Rules of Summer

When Isabel walked into her kitchen, thirsty from the bike ride home from the Georgica, she looked at the woman chopping tomatoes and basil at the center island and asked, “So I guess you’re the new chef?”

The woman was tall with blunt-cut red hair to her shoulders, and she walked to Isabel with a slightly quivering, outstretched hand. “I’m Marisa. I just got here.”

“Isabel,” she replied, shaking the woman’s hand. “Welcome.”

“Thanks,” Marisa said. She glanced at the kitchen cabinets with faint trepidation. “Do you happen to know where I can find the salt?”

“Oh, right in here,” Isabel said, opening one of the cabinets. “And we’ve got all kinds of salt: pink, black, gray, sea… Take your pick.”

“Wonderful,” Marisa said, clearly grateful for the help.

“Anything else you need, just ask,” she said. “And just a word of advice—don’t let Bianca rattle you. She just needs to be the boss. Deal with it, and you’ll be okay.”

A smiled curled around Marisa’s lips. “Okay, good to know.”

Isabel grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and walked down the hall to Rory’s closed door. She took a sip of water and prepared herself. She had no idea what she was going to say, only that she needed to say something.

Gently, she knocked and then opened the door. She looked at the empty, neat room. It was almost six o’clock.

“I think she went out.”

Isabel turned around. Lucy Rule walked toward the room in her white silk bathrobe, her blond hair freshly blown out by Frederika and gleaming on her shoulders. “Where have you been?”

“I passed my driver’s test,” she said.

“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful,” her mom said, touching her arm. “Congratulations. I’ll have to tell Melissa to make something special tomorrow night.”

“It’s Marisa,” Isabel said. “So Erica is gone?”

“Your father couldn’t stand the food,” her mother said, breezing into Rory’s room. “Look at the way she makes this bed,” she muttered, straightening one of the pillows.

“We really shouldn’t be in here,” Isabel said.

“Why not?” Mrs. Rule asked, walking into the bathroom. “It is my house.”

“Because it’s Rory’s room.”

Mrs. Rule walked out with a stack of towels and a small hair dryer. “It’s my room.”

“What are you doing?” Isabel asked.

“I’m just taking these to be washed,” she said. “She won’t need them anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s leaving,” Mrs. Rule said flatly. “Tomorrow morning. We just had a talk about it, and we both agreed that it was time.”

“What?” Isabel followed her mother out into the hall. “You both agreed?”

“Well, she’s been here almost two months. How much longer do you want her here?”

“But… but she’s supposed to be with us all summer,” Isabel said.

“I thought you were furious with her. Keeping her feelings for Connor from you like that? When you were supposedly such good friends?” Her mom went into the laundry room. “I knew that girl was trouble at the Georgica that day. And now I really know it.”

“So she just decided to leave?” Isabel asked, blocking the door.

“Well, when I mentioned the money, I think she warmed up to it.”

“The money?” Isabel asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I offered to pay her. For the summer. Just as some compensation. I thought you’d be happy to hear that.”

“But it was money to leave,” Isabel said. “And Connor’s not even here. How could you do that?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. She’s had a wonderful time. And she got what she wanted here. Believe me.” She slipped past Isabel and walked into the hall. “We’re having some people over for dinner tonight, so would you please put on something nice?”

Isabel charged after her. “I can’t believe you would stoop to that. That is so disgusting.”

“I’m disgusting?”

“Yes. You put on this act like you’re so democratic and you’re so giving, when really you can’t stand being around people who aren’t good enough for you. And you can’t stand that someone in this family might be happy. For a second.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My whole life, you and Dad have been miserable. Do you know how hard that is to watch? All the time? Seeing you guys put on these fake smiles for your friends and then the minute you’re alone be at each other’s throats? Do you think that’s fun for us to watch?”

Her mother’s jaw tensed. “What about you? Do you think it’s easy for us to have you as a daughter?”

“When you say us, who do you mean?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who’s my father—really? Dad or Mr. Knox?”

Her mom looked astonished.

“I saw Holly,” she said. “She looks just like me. Same hair, same eyes, same walk. And I spoke to Mr. Knox. He told me that he’s my dad. He told me, Mom.”

Mrs. Rule smoothed a curl out of her face. “Isabel—”

“Just admit it.”

Her mother looked down and slowly nodded.

“How could you keep that from me, my whole life?” she exploded. “How could you do something so psycho?”

“What was I supposed to do?” her mom asked. “Tell you that your real father lives three thousand miles away and hasn’t seen you since you were born? A man I haven’t seen in fifteen years? Was that what I was supposed to do?”

“Yes! You should have told me!”

Isabel ran to the back stairs and took them two at a time. She got to her room and slammed the door, but her mom rushed in, right on her heels.

“Okay, hear me out, all right?” her mom yelled. “You don’t know anything of what happened.”

“How could I?” Isabel yelled.

“I was very, very young when I got married,” her mom said, “and soon after Gregory was born, I knew that your father and I were a mistake. But there I was, a young mother, living on Park Avenue, married to a handsome man who wasn’t just living off of my money, like the rest of my friends’ husbands were. So I stayed. And then I met Peter. The four of us went on trips, we went to Le Cirque, we had parties. But there was always something there between Peter and me. He understood me in a way that your father never had. And then one night—”

Isabel held up her hand. “Please. Don’t even say it.”

“I loved him so much. There was nothing I could do about it. And when I found out I was pregnant with you, I almost ran away with him.”

Isabel wanted to fling herself on her bed and bury her head in the pillows. But she stood her ground. “Go on,” she said stoically.

“But I couldn’t do it,” her mom said. “I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. The kids were just too young. And your father would have taken everything. We had no prenup, nothing.”

“What about Dad?” she asked dully, not looking at her mother. “Did he know?”

“Not at first. It took a little while. But then, eventually, he asked me. He could tell that you didn’t look anything like him.”

“No wonder,” Isabel said, thinking about her dad.

“By then, Peter and Michelle had moved to Los Angeles. He’d had to move, to save his marriage. His wife caught on, eventually. He knew about you, though. I made sure to tell him before he left.”

“So this is why Dad has no idea how to talk to me,” Isabel said.

“I think you’ve had a good father, Isabel. I do.” Her mother came to stand beside the bed. “He loves you.”

“No, he doesn’t. He treats me like I’m a freak.”

“It’s me he doesn’t love,” her mother said. “And I suppose I can’t exactly blame him for that.” Isabel felt her mom cautiously begin to stroke her hair.

“I just wish you’d told me,” Isabel said. “It just feels really selfish of you both not to tell me this.”

“I know,” her mom said. “I’m sorry. I really did want to tell you.”

Isabel sat up and wiped away the tears that had begun to stream down her face. “Then I want you to do something for me. I want you to stop being so hard on Rory and Connor.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” her mom asked.

“Rory makes him happy. I think she’s the first girl who ever really has. So don’t kick her out. At least don’t kick her out just because you don’t like her.”

Her mom tightened the sash of her robe. “Do you know that Bianca caught her with a boy in her room the first week she was here?”

“That was a boy I was trying to sneak in. Rory had nothing to do with it.”

Her mom blinked.

“That was my boyfriend. Or, my ex-boyfriend. I snuck him in and didn’t know it was Rory’s room. Rory had no idea what that was all about. And then she covered for me. She took the blame. When it wasn’t even her fault. What person does that if they’re not kind of awesome?”

Mrs. Rule thought about this. “Well, maybe I have been a little hasty.”

“And Mom, even if she did sneak a boy into her room, what does that make her? A slut? Please. I’ve done so much worse. And so have you.”

“Isabel,” her mom said, pointing a finger. “I’d like everything I told you to stay between us for the time being. The others will find out later, when they have to. When I’ve decided what to do. Can I count on you to keep your mouth shut?”

“On one condition,” Isabel said. “That Rory can come back.”

“Fine,” her mom said after a moment. “She can come back. She can stay. And what’s going on with that boy?”

“Nothing,” Isabel said. “It’s over. Way over.”

Her mom put her hand to her chest. “Oh, thank god,” she said. “Sorry. I just… Well, you can’t blame me for being a little concerned. I mean, a surfer, from the North Fork, who lives in Montauk…”

Isabel sighed. “I’m going to be just fine. No matter what. You know that, right?”

Her mother nodded. “I know.”

“I never want you to keep anything like that from me again. Okay? Life is hard enough.”

“Okay,” her mom said. She reached out to hug Isabel, who submitted to it quietly, passively, hardly moving.

Felipe had been right that evening at the beginning of the summer, she thought. This house held more secrets than she’d ever guessed. All this time, she’d felt like she was the thing that didn’t belong here. She’d felt that she was the freak, the screwup, the smear on the family name. But the seeds had already been planted for trouble before she’d even been born. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Her parents had.

Isabel broke away from her mom’s hug and got up from the bed. “I’m gonna go find Rory. And for the rest of the summer, she doesn’t work for us anymore. She’s a guest, just like anyone else. Agreed?”

Her mom slowly nodded. “I’ll have Fee put the guest towels back in her room.”

Isabel sighed as she walked to the door. Her mom had just confessed her deepest, darkest secret, but she’d always prefer to stay on the surface of things.