Free Nantucket by Nan Rossiter

there’s someone with whom she should be spending some time,” Carlton said, folding the newspaper. “Taylor Walsh is a sophomore at Yale—pre-law, and he has an internship at Franklin and Collins this summer.”
    â€œWell, it’s a shame Acadia made other plans,” Libby said with a sigh. “Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
    Cadie stood in the driveway, listening to her parents. “It’s a shame you don’t know that Taylor Walsh is the reason Lila Jacobson had to have an abortion,” she muttered. “If Taylor was the last person on earth, I wouldn’t spend time with him.”
    She walked around the house, brushing away angry tears. She’d seen Liam several times since he’d taken her to Tuckernuck Island, and every time, she’d had to lie about where she was going. She knew all too well that her parents’ plan for her included getting a degree from highly selective college and marrying well . . . and a boy like Liam—who worked in a boat repair shop—had no chance of fitting into that plan, but she didn’t care—she’d be an old maid before she married for money.
    She walked down to the beach and looked out at the waves. She’d only known Liam for two weeks—hardly long enough to be in love . . . or was it? She’d never met anyone like him—he was soft-spoken and gentle and sure of himself, and when she was with him, she felt happier than she’d ever been. He could make her heart race and ache all at the same time . . . and if that wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was.
    The last two times they’d been alone, they’d come so close to making love that she didn’t know how he’d stopped. On Sunday night, when she knew he’d be locking up the boathouse, she’d come up behind him and put her hands over his eyes. He’d turned around, pushed the door open again, and pulled her inside. The late-day sun had streamed through the windows, casting golden light across the floor, but Liam had pulled her into the shadows, kissing her softly, and when he pressed against her, she could feel how aroused he was. She’d unbuttoned his jeans and he’d slid his hands under her skirt . . . and then he’d knelt down . . .
    Cadie closed her eyes, remembering his sweet touch and the pleasure he’d given her . . . and the way he’d tasted when he kissed her again.
    â€œAcadia!” a sharp voice called, interrupting her thoughts. Cadie turned and saw her father standing in the doorway. “Come up here, please!”
    Obediently, Acadia trudged to the house. “Your mother and I have decided that it would be impolite if you don’t make an appearance at the party.”
    â€œI already have plans,” Cadie said defiantly.
    â€œCancel them.”
    Cadie felt hot tears stinging her eyes again and she quickly looked away—there was no way she was going to let him see her cry.

    An hour later, Acadia stepped into the spacious circular entrance of the Wellington estate and smiled when she replied to Mrs. Wellington’s question about how her summer was going.
    â€œThe kids are down on the beach.”
    â€œThank you,” she said politely. “May I use your bathroom to change?”
    â€œOf course. There’s one right off the kitchen,” Mrs. Wellington said, pointing, “and there’s another down that hall on the left . . . and that hall on the right,” she added, motioning to the two ends of the stately home.
    As Cadie walked back through the tiled entrance, she looked out through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall and saw her parents being greeted by the other adults who were already chatting and drinking while two busy bartenders wearing vests and bow ties tried to keep up with their orders.
    â€œThey must hate their jobs,” she muttered. “ I would hate their job.”
    As she walked down the hallway