Surfside Sisters(23)
At the end of August, storyshot accepted one of her stories.
* * *
—
That October, Isabelle and Keely managed to steal an hour from classes to meet for coffee. Isabelle seemed more mature to Keely, which only made sense. They were juniors. Twenty-one years old. They had island friends who had two children by now.
As soon as they found a table in the corner, they sat, each of them with a coffee, and one plate between them with a gigantic cinnamon roll to split.
“How are you?” Keely asked.
“I’m mad at you.”
“What have I done now?” Keely demanded.
“You had a story published in storyshot and you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t think you’d care. You’ve been traveling everywhere.”
“I do care! Of course I care. And P.S., I’m jealous!” Isabelle pouted.
Keely grinned. She knew Isabelle was only half-kidding. “You could have been writing last summer, too.”
Isabelle sank her chin in her hand. “I know. I’ve got to stop taking these summer trips with my parents. It’s not fun anymore.”
“Poor you.”
Isabelle shook it off. “We’re juniors now!” Isabelle changed the subject. “So did Tommy cheat on me this summer?”
“How would I know? I scarcely saw him.”
“But you would have heard rumors.”
Keely put a hand on her textbook and her right hand in the air, shoulder height. “I swear I heard nothing about Tommy being unfaithful.” She laughed. “Izzy, you know I would have killed him for you if I’d heard something like that.”
Isabelle got a faraway look in her eye. “We’re getting so old. I’ve been thinking I should break up with Tommy so he can date other women. That way when we graduate and move back to the island, he won’t be bored with me and he’ll want to marry me.”
“Whoa. Twisted logic! Why would you even consider something like that?”
“Because I know Tommy. He likes to play around. He likes seducing women.” Isabelle gave a frank, exasperated look at Keely. “I’m not stupid, Keely. I know what Tommy’s like.”
“And you want to marry him anyway?”
“Of course I do.”
“You believe he’ll be faithful when you’re married?”
“Actually, yes. I think he’ll have used up all his bad boy juju.”
Keely sighed and leaned back in her chair. “What about you? What about your writing? Do you still even want to be a writer?”
“Of course I do! But I know it can’t happen instantaneously. I know I’ve got work to do. I’m not looking for a limo and fame. Weren’t we silly when we were little girls? We knew nothing. But I do want to write. I’m making notes for a novel.”
“Gosh, when do you have time? You’ve got school and Tommy.”
“I’m not saying I’m writing. I’m saying I’m keeping notes. And I truly am jealous that you’re getting a short story published. But in just one minute, you’ll be jealous of me.”
Keely snorted. “Isabelle, I’m always jealous of you.”
Isabelle ignored that. Leaning forward, she said, “I’m signed up for a class with Eleanor Shreves.”
“Eleanor Shreves?” Keely forced a smile, but her heart was sinking into her shoes. Eleanor Shreves was an important writer. She’d published at least six novels, and one of them was being made into a movie. If Keely even saw Eleanor Shreves, she would fall to her knees in awe. “How…?”
“She’s agreed to teach a couple of writing classes this year. If we were interested, we had to submit a short story. She chose fifteen students—and I was one!”
“Oh, Isabelle, how wonderful! I am so jealous!”
“Good!,” Isabelle said, laughing.
* * *
—
In March, right when the weather flirted with spring, Keely sat in her room at the dorm, hunched over her laptop, when her cell buzzed, interrupting her thoughts.
It was her mother. “Hi, Mom!”
“Keely, sweetheart, I need you to come home.” Her voice broke. “Something’s happened.” Her mother sounded shaky, unlike her usual take-charge self.
“What’s going on?”
“Keely, I hate to tell you this on the phone, but…” Her mother’s voice choked. “Keely, your father died.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Keely. Your father…” Eloise choked on the words. “Your father died.”
For a moment Keely’s mind couldn’t decipher her mother’s words, but Keely’s heart thumped hard. Her hands went numb. She dropped the phone.
Her mother’s voice floated up from the floor.
“Wait, Mom, wait!” She bent over, scrabbling with her hands to pick up the phone.
“Keely?”
“Mom? Did you say that Daddy died?” That couldn’t be right. Her father couldn’t be dead. He was young. Wasn’t he? How old was he? She couldn’t remember. Guilt fell over her like a gray veil, blanking out the world around her. She hadn’t emailed him as much as she meant to—she was so busy, and he was always there, reliable, on the island. Maybe she could—