Read Between the Pages: A Novel for Free Online Page A

I needle, confused.
    Brady’s jaw clenches, and he grips the steering wheel tighter. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.”
    I tense next to him, multiple scenarios playing through my mind. His parents weren’t around much? Like . . . they worked too much? Or something far more sinister? It must be the latter, because Brady looks pissed for saying anything.
    “So, what are you studying at NYU?” I buzz cheerfully. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with Brady.
    “Film. I want to be a director one day.”
    I smile. “That’s so cool.”
    “Isaac is a film editor. It’d be nice to work in the same industry as him.”
    “You two are close?” I ask, fidgeting with the raw hem of my white, sleeveless blouse. Thank goodness I remembered my sunglasses, as the closer we get to the shore, the brighter it gets. Or maybe it’s because there are wider, open spaces around here—no buildings to block the sunlight.
    “Yeah.” He hasn’t looked over at me once, and I get the distinct impression Brady is done talking.
    I don’t say anything else as he not-so-subtly turns the radio on. NPR drones through the speakers, and I listen quietly as Ira Glass discusses Iran and Syria. I’m mildly invested when my phone buzzes with an incoming text. It’s Hannah, checking up on me. I give her the lowdown, everything from Emerson and his mysterious past to the fact that Brady dislikes me. She tells me Geoff is already at the apartment, moving around the furniture. She says it endearingly, but it makes me sad that change comes so quickly after I leave.
    “We’re almost there,” Brady announces about an hour later as he pulls off I-495 to NY-27, towards Montauk. I’m reminded of times my father and I used to take day trips to our beach house in the winter. He loved Montauk. It’s less crowded than the Hamptons. We’d visit for fun because the beach is beautiful when it snows.
    A small, tugging feeling begins in my chest when I think of our house in Montauk, not too far from the Hamptons. In fact, I can still remember exactly how to get there. I don’t even know if my parents still own it. Ten years—that’s how long it’s been since I’ve been back. For once, I’m glad to be back in this part of New York. I wonder if the air feels the same as it did when I was a kid.
    The Hamptons are such a juxtaposition from the city—and yet every New Yorker comes here at least once in their lives. The wide roads and serene setting are the exact opposite of Manhattan.
    Brady turns right off NY-27, edging past mansions built right on the beach. I spot the ocean between them, and my smile widens. Matching pastel colors assault my eyes, and I dream of one day owning something this spectacular.
    “Here we are,” Brady mumbles, pulling through an open gate and into the driveway of a large but modest home. It’s a classic beach house—light-blue paint, navy shutters, and a navy front door. There are lots of windows that probably don’t have drapes. Because why would you hide the sunlight? New Yorkers come here for the sunlight. Not to block it out. No drapes needed here.
    “It’s beautiful.” As Brady pulls up to the door, I scan the front yard for Emerson.
    “Emerson is out right now,” he says quickly, answering my silent question. “He’ll be back soon. I’ll show you around.”
    He opens his door and jumps out. As he opens the trunk, I get out of the SUV and study my home for the next six months—Monday through Friday, at least. Tall hedges divide us from either neighbor, and the gravel driveway is surprisingly elegant and formal as it curves around a small fountain, leading back toward the gate and the main road. The two-story house is smaller than I imagined. I wonder if he lives alone. I never thought to ask. For all I know, he has a wife or girlfriend, or possibly even a family. I didn’t think this through. God, what if he’s married ? I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask him.
    “This is