Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(2)

She ran her fingers through her blond hair, which fell smooth and straight to her shoulders, the same cut she’d worn some version of since high school. She swiped on a bit of rosy lip gloss and blush to cover up the effects of one too many graduation parties the previous week. God knew, her mother had binocular vision when it came to telltale red eyes.

Linnea climbed out of the car and smoothed out her floral swing skirt. One of her passions was vintage clothing, especially from the 1950s. No sooner had she closed her door than her younger brother trotted around the house from the garden.

“Cooper!” she called out. Her knight in shining armor was coming to carry her luggage.

Cooper Pringle Rutledge was wearing baggy beige shorts frayed at the hem and a stretched-out Porter-Gaud T-shirt. He was in that adorable stage she liked to call a man-child. At eighteen, he was tall and long-legged like his aunt Cara. Like her, he took after the Rutledge side of the family with his thick, dark hair and eyes and his strong jaw and proud nose. He looked like a young John Kennedy. In contrast, Linnea was a tintype of her grandmother Olivia. Petite, blond, and blue-eyed, she fit the stereotype of a southern belle, even if the expectations chafed her.

Cooper trotted toward her with his friendly, gangly gait. He was restless, like his father, always tossing a ball in the air, rushing from place to place, playing sports, and perfecting his game. Linnea was more solitary. She preferred to read, sew her own vintage-style clothes, or walk outdoors and observe nature. The Tortoise and the Hare, her mother had called them growing up. The fact that Linnea was mad for sea turtles made the description apropos.

“Hey, Sis,” Cooper called out. When he reached her side, he bent to kiss her cheek. “Nice to have you back.”

“Nice of you to not make it to my graduation.”

Cooper ducked his head with a wry grin. “Yeah, about that . . . sorry. It was the big Porter-Gaud–Bishop England basketball game.”

“Bigger than my college graduation?” she asked, her words ringing with doubt.

“Yeah, well, I’m on the team.” He looked up at her, eyes twinkling. “We can make it up when you come to my graduation next week.”

Linnea could never stay mad at him. She socked him in the arm. “Yeah, well,” she replied, teasing his phrasing, “I’ll see if I can make it. I’ve got a lot of parties and all. . . .”

They laughed, both knowing she wouldn’t miss it.

A shiny black pickup truck pulled up, dwarfing her car. She was blinded by the amount of chrome on the grille. The big engine rumbled loudly, and inside the cab she saw four boys she’d watched grow up since the first grade. She greeted them all warmly, congratulating them all on somehow managing to graduate high school.

“Gotta go,” Cooper called out as he climbed into the truck—probably the driver’s graduation gift.

Linnea was flabbergasted. “What? You’re leaving? I just got here!”

He shrugged with an endearing grin, and she couldn’t help but laugh. That boy’s smile is going to get him into trouble someday, she thought as she called out, “Thanks for helping me with my luggage!”

The truck’s engine roared with a show of testosterone and whipped out of the driveway. Before it squealed down the street, she heard Cooper bark out to a friend, “Shut up, that’s my sister!”

Linnea shook her head and wondered what kind of trouble her brother was going to get into this time. Mama had called her just last week, worried to leave Cooper home alone for her graduation since Missy Bond’s house had just been trashed by a graduation party.

She wiped away the perspiration forming along her brow. It was four o’clock on a steamy May afternoon. Summer had come early this year. The azaleas had bloomed in February, and it was already hitting the nineties. Early springs and late winters seemed to be the new normal.

She almost burned her fingers opening her trunk. “Thanks a lot, Cooper,” she groaned upon seeing it packed to the gills. As she began tugging out the boxes, though, she heard the rumble of the garage door opening.

Rescue came in the form of her father.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, baby girl! Welcome home!”

She set a box down on the cement and hurried into his embrace. Her daddy, Palmer Rutledge, took after his mother’s side. Like her, he was blond and blue-eyed. In bare feet he reached five feet eight inches, but most of his shoes boosted his height another inch. Being relatively short was a sore point between him and her aunt Cara. She was tall and dark; he was short and blond. Palmer claimed their mother got the genes mixed up.

He was a handsome man, dependably clean-shaven and well presented in his usual uniform of polished shoes, a pale polo, and tan trousers. Looking at him in the full sun, Linnea could see his hair was thinning on top. His belly was fuller, too. But it was his ruddy cheeks so early in the day that concerned her. In his hand was a thick-cut crystal glass half-filled with ice and a brown liquid she’d bet good money was bourbon.

“It’s a little early for a cocktail, isn’t it?”

He squinted and shook the ice in his glass. “I got home early to see my little girl and now she’s busting my chops?”

“Sorry, Daddy. I’m just teasing,” she said quickly, though it wasn’t true. When her parents had come up to Columbia the previous weekend for her graduation, Linnea had been shocked at how much her father drank. He downed bourbon like water, morning and night. When she’d mentioned it to her mother, Julia had simply tightened her lips and shaken her head, both in resignation and refusal to discuss it.