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 now 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.
Most of the items on Bianca’s list were things she’d never heard of. At the cheese section, she had to elbow her way past a line of pushing and shoving people, and even then she wasn’t sure if she’d snagged the right brand of Asiago Classico. At the pasta counter, she ordered two pounds of fresh richetti, which turned out to be a fancier version of penne. In the condiment aisle, she grabbed jars of harissa red pepper paste and sun-dried miso, whatever they were. She reached for a bag of granola and gasped at the price. It was eleven dollars. Eleven dollars! Rory debated putting it back on the shelf, just on principle. But she threw it in the cart.
When she was finished, she walked over to the café area and ordered herself a hot chocolate and a croissant. She’d barely had any of that smoothie Fee had made for her.
“That’ll be six seventy-five,” said the man behind the counter.
“What?” she asked.
“Six seventy-five,” the man repeated.
“For hot chocolate and a croissant?”
The guy didn’t blink.
Rory took out her wallet and handed him the money. Maybe her mom had been right about the Rules needing to pay her, she thought.
She ate her breakfast while in line to check out. After putting the three-hundred-dollar bill on Lucy Rule’s account, she loaded the two bags into the trunk and pulled out of the parking lot. At the light, she typed TWO TREES, WATER MILL into the GPS.
“Distance, nine miles,” said the automated voice.
Rory checked the map on the screen. Water Mill was directly west of East Hampton on Montauk Highway, and then a mile or so north. She had at least fifteen minutes until she was supposed to be there. Nine miles, fifteen minutes—plenty of time, she thought.
Twelve minutes later, she’d barely driven two miles. Fee had been right. The traffic on Montauk Highway was almost at a standstill. She fiddled with the GPS, hoping there was another way to Water Mill besides this two-lane highway. There wasn’t. She gripped the wheel, picturing Isabel waiting for her at the stables, her scowl growing darker and darker. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant trip home.
At a quarter to twelve she turned off the highway onto Hayground Road and sped past open fields until she reached Two Trees Stables. Isabel stood at the end of the long gravel drive, texting on her phone. In her jodhpurs and button-down white shirt, and with an ebony riding hat dangling from a strap around her wrist, she looked even more intimidating than she had yesterday. Don’t worry, Rory told herself. You don’t need to be best friends. You don’t even need to be friends. You just need to make it through twenty minutes in a car together.
Rory lowered the window as she approached. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” she said, stopping in front of her. “There was so much traffic.”
Isabel marched around to the driver-side door, opened it, and looked at Rory impatiently.
“What?” Rory asked.
“I’m driving,” Isabel announced.
“Um, actually, I think it’s better that I—”
Isabel lowered her chin and glared at Rory. “I’m driving,” she repeated.
Slowly, Rory unclicked her belt and got out of the car. Isabel slid behind the wheel and slammed the door. So much for following Bianca’s orders, Rory thought.
She’d barely closed the shotgun door when Isabel stepped on the gas and made a rough U-turn. As they careened down the drive, she picked up her phone from her lap and began to text with one hand.
“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Rory asked, holding on to the dashboard.
“Doing what?” Isabel asked as the car drifted toward the center line.
“Texting. You could get a ticket. And it’s kind of dangerous.”
Isabel gave her a look, then dropped the phone in her lap and turned hard onto Hayground Road.
“So, where do you go to school?” Rory asked, feeling slightly sick to her stomach from all of the hard turns.
“Santa Barbara,” Isabel finally said. “It’s in California.”
“I’ve never been to California. Never been on a plane, actually.”
“Huh,” Isabel said. “Fascinating.”
“Do you have your own horse?” Rory asked, deciding to change the subject.
“Uh-huh,” Isabel said.
“I’ve only been on a horse a couple of times, just for trail rides. I’ve never really ridden a horse. They actually kind of freak me out—”
“Sorry, can I just concentrate on the road?” Isabel interrupted. She made a left onto the highway, oblivious to the car coming directly at them.
“Sure,” Rory said, swallowing.
When the traffic slowed to a crawl, Isabel picked up her phone and began to text again. Rory stared out the window. They were heading toward Bridgehampton now. A few minutes later, they passed a sign that read HISTORIC BRIDGEHAMPTON SETTLED 1656. But with horrendous traffic from 2012, Rory thought. “There are so many vegetable stands out here,” she murmured, as they passed tent after tent with signs that read SWEET SUMMER CORN and FRESH TOMATOES. “People here really love food.” And yet everyone is thin, Rory thought. It didn’t make any sense.
Suddenly Isabel veered off the congested highway and onto the shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Rory asked.
“Everyone does this here,” she said calmly.
“But you’re on the shoulder! This is illegal.”
“You really need to chill,” Isabel said. Rory gripped the door handle just as the nose of a car suddenly poked out from a hidden driveway.
“Slow down!” Rory yelled.
Isabel slammed on the brake. The Prius lurched to a stop just in time. When Rory opened her eyes, she saw that they’d stopped a few feet from the other car. The elderly woman behind the wheel stared at them, too terrified to be angry.
“Well, that was close,” Isabel noted.
“Are you crazy?” Rory cried. “You could have hit her!”
Isabel backed up to let the woman edge onto the highway. As soon as she was gone, Isabel continued down the shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Rory yelled.
“Will you please relax?” Isabel yelled back. A moment later they’d turned off the shoulder and were driving down a quiet, paved street. “See?” Isabel said. “Jesus.”
Rory fidgeted in the front seat. Her knuckles ached from squeezing the door handle. Rich people, she thought. They never thought the rules applied to them. And when they broke the rules, everything seemed to work out for them anyway.
A few minutes later, they were back on Lily Pond Lane. Isabel turned into the break in the hedges and stopped at the gate. She opened up the glove compartment and took out a small remote. “So are you catatonic or something?” she said.
Rory watched the gates silently open. “I’m fine,” she muttered, as they began to drive beside the lawn. Sprinklers whipped streams of water over the grass.
“I’m sorry, okay?”
“Fine.”
Rory glanced at Isabel’s hand on the steering wheel. Her gold charm bracelet shone in the sun. Among other trinkets, a gold I hung off the chain. “I like your bracelet,” she said, trying not to sound too nice.
“Thanks.” Isabel looked over at Rory’s own bracelet, which was made from purple rope. Rory waited for Isabel to say that she liked her bracelet, too, simply out of politeness, but she didn’t say anything. Figures, Rory thought, turning to look out the window. This girl was awful.
As Isabel drove past the house toward the garages, Rory noticed a weathered, dark red Nissan Xterra parked in the circular drive. A bumper sticker read AIR AND SPEED SURF SHOP, MONTAUK, NY.
“Home in one piece,” Isabel said sarcastically as she parked behind the Xterra.
Rory didn’t respond. She got out and went straight to the trunk. Thankfully, the dozen organic brown eggs she’d just bought were still intact.
The back door of the house opened with a creak. “Isabel?” Fee asked, coming to stand on the threshold. “There’s a boy here to see you.”
A guy slipped out of the door behind Fee and walked onto the flagstone steps. It was hard not to stare. He was quite possibly the sexiest guy Rory had ever seen. Thick black hair fell over his eyes, which were large and liquid and a deep chocolate brown. Stubble covered his jaw and dimpled chin, but his lips were full and almost feminine. His white Hanes T-shirt and inky-dark jeans showed off a body that was lean and muscular in all the right places. This guy is trouble, Rory thought. My mom would so be into him.
Isabel stood at the car, her hand still resting lightly on the door handle. This had to be a dream, she thought as she watched him come toward her. He looked even better in clothes than he had in his wet suit. She looked at his tanned, ropy arms and remembered the way they’d made her feel when they were wrapped around her on the beach. Safe and excited and electrified. Her mind went blank.
“Hey,” he said. “I came by to check on you.”
“Hi,” she said. The word come out as a whisper. She needed a glass of water. “How’d you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard,” he said with a knowing smile.
She was aware of Rory carrying grocery bags into the house and Fee following her inside. She was alone with him now. And he was still smiling at her.
“So, you know my name,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Oh,” he said with a grin. “Mike. Mike Castelloni.”
“Mike,” she said, nodding. “So now we’re even.” She grinned back.
“You ride horses?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“And you surf.”
“Which do you do better?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me.”
He smiled wider. “You have a wet suit in there?” he asked, tilting his head toward the house.
She shrugged. “Of course.”
He glanced at the thick black watch on his wrist. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
She paused to make sure he was serious. “Wait here. I’ll be right out.” She headed to the house, trying hard not to break into a run when she walked through the front door.
She raced across the foyer to the stairs. Everyone was probably at the club, which was perfect—she didn’t want to have to ask anyone’s permission to leave. She flew up the front staircase to her room, grasping the iron banister as she took the steps two at a time. So he did like her. In her room, she changed out of her riding clothes and into her favorite tangerine-colored bikini, matching tunic, and silver leather sandals. She grabbed her beach bag, then went down the back stairs to the mudroom. The mudroom was such a stupid name—as far as she knew, nobody had ever tracked mud into this room, only sand—but her parents insisted on calling it that. She threw open the closet doors and grabbed her suit and Connor’s shortboard. She knew Connor wouldn’t mind.
As she darted back into the hall, Rory came out of the kitchen. “Hey. Can you tell everyone that I took off for the beach with a friend?”
Rory shook some dark curly hair out of her face. “What’s his name?”
“Mike. We’re friends. We’re going to Montauk.”
“When will you be back?”
“Why do you need to know when I’ll be back?” Isabel asked, slightly annoyed.
“What if they ask me?”
“Nobody will ask you,” said Isabel. “Only mention it if it comes up. Okay? Thanks.” Isabel grabbed the board. “See ya.”
She didn’t wait for Rory to reply. She turned and ran toward the front door, the soles of her sandals slapping on the marble floor. Behind her, she could feel the girl’s eyes on her back, watching her go. Thinking that she was quite possibly making a total fool of herself.
But she didn’t care. She’d worry about that later.
