomfortable to watch it start to fall apart.
As she reached the back door, she spotted a group of people making their way toward the party from the driveway. Connor was one of them. Augusta trailed behind him, plus two girls and a guy Rory had never seen before. The mere sight of Augusta with Connor sent her heart beating faster. Of course that’s who he’d been with. She should have known. “Connor,” she said, stepping in his path.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?” His eyes roamed past her toward the party as if he was already eager to keep moving.
“Why didn’t you text me?” she asked, touching the pendant at her chest.
“Hi, Rory!” Augusta said, marching up to them and grabbing Rory to kiss her on the cheek. “Oh my effing god, that is a gorgeous necklace.”
“Oh, thanks,” Rory said, letting her hand fall away from the stone.
“Oh, and this is Gisele, Selden, and Rafaella,” Augusta said, introducing her friends. “They’re visiting from the UK.”
The two girls were tall and waifishly thin, dressed in vintage baby-doll dresses and black tights. The guy had intense dark eyes and an impressive five o’clock shadow. He was on a cell phone but held up his fingers in a salute.
“Hi,” Rory said. She took Connor’s hand. “Can I talk to you? Alone?”
“We’ll go find the bar,” Augusta said, leading her coterie of jet-setters toward the pool.
“So that’s where you’ve been? Augusta’s?” she asked.
“Yeah, I said I needed some time to myself.”
“Doesn’t sound like that’s what you had.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Surrounded by your little posse of admirers.”
“Maybe they’re the only people I can trust right now,” he said, giving her a cold look.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Whose side are you on here? Mine or my sister’s?”
“There are no sides,” she said. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“You’re part of this family now. You’re my girlfriend. You’re living here. To be honest it feels like you’re being a little ungrateful when you side with my crazy sister.”
Rory felt her insides collapse. “Ungrateful?”
“Yeah, it does. You’re in this house, you’re here all summer, and you and Isabel are talking shit about my family the whole time. And then telling me that I have no right to defend them. I think I deserve better than that.”
His words sawed through her like a dull knife. “I’m not talking shit about your family, Connor. There’s something you need to know.”
Connor’s expression was skeptical. “What?”
“Isabel has a different father,” she said quietly.
“Excuse me?” he said.
“His name is Peter Knox. He and his wife were friends with your parents. Your mom… and Mr. Knox… They had an affair. That’s why your parents are getting a divorce.”
Connor threw up his hand. “Stop it,” he said. “Just stop.”
“Connor, I’m not saying this to disturb you. It’s the truth—”
“Stop it,” he said. In the light from the setting sun, his face had gone pale.
“Isabel is someone else’s daughter. Not your dad’s.”
“That’s it, Rory,” he said, stepping away from her. “I’m done.” He stormed off toward the pool.
“Connor, wait!” she yelled, racing after him. Beyond Connor she could see Isabel walking straight toward them, weaving unsteadily on her heels.
“Is it true?” Connor demanded, going up to Isabel.
“Is what true?” Isabel asked. Rory could smell the liquor emanating from her.
“What Rory told me,” he said, pointing to Rory. “About Mom. And Mr. Knox. Is it true?”
“Yes.” Isabel slapped a hand on Rory’s arm. “Thank god she finally told you.”
“This is
bullshit,” he said. “I want proof.”
“I am proof,” Isabel said. “You want me to call Mr. Knox, put him on the phone for you? I’m happy to.”
“Isabel,” Rory said.
“No, he has to accept this,” she said, her voice a little too loud. “Mom didn’t just have an affair. She had a kid with another man. Me. And then lied about it. Now do you get it? Now do you get why it makes me so angry to be in this family?”
“You made this up,” Connor said. “It’s all part of the sick way you justify your craziness to everyone.”
“Mom admitted it to me. It’s true. Why do you think I’ve never gotten along with Dad? Why do you think he’s always been so hard on me? It makes sense now, doesn’t it?”
Connor glanced at Rory.
“I wouldn’t make this stuff up, Connor. I just want you to know the truth. You deserve that,” Isabel said.
“She’s right,” Rory admitted.
Connor shook his head, as if it were all too much. “Both of you are crazy.” He looked at Rory, wild-eyed. Then he turned to his sister. “You’re completely insane.” He brushed past them toward the pool.
Rory and Isabel stood in silence for a moment, until Isabel clapped a hand over her mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” she said, and went running toward the house.
Rory stood, wondering whether to run after Isabel. She decided to get Evan instead. She found him standing at the entrance to the tent, staring at the sea.
“Isabel’s sick,” she said, grabbing his arm. “In the house. You should go to her.”
Evan took off without a word. Rory watched him rush toward the house, the gallant boyfriend. She walked back toward the house, still numb. All this time she’d been trying to get up the guts to end things with Connor, and now he’d dumped her. One moment she’d been part of the family. Now he’d cast her out for her betrayal. She knew that she had to let him go, but it still felt like a knife stuck in her heart.
She touched the necklace once more, and it suddenly occurred to her: This wasn’t a gift. It was another bribe. Mrs. Rule needed to make sure that she would stay quiet, with the people of East Hampton, and her own son. Rory fumbled with the clasp, until it finally gave way. The necklace slid off her neck and into her hand, so much more easily than she would have guessed.