She opened the door to her bedroom and looked at the pink walls, billowy white curtains, and the antique chandelier that hung from the ceiling. When she was fourteen, her decorating influences had been Betsey Johnson’s boutiques and Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. Now she wished that the walls were plain white and her curtains olive green, like her room at school. She walked on into her closet, which now seemed ridiculously over-the-top. It was amazing how one year away changed the way she saw things. She’d loved her closet so much when she’d first designed it, but now it just looked silly. Clothes were grouped by color, with a special section designed for stripes. Her shoe rack took up an entire wall, and in the corner, all her purses, bags, and clutches hung from fabric-covered nails. She pulled off her dress and changed into her school sweats and a T-shirt. Then she sat down on the curved chaise in the center of the room and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Maybe she’d sort of overdone it down there with that girl, she thought. Maybe she’d acted like a jerk.
After a few minutes, the sound of footsteps in the room outside made her sit up straight. “Isabel?” Her mother appeared on the threshold, her blue eyes stormy. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
“I thought it was pretty obvious,” Isabel said. “She ruined my dress.”
“So you politely excuse yourself to go to the kitchen,” Lucy said. “You do not carry on like that in front of people. And you will not yell at a member of the staff. That is for me to do, not you.” Her mom took a deep breath and clutched at her silk cardigan. “And I’m still waiting for you to explain today. Jumping in the ocean like that with no lifeguard, nobody around.”
“I felt like swimming.”
“Mrs. Dancy told me you walked onto the patio looking like a drowned rat.”
“Because I did almost drown.”
Her mother cocked her head, and several strands of blond hair fell out of her updo and down to her shoulder. “Don’t do that, Isabel,” she said. “Don’t play the martyr. Things are going to be different this summer. Do you understand? No staying out all night, no borrowing the car, no lying to us. Your father has had it up to here with you, if that means anything at all—”
“It doesn’t,” Isabel said.
“Don’t say that.”
“He doesn’t even talk to me,” Isabel said. “Why should I care what he thinks? And this is so not about me. She’s the one who messed up. God knows why you took her in.”
“You will be nice to that girl, do you understand?” her mom said. “She doesn’t have half the advantages you do. I’m trying to do a nice thing by having her here for the summer.”
“You’re just terrified Fee will finally quit and leave you,” Isabel muttered. “So you say yes to whatever she asks.”
Her mother was quiet. “Good night, Isabel,” she finally said, and walked out.
Isabel stayed on the chaise. The summer had barely started, and already she needed to get out of here. She closed her eyes. The sensation of a wave rocked her. Instantly, she saw him again. That dripping-wet hair. Those eyes. That grin.
He was here. Somewhere close by. And possibly thinking about her.
She walked out into her bedroom and over to the iPod dock on her bedside table. She turned on the playlist she’d made at school right before she’d come home and lay down on her bed. She wanted to think about him some more.
Rory lay curled on her bed in the gathering dark, unable to move or turn on a light. Pretty soon she would have to move, though, and decide what to do.
For most of her life, she’d always been cautious. Waking up an extra hour early to study before a test. Waiting until things went on sale. Saving enough money from her paycheck to make sure the electric bill got paid. So obviously it stood to reason that the one time she wasn’t cautious, it would be a disaster. Her mom had been right. Coming here had been a mistake. And it had taken only eight hours to figure that out.
When she finally sat up and looked out the window, it was dark. Shadows fell on the carpet from the house lights outside. She picked up the phone on the bedside table and stared at all the buttons for the different rooms—LIBRARY, POOLHOUSE, MASTER BEDROOM. She hung up the phone. Fee had said she was downstairs off the Ping-Pong room. It would be easier just to go find her.
She stepped out into the hall. The house felt quiet. The only living creature she could see or hear was Trixie, who raised her head from her bed and regarded Rory with surprisingly soulful dark eyes. She went down the back staircase, each step creaking, and hit the dimmer switch. The light came up over the Ping-Pong table. The paddles still lay on the credenza at odd angles to each other. Just looking at them, she felt covered in shame. She couldn’t even imagine what the Rules thought of her now. Though Isabel’s reaction had definitely been rude. But it seemed as if the family was well used to Isabel’s rudeness.
She walked down a hall until she reached a closed door with light seeping out from under it. Gently, she knocked. “Fee?” she said. “Can I come in? It’s Rory.”
The door opened. Fee stood in a long crew shirt that said THE GEORGICA CLUB in fancy script and a pair of pajama pants. “Well, hello, honey,” she said. “Thought you’d come by. I’m just doing my crossword puzzle. Come on in.”
Rory looked around the cramped room. It was just large enough to hold a twin bed, a nightstand, and a small dresser with a miniature flat-screen TV on top of it. There was no walk-in closet, no pair of overstuffed chairs. No floor-to-ceiling windows.
“This room is so small,” she said. “Sorry. I mean, compared with mine. I should be in this one.”
“I like it small,” Fee muttered. “And nobody comes down here. Which is even better.” She sat back down on her bed and picked up her crossword. “A six-letter word for ‘class,’ ” she said, squinting at the puzzle. “Starts with C.”
Rory thought. “Cachet?”
“Ca-chet,” Fee said, printing the letters. “Good. Very good. You’re a very smart girl.”
“Yeah, except I can’t ladle sauce,” Rory said.
“Now, don’t go feeling bad about that,” Fee said, putting down the newspaper. “You did the best you could. And, by the way, they should never have put you in that position.”
“Mrs. Rule probably thinks I’m a moron,” Rory said. “And Isabel—”
“Has an attitude problem the size of Nebraska,” Fee interrupted.
“I just think this might have been a mistake,” Rory said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Because Isabel Rule threw one of her tantrums? No. Spending all summer with your mother and her latest boy toy? That would have been a mistake.”
“I just don’t really have the experience for this,” Rory said. “I thought I did. But it’s so confusing.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fee.
“Well, the Rules. They were so friendly. They made me feel like a guest. You know, with the room, and how nice they were when I met them.” Rory picked up Fee’s pen, uncapped it, and capped it again. “And then all of a sudden I was serving them dinner. And not doing it well. It was just strange. I guess I just didn’t expect them to be so nice. That’s all.”
Fee opened a drawer in her nightstand and took out a bag of M&M’S. “Well, they’re not ogres, that’s for sure,” she said, offering the bag to Rory, who took one. “But I’ve never forgotten that I’m the housekeeper. Not for one moment.”
“Right,” Rory said, though she wasn’t quite sure what Fee was saying.
“Put tonight behind you,” she said. “And try to relax. Go to town, make some friends. And for God’s sake, don’t worry about Isabel. She’s a troubled kid.”
“How troubled?”
“She’s never fit in,” Fee said, biting into an M&M. “All the other kids, there was never any trouble. But Isabel—she’s always liked to test people. And then last summer, she almost burned down this house.”
Rory dropped the pen. “Are you serious?”
Fee nodded somberly. “She came home fr
om a party three sheets to the wind and then fell asleep in the TV room with a lit cigarette in her hand. The rug caught fire and then the curtains, and she would have taken down the whole north wing of the house if her brother Connor hadn’t come down to the kitchen to get something to eat.”
“Yikes.”
“That’s when they decided to send her to school in California. She didn’t come back all year. Not even during Christmas. Not until a couple of weeks ago. So it’s been a bit bumpy here since she’s been back. I think the family’s wishing they could have kept her at school all summer, too.”
Rory picked at the rope bracelet on her right wrist.
“But don’t worry,” Fee said, putting a hand on Rory’s. “You’re going to be just fine here.”
Again, Fee didn’t sound that convincing, but she let it pass. “What time should I be up tomorrow?”
“Eight should be safe.”
“Okay. And thanks again. For everything.” She leaned down to give Fee a hug. “Good night.”
“G’night, dear.”
She closed Fee’s door. When she passed the paddles on the credenza, she no longer felt embarrassed. The Rules had to be good people if Fee had worked for them for so long. They would forgive her for one stupid mistake. She thought of them playing Ping-Pong, perfectly in sync with one another, competitive but in a friendly, supportive way. What family she knew did stuff like that? The only crack in their exterior so far was their crazy daughter.
She entered her room and kept it dark as she started to unmake the massive bed. She couldn’t wait to go to sleep. Music filtered down from above her room. A familiar melody. One of her favorite songs, in fact. Florence and the Machine.
Someone else in this house liked them, too.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning Rory bolted awake to the sound of a lawn mower outside. She sat up on her elbow and blinked in the sunlight. She’d fallen asleep without closing the window or lowering the blinds. Chilly ocean air made the curtains rustle. She reached for the small glass clock on the nightstand and stared at the face. It was nine thirty.
She ran to the bathroom, stripping off her pajamas as she went. She got into the shower and frantically turned the lever. Nothing happened. She tried it again and again. Finally she saw the separate button to turn on the water. The lever, it seemed, was just for temperature, as if that made any sense. She got it hot enough and then stood under the needle-sharp spray, feeling it pummel her eyelids. First she’d ruined Isabel Rule’s dress. Now she was the lazy oaf who slept in on her second day on the job. Next time she wouldn’t use the clock as an alarm; she’d use her phone, like a normal person.
Two minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of jeans and the first top that she could unfold. As soon as she stepped out of her room, Trixie tore down the hall to greet her. “Hi, sweetie,” Rory whispered. “Wish me luck today, huh?” She patted Trixie’s head and let the dog lick her hand. She wondered how much attention Trixie got in this house. She guessed very little.
Just before she pushed through the kitchen door, she heard voices coming from the other side.
“Maybe if she hadn’t been thrust into it her very first night, it wouldn’t have happened,” Fee was saying.
“She wasn’t thrust into it; she volunteered,” she heard Bianca say. “But I had no idea that she—”
Rory pushed open the door. Both Fee and Bianca had guilty expressions as they looked up from opposite sides of the marble-topped island. “Well, good morning,” Bianca said crisply. “I assume you slept well?”
“I’m sorry. I thought I set the alarm.”
“It’s okay, Rory,” Fee said. “I made you a smoothie, if you’re hungry.” Fee opened the refrigerator and took out a tall glass filled with what looked like a strawberry shake. “Strawberry-banana-blueberry,” she said, lifting the plastic wrap off the top of the glass. “Plus some flax oil and some ground-up almonds.”
“Thanks.” Rory accepted the glass and looked around the room. Last night, the kitchen counters and center island had been covered with food and spices and flatware. Now every surface was bare and shiny. And something else was missing, too. “Where’s Eduardo?”
“Eduardo was let go,” Bianca answered coolly. “Our new chef will be joining us tonight.”
“Oh.” She remembered the way Eduardo had flown around the kitchen in a blur of hyperactivity. Maybe that had been fear. She wanted to ask why Eduardo had been fired but sensed this wasn’t appropriate. She took a sip of the smoothie. Part of her wanted to apologize again for last night, but then she remembered what Fee had said about not sucking up to Bianca. Better to pretend it just hadn’t happened. “So, what can I do today?” she asked.
“You’re going to get some things at the market,” Bianca said, walking over to a laptop that she’d set up on a desk at the end of the counter. “You do have your license, correct?”
“Uh, yes.” Rory nodded.
“Good. We’d like you to make a run over to Citarella in town. Here’s a list of what to buy. Just put it on Mrs. Rule’s account.” Bianca swiped the printout off the printer tray under the desk and handed it to her.
Rory glanced at the list. It was alphabetized and divided into underlined categories: MEATS. SEAFOOD. CONDIMENTS.
“And please, get exactly what is on the list,” Bianca said. “Mrs. Rule is very particular about her brands.”
“What if they’re out of something?” she asked.
“Then get the next best thing.”
Rory wasn’t sure what “the next best thing” meant, but she just folded the list and put it in her purse.
“And then we’d like you to pick up Isabel at Two Trees,” Bianca added.
“Pick up Isabel?” she asked.
“At the stables. She has her riding lesson.” Bianca scribbled the name TWO TREES on a notepad. “There. Just put that into the GPS, and it will tell you how to get there.”
Rory took the piece of paper. She wondered if Bianca was doing this to her on purpose.
“You can pick her up at around eleven thirty,” Bianca went on. “And you can take the Prius. The keys are in the car.”
“Okay, sounds great,” Rory said. “No problem.”
“And whatever you do, don’t let Isabel drive,” Bianca said. Her expression was grave. “Is that understood?”
“Uh, yes. Definitely.”
“I’ll take you out back,” Fee said, trudging over to the door.
Rory followed her out into the hall. “Why do I have to pick up Isabel?” Rory whispered. “Can’t she drive?”
Fee didn’t answer until the back door was shut behind them. “She failed her driver’s test,” she said, struggling to hide a grin. “Can’t say I’m that surprised.” She gestured to the shiny silver Prius. “So. You know how to work this thing?”
“I think so,” Rory said.
She got into the car and pressed the engine button. The GPS switched on and a robotic woman’s voice purred, “Welcome.”
“Just take a right, then a left, then straight into town,” Fee said. “Citarella’s right past Newtown off Main Street. And if you have any questions, just call the house.”
“Okay,” she said. Rory closed the door.
Fee knocked on the window and Rory lowered it.
“And be careful of the traffic,” Fee added. “Montauk Highway can be a parking lot.”
“Sure thing,” Rory said.
Fee walked back into the house, and Rory looked down at the complicated dashboard, trying to get her bearings. She’d never driven a car with GPS. It always struck her as kind of unnecessary, but maybe that was because she knew every possible street and road in her hometown.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black Jetta drive into the spot next to hers. Steve waved at her from behind the glass and then got out of the car, toting a bunch of tennis rackets. “How’s it going?” he asked, his white teeth glinting in the sun.
Rory debated telling him the truth. Right n
ow he was the only person in the house who didn’t know how badly she’d messed up the night before. “It’s going okay,” she said. “Aside from the fact that I spilled teriyaki sauce last night all over Isabel.”
“You did?” Steve laughed. “I wish I could have seen that.”
“Everybody else did.”
“Hang in there,” he said, patting her shoulder through the window. “At least you’ve made a splash already.”
“That’s the worst pun I’ve ever heard,” Rory said.
“You’ll be hearing more of them—just warning you,” Steve said.
Rory laughed. “See you later.”
“Good luck!” Steve called out. At least she had Steve the tennis pro on her side. Maybe it was a good thing that she compulsively became buddies with cute guys.
Main Street looked sleepy this morning, and aside from a few men and women clutching takeout coffees or walking their dogs, the sidewalks were largely empty. None of the fancy boutiques seemed to be open yet. A man on a ladder changed the movie-theater marquee letter by letter using a long stick. A shopkeeper swept the sidewalk. It looked like any small town early on a Saturday morning.
But when she got to the parking lot for Citarella, she realized where all the people were. They were here. The lot was thick with cars entering and exiting. At last she found a tight spot beside a Lexus and a gleaming Bentley. As she walked to the store, an SUV almost hit her as it backed out of its spot. “Sorry!” the female driver yelled through the window, barely stopping.
Once inside the doors, she was astonished to see that the checkout line snaked through the entire store, from two steps inside the entrance, down to the far wall, and back around to the front. It reminded her of the day before Hurricane Irene, when the A&P had been full of people trying to stock up on survival supplies. But there were no gallons of water or twelve-pack cans of tuna in these people’s carts. Just a lot of small, dainty packages wrapped in brown butcher paper and small jars with shiny black lids. Yeah, this isn’t the A&P, Rory thought, grabbing a shopping cart.