“Yes,” Coco says. “Who else is—”
“It’s just you and Lamont, officially. Lamont has hired two part-time crew members, but they’re teenagers.”
So… Leslee is telling Coco she can’t date Lamont. Which is why he pretended not to know who she was.
“Okay,” Coco says. “I get it.”
“Do you?” Leslee holds Coco’s gaze and Coco tries not to let her disappointment show.
“I do.”
“Good, great, perfect. Because we’re strict about it. You’d both be replaced”—she snaps her fingers—“like that.” She waits a beat for these consequences to sink in. “Have fun with the invitations. I’ll check in with you later.”
Coco heads back upstairs, her elation about the room of her own and the Rover popping like an overinflated balloon. The only person on Nantucket she’s not allowed to date is the only person she might want to date. Is she bothered enough by this to quit? No—she’s here for a reason, and it’s not to find a boyfriend.
Coco changes into her uniform; she tucks her shirt into the high-waisted shorts that make her look like Steve Urkel. Through the window, she watches Leslee wade out to the speedboat holding a striped beach bag over her head. Lamont reaches out a hand and helps her aboard. He guns the engines and the boat careens away in a huge sweeping arc. It’s almost like he knows I’m watching, Coco thinks. He’s showing off.
She eyes the box of invites and calls Kacy, thinking that Kacy will at least know where all these addresses are.
Kacy answers on the first ring. “Is everything okay?”
“You busy?” Coco says.
13. Special Delivery
Blond Sharon is at home preparing ham and cheese sandwiches on an assembly line for her son, Robert, and the friends he’s invited over to swim in the pool when there’s a knock at the door. Sharon peers through the window and sees a gorgeous vintage Land Rover idling in the driveway. Even Sharon’s soon-to-be ex, who likes to snark about all the Land Rovers on Nantucket (“Explain what a car designed to be driven on the African savanna is doing on an island thirty miles offshore”), would have to admit it’s a good-looking car.
Standing on the porch is a young woman holding out a pink envelope. “My employers, the Richardsons, are hosting a party on Saturday, and they’d love for you to join them.”
Gah! Sharon thinks. The Richardsons? She accepts the invitation thinking, These Richardsons are certainly shaking up the status quo. Who hand-delivers invitations? Sharon can think of no one but the royal family. And yet it’s a nice touch and, in Sharon’s case, a welcome one. She and Walker used to find their mailbox stuffed with invitations to cocktail parties and benefits; in more recent years, invitations came via Paperless Post or Mint. But so far this summer, even those have been lacking. Sharon has tried not to wonder if she’s been taken off people’s lists because of her impending divorce. Are her married friends gathering without telling her, rationalizing it as “giving her space” when really they’re just afraid that divorce is a contagious disease?
At least the Richardsons aren’t put off by her newly single status.
“Thank you,” Sharon says to the young woman. “I’ll check my calendar and RSVP.” She notices the woman’s short, punk-rock haircut. It’s the girl from her character study, Sharon thinks. Coco!
When Coco strides back to the Rover, Sharon notices someone riding shotgun—Kacy Kapenash. Ha-ha-ha! They’ve become friends! That story had a happy ending, but of course no one in Sharon’s creative-writing class wants a happy ending; they want conflict, drama, nuance.
A second later, Sharon’s kitchen is invaded by half a dozen thirteen-year-old boys. One notorious troublemaker, Baxter Morse, walks right into Sharon’s pantry and emerges with a bag of Fritos. Sharon wants to snatch the bag away. Baxter is Sharon’s least favorite of Robert’s friends; his mother, Celadon Morse, is insufferable.
“I’m making lunch for all of you right now,” Sharon says. “I’ll bring it out to the pool.”
“Do you have any sodas?” Baxter asks.
“Robert isn’t allowed soda because of his diabetes,” Sharon says. “Now, shoo, all of you. You’re dripping all over my kitchen.”
“Your mom is mean,” Baxter says to Robert on the way out. “And I can’t believe you aren’t allowed to have soda.”
I’m not mean! Sharon wants to shout. You’re rude! And thanks very little for your diabetes-shaming!
She turns her attention back to the envelope. The invitation is on heavy, cream linen stock with a pink border and pink print.
Pink and White Party at Triple Eight Pocomo
Saturday, June 22, 7:00 p.m.
Cocktails, Dinner, and Dancing
Regrets Only
Pink and White Party evokes Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball—or is Sharon upselling this? Surely they’re meant to wear pink and white, which will be easy for Sharon. She thinks of that young woman, Coco, in her pink polo and white shorts. Coco is working for the couple everyone on the island is talking about—and Kacy Kapenash was in the car. Maybe Sharon should resuscitate her “darlings,” despite her class’s nay-saying. It feels like the plot is thickening.
Sharon tapes the invitation to her fridge, and the whole kitchen seems to take on a pinkish tinge—or maybe that’s because of the improvement in Sharon’s mood. She finishes making the sandwiches and manages to resist the urge to put a spider in one and give it to Baxter.
Fast Eddie speeds out the Milestone Road like a man on the lam. He just received word that Jeanne Jackson has decided to sell off her six acres of waterfront land in Tom Nevers, the last parcel of its kind on the entire island.
Eddie pushes his Cayenne to sixty, then sixty-five. He fears being nabbed by the Nantucket police, but he fears losing this opportunity even more. He spoke to Jeanne, who is, thankfully, a realist and is just fine with dividing the property into three two-acre parcels. It will be easier to sell that way.
When Eddie pulls down Jackson Way (the family has owned the property so long, the road is named after them), he realizes he’s too late. Addison Wheeler’s Aston Martin is already parked at the beach access and Addison is deep in conversation with Jeanne Jackson.
Eddie hurries over. He’s been flirting with a crazy idea, and Addison might be just the person to make it work.
An hour later, heading the opposite way on Milestone, Eddie is speeding once again, this time due to a pure adrenaline high. His crazy idea wasn’t so crazy after all because it turned out Addison had been thinking the same thing. They should buy the three lots and build spec houses. Jeanne wanted to list the lots at three million apiece, but instead of telling Jeanne (who clearly hasn’t looked at a Nantucket real estate listing sheet in the past fifteen years) that she could easily list the parcels at five or six million apiece, Addison and Eddie locked eyes and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They could buy the lots for nine million, spend another four million per lot on a house, guesthouse, pool, and pool house plus landscaping, then flip them for twelve to fifteen million apiece. It was easy money just waiting to be made by the two people who understood the island’s real estate market better than anyone.
When Eddie climbed into his car, Addison sent him a text: Call me in the morning. It was as electrifying as a message from a lover.
Eddie’s phone rings; it’s his wife, Grace. Immediately, Eddie feels… caught. The truth is that Eddie did a deal similar to this ten years earlier and lost not only his proverbial shirt but his good name and his freedom as well. He’d been so desperate for cash that he started a prostitution ring on Low Beach Road, a scheme for which he’d gone to prison for three years. When Grace hears that he’s thinking of getting back into spec houses, she’ll call a divorce attorney. He’ll have to reassure her that this time will be different. Maybe instead of taking out a loan from the bank, they’ll find a deep-pockets investor, someone who considers eighteen million dollars Starbucks money, someone who likes a challenge, someone who would value Eddie and Addison’s island connections. It would mean divvying up the profits but also the risk. Eddie likes this idea; he isn’t sure a bank would lend to him again anyway.
“Hello?” Eddie says.
