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“You pick a spot,” Romeo says. “I’ll bring the towels and the picnic.”

Romeo is handsome and thoughtful—and seafaring. Sharon loves watching him move around the boat, testing the lines. But Sharon can’t shed her natural curiosity. When she chooses a place on the beach, it’s close enough to Coco and Lamont that she can eavesdrop.

Sharon drops her bag, unbuttons her cover-up, and wades back into the water, acting like a person who is interested only in the vista of Nantucket in the distance.

“It’s fine,” Coco says. “She didn’t see anything.”

Lamont’s mouth is set in a grim line as he watches Kacy swim ashore. Coco throws back the rest of her French 75 as though the situation is casual. Friends bumping into friends. What a happy coincidence!

Kacy emerges from the water, squeezes out her hair, and smiles at Coco and Lamont.

Coco exhales. It’s fine.

“Hey, guys,” she says. She looks at Coco. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I know,” Coco says. “I unexpectedly got the afternoon off. I know this probably looks bad…”

“Bad?” Kacy says.

Coco swallows. “I told you I had to work, and I did, but then Leslee went to play pickleball—”

“In a dirty car?” Kacy asks.

Coco deserves that. She lied; she got caught. Kacy is the first real friend she’s had in a long time and she’s out of practice at friendship.

Kacy looks at them. “You know it’s fine with me if you guys hang, right?”

It should be fine. But Coco broke the girl code. She almost wishes Kacy would be angry so she could accuse her of overreacting, but of course she’s as cool and gracious as ever.

“Would you like me to make you a French Seventy-Five?” Coco says, holding up the remaining Amalfi lemon. “They’re really good.”

“Actually,” Lamont says, “we have to go.”

“But—” Coco says.

“Now,” Lamont says. He tosses what’s left of his cocktail into the sand, and Coco nearly cries out for the wasted lemon juice. To Kacy, he says, “We were never here.”

“Understood,” Kacy says. “Rain check on the cocktail.”

“Why don’t I just go with Kacy now?” Coco says. She puts all the drink ingredients back into her bag, then looks at Lamont. “That would be best, right?”

“Yes,” he says, and he visibly relaxes. “That would be best.”

Romeo wades ashore carrying the cooler, the sandwiches, and a stack of towels. He cocks his head. “Hey, Golden Girl,” he says. “What do you say we head farther down the beach so we have some privacy.”

“You read my mind,” Sharon says, but she lingers to watch Kacy and Coco wade back to the fishing boat.

Farewell, my darlings, she thinks.

19. The Kitchen I

When the women gather at the pickleball courts off the Polpis Road, the first thing out of Leslee Richardson’s mouth is “I’m on Phoebe’s team.”

It’s Andrea who speaks up. “Phoebe and Delilah are a team. You can play with me.”

Leslee unsheathes her paddle. Delilah isn’t surprised that it’s a top-of-the-line Encore, though she is surprised that it looks like it actually gets some use. “Is that a hard-and-fast rule? Are you two sponsored or something?”

“No,” Phoebe says. “We just always play together because I suck and Delilah is great and we balance each other out.”

Delilah is glad Phoebe said it.

“Well, I’m here to shake things up!” Leslee says. “Phoebe and I will play together.”

Delilah opens her mouth to speak, but what can she say? We invited you to play with us! You aren’t allowed to shake things up!

Phoebe shrugs. “Sounds good,” she says. “Sorry in advance.”

Delilah is heated—both physically (the court they’re playing on is in full sun) and emotionally (Is this happening?)—and decides to take her aggression out on the court. They flip a coin to see who serves first; it’s Leslee and Phoebe. Fine, fine. Let’s go.

Leslee serves, Delilah returns, then it’s tit for tat until Delilah does the predictable thing and hits to Phoebe’s weak side.

“I told you I suck,” Phoebe says. It’s now Delilah who serves and Leslee who returns. There’s a little volley, and again, Delilah hits it to Phoebe’s weak side. Candy from a baby, she thinks. One, nothing.

The game could go on that way—Delilah knows how Phoebe will handle any given shot—but where’s the fun in that? Delilah lightens up, lets Andrea take some shots. Then there’s a volley where Leslee gets dangerously close to the kitchen; in fact, in one shot, her right foot is squarely in the kitchen while she’s volleying, and as Delilah is wondering if she should call her on it, Leslee aims a shot right at Delilah’s face.

Whoa! Delilah raises her paddle and deflects the ball, but they lose the point. Leslee and Phoebe tap paddles. Everyone realizes that was dirty, right?

Phoebe serves; Andrea returns, and again Leslee smashes the ball, aiming for Delilah’s face. “What the hell?” Delilah says, but Phoebe and Leslee have their backs turned and are walking toward the baseline.

“Easy,” Andrea whispers, which only serves to infuriate Delilah more. How about some team solidarity? Why does Andrea have to talk to her like she’s an ill-behaved kindergartner?

Delilah will not take it easy. The game gets way more aggressive; the volleys are intense, and Leslee really pushes how close she comes to the kitchen when she volleys. Delilah has to admit that Leslee is a good pickleball player. Delilah had half suspected her of posing.

The score is 8–8–2, then 9–8–1. Delilah is drenched in sweat but she is bound and determined to win. Andrea and Phoebe are just furniture; this is a game between Delilah and Leslee. Delilah charges into the kitchen to return a ball; she needs the serve back, but the ball goes wide. Out.

Now it’s 10–8–2. Match point.

Leslee serves, Delilah returns, there’s a volley. Leslee hits it to Andrea, Andrea cupcakes it over to Phoebe, and, in a rare show of skill, Phoebe hits it to Delilah, who wallops it at Leslee, who is standing in the kitchen, but instead of letting it bounce, she volleys it back, and Delilah lets it sail past her.

“Our serve,” Delilah says to Andrea at the same time Leslee says, “We win!”

Delilah turns around. “What? No. You aren’t allowed to volley from the kitchen.”

“I wasn’t in the kitchen,” Leslee says.

“You most certainly were,” Delilah says. She looks to Andrea for backup but Andrea is already walking toward the net to tap paddles with Phoebe. “It’s our serve.”

“Let’s just call it a game,” Phoebe says. “It’s hot. Who wants to come swim in my pool?”

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