Free Dune Road by Jane Green Page A

town, he’s single, and he doesn’t know anyone.”
    “Then he’s gay.”
    Tracy laughs. “He’s definitely not gay.”
    “So if he’s that cute, how come you’re not interested? ”
    “Trust me, I would be, but I’ve already told you, I’m into older men and this guy must be late thirties, early forties. Not nearly mature enough for me. But I promise you, he is as cute as can be, and I want you to promise me you’ll be in the class.”
    “Five? ”
    “Yup.”
    “Okay. Let me see if Edie can take Buckley.”
    “And wear those lilac yoga pants and the matching vest.”
    “Why? You don’t think I look gorgeous in one of Adam’s old oversized faded T-shirts? ”
    “I think you look gorgeous in anything, but honey, if you want the guys to notice you, you have to show your wares off to their best advantage, and no one’s going to be able to see anything under one of those huge T-shirts you love.”
    “Okay, okay. Point taken. I’ll even do my hair.”
    “Good girl. I’ll see you later.”
     
    “Damn,” Kit hisses under her breath as she riffles through her yoga drawer. Where the hell is that lilac outfit? She could have sworn she saw it in here the other day.
    One word comes to mind.
    Tory.
    Damn.
    When Tory was little, it was adorable how she’d come into her closet and play dress up with her clothes, telling her mom she couldn’t wait until she was big enough to actually borrow them and wear them properly, and Kit had laughed, knowing that day was very far away.
    Except now it seems that day has come. Tory is only thirteen, but their shoe size is exactly the same, and no matter what shoes Kit buys for her, no matter how cool the clothes—Abercrombie is all the rage—the only things she is desperate to wear are in Kit’s wardrobe, and the more Kit likes them, the better.
    Kit’s favorite J.Crew flip-flops with the embroidered whales on them? The ones that were sparkling white and navy? Now they are filthy dirty, Tory having taken them, without asking, and worn them to a baseball match, getting them covered with dust and dirt.
    Her pink cashmere pashmina that cost a fortune, that she wore to a wedding a few summers ago and hasn’t had occasion to wear since? Disappeared, Tory swearing blind she hadn’t seen it and hadn’t taken it, only for Kit to find it, damp and crumpled, under a mountain of dirty clothes in the back of Tory’s wardrobe.
    Half the time Tory will lie and tell Kit, all wide-eyed and innocent, that she found the clothes in her own closet, as if a) that were true, and b) the fact that they are in her closet means they are automatically hers.
    If Tory treated her clothes well, asked before taking them, put them back in the closet, Kit would have no issue with lending her things, but she can’t stand this attitude of entitlement, this what’s yours is mine , and I’m going to treat everything of yours just as horribly as I treat my own things .
    It was funny when Tory was six. Anything sparkly or bright—hair clips, nail polish, makeup—would disappear from Kit’s drawers and reappear in Tory’s. Kit and Adam would laugh about how precocious their daughter was, coming down for breakfast with NARS blush on her cheeks and Lancôme Juicy gloss thickly slicked on her lips.
    Although heaven forbid Buckley gets his hands on anything of Tory’s. Heaven forbid Buckley even enters Tory’s room without permission. The screaming that ensues is quite unlike anything Kit has ever heard.
    But the missing lilac yoga pants? There’s only one place they can be, and by the time Kit has turned Tory’s room upside down, finding two sweaters, three pairs of shoes, one pair of pants and four scarves that belong to Kit, she is positively fuming.
     
    The bus pulls up at the end of the driveway, and Kit storms out of the front door. Buckley, seeing his mother in a rage, adjusts his facial expression from one of delight at coming home to his mom to one of nervous anticipation. Tory shuffles