Letting Go (3 page)

“You know what,
Isabelle.” He smirked at her before turning back to the road.

His
teasing and the mixed signals he was sending her reminded her of the trip they had made to Santa Rosa Beach six months before. It was Jamie’s idea to go for a fun weekend at the beach before school started. He suggested she invite Chloe. She didn’t think Harper would agree to go when Jamie said he’d ask him to come along. But Jamie said he would because the beaches were full of babes and Harper wouldn’t pass up a chance to hook up with one. She’d laughed, but it turned out that Jamie had been right.

It was a great weekend. She
had had a terrific time with Chloe and Jamie at the beach, but they saw little of Harper. Isabelle guessed Jamie was right about him hooking up with someone. To her, it seemed sad that anyone would seek a relationship that lasted for a weekend.

S
aturday evening, Harper took them to a cool place he had discovered the previous night. They arrived early to get a table. Plenty of people were already dining and there were only a few tables still available. They sat down at the one furthest from the bar. The music was loud but they could still talk without having to shout. Harper said that would change later in the evening when the place would become more crowded.

Isabelle liked the place. The surroundings and the people gave off that end-of-the-summer feel
, tinged with a fair amount of nostalgia. She loved summertime, but the best days were towards the end. The impending end of the season made her truly appreciate the wonderful weather and the freedom of days spent on the beach. She thought of it as the sunscreen-shrug days when everyone still smelled of sunscreen that they applied for the beach, but needed shrugs and cardigans in the evening when the night air chilled.

She sat back in her chair, inhaled deeply, and enjoyed the atmosphere. She saw Chloe and Jamie laughing at something, while Harper perused the menu.

When Isabelle wanted to order breaded chicken, Harper insisted she try crab cakes.

“They are superb,” he said.

“I don’t know. Chicken sounds … safer.”

“You can eat chicken any time. When have you last eaten great cr
ab cakes?” He raised an eyebrow.

“She’s old enough to decide for herself,” Jamie interfered.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Hey, guys …” Isabelle tried to calm the situation when she saw the contemptuous glare that Harper sent Jamie. She knew where things were headed. If she didn’t stop them, one of them would
say something stupid, the other would get pissed, and the evening would be ruined for everyone.

“She wants chicken, she’ll get chicken,” Jamie insisted.

“Does that sound like
she
made the decision?” Harper said. “Can you be any more patronizing?”

“
Stop it, you two.”

Jamie looked at her and offered her an apologetic smile.
The smile on Harper’s face was taunting, as if he pitied her. That second, she wasn’t thinking about chicken or crab cakes. Instead she marveled about how the dynamic between the brothers was a complete mystery to her. When she was with Jamie, he was a kind, easygoing person. Harper was sarcastic but fun and laid-back. But when they were together, the brothers became different people. The change astounded her.

“I’ll have chicken,” Isabelle said. It wasn’t like she had a choice now; she’d feel terrible if she
let Jamie down.

Harper rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything more on her food choice. Chloe listened to his advice, though, and ordered crab cakes. While they were all busy eating, she
secretly offered Isabelle a bite. Her look clearly said Isabelle was a fool for not listening to Harper because crab cakes were delicious.

As
were the margaritas that Harper ordered for her and Chloe. The second round was even better. Isabelle felt giggly and happy. Chloe went on and on about how she should totally study psychology, but she also wanted to work in fashion design, so she wasn’t sure what to do, but Mom suggested she choose a more practical degree, like accounting, because drawing pretty dresses wouldn’t bring her a lot of money, and rummaging in other people’s minds … well, that was wrong altogether. Isabelle nodded occasionally, smooching with Jamie in between, and sipping her pretty summer drink.

When
she glanced at Harper, she saw he was watching them with an indulgent smirk on his lips. He didn’t speak much the entire evening, except to bicker with Jamie once or twice. He seemed distant, as if he didn’t feel good in their company. It made Isabelle sad. She wanted them all to have a good time.

With Chloe still going on about her career choices, and Jamie taking up Isabelle’s role of the loyal listener, Isabelle leaned
closer to Harper and asked through the noise and music, “Aren’t you having fun?”

“Sure I am.”

“You don’t look like it.”

When he didn’t reply, she
wasn’t sure he’d heard her. “You think we’re silly, don’t you? You think we’re just a bunch of kids trying to act like grown-ups? Being light-weight drinkers and all?” The alcohol made her talkative and brave.

“Why would you think that?”

She shrugged. “I bet you can handle alcohol a lot better than me.”

“You think girls that can down a bottle of tequila are cute?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Do you?” she countered.

“You know what’s sweet? The way two margaritas
can make you wish the whole world would have fun right along with you. You’re such a softy.” He smiled, his fingers pinching her chin.

She knew it was the alcohol that made her think the gesture was endearing. She’d probably slap him otherwise.

“How about another one?” he asked, noticing her empty glass, and got up to make the order.

When he got back, he pushed a glass in front of her, and handed another into Chloe’s
eager hand.

“You sure you want another one?” Jamie asked when Isabelle curled her fingers around the slim stem of the sweaty glass.

Before she could reply, Harper spoke up. “Oh come on, baby bro, let her live a little.”

Chloe was all giggly and Isabelle knew it was because she enjoyed
watching the brothers battling it out.

Isabelle, on the other hand, was torn. She wanted that third margarita because the world was beginning to look exciting after the first two, but she knew Jamie was right
. She should listen to him rather than to Harper. But most of all she wanted to avoid conflict. She looked at Chloe and gestured toward the restrooms at the back. Like a best friend is supposed to, Chloe got up and went with her, although she was a bit unsure on her legs.

Washing her hands, Isabelle said, “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you?” Chloe asked surprised, her cheeks flushed and eyes big.

“I’m enjoying the evening, but you like the way they fight, don’t you?” Isabelle didn’t mean it
as an accusation. She was just amazed that anyone would prefer conflict to peaceful, mature conversation.

Chloe grinned wickedly, reminding Isabelle of Harper for a split second. “Of course. It’s like a soap opera with both of them fighting for you. Only this is
way better because I know the stars.”

“Please! They’re not fighting for me, they’re just fighting. I hate that.”

“Gosh, you’re so blind, Iz. Harper’s totally into you.”

“He’s not. And don’t you have a crush on him? Shouldn’t you be more concerned
with winning him over than encouraging him to annoy Jamie?” Okay, so there was a hint of accusation in that one, but Chloe deserved it because anyone taking a dig at Jamie was her hero.

“A one night stand would be demeaning and I’m not his type for a serious thin
g, so ... But I like ogling him,” she added with a shameless grin.

“How
do you know you’re not his type?” Chloe was famous for her psychological insight into people, even strangers, and she usually ended up being right. Isabelle never could read people well. Chloe’s skill astonished her.

“Because I
’m not you,” she said.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. This time Chloe was way off and Isabelle couldn’t wait for a chance to rub it in her face. Ha!

Chloe’s phone started ringing. “I’ll answer in here, it’s too noisy outside. But you can head out.”

“Sure
you don’t want me to wait?”

Chloe nodded, mouthing
, “It’s Adam.” He was her on-again boyfriend and Isabelle didn’t want to listen in on their conversation.

Chloe
pressed the phone tightly to her ear to drown out the music from the bar. Isabelle pushed the door open and headed across the bar, hoping the situation at the table was calmer. The crowd was much worse than when they’d arrived. The lights were dim, and the bar pulsed with the loud music.

By the bar, a hand grabbed her elbow and she tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t let go. She turned,
annoyed, but then realized it was Harper who stopped her.

“Here,”
he said, leaning close so she would hear him. “Drink this.” He pushed a bottle into her hand. She lifted it up to see what it was. Water.

“I thought you wanted me to drink the margarita,” she said
with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Sure, but you want a light buzz
, not dehydration. That would mean a hell of a hangover tomorrow.” He looked like he meant it, but his patronizing smile stung her.

“Thanks,” she said with some hesitation.
Ten minutes ago she could have sworn he was trying to get her drunk. Now he was offering her water. She didn’t know what to think, but she was getting used to that when it came to Harper.

Even
now, months later, she was no more certain about what to expect from him. He always succeeded at surprising her. In fact, that was the only constant about him—that he managed to surprise her every single time.

****

Driving on in silence, with only the music from the radio and the raindrops on the windshield as the background, Isabelle nodded off for a few moments. She couldn’t sleep on the plane and she was exhausted.

When
Harper spoke, she woke with a start.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“No worries. What was it you said?”

He shook his head. “It was
nothing. I was asking you about the Parisian galleries. Sorry. I didn’t notice you fell asleep.”

“It’s okay
. What about the galleries?”

He looked at her
for a long moment before replying. “I was wondering which artists are your favorites.”

“
You’re interested in art?” Isabelle said. Then she remembered the painting of a field of poppies that she’d made for Jamie’s birthday. When she gave him the painting, tied with a red bow, Jamie beamed at her.

“It’s fantastic,” he’d said right away.

“You like it?”

“Yes.
I love all that red color, it makes the painting warm and nice. It’s like I had a piece of you framed on my wall. Thank you, Izzy.”

He
hung it on the wall in the living room. When she visited him next time, Harper was there too. At one point, he looked at the painting and then at her.

“Your creation?” he asked.

“You sound as if you don’t like it.”

He tilted his head and stared at the painting some more. “I think it feels flat.”

“What do you mean?” His declaration upset her but also intrigued her.

“There’s no life in it.”

“It’s a field of poppies, Harper, of course there’s no life in it,” Jamie came to her rescue, rolling his eyes at his brother. “I think it’s even called still life, right?”

“Where’
s the effect of the summer’s drought, or the evidence of a child running through the field, of a strong wind?”

Harper
looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

S
he looked from him to the painting. When she concentrated on the composition, she saw what he meant. Instead of the orderly lines of poppies, all red and perfect, she could imagine a narrow track of felled flowers meandering through the field. She could visualize a trace of a small foot imprinted on the petals. Something that would give the painting character, another dimension that was now lacking.

“Nonsense,
Izzy, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Jamie hugged her around her shoulders.

She appr
eciated his effort, but somehow she also appreciated Harper’s criticism because she felt that he was right.

“I bet he said the painting was beautiful before he even looked at it properly,”
Harper taunted.

Jamie
denied it, and she blushed.

On another occasion
, when the brothers were visiting her house, Harper noticed a painting by her grandfather that Mom had hung up in their living room when Isabelle was about four. It was a large painting in a simple black frame that was a nice contrast to the otherwise empty white wall.