Avalon smooths a sheet over the table. “I am very sure.”

“I’ve been saying it wrong this whole time. In front of the real estate agents and the lawyers and everyone. Why didn’t anyone tell me? I thought it rhymed with Kokomo. I feel like I’ve had spinach stuck in my teeth for the past week.”

Avalon laughs. “I’m going to step out of the room while you get comfortable on the table.”

“You won’t tell anyone else, will you?” Leslee says. “That I don’t even know how to pronounce the name of my own street?”

Avalon presses Play on her iPhone and the room fills with the sound of crashing ocean waves. “I won’t tell a soul.”

The next day, vans start pulling into the driveway at 888 Pocomo Road. Leslee has hired painters from off-island and a power washer from off-island, but, thankfully, we see a familiar face: Benton Coe, the foremost landscape architect on the island, who also happens to be very easy on the eyes.

Benton Coe has seen 888 Pocomo Road only from the water. It’s a destination for every boater cruising around Nantucket Harbor; everyone takes pictures of its distinctive facade. It evokes old-school, gracious summer living—but with originality. Triple Eight is composed of two wings, each with a gambrel roof, joined in the middle by a spacious octagonal deck on the second floor and an octagonal screened-in porch on the ground floor.

Leslee Richardson meets Benton in the white-shell driveway. He agreed to take on this job—even though he stopped accepting new clients years ago—after Leslee called his office every day for a week. Benton has had people do that before, but he relented this time because 888 Pocomo is such a legendary property.

They walk around to the front of the house. The large sloping lawn leads to a slice of golden beach that’s curved like a smile.

“The elephant in the room,” Leslee says.

Benton sighs. Yes, big elephant, small room. He read the forensic geologist’s report that Leslee sent him. The property is slowly being consumed by the harbor. The beach is eight feet wide, six feet at high tide; ten years ago, it was double that.

“There’s nothing I can do about the beach, unfortunately,” Benton says.

“I didn’t hire you to perform a miracle,” Leslee says. “Well, I did, but a manageable one. Follow me, I’ll show you.”

Leslee takes Benton to an area tangled with brush and Spanish olives on the far side of the garage. “I’d like you to clear this and create a hedged-in circular garden,” she says. “I want it to feel like you’re entering a secret room.”

“Okay!” Benton’s spirits lift a bit. He likes this idea.

“I want you to leave a space open in the middle. Guess why?”

For a fountain, maybe? Benton is known for his water features.

“I’ve ordered a custom octagonal hot tub,” Leslee says.

“An octagonal hot tub?” Benton says. Did he hear that correctly?

“It’s the third eight,” Leslee says. “The deck is an octagon, the screened-in porch is an octagon, but we need a third to make it Triple Eight.”

It’s either a clever idea or a silly one—but Benton isn’t there to judge.

Leslee leans into him and says, “When the hot tub arrives, you and I can test it out.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa! There’s no denying that Leslee Richardson is an attractive woman. She has long, flowing dark hair and a yoga body underneath her white jeans and tight white tank. But she’s also married, and she’s giving I’m a handful vibes. Was Benton a fool to break his no-new-clients rule?

He checks his phone. “I should go, I have a meeting out in Sconset in ten minutes. I’ll get some sketches to you in a day or two.”

He can’t get back to his truck fast enough.

Not long after the Richardsons purchase the house, their yacht, Hedonism, arrives.

We see her come into Nantucket Harbor under full sail, captained by a man named Patch who works for the yacht broker. Patch later hits the Gazebo and tells anyone who will listen that Bull Richardson bought the boat sight unseen. “The guy doesn’t know a jib from a spinnaker,” Patch says. “Hell, he doesn’t know port from starboard. He’d better hire himself a decent captain. I’m tempted to stay here and do it myself.”

But Patch doesn’t become the Richardsons’ new captain because, in a development that makes us all want to tip our hats to the Richardsons, they hire Lamont Oakley for the job.

Lamont Oakley is a member of one of our oldest Cape Verdean families. Like so many of Nantucket’s youth, he learned to sail on an Opti in Polpis Harbor at the age of seven through Nantucket Community Sailing classes. Lamont started joining crews for regattas at the Field and Oar Club when he was only twelve. He was courted by St. George’s School for their prestigious sailing program, but he stayed on island and skippered for the Nantucket High School team. When it was time to go to college, Lamont turned down both Howard University and Princeton and instead attended the College of Charleston on a full sailing scholarship. He was a four-time all-American and as a senior was named College Sailor of the Year. Lamont then became the captain of a boat called Knock-Knock and traveled to glamorous places like St. Bart’s, the Canary Islands, Sicily.

Meanwhile, back on Nantucket, Lamont’s mother, Glynnie Oakley, has been suffering from macular degeneration in both eyes, and just this spring her ophthalmologist, Dr. Ruby, declared it would be best if Glynnie had someone living with her.

The opportunity for Lamont to captain the Richardsons’ boat couldn’t have come at a better time. The boat the Richardsons bought is state of the art and can basically sail itself, but Lamont hires two brothers from the Nantucket High School sailing team, Javier and Esteban Valladares, to help out when he needs them. What a hometown hero.

While their house is being touched up, Bull and Leslee stay at the Hotel Nantucket and make the rounds of the island’s best restaurants. Fast Eddie, who met the Richardsons at the closing (he represented the seller), sees them at the back bar at Cru enjoying lobster rolls and chatting with the people on either side of them. The next night, Eddie pops into the Pearl and again sees the Richardsons. Bull is quite animated and calls out to the bartender, “Let’s get a round of drinks for my new mates!” The “new mates” Bull is referring to are the island’s most-sought-after dentist, Dr. Andy McMann, and his wife, Rachel. Eddie could warn the Richardsons that Dr. Andy and Rachel are both as annoying as wet socks, but they’ll find that out soon enough on their own. Eddie leaves the Pearl without ordering.

The following night Eddie sees the Richardsons at Proprietors, and the night after that at Lola 41. What is going on here? Eddie wonders. These people are out as much as he is—but it’s Eddie’s job to be out. That’s how he finds new clients.

Saturday is Eddie and Grace’s thirtieth wedding anniversary, and Eddie has scored a coveted table on the deck at Straight Wharf. It’s a clear, balmy June night; their table overlooks the harbor.

“This is incredible, Eddie, well done,” Grace says, and Eddie reaches for her hand. They’ve survived a lot—Grace’s affair with their landscape architect, Benton Coe; Eddie’s time in prison for running a prostitution ring; finally launching their girls—and this anniversary reminds Eddie how lucky he is to be in a good place. He’s about to order champagne when a couple step out onto the deck like it’s a stage and they’re the stars of the show. And damn if it isn’t Bull and Leslee Richardson. The hostess seats them at the table next to Eddie and Grace’s.

“I love that woman’s duster,” Grace says. “It’s so elegant.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Eddie says. He hasn’t the foggiest idea what a duster is. He’s trying to figure out how the Richardsons, who have been on island less than a week, managed to get a reservation on the deck at Straight Wharf. He wants to whisper to Grace, Those are the people who bought Triple Eight Pocomo (Grace would understand this meant that the Richardsons were to thank for the sizable commission that recently hit their bank account), and this is the fifth time I’ve seen them this week. Eddie wonders if now is the time to reintroduce himself—but Grace might complain that Eddie is conducting business on date night.

“And she smells delicious,” Grace says. “I wonder what scent she’s wearing.”

Eddie says, “It’s probably Eau de Cash.”

A server appears with a bottle of Dom Pérignon swathed in a white cloth like it’s a baby, and Eddie blinks. Is this a gift from their girls, maybe? They’re growing up, but this gesture feels a little beyond them. Perhaps it’s from Eddie’s sister, Barbie? Or a grandiose send-out from the restaurant staff? Eddie did mention it was their anniversary when he called.

It’s none of these. The server passes Eddie and Grace’s table and presents the champagne to the Richardsons. Eddie feels deflated; the Richardsons have outclassed him.

“What are you thinking to drink?” Eddie asks Grace. “A cocktail? Wine?”

Grace is distracted by the exuberant pop of the champagne at the next table. She pivots in her chair and says to Leslee Richardson, “Is it your anniversary too?”

“No,” Leslee says with a wink. “We just like to have fun.”

The Richardsons do like to have fun. Later that night, Avalon Boone and her boyfriend, Eric Kapenash, are at the Chicken Box. Eric tends to be a little staid, like his dad—Avalon jokes that he’s a police chief without a badge—but on Saturday nights, he lets loose. He and Avalon are out on the dance floor when she feels a tap on her shoulder. It takes her a moment to recognize the woman who wants her attention.

“You were my masseuse!” the woman screams over the band. “I’m Leslee Richardson! From the hotel!”

Avalon shrieks—she’s on her fifth High Noon—and gives Leslee a one-armed hug. Avalon and Eric dance next to the Richardsons, and it gets pretty friendly. At one point, Leslee grinds up against Avalon’s backside, and Avalon thinks, Okay? She gave this woman a massage a few days before and sometimes clients mistake that kind of touch for intimacy. Avalon takes Eric’s hand and leads him to the pool tables in the back to get a little breathing room.

“That was the couple everyone was talking about at dinner the other night,” she tells him. “That’s the couple Coco is working for.”

“Huh?” Eric says.

“They’re the ones who bought the big house out in Pocomo? Coco is their personal concierge, but they’re doing work on the house, so Coco has no place to go, which is why she’s living at your parents’ house.”