Since Last Summer

  “And what did that mean?” Rory asked. “Being a true Newcomb?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if you know, but the Newcombs go all the way back to the Mayflower. I suppose he meant that I had a respect for the family name. For the heritage. The Newcombs weren’t people who suffered fools. A Newcomb woman was in the paper only three times in her life: when she was born, when she got married, and when she died. I’m sure you’ve heard that saying before. It was one of his favorites.”

  “That must be a little hard to live up to these days,” Rory said.

  “Not really. I’m sure you’ve noticed that none of my children like to broadcast their lives on the Internet. Especially Connor.”

  At the sound of Connor’s name, Rory put down her fork and took a long drink of water.

  “By the way, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Connor,” said Mrs. Rule. “I heard about what happened from Fee. I’m sure there’s a way that the two of you can patch things up.”

  “I really don’t think so,” Rory said.

  “Of course there is. Things were going so well, and then all of a sudden, it’s over?”

  “That’s between me and Connor.”

  “I know it is, but men are so simple when it comes to this sort of thing. If you follow one or two basic things, you’ll have him back in no time. And I know how much he cares about you.”

  “Thank you, but really,” Rory said, trying to sound firm, “we’re broken up.”

  “Well, let’s enjoy the afternoon, then,” Mrs. Rule said in an I-tried-but-you-just-won’t-listen tone. “Kelly!” Mrs. Rule called out, waving. “Come, sit down for a moment.”

  Rory looked over and saw Mrs. Quinlan coming toward them. She wore pressed clam diggers and an Hermès print scarf around her neck, and her face glistened slightly from the heat. The hairs on Rory’s arms stood on end. Their run-in with the Quinlans in Citarella had happened only a week ago. If she was anything like her daughter, Mrs. Quinlan had probably shared Isabel’s news with countless people since then.

  “It is so hot out,” Mrs. Quinlan cried, as she sat down in the empty chair at their table. “The news said it’s going to hit ninety-five by the end of the week. Can you believe that?”

  “Well, we always get a big heat wave this time of year,” Mrs. Rule agreed, picking at her meal. “Do you know Rory McShane? A friend of Connor and Isabel’s?”

  “Oh, yes, Rory, we met at Citarella,” she said.

  Rory nodded. Change the subject, she thought. Change the subject.

  “By the way, I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to the party,” Mrs. Quinlan went on. “Mitchell was so sick, and you know what a bear he can turn into when he’s got a cold. So I thought it best that we didn’t go.”

  “I got your e-mail,” said Mrs. Rule.

  “But I heard that it was spectacular,” Mrs. Quinlan gushed. “Just spectacular. And I think it’s lovely that you and Larry are on such great terms like that. Being there together. Supporting each other in that way. Just lovely.”

  Mrs. Rule smiled. “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Quinlan said, glancing at Rory. “I thought… well, I heard the news about you and Larry.”

  “What news?” Mrs. Rule asked sharply.

  “That you two separated. Your daughter told me. In Citarella that day.”

  Mrs. Rule darted a glance in Rory’s direction.

  “She was quite clear about it. She said that you two were separated and on your way toward getting a divorce. I’ve been meaning to call—”

  Mrs. Rule began to cough. She reached for her water.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Quinlan said, genuinely abashed. “Was I not supposed to know any of this?” She took Mrs. Rule’s hand. “Oh, dear. There’s no one else involved, is there?”

  Mrs. Rule continued to cough. Rory touched her lightly on the back. The only way this could get worse was if Mrs. Rule started choking, Rory thought. “Are you okay?” Rory asked, still patting.

  “I’m fine,” said Mrs. Rule, daintily slapping her chest. She smiled as she cleared her throat, but her face was extremely red. “I think I swallowed something the wrong way. Excuse me.” She shot up from the table and walked, still coughing, to the ladies’ changing room.

  Mrs. Quinlan stared at Rory. “I guess I wasn’t supposed to know that, was I?” she said.

  Rory got to her feet. “I’ll be right back.” She pushed her way past the tables and went in the direction of the ladies’ room. Maybe Mrs. Rule really was choking. She’d studied the Heimlich once, for ninth-grade health class, but that was so long ago she feared she might break one of Mrs. Rule’s ribs in the process.

  She entered the dim, cool, chlorine-fragrant ladies’ room and found Mrs. Rule sitting on the edge of a bench in front of a row of lockers. She was no longer coughing. She seemed to be staring straight ahead. Rory felt something inside her soften.

  “Mrs. Rule? Are you okay?” she said, coming to sit down behind her. “Can I help you with something?”

  Mrs. Rule didn’t turn around. Rory put a hand on her back and could feel a slight heaving. Mrs. Rule was crying.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Rory said. “People aren’t going to care.”

  “Of course they are,” she murmured. “It’s a prime piece of gossip. I’ve probably given people enough to talk about for at least five lunches on this patio.”

  “You can’t think about that,” Rory said.

  “I wish we’d gotten the divorce over with years ago. I was stronger back then.” Mrs. Rule sniffed deeply and wiped her face with her hands.

  “Here,” Rory said, reaching for a box of tissue at a nearby vanity. “Use this.”

  “I just wanted to get through the summer,” Mrs. Rule said, taking a tissue. “I told him we could have it be all over the place come September, but I just wanted the summer.”

  “It is going to be okay,” Rory said, patting Mrs. Rule on the shoulder again. “I promise. You don’t have to be perfect.”

  Mrs. Rule turned to Rory. Her tearstained face was the most vulnerable Rory had ever seen it. “God, you know nothing,” she said. Mrs. Rule balled up the tissue and threw it out. “I guess I have to go back there. Not that I have any idea what to say.”

  Rory stood up and offered her hand to Mrs. Rule. “What about saying that it’s true?”

  Mrs. Rule looked at herself in the mirror and straightened her ponytail. “If people are really going to be that nosy,” she said, taking Rory’s hand and standing up, “then I guess they deserve that. Let’s go.”

  They walked back out into the sunshine, where Mrs. Quinlan waited at their table. “Are you okay?” she asked Mrs. Rule. “There is nothing scarier than getting something caught in your windpipe. I remember once, when we were down in Jamaica on vacation—”

  “It’s true, Kelly,” Mrs. Rule said quietly, as she sat back down. “Everything you just mentioned. It’s all true. Every last bit of it.” She picked up her fork and sliced off a piece of grapefruit. “Did you have any other questions?”

  Mrs. Quinlan looked chastened. “No, I don’t think I do,” she said hesitantly. “But, thank you.”

  Rory heard her phone buzz from underneath her table. She reached down, rifled through her bag, and finally found her phone at the bottom. It was another text from Evan.

  Are you free? Can I see you? I don’t want to bother you, but…

  Rory read the text over and over. She knew that it was a trap, but at the same time, if she didn’t get a break from this crazy family she might lose it once and for all.

  I’ll meet you later. Where?

  My house?

  “Rory, can you put that away, please?” Mrs. Rule said. “That’s a little rude.”

  “Uh, sure,” Rory said, and dropped the phone back in her bag. For the rest of the lunch, she couldn’t touch her salad.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Rory pulled up in front of a modest brick-and-shingle home on County Road 79, a mile or so outside Sag
Harbor Village. Across the street, she spotted a deserted public park with baseball fields and tennis courts. Since lunchtime the sky had turned dark and heavy with impending rain. Despite the ominous weather, she couldn’t deny the excitement she felt.

  She got out of the car and approached the house, following a narrow path through the grass. Rory looked over her shoulder. Was her car too visible out here? Would Isabel see? She told herself that she was being ridiculous. Isabel wasn’t on her way here. It was silly for her to even be thinking about that.

  She walked back behind the house, and when she saw Evan and Jeff’s guesthouse at the other end of the backyard she could feel butterflies start to flit around her stomach. A pit of gravel lay in front of the house, with weeds growing out of it. A well-used hibachi grill sat right by the front door, a package of white sandwich bread on top of it. The place looked like a cross between a twentysomething crash pad and Grey Gardens, but it didn’t matter. It was Evan’s place. And he was waiting for her there. He opened the door and stepped out into the overgrown grass.

  “Welcome to the shithole,” he said with a grand king-of-the-castle sweep of his arms.

  Rory laughed. A raindrop plopped onto the tip of her nose, and then another hit the crown of her head. She ran toward him. “I think it’s starting to rain.”

  “Then you better get inside,” he said.

  She reached him, but he stayed in front of the door, not moving.

  “Um, you’re not letting me inside,” she said, standing in front of him.

  Before she knew what was happening, he leaned down and kissed her. She put her arms around his neck and surrendered to the kiss, letting it build until he put an arm around her waist, bringing her closer. Her hands found his hair. His hands traveled up and down her back, holding her closer and tighter to him. The passion that had slowly gone out of her connection with Connor came back now in full force, igniting emotions in her that she’d forgotten she had. She wanted this guy. And even more important, he wanted her.

  Slowly, he pulled away. The rain was coming down steadily, and she realized that her clothes were damp. “Do you want to come inside?” he asked.

  “Is Jeff home?”

  “He’s out. And he will be. All day.” He took her hand and started to lead her into the house.

  “Wait,” she said, stopping him. “I was sitting in my car for ten minutes trying to decide whether or not to drive away.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  “She’s one of my best friends. I can’t do this to her. It’s not fair.”

  “But I ended it, Rory. I even told her that I have feelings for someone else.”

  “But you didn’t say that it was me,” she said.

  He bit his lip and sighed. “No. I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.”

  “Look, we can take it slow. But there’s no reason anymore for us not to be together.” He braided his fingers with her own. “Not if we want to be.”

  “Except that she’s my best friend.” Rory looked up into his green eyes, searching for a reason not to trust him. “Do you do this a lot?”

  “Do what?” he asked, baffled.

  “I don’t know you. For all I know this is your MO. Going out with one girl, then deciding you like another girl…”

  He laughed. “I told you how old I was when I got my first girlfriend.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “So does that answer your question? And do you want to come inside before we both get soaked?” he asked.

  They walked into the house, and Evan turned on a lamp. Rory looked around. The guesthouse was indeed small, and the decor made it look like it was trapped in the seventies, though not in a cool, retro way. There was so much shabby, mismatched furniture that she could hardly walk around, and there was a strong smell of mildew. For a moment she missed the Rules’ house, with its high ceilings and beautifully decorated rooms, each and every objet d’art and coffee-table book placed just so. But then she caught herself. There was no way that she’d become this much of a snob. Not so soon.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Evan asked, opening the orange fridge. “I’ve got SunnyD and 7UP. Jeff has beer. Or what about to eat? We have ice cream. No, excuse me, we have gelato.”

  “Gelato sounds good,” she said, sitting gingerly on the ancient-looking couch.

  Evan brought over two mismatched bowls, each containing two huge scoops of lemon gelato. “Okay, get ready for a party in your mouth,” he said.

  “I can’t believe you said that.”

  Evan laughed.

  “Seriously. Sometimes you are just painfully unfunny.”

  “But I’m still cute, right?” he said.

  “Yes, you’re still cute,” she said.

  He leaned down and kissed her again, and she felt herself go limp. It was as if they’d been a couple for years. She couldn’t believe how easy this was.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Okay. Hold on. You just finished dating Isabel Rule. The Grace Kelly of East Hampton. How can you possibly say that I’m beautiful?”

  Evan looked deep into her eyes, tilting her chin with his hands. “If we’re going to work out at all, you’re going to have to let me give you a compliment, okay?” he said.

  “Okay,” she replied.

  “Especially when it’s true.”

  When he kissed her the next time, she didn’t pull away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Rory lay in bed the next morning, staring at the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains. She still hadn’t fallen asleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Evan’s face, felt his hands on her body, heard his voice. They’d spent the entire afternoon on his couch. It was mostly a blur, but there were plenty of moments that she remembered and could relive, over and over. They didn’t do everything—not even close—but that had been just as she’d wanted it. And Evan was a true gentleman. At every point he asked her if she was okay, if it was too much, if she wanted to pull back. Rory felt completely herself around him, even when she took off some of her clothes, which was a relief. She’d never quite lost a feeling of self-consciousness around Connor. She wasn’t sure if it was his perfect body or his perfect persona, but she always needed the room to be dark and for blankets to be close by. She’d always thought that her discomfort was a result of being a late bloomer, but after being with Evan she knew now that this wasn’t true. She felt safe, and in familiar hands. At one point she even pulled off his shirt, making him say, “Whoa. I feel like a piece of meat. I’m diggin’ it.”

  She started giggling, until he interrupted her with a kiss.

  The rain outside sounded a gentle staccato on the roof and windows, making her feel like they were the last two people on earth. Don’t let this end, she thought over and over. I don’t want this to ever end.

  But it finally did. At some point, while he was getting some soda, she looked at the cable box under the tube TV and saw the time. It was six o’clock.

  “I gotta go,” she said, throwing her clothes back on.

  “What time is it?” he asked, walking back to the couch.

  “Six. I should get back for dinner.”

  “Yeah, Jeff should be home pretty soon. It’s probably a good call.”

  She got dressed, used the miniscule bathroom in the back of the house, and found Evan in the living room, ready to walk her out. “It’s still pouring,” he said, gesturing to the rain coming down in sheets outside. “Let me give you an umbrella. If we have one. Which we probably don’t.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll just book it to my car.” Drowsy and relaxed from the hours with Evan on the couch, she nestled herself into his arms.

  He held her close, then kissed her deeply. “I’ll miss you tonight.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “When can I see you again?”

  “I don’t know,” Rory said. She was in no h
urry to think about what waited for her at home—guilt, worry, and shame. Having to tell Isabel. For right now she just wanted to bask in this moment. “Text me. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Okay.” He kissed her one more time. “It’s crazy. I can’t even let you go.”

  “You’re gonna have to,” she said.

  He finally pulled away. “There, I did it,” he said. “Now I’m really unhappy.”

  She laughed. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said, and headed out into the rain.

  Now she sat up and forced herself to think about the other reason she’d been up most of the night. Isabel. And what on earth she was going to do about that.

  As she walked to the shower, she knew that she really had only one choice: to tell Isabel everything, and to tell her as soon as possible.

  Just as soon as she figured out how to tell her.

  Isabel knocked on her mother’s bathroom door. “Do you have any Kiehl’s left? I’m all out.”

  Mrs. Rule opened the door in her bathrobe. Her hair was wet and lay in straggly curls over her shoulders. “Take whatever you’d like,” she said, as she began to comb her hair in the mirror. “How are you?”

  “You’ll be happy to know that I quit my job,” Isabel said. “I’m no longer shaming the family.”

  “Was there any reason?” her mother asked, pulling the comb through a knot.

  “Not really. I guess one of my coworkers and I had a difference of opinion.” Isabel grabbed the bottle of butter-colored moisturizer and was about to head out the door when she stopped. “I went over to Dad’s the other day. He wanted to see me.”

  Mrs. Rule put down the comb. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. His house is totally modern. You’d hate it.”

  “I’m sure,” her mother said.

  “Anyway, he apologized to me. For being so weird all those years. Said that he didn’t mean to take it out on me.”

  Mrs. Rule sat down on her cushioned vanity stool and put her hands in her lap. “That’s nice to hear,” she said stiffly.