But Leslee is all smiles. “Hey, girls! Sorry I’m late—I had to do a little do-si-do with the vehicles. Phoebe, are you ready?”
Do-si-do with the vehicles? Delilah thinks. Maybe Leslee doesn’t realize it was Delilah—but Delilah knows, and the guilt weighs her down. She plays like she has gum stuck to the bottom of her shoes. However, Andrea, for the first time all summer, plays like a beast. She scores three consecutive points.
Wow, Delilah thinks. Maybe Andrea has always been this good and Delilah is a ball hog.
The score is close, though Leslee and Phoebe maintain the lead—9–8, 9–9, and finally 10–9, match point. Leslee serves, Delilah returns, Phoebe volleys, and Andrea runs forward and hits a ball that passes right between Leslee and Phoebe.
Leslee raises her hands above her head. “Woo-hoo!” she says. “Good game!”
“What?” Andrea says. “That ball was in. It’s our serve.”
“Oops, no, sorry,” Leslee says. “Your toe was over the line. You volleyed from the kitchen.”
Delilah can’t help herself; she brays like a donkey: “You’re kidding, right? Her toe was over the line? First of all, no, it wasn’t. Second, you have been volleying from the kitchen all summer long and we let it slide. Even though it’s cheating.”
Leslee goes to the sideline and zips up her racket. “I know it was you who vandalized my car, Delilah.”
There’s a second of stunned silence. The sun scorches Delilah’s bare shoulders.
“What?” Phoebe says. “What are you talking about?”
Leslee removes her visor and fluffs her perfectly curled hair. “Why don’t you ask Delilah.”
“You promised the food pantry a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars,” Delilah says. “Then you backed out.”
“I don’t remember signing a contract.”
“You made a pledge,” Delilah says. “You told Corwin you’d stop by with a check. Of course, that was after you flirted with him.”
Leslee shrugs. “Whatever. He was cute.”
“It was offensive,” Delilah says, though she isn’t sure she should be speaking for Corwin. He might have been flattered. “But not as offensive as reneging on your donation.”
“You don’t like me,” Leslee says. “You’ve never liked me. You asked me to meet you at the food pantry because you wanted my money. You were using me, Delilah. I recognized that right away. I’ve met people like you before, people who are threatened by me because I’m friendly and outgoing and I entertain with pizzazz.”
Delilah concedes this point: Leslee does entertain with pizzazz. “I’m not threatened by you,” she says—though of course she is.
“I’ll send you the bill for detailing my car,” Leslee says. With that, she strolls off the court, climbs into the Land Rover, and drives off.
“Delilah?” Phoebe says.
“If you don’t understand what just happened,” Delilah says, “then you haven’t been paying attention at all this summer.”
“I understand,” Andrea says, and she taps Delilah’s racket.
It’s this small act of solidarity that makes Delilah’s eyes mist up. “I’m going home,” she says. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”
30. Her
Kacy meets her blind date, Stacy Ambrose, in the unlikeliest of places: the Field and Oar Club.
When Stacy suggested the club, Kacy thought, Is there a less sexy or romantic place on the island? They’ll be under a proper, staid, and very WASPy microscope. They’re gay—are there any same-sex couples at the Field and Oar Club, any queer members? There’s probably a closet full of them somewhere.
Stacy obviously holds out no hope for this setup, which lowers the stakes. If nothing else, it’s a nice change for Kacy. She has hung out with only her family and Coco all summer.
They plan to meet in the Burgee Bar at seven o’clock for drinks. Kacy has never been to the Burgee Bar, though she read somewhere that it’s the best place for cocktails on the entire island (although you have to be a club member or be lucky enough to get invited by one).
Tonight, Kacy has been invited. She climbs to the second floor of the club and pulls open a door with a brass porthole window. The bar is nearly empty—all the Olds are downstairs finishing the dinners they sat down to at five thirty—but Kacy sees a young woman sitting alone at one of the two-tops by the windows. The woman glances at Kacy as she brings an icy martini to her lips.
Kacy’s eyebrows lift. The girl has a Wednesday–from–the–Addams Family energy with her dark, structured bob and big brown eyes. She’s wearing an outfit Kacy loves but considers a bit scandalous for the Field and Oar—an oatmeal-hued tube sweater, an ivory miniskirt, and a wide beaded belt. Veja sneakers on her feet.
She sets down her drink and stands up. “Kacy?”
“Stacy?”
They both laugh. “We can’t date unless one of us changes her name,” Stacy says.
“I’m properly Katherine,” Kacy says.
“Then it’ll be you.” Stacy smiles. “What would you like to drink? And yes, I am putting these on my mother’s chit.”
“I’ll have what you’re having,” Kacy says.
“Hey, Ryan,” Stacy calls to the bartender. “Another very dirty Grey Goose martini with extra olives for my very clean friend here, please.”
Very clean? Kacy thinks. She finds herself wanting to protest. I’m not very clean!
Against all odds, Stacy Ambrose is cool. Yes, she has summered on Nantucket her entire life, and yes, she grew up climbing on the giant anchor on the lawn below them, but she seems almost apologetic about her privilege. “This place has an underbelly,” she says. “Trust me.”
