Ammunition? Kacy thinks. She has messed this up so badly. “First of all, yes, I sent the selfies to Isla, and yes, I did it to make her jealous, and although I never specifically said we were together, that’s what I implied.” Kacy’s eyes are glassy with tears. “Because I’m in love with her and she promised me… then didn’t… but that doesn’t make any difference. I shouldn’t have used our pictures that way. It was gross, and I totally get it if you never want to hang with me again. I just need you to hear me say that I do genuinely care about you. You’re the best friend I’ve had this summer, the only friend I’ve had. Sending the pictures wasn’t calculated, Coco, I swear. It was something I did late at night during some desperate moments, and then, when it elicited the response from Isla that I wanted, I kept doing it.” Kacy feels physically sick. It is absolutely the most hideous feeling, fighting with your best friend. She wipes at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Coco. I hope you can forgive me.”

Coco isn’t sure what to say. She’s been away from the party too long; any second now, Leslee is going to text and ask where she is. “I have to go back upstairs,” she says. And she does.

Kacy has to decide: Stay or go? Her parents are her ride, so she’d have to call an Uber and wait for it in the pouring rain. To leave the party, she feels, would be running away. She heads back upstairs to sit in her discomfort.

Kacy bumps into Leslee, who says, “The buffet is ready, please start.” Kacy would really like another drink but Leslee ushers her into the dining room. There’s a tower of glistening golden spring rolls; there are platters of satay—beef, chicken, pork—with velvety peanut dipping sauce; there are individual cast-iron skillets of nasi goreng, each topped with a fried egg; there are rows of Chinese takeout boxes containing lobster dan dan noodles; and there’s a pyramid of shrimp burgers with sriracha mayo. The food is set up in tiers on top of banana leaves and garnished with tropical fruits and flowers, and all the guests start snapping pictures. Kacy would take pictures too except she’s decided she’s never taking pictures again.

She fills a plate and chooses a spot by herself on the curvy white sofa. A second later, Busy Ambrose plops down next to her.

“There you are, Kacy,” she says. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Busy Ambrose has been looking for her? Kacy barely knows the woman. They were introduced once by Phoebe, though of course Kacy knows who Busy is because everyone on the island knows who Busy is.

“You have?” Kacy says.

“My daughter, Stacy?” Busy says. She winds noodles around her chopsticks like a pro, and Kacy has to admit, she’s impressed. Kacy herself took a fork.

Kacy bites into a crispy spring roll. “Mmm-hmm?”

“She’s gay.” Busy whispers this like it’s a secret. Maybe it is a secret; Kacy isn’t sure how homosexuality is perceived at the Field and Oar Club. “And she’s coming for a visit next week. I thought maybe you two could meet.”

Kacy coughs. Her spring roll went down the wrong pipe. Is Busy Ambrose trying to set Kacy up with her daughter? Clearly she is. Then Kacy wonders: Is this such a bad thing? Kacy is presently low on friends, and sending the selfies to Isla, in the end, wasn’t that effective. Kacy hasn’t heard from Isla since the text saying there was something going on with Rondo.

Maybe Kacy should meet Stacy. Kacy and Stacy—they’d be such a meme.

Kacy says, “Here, take my number.” Then she excuses herself for the bar.

Delilah cleans her plate and considers going back for seconds. “Would anyone like more?” she asks.

Ed says, “I shouldn’t.”

“None of this food has any calories, Ed,” she says.

“I’ll have one more spring roll,” Andrea says. “Actually, maybe another cocktail instead.”

Ed clears his throat. He’s such a police chief.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Andrea says. “You’re driving!”

Across the room, Delilah sees Leslee with Phoebe and Busy Ambrose. Now is the time, she thinks. She heads over. “Hello, ladies.”

“Hi, honey,” Phoebe says. “We were just taking about you.”

There’s no way they were saying anything good. But then, why would Phoebe bring it up? “Oh, really?”

Leslee says, “I was telling them how much I enjoyed meeting Corwin and spending time with the two of you at the food pantry.”

Ahh! This is going to be easier than Delilah thought—and what a relief! Delilah can admit now that broaching the topic of money with Leslee at her own party felt a little tacky.

“But I’m afraid my support for your cause is going to have to wait a year or two,” Leslee goes on. “I’m sending significant donations to Tiffin Academy”—here, Leslee beams at Phoebe—“and to the scholarship fund at Harvard that Busy established in her late husband’s name.”

“The Francis Ambrose Memorial Scholarship,” Busy says, tightening the kimono over her bosom.

“Lovely!” Delilah says. In her mind, every strand of her hair is standing on end in horror. Leslee sent the money she pledged to the food pantry elsewhere? To Busy’s husband’s scholarship fund at Harvard? (Doesn’t Harvard have enough money?) And to Tiffin Academy? Delilah stares hard at Phoebe. There’s no way Phoebe asked Leslee to do this. Leslee must have offered to grease the wheels so that Reed could glide through the admissions process.

The food pantry provides twenty thousand bags of groceries to families with food insecurity, but that’s not important to Leslee. Or rather, Delilah isn’t important to Leslee.

“Lovely!” Has Delilah said this already? Her vision blurs with tears but no one notices. They’re back to talking about a lunch at the Field and Oar Club that Busy wants to host in Leslee’s honor. “We’ll invite Talbot Sweeney,” Busy says. “Talbot can be an old stick-in-the-mud, but you do need him on your side.”

Of course, Delilah thinks. The Field and Oar Club. That’s why Leslee donated to causes for Phoebe and Busy. They both sit on the membership committee.

At that moment, the room grows a shade darker. Outside, a mass of black clouds rolls in. Rain pelts the window, and a bolt of lightning splits the sky in front of them. As if this is a dramatic production Leslee has arranged, the dance music begins: “Knock on Wood” by Amii Stewart. Leslee pulls Phoebe onto the dance floor.

That’s it, Delilah thinks. She’s leaving. Can she persuade Ed and Andrea to go? Nope; Andrea is dragging Ed out onto the dance floor. Delilah will have to call an Uber.

She grabs two takeout boxes filled with lobster noodles—it’s all going to waste anyway—and notices that dessert has been set out: coconut cupcakes and mango with sticky rice. Both look delicious, but nothing can make her stay in this godforsaken house one minute longer. What is this party but a gross example of cultural appropriation? Delilah pulls the chopsticks from her bun and stabs them through two of the cupcakes. One of the chopsticks trails a strand of Delilah’s hair. Even better.

At the top of the stairs, Delilah bumps into Blond Sharon. “Are you leaving?” Sharon says.

“Yes,” Delilah says. “You?”

“I can’t get out of here fast enough,” Sharon says.

This makes Delilah smile. Sharon has been an unlikely ally this summer.

“Would you mind if I held on to you so I don’t take a nosedive down the stairs?” Sharon asks.

“Please do,” Delilah says, and she offers an arm.

Coco hears the pop of a champagne cork and sees Addison Wheeler standing on the bar spraying a bottle of Laurent-Perrier all over the dancing crowd. Everyone cheers; they’re jumping up and down chanting along to ABBA: “Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight!”

Addison passes the bottle to Leslee, who tips her head back and drinks; champagne flows out the sides of her mouth and down her neck, dousing her sarong. Phoebe takes the bottle and drinks next. Addison pops another bottle—more spray. Outside, lightning flashes.

The song changes to “September” by Earth, Wind, and Fire, and Leslee grabs Romeo’s waist from behind and urges him to start a conga line. Coco stands well out of the way. She dreads nothing more than a conga line.

Romeo leads everyone around the party room—across the dance floor, past the jukebox, around the pool table, then out the door to the landing. If he goes into the kitchen, Zoe’s staff will be pissed, Coco thinks. But Romeo turns the other way and leads the line out onto the octagonal deck. In the pouring rain. Does anyone balk or protest? No! Everyone looks deliriously happy, raising their faces to the sky, drinking in the natural wonder that is a summer thunderstorm.

Coco sighs and heads downstairs to get towels.

Delilah and Sharon can hear the music as they make their escape; there are outdoor speakers all over the property.

“I’ll drive you home,” Sharon says. Sharon is holding her golf umbrella, which is keeping Delilah and her boxes of noodles dry.

As they approach the garage, Delilah notices the door of the left bay isn’t closed all the way. She gets an idea. “Hold on.” She looks at Sharon. “Are you up for a little mischief?”

“I am today,” Sharon says.

Delilah pushes on the bottom of the garage door and it slides right up. There sits Leslee’s G-Wagon, gleaming like Darth Vader’s helmet. Leslee’s driver-side window is half open. Because she’s a smoker, Delilah thinks.