Leslee whips her head around and gives Delilah an incredulous look that melts into a conspiratorial smile. “I sneak one from time to time.”
“Me too,” Delilah says. “Or I used to, anyway.” This could be what bonds them, she thinks. Phoebe and Andrea put cigarettes in the same category as heroin and Miracle Whip: bad.
Delilah wonders why Leslee smokes—is it a habit left over from a misspent youth or is it to combat stress? What, Delilah would like to know, does Leslee have to stress about? Nothing, that’s what. Must be the misspent youth, then, Delilah thinks. But before Delilah can explore the topic further, Leslee changes the subject to… the weather. “It’s been beastly hot for the past ten days,” she says, plucking her T-shirt away from her body. “And yet it refuses to rain.”
Delilah says, “I have to pay more attention to my perennial bed than I do to my husband.”
“Oh, are you a gardener?” Leslee asks. “I’m having a circular garden installed on our property, but it’s taking forever. Benton promised it would be done by now, but it’s not even close to finished. The custom octagonal hot tub I ordered is collecting dust at the storage center. I want to have a crazy hot-tub party once the garden is completed, but Benton never shows up. It’s almost like he’s avoiding me.”
He wasn’t avoiding you on the Fourth of July sail, Delilah thinks.
They reach the food pantry, where the executive director, Corwin Moore—one of the kindest, most thoughtful human beings Delilah has ever known—is waiting for them.
There was a moment, right before Delilah left the house, when she wondered if this meetup was a good idea. Corwin does god’s work. Delilah imagined Leslee ignoring him—checking her phone, filing her nails—or making the organization seem cute or quaint. Or, worse, hitting on Corwin because he’s tall and quite attractive.
Delilah needn’t have worried. The second Leslee steps into the food pantry, she transforms into someone else. She greets Corwin warmly and listens earnestly as he explains that the need on Nantucket has increased from sixteen thousand bags of groceries per year to twenty thousand. Then he tells her about the food pantry’s relationships with local farms (“Delilah and her husband, Jeffrey, provide a farmers’ market bounty as well as fresh eggs to our clients”).
Leslee says, “I had no idea there was such a large underserved community here. I thought Nantucket was all rich people.”
“A common misperception,” Corwin says. “We have lots of families in need.” He pauses. “Lots of children in need.”
“I want to make a substantial donation,” Leslee says. “I’m thinking a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Delilah and Corwin exchange a quick glance. In their text conversation, they had bandied about a five- or ten-thousand-dollar ask.
“That’s incredibly generous,” Corwin says. He passes Leslee the annual report and the information packet for donors.
“In fact, make it a hundred and seventy-five,” Leslee says. “Any more than that and my husband might curtail my shopping budget.”
“You’re an angel,” Corwin says. He takes Leslee’s hand. “How can I ever thank you?”
Leslee inspects his thick black wedding band. “I could think of some ways,” she says. “But it looks like you’re taken.”
Maybe Leslee isn’t a completely different person, Delilah thinks.
“I am,” Corwin says. “My husband, Nick, and I are celebrating our one-year anniversary tomorrow.”
“Well, Nick is a lucky man,” Leslee says. “I’ll drop off a check this week.”
Thank you, goodbye, goodbye. Delilah and Leslee leave the food pantry. Delilah—who feels like she just stood in a tornado of hundred-dollar bills—says, “Do you want to go up to Lemon Press and get a coffee?”
“I’ve had three cups already,” Leslee says. “Bull is going overseas tomorrow, so I should get home.”
Delilah feels rebuffed but also relieved. “Thank you for that pledge. It’s incredibly generous.”
Leslee studies Delilah for a moment, then half smiles. “Anything for you,” she says.
After Delilah watches Leslee get into her G-Wagon and head up Main Street, she gets a text. It’s from Corwin: Job well done!
Sharon turns in a second character study. This one is so personal that she’s not sure what she’ll do if her class tears it apart. But it turns out she didn’t need to worry about that.
“It’s so much better,” Nancy says.
“Agreed,” Willow says. “These two people are intriguing.”
“I think you’ve found your muse,” Lucky Zambrano says. “Go with these two—they feel vulnerable and authentic.”
The second Sharon clicks Leave Meeting, she shrieks with joy. They liked it! She has found her muse! The first person Sharon wants to tell is Romeo, but she worries that he’ll ask to read it, and she can’t let that happen, so she calls her sister, Heather.
It’s three o’clock on a weekday and Heather is working a big case, but Heather’s assistant, Melodie, says, “She’s been wanting to talk to you,” and she patches Sharon through. That, Sharon thinks, is the definition of sisterhood.
“I have the greatest news!” Sharon says. “My online creative-writing class loved my character study. They called it intriguing and authentic.”
Heather doesn’t respond right away. Sharon hears her shuffling papers, so she decides to embellish a little. “My instructor said it was brilliant and that I’m on my way to becoming a published writer.”
“The next Charlotte Perkins Gilman,” Heather says, and Sharon thinks that, no, this is the definition of sisterhood—the older sister showing off. (Sharon isn’t sure who Charlotte Perkins Gilman is, and Heather knows it.)
Heather says, “She wrote ‘The Yellow Wallpaper,’ a story about a Victorian-era housewife who slowly loses her mind because her life is so boring and purposeless.”
Sharon hopes Heather isn’t insinuating that Sharon’s life is boring and purposeless. It’s definitely time to change the subject. “Melodie said you’ve been wanting to talk to me?”
“Yes,” Heather says in a serious tone—and Sharon’s guard immediately goes up. “Are you still hanging out with the Richardsons?”
“I’ve seen them in passing,” Sharon says. The other day, she spied Leslee Richardson having lunch at the Field and Oar Club with Busy Ambrose, but Sharon was so miffed at Busy for how she’d treated Romeo that she did not go over to say hello.
“But you haven’t been to any of their parties or gone out to dinner with them?”
“No,” Sharon admits. Every time the pool-cleaning crew pulls into the driveway, Sharon wishes it were Coco in her baby-blue Land Rover with another hand-delivered invitation. As for dinner, Sharon has heard the Richardsons prefer to go out alone and eat at the bar, where they can introduce themselves to even more people. “Why do you ask?”
