Hudson(3)

The room is still dim, the stage the only place illuminated, but I feel the cloak of darkness around me start to dissipate.

Suddenly, I see light.





Chapter Two



Before



“Your serve is terrible,” I shouted to Mirabelle. Overall, my sister had gotten better since last summer. The private lessons she’d had throughout the year had strengthened both her backhand and her volley. Not that I planned on giving her the satisfaction of telling her I’d noticed.

Mirabelle’s eyes sparkled as she bounced the tennis ball in front of her. “My serve is fine. I’m winning, aren’t I?”

She’d won the first match because I’d gone easy on her. I hadn’t expected her to be as good as she was. “Only because I’m paying more attention to your god-awful posture than to the ball.”

Her lips curved up. “That’s your problem. You’re easily distracted.” She tossed the ball up, but instead of swinging at it, she let her racket fall to her side and her attention shot elsewhere. “Oh, hey. I didn’t see you there.”

I followed Mirabelle’s gaze and found Celia leaning against the side wall of our private court.

Well, what do you know?

I wasn’t sure yet if I was glad to see her or not, but when she grinned, I returned her smile easily. I hadn’t known she was in the Hamptons, but I wasn’t surprised to see her. Of course, she’d stop by. Even if our mothers weren’t the best of friends, Celia would find a reason to see me.

“I was enjoying your game,” she said to my little sister, but her eyes never left me. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well, it’s over now. Huds, we can play later.” Mirabelle stomped to my side of the court where she left her racket cover and began packing up.

“Mirabelle,” I said, low, with a hint of warning. I knew she didn’t care for Celia, but she didn’t need to be nasty.

She ignored me. Giving me a final scowl, she said, “Enjoy the rest of the day with your girlfriend.” Then she took off through the opening in the hedges toward the main house.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Celia shouted after her. Then she turned to me, a fist on her hips. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

I tilted my head to the side, waiting for my neck to pop. Honestly, I was surprised that Celia had corrected Mirabelle. I would have thought she’d be happy about the title. As for me, I preferred to let people believe what they wanted to believe. It made life far more interesting.

But my fascination with human behavior was one I kept to myself, so instead I said, “Mirabelle’s a hopeless romantic. She’ll form her own opinion no matter what I say.”

Celia looked back after Mirabelle for a moment then walked toward me as I wiped sweat off my forehead with a towel. “She still doesn’t like me.” Disappointment was evident in her voice.

“Sorry,” I said. I suspected that only-child Celia had always sought after Mirabelle as a surrogate sister. Our families were certainly entwined enough to make a bond between them seem inevitable. For some reason, it hadn’t happened. Why was that? Curiosity tugged at my subconscious, but I forced it away. I would ponder that further at another time.

Celia didn’t appear to think there was anything worth pondering. “She’s fourteen. I get it. I wish it were different, but I understand.”

“She needs to learn some manners.”

“And you need to learn to relax. I’m fine. I don’t have to be her friend. I’m your friend.” She peered up at me with doubt in her eyes. “At least, I think we’re still friends. It’s been nine months since I left for San Francisco and not a single peep from you. What’s up with that?”

I shrugged as if my neglect had been accidental. It wasn’t in the least. Before Celia left for college, she’d made it clear that she was interested in more than friendship. I was not. I’d decided it was best not to lead her on. Not because I cared about how she felt, but because her infatuation was a hassle. I’d ignored her phone calls and deleted her few emails without so much as skimming them.

Yes, I was an *. This wasn’t news to me.

Now, though, I was surprised at how good it felt to see her. Not in any romantic way, but in a familiar way. She was family. She was home.

I scratched along my jaw, deciding not to answer her question outright. Against my better judgment, I extended an invitation instead. “Millie should have lunch ready soon. I can grab a shower and then we can catch up over sandwiches.”

Celia frowned. “Actually, I can’t today. I only got away for a few minutes.”

I raised an inquisitive brow. Why would she stop by if she couldn’t stay?

She didn’t expound. Instead, she asked, “Will you be here all summer?”

For as long as I could remember, both of our families spent the summer in the Hamptons. It seemed strange to think she’d assume differently. But I supposed, being older, things changed. I had already been thinking it was time to get a place of my own. I didn’t need to spend all my time off from school with my parents. This would likely be my last season at Mabel Shores.

“Yes,” I answered. “Will you?”

“I will. And I’d like to see you.” She cleared her throat and moved her focus to her shoes. “I came by today to tell you something. Um, something that I thought might make it easier for you to want to see me again.”