Rules of Summer

Isabel opened her eyes. Bright light shone around the edges of her blackout shades. She buried her head under her comforter, listening to the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the birds chirping in the elm trees outside. It was a summer Saturday morning like any other, and all was right with the world, except for the necklace of thoughts that flew into her sleepy brain and made her catch her breath: last night, Mike, sex.

She rolled over onto her side and put her knees to her chest. Physically, she felt exactly the same. All her limbs were still accounted for. She didn’t have a fever or a sore throat. And yet, deep inside her, something felt altered. She pulled off the covers and sat up on one arm. Was this feeling bad or good? She didn’t know. Not yet. She’d need to go over all the details of the night, later, when she was more alert. For now, all she could remember was that Mike had been so sweet and gentle with her, making sure that she felt okay at every step. “Just tell me if you want to stop,” he’d said, more than once.

No, she’d shaken her head. She didn’t want to stop, and even though it was scary to keep going, it was a relief to not have to stop. Then there had been the part that hurt, and that was, frankly, a little unpleasant, but all in all, it had been okay. More than okay—it had been wonderful. When it was over, he held her and played with her hair and told her that she was beautiful. And she’d breathed in his smell and closed her eyes and listened to the ta-TUM ta-TUM of his heart and eventually fallen asleep. Then she’d woken with a start, hours later. She’d patted him on the arm until he woke. “I have to go,” she whispered. On the drive home they didn’t speak, only held hands. When he turned into her driveway, his high beams shed a ghostly white light over the iron gates.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he said.

“I know.”

She’d leaned into him, and they’d kissed. Then she’d reluctantly pulled herself from his arms and gotten out of the car. She typed in the security code and walked through the opening gate. Dawn was already breaking, and bright pink and purple sky showed behind the branches of the trees. It was too late to knock on Rory’s window. But to her massive relief, someone had left the back door open. She’d walked in, exchanged a nod with a very drowsy Trixie, crept up the stairs, and crawled into bed.

But now, as she lay under the covers, something about last night felt slightly off. She just couldn’t name what it was. After they got home from the Ripcurl Lounge, everything had been perfect. Mike had lit a bunch of stubby candles that he’d found in the kitchen, and then put on soft music. He didn’t break eye contact with her once the entire time. He’d been gentle and respectful. But there it was again, that gnawing feeling that something was missing. As she got out of bed and stepped into the shower, she realized what it was.

He didn’t say he loved me.

She squeezed some shampoo onto her palm and lathered her hair. Her mind raced, begging her to hitch a ride on the merry-go-round. Wasn’t that what he should have said? she thought. Isn’t that what someone else, like Aston March, would have said? Wasn’t that what a guy who loved you said when you were being that close to each other?

She shut off the water and grabbed the towel hanging outside the shower door. Stop, she thought. Don’t do this. You are not the girl who freaks out about guys. Ever.

But it was too late. She’d opened the door to the questions, and now she was going to have to contend with a whole swarm of them in her brain.

She walked into her closet and switched on the light. Clothes had always been a good enough distraction before. She pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a trapeze-style striped top. But still, there was the thought.

He didn’t say he loved me.

She ran back out to where she’d dropped her bag on the bedroom floor and crouched down, rooting around inside it for her phone. You’re being ridiculous, she thought. You’re Isabel Rule. Of course he loves you. So what if he didn’t say it?

She finally got the phone in her hands and clicked it awake. There was the text he’d sent while she was in the shower.

Woke up missing you. M.

It wasn’t the L bomb, but it was enough. She pressed the phone to her chest with a sigh. Everything was going to be okay. Of course it was.

Rory sat on the edge of her bed fully dressed, staring straight ahead, and tapping her foot madly over her ankle. Last night had been a mistake. She knew that now. She’d known it almost from the moment she’d opened her eyes and smelled the coffee being brewed in the kitchen and heard the whip of the sprinklers on the lawn. Even though it had been, without a doubt, the most romantic experience of her life. After they’d said good night outside her door, she’d lain in bed and stared straight up at the ceiling without blinking for at least an hour, too giddy and excited to even think about sleeping. But still, what she’d done was probably against every single rule about being a good employee. Not that she was actually a real employee here, in the technical sense of the word, but she was close enough. It had been a mistake and a momentary lapse of good judgment, and she would have to tell him that it could never, ever happen again. She wasn’t here to fall in love. She was Rory, the smart girl, the disciplined girl, the girl who wouldn’t jeopardize a summer job with a tawdry, dead-end fling.

Because the truth was, this couldn’t go anywhere anyway. He was Connor Rule—the golden-boy swimmer from St. Bernard’s and USC, destined for privilege and his own hedge fund and a gorgeous, skinny, blue-blooded wife. She was Rory McShane from Kittattiny High, destined for a long, arduous, uphill climb toward whatever it was she decided she wanted.

But, she thought, her foot going still, kissing him on the beach had been wonderful. His lips, his fingers… She could have stayed out there with him all night. When she’d finally pulled away from him and suggested they go inside before anyone came back to the house, it had felt like a monumental act of discipline.

“In a second,” he’d said, reaching for her again.

“No, now,” she said. She stood up on wobbly, half-asleep legs to help him shake the blanket. She wished she could give herself a shake, too. All they’d done was kiss, but sand was everywhere on her: in her hair, on the back of her neck, inside her shoes, and even in her sleeves. They walked back across the quiet beach, and at the bottom of the dunes, he pulled her to him again.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” he said. “Ever since that day at the pool.”

“When I killed your phone?”

“Yup,” he said.

They kissed again, clinging to each other in the cool wind, and then he grasped her hand to lead her up the pathway over the dunes.

They entered the house, which was still empty, and Rory couldn’t help but feel like she finally belonged here now. He followed her to her door.

“You are not coming in,” she said.

He smiled and kissed her again. “Okay,” he said, his hand lingering on her shoulder. “I’ll be right upstairs. Thinking about you.”

“G’night,” she said, wriggling away from him.

He stared at her with the same longing look. “Good night,” he said.

She went inside and shut the door. As she showered off the sand and got ready for bed, she went over everything that he’d said. To think that he’d wanted to kiss her that first day by the pool. It couldn’t be real. She slipped into her pajamas and got into bed, feeling more blissed-out and elated than she ever had in her life.

Now, ten hours later, in the cold bright light of morning, she knew that it had been a mistake. If she saw him, and he seemed like he didn’t want to pretend that it hadn’t happened, she would just tell him that it couldn’t happen again. It was always less painful to rip off a Band-Aid than slowly peel it.

In the hall, Trixie ran to greet her, her collar jingling. “Hi, sweetie,” she said, scratching her head. “How’s my little baby?”

She petted Trixie for a few minutes, conveniently stalling. But it was no use. Connor walked out of the kitchen, eating a blueberry muffin. One look at his face and she knew that ripping off this Band-Aid wasn’t going to be easy.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” she said quietly. “You?”

In one smooth movement, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the laundry room. Then he shut the door.

“Connor,” she whispered, but she was cut off by his kiss. He pressed her against the door, and almost instantly, she relaxed into his arms, kissing him back, deeply, passionately. Then she pushed him away.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered.

“Connor, we can’t do this,” she said. “Not here.”

“Rory,” he breathed.

“Connor,” she said, unable to stop smiling as she opened the door. Breathless, she slipped out into the hall just as Isabel stomped down the back stairs. Connor stepped into the hall behind Rory.

“Hey,” Isabel said. Her large blue eyes jumped from Rory to Connor and back to Rory. She didn’t seem to suspect a thing. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Rory said.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Isabel asked him.

“I’m off,” he said. “Day after Fourth of July.”

“Cool,” Isabel said distractedly. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked Rory. “In private?”

“Sure.”

Now it was Isabel’s turn to drag Rory by the wrist down the hall. Rory turned and glimpsed Connor watching her longingly as they walked into Rory’s room. Isabel closed the door.

“What is it?” Rory asked.

Isabel sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed one of Rory’s throw pillows. “I slept with him last night.”

“Slept with who?” Rory asked, suddenly confused.

“Mike. Who else?”

“Oh.” Rory blinked, back on track. She’d temporarily forgotten about other guys besides Connor. “That’s great.”

Isabel smoothed the pillow’s lace hem with her fingers. “Do you think it was the right thing?” she asked.

“Sure. I mean, why wouldn’t it be?”

Isabel traced a circle on the rug with her bare big toe. “I guess… yeah… I mean, right.”

“Do you think it was the right thing?” Rory asked.

Isabel nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Then, great.”

“It just feels… different now,” Isabel said. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, I know you have no idea.”

Rory let that last bit slide.

“It’s just… the mystery, the holding back, the not letting them know how you feel—that’s all kind of done now.” Isabel leaned against the dresser. “It’s like I don’t know how to play things anymore. You know what I mean?”

“But maybe that’s the whole point,” Rory said. “Maybe when you’re really in love with someone, you shouldn’t be playing things at all.”

Isabel chewed her bottom lip. She didn’t look convinced. “What’d you do last night?”

“Oh, not much.” Rory picked up her hairbrush from the dresser and began to brush her hair. She could never lie right to someone’s face. “I just stayed home. Read. Went to bed early.”

Isabel raised her eyebrows. “Sounds kind of sad. Want to come to the Georgica for lunch?”

Rory stopped brushing her hair. “Really?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah. I skipped out on the big fireworks party last night, and now I have to go and kiss a little butt. And I could definitely use some backup.” Isabel went to the door. “I’ll loan you a cute cover-up, if you want.”

“I don’t know if I can just take off like that.”

“I’ll clear it with Bianca,” Isabel said. “She doesn’t own you, for God’s sakes. And thanks.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For listening.”

She left the room, shaking out her blond hair, and Rory felt a wave of guilt. After what Isabel had just told her, it felt only right to tell her about Connor. But she couldn’t. There were too many signs not to. During all the times that Isabel had racked her brain trying to think of a guy for Rory, Connor’s name had never come up, not once. That had to mean something, and what it probably meant was STAY AWAY FROM MY BROTHER in big, blinking neon letters.

She needed someone to talk to about this. Someone who wouldn’t beat around the bush, or spare Rory’s feelings. Someone who would tell her, in no uncertain terms, what to do about this experience.

Steve.

She ran to the window. His black Jetta was parked next to the Prius. She went to the back door and pushed it open.

Steve walked the tennis court, picking up scattered tennis balls through the wire slats of a hopper. He looked lonely out there, and a little bit sad. Rory wondered if he liked this job.

“Hey, Steve!” she called. “Need some help?”

“Hey!” Steve waved her to come closer. “Nah, I got this. How was your Fourth?”

As she neared him she could smell the brand-new balls in their hopper. Fee had mentioned that the Rules got new tennis balls every week. “It was pretty good, actually. I stayed here.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, still picking up balls with the hopper. His reflective sunglasses made it hard to know if he was onto her.

“Yeah. I watched the fireworks from the beach right here.” She put her hands on her hips, steeling herself for Steve’s disapproval. “And I made out with Connor Rule.”

Steve put down the hopper. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not. Unfortunately.”

“Rory,” he sighed, and took off his sunglasses. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.” A faint smile curled around his lips.

“Is it really that bad?” she asked. “I like him. And I think he likes me. But if there’s something you know about him that I don’t—”

“Come here.” Steve walked over to a nearby table and grabbed a small bottle of Evian from an ice bucket. He twisted off the cap and drank most of it in one long swallow. When he was finished he gestured for her to sit down in one of the patio chairs. “I don’t know anything bad about the guy,” he began, sitting down. “As far as I know, he’s a perfectly good person. It’s just that you’re—”

“The help, I know,” Rory said.

“Not just that,” Steve said. “These people live on a different planet than you and me. They may seem perfectly nice, but they can be ruthless about things. And I’ve learned that the hard way.”

“Why are you sounding so mysterious?” she asked. “I thought you liked the Rules. You told me how down to earth they were. How cool and nice they were.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Last summer, I had this student,” he said. “A woman. She was married to a much older guy, a guy who had a lot of money but not much else. There wasn’t love there. That was clear. Now, I’d always been professional about my job, never got involved with someone I was teaching. And there’d been times that it could have happened. But I never acted on anything, ever. But there was something about this woman. She was just… amazing,” he said, his eyes looking past Rory’s shoulder. “We had such a good time. She was incredibly unhappy. Her husband was never around. He ignored her. I knew he was seeing other people on the side.” He took another swig of his water.

“So you fell in love with her.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I did. Just fell absolutely in love with her. We were like kids. We were walking on air. I knew it was only a matter of time until we got caught, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was addicted.” His face darkened with the memory. “And then, the husband saw us kissing one afternoon. We didn’t even notice. He confronted me later in private. And instead of firing me, which I was prepared for, he was thrilled.”

“Thrilled?” Rory asked.

“He felt so guilty about all his affairs, he wasn’t even jealous at all. In fact, he offered to up my fee. To keep his wife happy and take care of his conscience.”

“Ugh,” she said. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Needless to say, I didn’t take him up on his offer. I wanted nothing to do with him ever again. And that made teaching her impossible. See, he’d known exactly what he was doing, offering me that money. He knew that it would end the relationship either way. If I took it, I would just be another pretty-boy tennis player sleeping with someone’s wife like a kept man. And if I didn’t take it, but kept seeing her with him knowing about it, then I’d be keeping a secret from her. Which I couldn’t do. So I ended it. With some bullshit reason. I told her that I was in love with someone else. I could barely keep a straight face, but that’s what I told her. I had no choice. So I broke her heart. And my own.”

Rory watched Steve linger a moment longer in the memory and then shake himself free of it. “That’s terrible,” she said, “but what exactly does that have to do with me and Connor?”

“These people can play hardball, Rory,” he said patiently. “Lucy and Larry—they’re nice, outwardly nice—but if you cross them, they can find a way to get rid of you.”

Just hearing him say those words made her shiver. “And what makes you think that I’d be crossing them?” she asked.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I think any guy would be lucky to have you. But it’s not my opinion that matters here. It’s Mrs. Rule’s. And I think she’s got a pretty good idea of what type of person her son is supposed to be with. And when these people don’t get what they want…” His voice trailed off.

“So you’re saying to end it,” Rory said.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Steve said. “Look, I come in, I help them with their doubles game, they pay me well, and I go on my way. That’s how I’ve lasted seven summers out here. I don’t get involved with them. Or I try not to.”

In the distance, Rory could see Mrs. Rule heading across the grass toward the tennis court. Her blond ponytail bobbed up and down as if she were a carefree young girl, not the matriarch of an intimidating family.

“But nothing’s even really happened yet,” she said.

“I know. That’s why you need to stop it now.”

“Okay,” she said. Mrs. Rule was getting closer. “Thanks, Steve.”

She went to the bathroom in the pavilion both to catch her breath and to avoid running into Mrs. Rule. She stood in the darkened bathroom, smelling the cedar-scented candle that was replaced every two weeks. He was right. She would have to end this as soon as possible. But then she remembered the way Connor had kissed her last night, how soft his lips were, how his hand had caressed her cheek over and over, how he’d told her just a few minutes ago that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

Maybe she didn’t have to make her mind up right away, she thought. Maybe she could wait a little bit longer.