The Lies They Tell(11)
“Okay. I won’t. How long are you in town for?”
“Until August fifteenth. It’s just me this year. My mom and sisters usually come, but the girls wanted to go to some horseback riding camp in Kentucky this summer, so Mom sent them and stayed home to take a vacation from the family. It’s cool. They don’t really get this place the way Gramps and I do, anyway, why it’s special. Your turn.” She glanced over. “I said I wanted to get to know you.”
“Why?”
“Because you have the coolest eyes I’ve ever seen.” At her withering look, he planted his feet. “I’m not moving until you tell me something about yourself. Think about it. I’m your ride. You’ll be stuck on Little Nicatou forever.”
“Foraging for beer and canapés. Rough life.” She sighed, ruminating. “I graduated a couple weeks ago. I’m starting at the College of the Atlantic in the fall, keeping my job at the club.”
“Nice. I’m going to UMass, rushing Sigma Phi Epsilon.”
“I thought all you guys went Ivy League.”
“You mean guys with money? Nah. I mean, I’ve got an uncle who went to Stanford, he could pull strings. But we both know I don’t have what it takes.”
“Not like Tristan.” The words spoke themselves.
He snorted quietly. “You have no idea.” He flipped a mussel shell over with the toe of his sandal. “Anyway, it’s cool that you’re staying in the area. It’s beautiful here.” He paused. “Used to be like paradise, you know? Feels different this summer.” He shrugged. “I guess it should.”
She watched him. It was the first remark, indirect or otherwise, that she’d heard any summer person make about the Garrisons since the season began.
A knot of girls moved up the beach toward them, and now they stopped, heads together in conference. A tall, lanky blond girl stepped out and called, “Really, Bridges? Really.”
His expression froze. “Hey, ladies.”
The blonde marched over, dragging along a petite brunette with long, side-swept hair who looked like she wished she was anywhere else. “So, this is like compulsive behavior with you,” the blonde said. “New summer, new girl.”
“Not really your business, Quinn.” Bridges glanced at the brunette and said, “Hey, Had.”
“Hi.” Her voice was soft.
“It’s absolutely my business. My friend got her heart stomped on. I know how she feels, remember?” Quinn folded her arms. Pearl recognized the brunette: Hadley Kurtzweil. Her parents had let Dad go in an email this spring, claiming they’d “made other arrangements” for the caretaking of their home on Millionaires’ Row. “And FYI, watching you slobber all over your trailer-trash date is only like the biggest turnoff ever. So, yeah. I’d lose that.”
“Christ, Quinn, do you even hear yourself? Look, if you’ve got a problem, there’s the door.” He jerked his thumb at the water and stepped around her. “Nobody made you come tonight.”
“I happen to be hanging out with Hadley, if that’s okay with you. Unless you want to kick her off, too?”
Akil came up then, finishing his last beer. “Hey, girls. We’ve got a game of quarters going. Winner gets to sit on my lap. You in?” Quinn held her middle finger in his laughing face and left, pulling Hadley along.
Hadley called “Bye” to Bridges, who nodded before taking a deep breath and turning to Pearl.
“Uh, about all that.”
“No explanation needed.”
“I’m not some letch. I swear. I dated Hadley last summer, but it didn’t work out. She lives in Colorado during the year—”
“Seriously. I don’t want to know.”
“You dumped Quinn.” Akil sat heavily, tipping his bottle back. “That’s the real problem. That’s going to come back to haunt your ass forever.”
“We were fourteen.”
“Doesn’t matter. You should’ve waited until she dumped you.”
Pearl faced Bridges. “Anyway. I need to pee. I’m assuming you’ve got a bathroom up there?”
“Oh, yeah. Composting toilet and everything. Spared no expense.”
When she was halfway up the path, she glanced back. Bridges stood below, watching her. Once she stepped past a spray of spruce branches, he said something sharply to Akil and kicked sand at him.
The little A-frame cottage sat on a rocky outcropping, clam and mussel shells scattered over the walk and pressed whole into the mortar of the stone steps. Inside, tables were spread with food that had barely been touched.
As Pearl crossed the room, a woman solidified at the edge of her vision: midforties, dressed in a white blouse and apron, standing with her hands folded in front of her. Clearly some member of the Spencer help. For Pearl, it was like seeing herself run through age-progression software. “Hi,” Pearl said. The woman gave a slight nod, avoiding eye contact.
Afterward, still rubbing in hand sanitizer, Pearl went back down the path, sidestepping a reeling, giggling couple. She checked her phone. One missed call. Reese. It felt like years since they’d talked, and now she had all this fodder for conversation: the Night Pearl Went to a Posh Party and Survived. She hadn’t intended to tell him about it, at least not right away. But he’d called. Maybe he’d never had any plans with Indigo. Maybe she’d had no right to get so angry in the first place. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what those two were all about.