“Maybe we’ll see the ghost,” Katherine said.
“Please don’t, Kitty. It’s creepy enough as it is!”
“What ghost?” I said.
“A blazing nun who appears in the window of the spa, and you can tell she’s about to appear from the smell of incense,” Katherine said, wiggling her fingers dramatically.
Sylvia tapped her with the flashlight. “Don’t, I swear I’ll cry.”
“Sibbs, you are such a scaredy-cat.” Katherine put her arm around her shoulders.
“We can go back to the chapel and I’ll pour some holy water in my pockets,” I said.
They both looked at me and laughed. I gulped against a sudden tightness in my throat. Was that sarcasm? I glanced at Isabella, but her face was drawn and concentrated. “Are you all right?” I said.
“Fine,” she said.
“You seem kind of quiet.”
“Christ, Briddie, give me a break for five minutes, will you?” she snapped.
My cheeks tingled. Had the others heard her speak to me that way? I searched for anything to divert attention from her jibe. “Have you two spent much time with Sister Teresa?” I called to Katherine and Sylvia.
“Who?” Sylvia wrinkled her nose.
“The speaking nun,” I said.
Katherine squinted, raising her hand to just below her shoulder. “Is she the short one?”
“That’s Sister Benedict.”
“Oh.” Sylvia smiled. “Isn’t she the one that fetches the mail?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I suppose being speaking liaison comes with all sorts of jobs. You should say hi. She’s a doll.” I cleared my throat. “Right?” I raised my voice to Isabella. “She’s a doll, right?”
Isabella shrugged.
The path ended at a rocky outcrop, and we clambered down it one by one, using well-worn grooves in the rocks carved by students over the years. The back of the abandoned spa looked quite ominous in the gloom. The south side of the building was blackened and the tiles ruffled from fire damage. Bats were swooping in and out of a cavity in the roof. Sylvia began walking so quickly she was almost jogging. Finally, we came to a wide ledge that looked out onto the bowl of the lake. It was too dark to see much, but lights blinked on the opposite shore from the litter of houses in the cove of Brancorsi, one of only two villages on the lake. The breeze blew dank and mossy across the water.
Isabella and Sylvia ran ahead to toss pebbles into the lake, straining to catch the faint plunk as they broke the water. I unpacked the blanket and laid out two paper bags of biscotti and a bottle of plum wine.
“Oh, cookies!” Sylvia said. She picked one up. “It’s stale,” she said, with such horror that Isabella laughed.
“They’re supposed to be hard,” I said. “But then that’s what the wine is for.” Isabella was looking at me. “For dipping.” My face flushed.
Isabella leaped onto the blanket. “Briddie, you’re a genius.”
My chest relaxed. She’d forgiven me for whatever I had done earlier.
Isabella seized Nancy’s penknife and, with a swift tweak, uncorked the wine. “Cheers!” She took a slug straight from the bottle and a scarlet drop rolled from the corner of her mouth and down her neck before she caught it. She passed the bottle to Sylvia. “You don’t mind, do you?” she said, in an interrogative tone. “Briddie and I don’t bother much about etiquette,” she said.
I was gratified—was that true? Were we too modern to bother with social decorum?
Sylvia smiled. “Not at all.” She accepted the bottle and took a dainty sip, then handed it to me.
The wine was sweet and thick, like cough syrup. The sugar spiraled into my brain. I wished I had thought to bring a bottle of water. We crunched the cookies and sipped the wine until our lips were stained violet.
“Such a good idea,” Katherine said, with her mouth full. “Of course Bridge is a natural host.”
A rush of joy bubbled inside me. “Hmm?”
Katherine motioned for the bottle of wine and took a deep drink. Sylvia filled in for her. “Greta told us all about your mom’s famous parties.”
“Oh.” My cheeks prickled.
“Say, where is your summerhouse?” Katherine said.
I froze.
Isabella leaned forward. “Bristol, Rhode Island.”
“Get out!” Katherine reached forward and grabbed my leg. “We have a place in Newport!”
My heart leaped under my tongue.
“Were you there this year? Did you come for the Summer Sail? Oh my God, were you there when the coast guard found Dickie Baron’s yawl?” Her grip was fierce on my leg. “It was so dramatic,” she said to Sylvia.
I shot Isabella a horrified glance. “No,” I said.
Isabella sighed. “We were dragged to this stuffy Republican Club event in St. Cyrus,” she said. “We missed all the fun.”
“It’s a silent auction,” I supplied weakly. “There was a boat.”
“Me and Briddie’s houses are practically next door to each other in Bristol,” Isabella said.
Katherine grinned. “This is such good luck! Oh, and we can go to the America’s Cup next year together! When are you going there next summer?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. I felt dizzy.
“Or”—Katherine clasped her hands—“even better, you can invite me to your famous Labor Day party.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’m not sure that we’re doing it next year, though.” My lip was wobbling. “My mom says it’s too much work.”
Katherine’s face fell. “Oh, too bad. Though I suppose she has Thanksgiving and Christmas to plan.”
“You can come to mine for Labor Day.” Isabella patted Katherine on the shoulder.
“What about me?” Sylvia said mournfully.
“You too, darling.” Isabella reached over and pinched her cheek.
Sylvia smiled. “Quite right. So anyway, if you three are all done with your New England association”—she hoisted her bag onto her lap and pulled out a miniature red book with gold-edged pages—“I thought we could have a poetry recital.”
“But we’re not supposed to take the red-bound ones out of the library, are we?” I said.
Sylvia shot me a quizzical look.