“So I’m thinking, next weekend, when my parents go out of town to visit my sister in London, I should just say to hell with it and have a party,” Thayer said as they walked out of the dining building with their trays. “What do you think? It would be cool, right? People would come.”
“Yeah,” Isabel said, trying to keep her tray stable as she reached for some napkin-wrapped utensils by the door. Her head was pounding, and she thought she might throw up right onto her sandals. She also hadn’t heard a word Thayer had said while they’d been standing in line, waiting to order, but it didn’t really matter. Thayer liked to have a captive—and quiet—audience.
“Because I’m thinking then I can just invite Andrew over and that way we’re sort of just hanging out already and then maybe something can happen. Instead of waiting for him to get it together and ask me out.”
“Uh-huh,” Isabel said, as she almost tripped over a small child in front of her.
“Are you okay?” Thayer asked. “You seem a little out of it.”
“I’m just tired.”
Thayer cocked her head and stared at her. “And maybe a little hungover?”
Isabel looked at her.
“Did you go out last night?” Thayer asked with an uneasy smile. They’d talked about going out to see a movie, but Isabel had said she couldn’t.
“No,” she said. “I would have told you.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have,” Thayer said, as they walked over to Darwin sitting at a table, reading The House of Mirth. “Hey, D,” Thayer said as they placed their trays on the table. “Check it out. Isabel’s hungover.”
“Yeah?” Darwin looked up briefly from her book and then returned to it. “Sorry, I’m just really into this right now.”
“I hate summer reading,” Thayer said, digging into her Cobb salad. “So boring. Anyway, where were you getting hungover, and with who?”
Isabel picked up her fork, and a memory slammed into her brain, taking her breath away: she and Mike kissing in the bathroom, her hands in his hair, feeling his hands on her, holding her, lifting her onto the sink so she could sit with her legs wrapped around his waist as they kissed, then later, on his bed, underneath him, feeling his hands travel up her shirt, her hands feeling the hair on his chest… She shook it away. “Nobody you know,” she said softly.
“Huh. The plot thickens.”
“Someone?” Thayer asked, her eyes on her plate. “That’s a vague pronoun—”
“You don’t know him. Okay?”
Thayer was quiet as she ate her salad, but Isabel knew that she’d just broken the first commandment of being Thayer Quinlan’s best friend: Thou shalt not keep anything to yourself.
“His name is Mike,” Isabel offered.
“What school?”
“I told you, you won’t know him.”
“So he doesn’t go to school?” Darwin asked, putting down her book.
“I think he goes to Stony Brook.”
“He goes to college?” Thayer asked. She and Darwin looked at each other. “Where’s he from?”
Isabel started to feel a swell of anger build. “He’s from here. The North Fork.”
“What?” Darwin said, amusement and shock mingling on her face.
Isabel looked down at her salad.
“Wow, that’s a first,” said Darwin. “He must be really hot.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Thayer said. “You’re hanging out with some Jersey girl who’s working for you and now you’re dating some local? What happened to you?”
“That is so gross that you just said that,” Isabel said.
“Oh, please, don’t tell me that I’m being horrible here,” Thayer said. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. Is this to get back at your parents or something?”
“Sorry, but it just sounds like another one of your crazy stunts,” Thayer went on. “You do have a thing about giving everyone the finger.”
“Thanks for your support, T,” Isabel said. She stood up and grabbed her bag, sending her chair screeching across the concrete.
“Where are you going?” Darwin asked.
“I suddenly lost my appetite,” Isabel said.
“Oh god, Iz,” Thayer groaned. “Fine, throw a fit. Whatever.”
Isabel wove her way through the tables, feeling her face flush. The exquisite pounding in her head had settled right above her eyebrows and was fast turning into a migraine. She hated that these girls had embarrassed her. She needed to go home. She took out her phone and texted Rory, not even caring about the no-cell-phone policy down at the patio.
Can you pick me up? At the GC.
She headed for the family cabana, which was the only real spot to hide at the club. The Georgica changing cabanas were a relic from the club’s earliest days, when members needed a fully private place to change into their bathing costumes. Now owning one of these narrow shingle closets meant that you were one of the club’s elite. They actually weren’t good for much, besides a few memorable make-out sessions whenever there was a good party.
She headed for the plaque that said LAWRENCE RULE and was almost inside when she heard a man call her name.
“Isabel? Is that Isabel Rule?”
She turned around and saw a couple coming toward her. They looked to be her parents’ age. The last thing she felt like doing right now was talking to her parents’ friends.
“Peter and Michelle Knox,” the man said, a smile on his face. “Friends of your parents. We had the house on James Lane.”
With one hand shading her eyes from the sun, she was able to see them more clearly. She recognized them. The man was handsome, with youthful blue eyes, a sharp nose, and close-cropped brown hair that had gone gray at the temples. Mrs. Knox had black hair, luminous skin, and, hands down, the perkiest breasts Isabel had ever seen, at least on a woman in her late forties. “Oh. Hi,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“We just decided to come back for the summer from LA. We moved there a while ago,” he said. “How long has it been?” he asked his wife. “Ten years?”
“Almost twelve,” Mrs. Knox said. She slipped her arm through her husband’s.
“Wow,” Isabel said, unsure of what else to say. “That’s a long time.”
“It sure is. But it’s good to be back,” he said. “The place looks terrific. I love what they did to the pool.”
“Are you still members?” Isabel asked, before she realized that this might be a little rude.
“Oh yeah,” Mr. Knox said. “As long as you keep paying the dues, the Georgica lets you hang on as long as you want.”
“Honey, you’re going to be late for your tee time,” Mrs. Knox advised.
“Oh, right, right,” Mr. Knox said, but Isabel could hear in his voice that he didn’t really care. “Anyway, it’s great to see you, Isabel. Krista and Holly—our daughters—they’ll be out in a few weeks. You should meet them.”
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “And I’m sure my parents will be having you guys over soon.”
The Knoxes traded an uncomfortable glance, and Isabel sensed that she’d said the wrong thing.
“Sure,” Mr. Knox said uneasily. “Well, you take care, Isabel. Bye-bye.”
Mrs. Knox gave Isabel an artificial smile, and she and Mr. Knox walked across the patio toward the main house.
She wondered why they’d even come back. If she were able to escape this place for good, she’d never come back, ever. But some people just couldn’t stay away, she guessed. There was something about the iciness of the Georgica scene that was like an addiction—some people couldn’t get enough of feeling like they were somehow falling short.
She walked into the cabana and shut the door, breathing in the smell of coconut-scented sunblock and mildewed towels. She took out her iPhone and clicked it on. Rory hadn’t texted yet, but someone else had. Mike.
When can I see you?
One line, five words. All of her questions answered.
