Edgewater (18 page)

A minute later, Annalise came back out with another silver tray, with an ice-cold can of Coke, a bucket of ice, and a small plate of lemon wedges. Charlie served me a bit of salad and a wedge of quiche. I took my first bite and had to hold in the sigh of happiness that welled in my chest. You forget how good food can taste until it's hard to come by. I could've inhaled everything on my plate, but I knew I should pace myself. Charlie was watching me.

“Tell me something, Lorrie Hall,” he said between bites.

“What?”

“What was the best thing about your day?”

“That's so strange that you just asked me that,” I said. “My mom used to ask us that.”

“So did my dad.”

“Really?”

“Well, he did a few times. When he was home.”

“I imagine the man who would be president has a lot of places he has to be,” I said.

Charlie popped a crouton into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Something like that.”

“So, what was the best part of
your
day?” I asked.

“Oh, no, I asked you first.”

“It may be this meal,” I said, polishing off the last bite on my plate. I wanted to wait for Charlie to take a second slice of quiche before I did, but now I couldn't help myself, and I reached for more.

“Not the guy eating it with you?”

“I thought present company was excluded from the question. Otherwise, the food is merely a distant second.”

“Nice save.”

I grinned. “Now what about you—best part of the day?”

“Present company excluded?”

“Present company excluded.”

“The drive I took down the coast this afternoon.”

“In the Porsche?” I asked.

“Naturally,” he said. “Top down, radio blasting, ocean roaring. Perfection. That is, until I got pulled over.”

“You got pulled over?”

“It wasn't my fault. I mean, you've seen that car—that thing is practically begging to be driven over the speed limit.” Charlie smiled.

“I don't think that means you're
supposed
to.”

“Ah, come on. Cars like that—they need to get out, show off what they're made of. And my dad isn't going to do it.”

“Maybe he's worried about getting pulled over.”

“Nah, he just doesn't drive anymore. Not since I was a kid. If it wasn't for me, his cars would just stay cooped up in a garage their whole lives.”

“I get it,” I said. “You were doing it for the sake of the car.”

“What can I say? I'm a giver.”

“Did you explain that to the police officer?”

“Didn't have to. I just handed over my license and registration, and he let me go with a warning.”

“The Copeland name works again.”

“Have you ever been in a car going over a hundred miles an hour?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, maybe we can remedy that.”

OUR PLATES WERE CLEARED, AND ANNALISE CAME
out with dessert—a freshly baked blackberry crumb cake. But we'd barely tasted it when Brock came onto the terrace with a message for Charlie: “We scheduled a haircut for you tomorrow.”

“No, thanks,” Charlie said.

“Sorry,” Brock said. He shifted from one foot to the other, and I could tell this wasn't exactly a message he wanted to deliver. “Your mother said to tell you it wasn't a request.”

“Unfortunately, I'm busy tomorrow,” Charlie said. “But can you give her a message for me?”

“Certainly.”

“Tell her not to staff out my hair. I can take care of it myself. Now, if you don't mind.” He nodded his head toward the sliding glass door. “I'm being a bad host.”

“My apologies,” Brock said, and he slunk away.

Charlie stood up and reached out his hand to me. “Let's go for a walk.”

We headed down to the beach on a pathway made of old driftwood. Charlie punched a code into the padlock by a gate and pushed it open to his family's private stretch of ocean. We took off our shoes and walked down to the part where the sand was stiff from recent ocean waves and our feet left footprints.

“I've barely been at the beach so far this summer,” I told Charlie. “When we were kids, Lennox and I practically lived at Crescent.”

At Crescent, attendants brought over beach chairs and thick towels striped white and gold, and you could order fresh-baked cookies and sweetened lemonade to be delivered to you right on the sand. All the while, money never changed hands. We had an account, and I learned to add a tip when I signed my name to the check, and I barely thought about how Gigi must've received bills and paid them.

“But this year I only set foot on the sand once,” I said. “And that was to run to the barn.”

The breeze kicked up, and Charlie's hair fell in front of his face even more than usual. He pushed it back.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Sure.”

“How come you don't want to get a haircut?”

“Because my mom wants me to get one,” he said. “She's pretty particular about the pictures she wants out in the world. If my hair's long, she's less inclined to want me next to her on the campaign trail.”

“Don't they take pictures of you whether you're with your mom or not?”

“You mean the Shelby pictures.”

“Yeah, those,” I said. I felt myself blush again and I looked down at the sand. “And others, too. You're in a lot of pictures.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “You have no idea what it's like to have people thinking they know all these things about you. But really they just know the magazine version.”

I sat down in the sand just above the waterline and patted the ground next to me. “Sit with me. Tell me things I wouldn't know from the magazines.”

He sat next to me, so close I could see two pimples rising between the coarse hairs of his left eyebrow, and somehow that made him more appealing to me, because I knew those pimples would be airbrushed out of the magazines. This was real, Charlie beside me.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

I wanted to know if he missed Shelby. And I wanted to know he wouldn't care if he knew the truth about who I really was. But I didn't ask those questions, because I was afraid to know the answers.

“Do you have a best friend?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. His name's Sebastian Martin.”

“They say you should never trust a person with two first names,” I said, and immediately I felt bad about saying it. “I'm sure Sebastian's the exception.”

“I trust him with everything—almost,” Charlie told me.

“Like Lennox and me.”

“You trust her with everything?”

“Almost.”

“I told Sebastian about you.”

Charlie had talked about me—to his best friend? “Really? What did you say?”

“I said I'd never seen anyone with eyes the color of yours.”

He was staring at me, and I stared back. His eyes were light brown, and they were like looking into something endless. Or at least something deep enough that the bottom was beyond the limit of my sight. He raised a single eyebrow.

“I like when you do that,” I said.

“I know you do.” Charlie cupped my chin in his hands.

My body tensed. “I'm a little nervous,” I admitted.

“Why?”

I didn't know how to answer that question.

“You don't have to be,” Charlie said, moving even closer. I could feel his words as he spoke them, and then his lips were on mine. He slipped his tongue into my mouth, soft and warm.

“How was that?” Charlie asked. We were cheek to cheek, and his breath grazed my ear. “Okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said. It was more than okay. It was the best thing I'd ever felt. I could almost forget who I was and why I shouldn't be with him. If I could've paused time right then and there, I would've; I would've stayed forever on that patch of sand with the waves breaking and my heart pounding in my ears and Charlie so close to me. This time I was the one who pressed my lips against his. He was the one kissing back. I felt out of breath, except instead of needing more air, I needed more of Charlie.

“Charles,” a deep voice intoned. “I heard you'd come out here.”

Charlie scooted back from me and stood to face Victor Underhill. I stood, too, and my heartbeat transitioned from throbs of excitement to throbs of panic. I wasn't sure why; there was just something about Underhill that made me nervous.

“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?” he asked Charlie.

“Lorrie, this is Mr. Underhill. He's helping out with my mother's campaign.”

I held out a hand, and Victor Underhill gave one brisk, firm shake. “It's nice to meet you,” I said.

“Nice to meet you. Lorrie, was it?”

“Yes.”

“Lorrie what?”

I glanced toward Charlie. “H-Hall,” I said.

“Lorrie
Hall
?”

“That's what she said,” Charlie told him.

“You live in the area?”

I nodded.

“Whereabouts?”

I waved a hand toward the road. “Down a bit on Break Run,” I said.

“I didn't know you lived that close,” Charlie said.

“Break Run's got the best real estate in eastern Long Island,” Victor Underhill said. “Don't you think?”

“Sure,” I said.

“It's a shame how that one house affects the view.”

I knew I wasn't imagining the fact that his gaze had changed and his eyes had narrowed. Charlie was wrong: I did have some idea what it was like to have people thinking they knew things about me.

“Do you go to school around here?” Underhill asked.

“She goes to Hillyer,” Charlie answered for me. He reached for my hand. “Are there any other inane questions you need answered, because we were kind of in the middle of something.”

“I came to tell you that you're needed inside.”

“I already talked to Brock about the Riverhead event.”

“Your father called from DC.”

DC? I thought Charlie said his father was in New York.

“He wants you to call him back,” Underhill said.

I wondered what Lennox would think about this nugget of information: Underhill was fielding phone calls from the senator, who might be in DC, or might be in New York, or might be hiding out somewhere in the Compound again. Anything was possible.

“Now,” Underhill added.

“All right,” Charlie said. “Give me a minute.”

Victor Underhill nodded good-bye, then turned to head back to the house. Charlie and I followed. He was still holding my hand, but it had stopped feeling like a romantic gesture, since I knew he was just leading me someplace to say good-bye.

We walked around the side of the house to the edge of the path that led to the driveway. I didn't know I was the kind of girl who expected to at least be walked all the way to her car until I realized our walk was over. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Good-bye, Lorrie.”

“Good-bye,” I said.

I walked away thinking that I'd said good-bye before with the expectation of seeing someone again. But for every person you meet, there will be a last time you'll say good-bye. And there's not always a way of knowing when that will be.

15

FOR RICHER, FOR POORER

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON THE NEXT DAY, ORION
arrived back at Oceanfront. It was the first time since I'd owned him that he'd taken a significant journey without me there to prepare him for it—to wrap his legs in shipping boots and to sprinkle some familiar hay along the ramp up to the trailer so he wouldn't be scared. Equestrian Transport had picked him up from Woodscape and driven him nine hours across five states, which would be frustrating and exhausting for anyone, even under the best of circumstances. I'd been a bundle of nerves until Orion had finally backed down the trailer ramp, but he seemed no worse for the wear as I ran my hands along his sleek, beautiful body. “Welcome home, buddy,” I told him. Orion snorted out what I thought of as an exhale of relief. “That's right,” I said. “You're here and I'm here.”

I led him to the empty stall Naomi had agreed to rent to
me at the employee discount. That morning I'd hooked up his nameplate:

ORION

LOVED BY LORRIE H
.

The words were spelled out in gleaming gold letters on the stall door. I'd also spread a fresh bed of cedar chips on the ground with a pitchfork, and Orion stepped in as if he owned the joint.

Since he was a boarder, attending to him was not only my responsibility, it was also my job. At least that's what I told myself so I wouldn't feel guilty about spending time with him. Especially since Naomi had taken Jeremy along with her to a show in Stony Brook, so the stable had fewer hands on deck. I brought out the currycomb, moving it in wide, circular motions over my horse's body to loosen up whatever dirt he'd picked up between Raleigh and New York. I took my time, and Orion leaned into the strokes. After that was the hard brush, quick motions around his coat. The debris rose from him like a mist. Then I used the soft brush and the leg curry. We were back together again, my horse and I. I always felt like we'd taken vows to be together, for better or worse, for richer or poorer. Whatever it was, we'd get through it together.