Isabel seemed to be drawing a blank, so Rory stepped in. “It was okay. Not as good as the one last year.”
“Rory’s staying with me for the summer,” Isabel put in, neatly changing the subject.
“Oh yeah? Where from?” Evan asked, picking up Isabel’s discarded straw wrapper.
“New Jersey,” Rory answered. “And please, don’t tell me it’s beautiful.”
Evan chuckled. “You’ve been hearing that a lot, I take it.”
“Constantly. It seems like everyone I speak to lately thinks New Jersey is gorgeous.”
“My dad’s from New Jersey,” Evan said. “Parsippany. Which is not the most gorgeous place in the world.”
“I’m sort of close to there. Stillwater. In Sussex County.”
“Still-water?” Evan asked, amused. “Wasn’t that the name of the band in Almost Famous?”
“Yup.”
“I love that movie,” Evan said.
“Me, too.” Rory looked across the table at Isabel, who was nervously popping her straw up and down in her drink. Time to rein it in, she thought. “Isabel said she had a great first day at work,” Rory said.
“She did,” Evan said, turning his attention to Isabel. “And she didn’t even have time to train.”
Isabel beamed. “I messed up a little bit,” she conceded. “But yeah, it went okay. My feet are pretty sore, though.”
“Get used to that,” Rory said.
“You wait tables, too?” Evan asked her.
“Not right now, but I do at home. Have been for a few years. There’s a pizza place in my town—”
“I do, too,” Evan said, holding up his hand for a high five. “Every day after school.”
“Me, too.” Rory gave him a high-five and then glanced at Isabel across the table one more time.
“Rory’s dating my brother,” Isabel said, somewhat bluntly.
“Oh,” Evan said, as if this were incredibly interesting.
Rory felt herself almost blush. “But Isabel and I were friends before.” She paused. Isabel looked like she was waiting for Rory to elaborate. “We’ve been dating since the end of last summer,” she added.
“Oh,” Evan repeated again as if this was incredibly interesting. “So you’re out here spending time with Isabel and her brother?”
“And I’m interning at the East End Festival,” she said, wanting to get off the subject of Connor. “I’m working on the film end of things.”
“No way,” Evan said, lighting up. “I was thinking of submitting a short to them. But I know I missed the deadline.”
“Yeah, I think they just finalized the lineup,” Rory said, thinking of Amelia’s film. “But I’m sure your short is great.” She cast a glance at Isabel, who was still watching them quietly, with an inscrutable expression. Stop talking to this guy, she thought. But it was so easy. So much easier than it had been talking to Connor.
Isabel put her hand on Evan’s arm, subtly but effectively turning his attention toward her. “I’d love to see it,” she said, fixing him with a meaningful look that Rory recognized. “Maybe you can show it to me sometime?”
“Sure,” Evan said. “Anytime. Of course, you might have to have a crash course in comedy before you see it. So you can appreciate its genius. Just kidding.”
Isabel giggled. Evan stretched his arm around the back of her chair.
Rory took this as her cue to get really interested in her pizza. As she ate, Isabel and Evan started talking about the restaurant. It was clear that Isabel’s interest in him was mutual. Evan had a silly grin on his face the entire time they talked, and he edged himself closer to her every few minutes. Isabel, for her part, had slipped into the role of coquette pretty easily. It was nice to see her so happy again.
Finally the guy behind the counter announced that he was closing, and the three of them got to their feet. Evan walked them to the parking lot. A bright, creamy moon shone down over the tops of the cars.
“Well, thanks for texting me,” Evan said. “It was nice to hang out for a while.”
“Yeah,” Isabel said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
Rory walked straight ahead to the car while the two of them hung behind. She was pretty sure that they kissed, but she didn’t hear anything, and she didn’t want to turn around to find out.
When they got in the car, Isabel paused with her hands on the wheel in the dark. “So… what’d you think?” she asked, staring straight ahead through the windshield, as if she was too embarrassed to look Rory in the face.
“I think he’s great,” Rory said.
“Really?” Isabel asked, whipping her head around to face Rory. “You do?”
“Yeah. I do. He’s like the anti-Mike. He’s awesome.”
Isabel started the car. “I totally knew it,” she said, backing out of the spot. “I got a great vibe off him from the moment we met. I wanted to be sure.”
Isabel pulled onto Main Street. “Hey, I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything,” Isabel said, “but are things okay with you and Connor?”
“Yeah, sure, things are fine,” Rory said. “Why?”
“You seem kind of down tonight. Thought you guys might have had a fight.”
I wish, Rory thought. At least there’d be a chance of making up. “Nope,” she said. “No fight.”
Isabel glanced at her, and even in the darkened car, Rory could see the concern in her eyes. “Things aren’t winding down between you guys, are they?”
Rory was jarred by Isabel’s choice of words. Winding down had a pretty terrible ring to it. And she wondered for the first time if that was what Isabel secretly wanted. “No. Not at all. We ran into some of his boarding school friends last night at dinner. So it was kind of a weird night.”
“Ugh, those people,” Isabel snorted. “No wonder.”
They didn’t say anything else on their way home. Rory wanted to ask Isabel if she could see evidence of things winding down, or if she felt that things might be winding down, or, even more to the point, if she wanted things to be winding down, but she stayed quiet. No sense in looking like an obsessive freak, Rory thought. Or in creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.
When they got back into the house, Rory went up to Connor’s room to see if he was still up. It was dark under his closed bedroom door. He’d gone to bed, just as he’d said. It wasn’t a surprise, but she went to bed feeling slightly rejected anyway.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The following Saturday morning, Rory walked into the kitchen to grab a late breakfast and found Mrs. Rule at the kitchen table, huddled over her laptop. Her first instinct was to blurt out a reason for leaving and bolt back to her room, but she knew that it was too late to duck out. She’d managed to avoid running into Mrs. Rule alone since her second day here, almost a week ago. But apparently her lucky streak was over. “Morning,” Rory said, heading toward the refrigerator. “I’m getting kind of a late start today.”
“Well, it’s Saturday,” Mrs. Rule said. She closed her computer and took a sip from a mug on the table. In the morning light streaming through the windows, her face looked slightly older and more lined than it had recently. As far as Rory knew, Mr. Rule hadn’t set foot in the house since the weekend before. She wondered if his absence was beginning to take a toll. “So. What do you and Connor have planned for today?” she asked.
“Not much. He’s teaching this morning. I was just going to hang out at the beach.” Rory took out a sleeve of bagels from the bread drawer.
“Well, I was going to go into town. If Sloane were here I’d ask her to come with me, but she’s in the city.”
There was something needy in Mrs. Rule’s tone. And for most of Rory’s life, needy had been too hard to resist. “Do you want some company?” Rory asked, in a tone so bright and cheery that it surprised even her.
“That would be wonderful,” Mrs. Rule said. “How about we leave in about fifteen minutes.”
“Sure.”
/>
“And you are going to…” Mrs. Rule lowered her gaze.
Rory looked down at her khaki shorts and lavender V-neck T-shirt. “I’ll change,” Rory said, trying to smile.
A few minutes later, Rory sat in the Land Rover, her hands folded primly in the lap of her ivory sundress. Mrs. Rule flipped through the channels of her satellite radio. Lily Pond Lane was deserted as always. That seemed to be the real mark of wealth, Rory thought. No cars passing, no kids playing, nobody puttering in their front yards or schlepping bags from Stop & Shop and Costco up their driveways. Just blacktop, blue sky, hedges, and perfectly silent, enormous homes.
“How’s your job so far?” Mrs. Rule asked, finally settling on a station of Brazilian samba music.
“Great. My boss is giving me lots of responsibility. I’m helping her select the shorts for the competition.”
Mrs. Rule didn’t say anything in reply so Rory asked, “Did you work before you got married?”
“Yes, I did,” said Mrs. Rule, turning left onto Ocean Road. “I worked at Seventeen for a year or two, and then at Mademoiselle, in the fashion department. But it wasn’t because I needed to. My father thought I should. So it didn’t look too obvious that I was looking for a husband.”
“Did you like working?”
“Very much,” Mrs. Rule said. “But it wasn’t something I wanted to do forever.”
“So you don’t miss it, then?” Rory asked.
“No, I don’t miss it,” she said. She pulled up to the stop sign behind Town Pond.
“About my job, actually,” Rory said delicately. “My boss wanted to know if you and Mr. Rule would like to come to their opening night party.”
“Opening night for what?” Mrs. Rule asked, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
“For the festival. It’s August fifteenth. It’s supposed to be a really fun event. Should I tell them to send you an invitation?”
Mrs. Rule sighed, as if this was one of countless demands on their time and attention. “I don’t know if that’s exactly our cup of tea, but I suppose it’s fine. Have them send it. And speaking of parties,” Mrs. Rule continued, swinging the car onto Main Street, “I want to get your opinion on something. I’m thinking of having a birthday party. Not for Larry—I did that last year as you know, and he wasn’t so happy about it. This one would be for my birthday. Larry and I are only a week apart. I’m July twenty-sixth.”
Rory tried to muster a smile. Besides the fact that Mr. Rule probably had no real desire to give his estranged wife a birthday party at a house he was no longer living in, their kids would doubtless have to play along again with the Rules’ charade of togetherness. That couldn’t be a good thing. “I guess that sounds like fun,” Rory said, trying to be enthusiastic.
“Maybe it would be nice for the family to have something to lift our spirits,” Mrs. Rule said.
And show everyone in East Hampton that absolutely nothing is wrong, Rory thought. “Yeah, maybe.”
“I think it’ll be just what we need,” Mrs. Rule said, taking the ticket from the machine in the parking lot entrance. “The kids love it when I throw a party.”
“Then do it,” Rory said. “Why not?”
Mrs. Rule glanced at Rory with uncertainty. “You think so?”
“Sure. And I’m happy to help with it if you need—”
“That’s not why I’m telling you about it,” Mrs. Rule said. She swung the car into a spot. “You know, I’d like to apologize for last summer. For some of the things I did and said. I’m afraid I wasn’t very… open-minded.”
Rory tried not to look too surprised. “Oh. Okay.”
“Because now I can see how important you are to my son,” Mrs. Rule continued. Her normally glacial eyes had gone soft. “You’re a good influence on him. He needs that. Especially now.”
“Thank you,” Rory said.
“You’re a good influence on Isabel, too. And about Isabel…” Mrs. Rule turned off the ignition and looked right into Rory’s eyes. The penetrating stare was back. “Is there anything she’s not telling me about? Anything I should know?”
Rory swallowed. It wasn’t clear if Mrs. Rule suspected a new job, or a new boyfriend, or both. “No. I mean, nothing I know of…” she said, letting her voice trail off.
“All right, then,” Mrs. Rule opened the car door. “Let’s start at Christopher Fischer. I need some new cashmere.”
Rory grabbed her purse and got out of the car. All this time, she’d wanted Mrs. Rule to accept her. But now that it had finally happened, she felt anything but relief.
CHAPTER NINE
Ten days into her new summer job, Isabel made a wonderful discovery: She sort of knew what she was doing. When customers asked what raita was, she could explain it to them. When they wanted to know the best way to order the vegan wrap—with the black bean tapenade or with the low-fat Chinese dressing—she told them. Best of all, waiting tables turned out to be one of those activities, like horseback riding or shopping, that completely occupied her brain. When she was working, there was no massive family secret that she had to carry and no sense of being a third wheel around Rory and Connor. She was too busy to think about anything except remembering that a certain customer didn’t want pickles or had a terrible peanut allergy. It was mindless work, in the best way.
Best of all, there was Evan. By the third day, it was clear that something was officially going on between them, even though they hadn’t kissed since that night they’d met up at the pizza place. After work they’d discreetly slip away for ice cream or just to take a walk down Main Street. It wasn’t actual dating, but it was mutually understood hang-out time, which was practically the same thing. The physical stuff could come later. After everything that had happened with Mike, Isabel was fine with that.
It didn’t sound as if Evan had been gifted with the easiest childhood. His father had taken off when Evan was six. This left him; his younger brother, Sam; and their mom on their own, until his mom married a guy named Phil, who owned a gourmet Italian food shop. Phil was a rumpled, good-natured guy who instilled in his stepsons a deep work ethic and respect for food. Unfortunately Phil was better at sourcing prosciutto and making homemade ravioli than he was at managing a business. When Evan’s mom found out that he was deeply in debt, the marriage fell apart.
“But it’s all okay,” Evan said to Isabel one afternoon, a few days after she’d started work, as they walked down Main Street. “The funny thing is, my mom is happier now than she’s ever been in her life, even though she’s alone. And Sammy seems happier. He went through a tough period with all of it, but now things have straightened out. He’s gotten through it okay. So it’s all kind of wasted energy to be mad or resentful, you know?” The late afternoon sun lit up the tips of his hair and his eyelashes. This was more than Mike ever told me about himself, Isabel thought. At least up until the last day I ever saw him.
“So, my parents are getting a divorce,” she said.
“Oh, that sucks,” he said. He put his hand on her forearm. “I’m sorry.”
Goose bumps rose up on her skin from his touch. “And my mom wants to pretend it’s not happening,” she went on. “It’s like we all have to live in a fantasy. They’ve got this whole act going on in front of their friends. It’s so gross to watch.” She drank the rest of her iced latte. “You ever wish you didn’t know something?”
“All the time. The words to every Justin Bieber song, for starters.”
“Excuse me?”
“Jeff’s uncle has a twelve-year-old daughter,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said.
“Divorce is tough. But you just have to keep living your life. Remember that it’s not about you.”
But it is about me, she thought.
“My mom’s terrified I’m now going to be a waitress for the rest of my life,” she said. “She thinks that this is, like, a career move, or something.” She let herself accidentally brush up against Evan as they squeezed past a crowd of people on
the sidewalk.
Evan stopped walking and turned toward her. Right there, on a sun-dappled stretch of Main Street, right in front of Tiffany’s, he leaned down and kissed her.
At first she wanted to pull away. She’d never kissed anyone on Main Street before, in all the eighteen summers she’d spent here. But she’d been waiting too long for Evan to make another move. She circled her arms around his neck and pressed herself close to his firm, lanky torso. His lips were soft but insistent, and the kiss built so quickly that she had to pull away, slightly out of breath.
“Whoa,” she whispered. “In broad daylight, no less.”
He smiled at her. “I’ve been wanting to do that for, like, weeks.”
“We haven’t known each other for weeks.”
“Well, it’s felt like that,” he said. His hands still held her tightly around the waist.
Even after their PDA kiss, they kept their romance a secret from the other waitstaff. Jeff, Evan’s roommate, was the only person who knew that they were a couple. Jeff was the perfect foil for Evan. Short and thick, where Evan was tall and slim, Jeff was fussier than Baybreeze’s worst customers. He claimed to suffer from OCD, Tourette’s, and IBS, though for this last condition Evan believed that Jeff’s junk-food diet was mostly to blame. “He’s like a really neurotic Owen Wilson,” Evan always said about him, and it was true. Jeff never went anywhere without a vial of Purell. Sometimes Isabel would look over and see Jeff hovering around a customer’s table, trying to work up the nerve to clear dirty dishes. “For the love of Mike, stop dancing around and do it,” Bill would bark at him. “You wanna get fired?”
“It’s so… disgusting,” Jeff would say, marveling at the idea of it.
The other waitresses, Sadie and Nicole, weren’t really friend material. Both of them were going into their junior year at college, which meant that Isabel might as well have been six years old to them. Sadie was from Port Chester, went to Colgate, and loved clubbing. She was the one who had sprained her foot. Nicole was from Piscataway, New Jersey. Like Sadie, she was a seasoned pro at waiting tables. She memorized every order without writing down a word, no matter how many changes a customer made to a dish. Isabel would watch, amazed, as Nicole typed several orders into the computer from memory. “You get used to it,” she’d say, and then stalk off.