With every bump the Prius took on the dark, pothole-ridden road toward Mike’s house, Isabel felt her nerves fray even more.
“So what did the text say?” Rory asked.
“ ‘Hey, sorry I’ve been MIA,’ ” she read from her phone. “ ‘Things have been hectic. I’ll call you tomorrow. Mike.’ ”
Rory slowed down around a curve. “That doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s going to break up with you.”
Isabel looked at her. “So that’s supposed to be good, then?”
“Yeah, I see your point,” Rory said, going over another deep pothole.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe something bad happened with his family. Whom I still haven’t met, by the way.” She snorted. “Whom I’m sure I’ll never meet. Here it is. It’s right after that mailbox.”
Rory turned into a driveway and parked behind Mike’s Xterra. “This is his house?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Isabel said, gazing out at the ramshackle building. “Looks like he’s home.” Light shone behind the ripped screens on the windows. Suddenly, she didn’t want to go inside.
“If he’s there, do you want me to wait for you?”
“No, that’s okay,” Isabel said. “If he is gonna break up with me, the least he can do is drive me home.” She took a deep breath. The crazy strand of Christmas lights still ran along the porch, and the Adirondack chairs still stood watch next to the door, but they didn’t look welcoming anymore. She forced herself to get out.
“Good luck,” Rory said.
Good luck, Isabel thought. Had anyone ever said that to her about a guy before? “Wait until someone answers the door.”
“Of course,” Rory replied.
She closed the car door. Slowly, she walked up the bare, packed dirt of the yard. She climbed the sagging steps to the front door, then rang the bell.
“Who is it?” Mike yelled through the door.
“Me,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
The screen door opened, and Mike stood in the doorway. He wore only a pair of Levi’s, which hung loose around his narrow hips. His hair was wet. He’d never looked handsomer.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
She turned and waved to Rory that she could leave, even though she wanted nothing more than for her to stay in the driveway. Isabel watched the twin headlights of the Prius reverse and disappear into the night.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” she said. “Can I come in?”
He stepped aside so that she could enter. Inside, she could hear Pete and Esteban in the living room watching TV. “Let’s go to my room,” he said, going to the hall.
Her heart thudded. Normally, he would have pulled her into the house with both hands and made out with her right in the foyer, then dragged her down the hall to the bedroom. But now he opened his bedroom door and gestured for her to walk ahead of him as if they were strangers, and when she went to sit against the pillows on his bed he sat on the arm of his sofa, across the room.
“So what’s been going on with you?” she asked, trying to be as calm as possible. “You kind of disappeared.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he said, looking down at the ground. “Things have been really busy.” He picked up a T-shirt lying in a ball on the floor and pulled it on.
“Yeah. I hear that,” she said. Maybe if she acted like this was all totally normal, things would get back to normal. “Stuff has been really weird for me at home. Remember that guy that my mom’s been hanging out with? Well, things have gotten even weirder—”
He sat on the sofa hunched over like an old man, staring at the dusty floor. She realized that he wasn’t listening.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look terrible.”
“I just don’t think we should see each other anymore,” he said quietly.
She’d been expecting it, but the words still exploded like a bomb inside her chest.
“I just can’t handle anything serious right now,” he went on. “I should have told you that. I let this go on way too long.” He looked up at her, and she could see that his eyes were dead. “I’m sorry.”
She tried to process his words. Her skin hurt, like she’d been sprayed with broken glass. “I don’t think I’ve put any pressure on you to do anything—and the party, I didn’t even care about that—”
“It’s none of that,” he said. “It’s me. It isn’t you.”
“But you said that you loved me.”
“Yeah,” he said, knitting his brows as he mulled that over. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She looked down at a cluster of dust bunnies on the floor. She’d played this nightmare scenario in her head a hundred times, but now that it was actually happening, she had no idea what to do or say. “Is this about your ex-girlfriend? The model?”
“No. It’s just me. It’s my problem.”
“Then how can you go from being totally into something to being totally not into something?”
“Isabel, don’t make this worse than it is,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Unless you were never into it,” she said. “Unless you were just making all that up.”
He sighed, and his shoulders sank. His silence was enough of an answer.
“Just take me home. Right now.” She stood up and walked on rubbery legs to the door. “Please? Let’s just go. Now.”
“Isabel, I’m sorry,” he said. He placed a hand on her shoulder. She waited until it fell away, useless. Then she heard him put on his flip-flops and grab his car keys. The tears were itching to come out, but there was no way that this boy was going to see her cry. Ever.
Rory drove through the slowly moving gates and back down the Rules’ gravel drive. She’d taken her time driving to Rite Aid and browsing the aisles, just in case she got an emergency text from Isabel. But almost an hour had passed since she’d dropped Isabel off, and so far she hadn’t heard a word. She hoped Isabel was okay. Something told her that Isabel’s instincts were right, and that Mike was about to end things. Though maybe the two of them were having wild makeup sex right now, the kind that she would never actually relate to or experience.
She parked the car and grabbed the plastic bag with the drugstore items. On her way out of the car, she noticed that Connor’s Audi was gone. Whatever, she thought. Nothing he did or didn’t do mattered to her anymore.
She walked into the empty kitchen and deposited the bag of Ricolas on the counter. Her stomach ached with hunger, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the refrigerator. She’d practically thrown herself at Connor, and it had been all for nothing. Tears came, and she blinked them away. Some fresh air would make her feel better. She went back to her room and grabbed a sweater.
She let herself out through the sliding glass door onto the patio. The moon was just a thin glowing crescent in the sky, and the Little Dipper glittered brightly. The night was clear and warm, almost too warm for a sweater. She tied it around her waist just in case and headed toward the path through the dunes.
Down on the beach, she slipped off her flats, left them near the path, and started to walk through ankle-high sand. It was low tide, and the exposed wet sand looked silver in the moonlight. As she walked, she thought about the waves and the sand and the wind. Nature didn’t care about money or breakups or love. The water and the waves and the tides were so much bigger than anything that went on in one of these beachside mansions. And this wasn’t her life anyway. She was going to leave here in a month, and this would all be just a faint memory. Her small-town life and small-town expectations were a blessing. She could see that now.
And of course, she didn’t have to wait a month. She could leave now. She looked up at the sky, crowded with stars, and knew that this was what she wanted to do. Going home a few weeks early wouldn’t kill her. It would probably be for the best, anyway. Sticking around here after pouring out her heart to Connor seemed unbearable. And this family didn’t need her. Isabel needed her, but she would understand one day, when Rory told her everything.
She edged closer and closer to the water until it kissed her toes. At least she’d told him how she felt, she thought. She could go home knowing that. And then she heard a voice, muffled by the wind, call out her name.
She wasn’t sure whether she’d imagined it or not. Then she heard it again.
She turned. In the dim light she could make out the figure of someone on the sand. Alone.
“Connor?”
“Hey. I thought you might be out here.” He stepped closer to her, and she could see the features of his face.
“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to ignore the thrill that went through her.
“I just wanted to tell you something,” he said. “I put Julia on the jitney. She’s on her way back to the city.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Just now.”
She waited for him to go on. “Why right now?”
“After you left, we had a fight. We both decided that it was better she leave. Well, let’s just say that I decided a little bit quicker than she did.”
“But why?”
“It was pathetic how that started up again, actually,” Connor said. “And being with her again, it was pretty obvious we’d grown apart. For good. And of course, you had a lot to do with that, too.”
A gust of wind blew, but she barely felt it. “I did?”
“I didn’t believe you that day in the cabana. But I forced myself to. By the time I went to New York, I’d convinced myself I didn’t have a chance with you anymore,” he said.
Rory swallowed.
“When I ran into Julia, I was feeling lonely and weak… real weak. But when I came back here, I knew that I’d made a mistake.” He smiled. “But then I couldn’t get rid of her. She’s pretty fond of the luxe lifestyle. If you couldn’t tell.”
Rory smiled. “So… what kicked off the fight just now?”
“She said I wasn’t being supportive about her going to USC. And when I told her that I didn’t think it was a good idea, all my doubts about her kind of came out. I was finally honest with her. It wasn’t pretty. And we both decided it was better she leave.”
She took two more steps to him, until she was close enough to touch him. “Are you okay?” she asked.
He pulled her close to him. His arms wrapped around her waist, and before she knew it, she’d put her arms around his neck.
“I’m more than okay,” he said. “We can tell everyone, we can keep it to ourselves, whatever you want. But you have to promise me something.”
“What?
“That you have to trust me. Because I just want to be with you.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you want to be with me? I know I shouldn’t have to ask, but I think I need to hear it.”
“Because you’re strong, Rory. Do you know how amazing that is? Do you know how much it makes me want to be with you?”
“Not really,” she said, “but I’m getting a good idea.”
“You’re so strong. You’re your own person. You’re—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Rory said.
He laughed. “Can I kiss you now?”
“Yes,” she said. “You can kiss me.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, and she felt herself melt into his arms. Icy seawater rushed over her feet, but she didn’t feel a thing.
Mike brought the car to a stop in front of the iron gates. Isabel kept her gaze fixed on the windshield. They had barely spoken since they’d left his room. The lump that had been growing in the back of her throat was so painful now that she doubted she could say anything to him. But to get out of the car meant that things between them were finally, absolutely over. And it still didn’t feel over.
“So this it?” she made herself say. “We’re saying good-bye now?”
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he said.
“What did I do?” she asked, feeling the tears slide into her eyes. “Just tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything,” he said coldly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It has nothing to do with you.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. “Well, I guess that’s it, then,” she said. “Good-bye.”
“Isabel—”
“What?”
He sighed and leaned his head back against the car seat. “Just… I don’t want you to hate me.”
“Too late,” she said. She got out of the car and slammed the door.
He drove off before she’d even snuck through the hedge. As soon as she’d crawled through and was safely on her property, she began to run. She sprinted up the lawn, faster and faster, the knot at the back of her throat starting to burn. She needed to find Rory. Rory would help her get through this.
The back door was open. She slipped inside the house. Trixie raised her head from her bed to investigate and then went promptly back to sleep. Isabel went to Rory’s closed door and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again and then pushed the door open. Rory’s room was empty. Her bed was made. Her purse was slung over the chair. But Rory wasn’t here.
Isabel searched the rest of the house downstairs—the kitchen, the library, even the screening room. She started to get sleepy and thought of going back up to her room. But she couldn’t risk missing Rory before she went to bed. She had to talk to her.
She went back to Rory’s room and pulled back the duvet on her bed. She would wait here for her, she thought as she curled up in her bed. The knot in her throat continued to burn, but she wouldn’t cry. Not yet.
Rory, she was sure, would know what to do.
