Chapter Two - Everly

Porter swung into a spot at the Hamptons Library, the only one occupied in the entire lot. He glanced around before heading to the entrance; it was open, right? He hadn’t been to this pokey library since he was a kid, but the hours hadn’t changed in a hundred years, although there were now a lot more books. It was nearly noon, there was no way the place was closed.

Sure enough, the door creaked as he swung it open, although there was no one in sight. No matter, Porter thought. He could make his way around without help. Where to start? Well, might as well look at finance just to rule it out. He’d heard of people doing something called microfinance nowadays, to help developing communities. Maybe that could be a compromise of sorts with Julian’s plan. Porter turned randomly through the stacks, thick with dust before the summer Hamptons revelers could knock it off in search of the perfect beach thrillers or sappy romances. Nicholas Sparks - Porter bet that section had already been picked dry.

A rustle behind him caught Porter by surprise, and he rounded a corner to find a girl, around his age, curled up in a reading corner with a copy of The Old Man and the Sea. Not anyone he’d seen before in the Hamptons, which was surprising. She had long, wavy black hair, an olive complexion, and glittering, wide-set green eyes that were now staring him down. “Can I help you?” she asked, sounding unsure but defiant.

Porter couldn’t place her accent. Vaguely European; probably one of the Asian or Middle Eastern families that were starting to buy property in the Hamptons. More variety, as far as he was concerned, although his father was always ranting about how “those people” didn’t belong in his beloved retreat. Porter had made the mistake of taking the side of the Shinnecock Indians once at a garden party and had almost been thrown out by the hosts, friends of Julian’s whose Hamptons estate stood on land that was now threatened by the Shinnecock lawsuit. Apparently they didn’t agree that their great-great-great-grandfathers had tricked the Native Americans. “Good business sense, that’s all you needed. And those people” - that phrase again - “didn’t have it. Not our fault, and it’s our land now. Yours too, Porter - you’d better remember that.”

“Sorry,” Porter demurred. “Do you work here?”

The girl hesitated before answering, fingering a thin, intricate gold chain around her neck. “Yes, I just started. It was so quiet this morning that I thought it would be a waste of time not to read,” gesturing to the book in her hand. It was already half-finished.

“How long have you been reading? That’s a pretty intense book,” said Porter, who, truth be told, had looked at the Cliffs Notes version of Hemingway’s classic when it was required by his English teacher junior year. Hemingway had great taste in bars and cocktails, but his books were far too languorous for Porter’s taste.

The girl paused again, as if weighing her response. “Just for an hour. I read pretty fast and I enjoy books about the sea. Anyways,” she stood up gracefully and laid down the book on the chair behind her, as if to end the conversation. “What do you want?”

She must have seen the surprise on Porter’s face, because she modified her tone quickly. “I mean, do you need to find something?” Porter watched how her long hair caught the sunlight, and then caught himself. “Yeah...I was looking for the business or finance section.”

The girl laughed suddenly. “Fun summer reading! There’s a small section that might help you. I’ll show you over.” She led Porter rapidly through the stacks until they came to the section, and looked up at him quizzically. “I’ll leave you here to look around. Let me know if you need more help.” Before she could turn to leave, Porter asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from?”

There was a long silence, her face half-turned away in the direction of the book and chair she’d just left. “This is my first time in the Hamptons...I quite like it. I’ve always been near the sea.”

Porter shuffled impatiently, then thought better of it. What did it matter? He looked at his watch - already twenty minutes since he’d left the house and Skylar would kill him if he made her wait for Loretta’s blueberry pancakes. He watched the girl’s slender figure, in a floaty sea-green summer dress, slowly wind through the stacks until she disappeared, then turned his attention to the task at hand. Microfinance...

Fifteen minutes later, he was pretty sure he’d never make head or tail of any kind of finance, micro or otherwise. Scooping up an armful of books anyway, Porter rang the bell at the desk, anxious to get back to the house. “Hey, could you check me out? I’m kind of in a hurry here!” A full minute later, the girl appeared. “I thought people came here to relax. And here you are in a hurry with a pile of serious reading,” she said as she slowly checked out each book.

Porter’s temper rose. Who was this girl? “No offense, but I don’t need to explain myself to you. Not everyone out here sits around doing nothing all summer,” he shot back, then instantly regretted it. Her cool green eyes rested on him for a moment as she touched her gold chain, then broke away. “I’m sure that’s true. You just don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself very much. But as you said, that’s your business.” She closed the last book abruptly and handed him the stack, not waiting for a response before turning away again.

“Wait,” Porter said, curious. “Are you coming to the clambake tonight? Everyone is...my cousins are hosting it on our beach. Biltmore beach. You’ll meet more of the summer crowd, and I’m pretty sure my cousin Hunter will manage a full bar,” he laughed. The girl turned back towards him, looking at him sharply. He couldn’t tell if she was intrigued or offended by his invitation, but her tone was neutral. “I don’t think so. But thank you.”

Porter bristled. “Will you at least tell me your name? I happen to know pretty much everyone in the Hamptons.” There it was, the Julian Biltmore hauteur that burst out despite his best efforts. But maybe it would succeed in getting some information out of this (beautiful, he had to admit) interloper. Another long pause. Maybe English wasn’t her first language. And yet her speaking had been perfect, almost musical with that slight accent.

“I don’t know everyone in the Hamptons, but I hope they are not all quite so rude,” said the girl coolly, as she sailed away. Looking back over one shoulder, she added, “My name is Everly.” She didn’t wait for a reply.