Page 42 of Surfside Sisters

Sebastian knelt next to Keely. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Did you apply to the colony, too?”

Keely couldn’t answer.

He held her close. “The colony isn’t everything, Keely. Writing isn’t everything.”

But to her, it was. As her sobbing ebbed, she realized she was in Sebastian’s arms, where she had always longed to be. If she turned her head, she could kiss him.

But she was in his arms because he pitied her, and before everything else, he was Isabelle’s brother.Have some dignity!she admonished herself. Keely choked back her tears. She gently pushed away from Sebastian’s embrace and stood up.

“Sorry. I get emotional when I’m tired.”

Sebastian rose, too. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her tight, making her face him. “Listen, Keely,” he began.

Something broke in her, something carried by the force of the waves made her brave. “No,youlisten. All my life I’ve wanted everything you Maxwells have. I wanted to live in your wonderful house. I wanted Isabelle to be my real sister, and I wantedyou—” She straightened her shoulders and held back her tears. “I wanted you,” she finished. She turned and walked away on the edge of the beach where the waves had made the sand hard.

“Keely,” Sebastian called.

She didn’t turn around.

She ran up the sand dune toward the parking lot and her car.

A thread of words spun through her mind: Ebba was fine, Isabelle had been accepted by the colony. Sebastian was with Ebba. Isabelle had been accepted by the colony.

She drove home, still choking back tears. The house was warm when she entered. Her mother was at work. She leaned against the door and let her tears flow.

Then she noticed the mail scattered on the floor, pushed in through the mail slot.

She spotted an envelope with the Berkshire Writers’ Colony as the return address.

Her heart stopped in her throat. Her tears froze.

She snatched up the envelope and tore it open.

Two pages. One, a standard “we regret to inform you” letter.

The next was a private note, handwritten, from a woman novelist Keely idolized.

Hi, Keely Green,

I’m sorry we didn’t have room for you in our new group, but I wanted to tell you how very much I like the writing that you sent us. If you finish this novel, you could write to Sally Hazlitt at the Hazlitt and Hopkins Literary Agency. Tell them that I recommended you. In fact, I’m dropping a note to Sally today.

Best wishes,

Liane Harington

Keely, wrapped in sweatpants and a flannel shirt, had settled on the sofa where she could enjoy the lights of their Christmas tree while she started one of the five books her mother had given her for Christmas.

Her cell buzzed. She considered letting it go to voicemail, but with Isabelle gone, Janine was her closest friend.

“Merry Christmas! Guess what, I got you a fabulous present!”

“Merry Christmas, Janine. When do I get my present?”

“On New Year’s Eve. We’re going to the Nantucket Hotel party. Champagne, dinner, and a live band!”

“Thanks, Janine, but I might babysit New Year’s Eve.”

“That is not allowed. I don’t care how much money you’ll make. If you keep working and hiding away in your house, you’ll turn into one of those eccentric old women with facial hair who hoards cat food!”

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