Claire stared, shaking her head. Siobhan stared back for a defiant moment. She had not planned to lay down an ultimatum, but now that it was out, it felt right. Siobhan had had her chance to sleep with Edward, but she hadn’t gone through with it, and she was glad. Her soul was clean—or sort of. There had been the kissing and the groping at Isabelle’s house, and then when Siobhan had agreed to take on the catering of the gala, Edward had called to thank her. He had called in his official capacity as head of the catering committee, but they had ended up talking for nearly an hour, and Siobhan told him about Carter’s gambling. Edward made Siobhan promise that she would call him if she needed help, and Siobhan said, Any time you want to swing by the prep kitchen, I’ll be there working by myself. He had come the very next day. He had held her hand and touched her cheek, and they had kissed again, once, softly, and it might have gone further had Claire not come barging in. Siobhan had, in fact, called Edward that very morning on her way to the kitchen to tell him about Carter’s exodus to A.C., and about leaving Liam and Aidan alone, and Edward had offered to cancel all of his appointments in order to take the kids out to Great Point in his Jeep. Siobhan had turned him down—the kids didn’t know Edward, and news of any outing they took with Edward would make its way straight back to Carter. But it had felt good to have him offer. It was comforting to know that Edward would do anything for her—anything—because he loved her so. Siobhan was such a bloody hypocrite—but God, who wasn’t? She was acting in bad faith with Edward, using him as a stanchion when her own husband was failing. She didn’t love Edward, and implying that she might was disingenuous and would stop right now, this second. She would sell the engagement ring and give all the money—every penny—to charity. She was going to walk the path of virtue! And by way of her moral policing, she would make Claire walk it, too.

Someday, Claire would thank her.

Besides, the ultimatum had been issued. She couldn’t back out of it now. Anyone with children would know that.

Lock was nearly ready to leave for the day when Ben Franklin walked into the office. It was six thirty and the light through the twenty-paned window was slanted and golden, which meant that summer was ending. Summer ending, already? Well, yes, the summer gala was always the last thing on the social calendar, and the charity benefited from the sense of nostalgia people felt when their departure from the island was imminent. Heather would return to Andover on Monday: Lock couldn’t stand to think about it. Because of the chaos surrounding the next few days, he and Daphne were taking Heather out to dinner to the Galley tonight. Their reservation was in an hour. Lock was not exactly happy to see Ben Franklin walk through the door, but he had been meaning to connect with the man all week and, for various reasons, had missed him.

“Hello, Ben, hello!” Lock said, standing up. “Good thing you caught me. I was just on my way out the door.” He reached across his desk for Ben’s hand, but Ben’s arms were loaded down with the financials. “Can I help you with those?” Lock said.

Ben dropped them unceremoniously on Lock’s desk. “There’s money missing,” he said. “A lot of money.”

The house was clean. So the objective, on Friday, was to keep it that way.

“We have a visitor coming,” Claire told the kids.

“A rock star,” Jason said.

The day had the feeling of a holiday. Jason was staying home from work. He had been a real trouper since Pan got sick, but his good, accommodating mood seemed to be tied to the fact that the day of the gala was almost upon them and hence almost past them. He was still x-ing out the squares on the calendar with his heavy-lined black Sharpie. Three days until I get my wife back! Two days!

Once again, Claire had been awake all night. Siobhan was breaking every best-friend rule in the book. She was going to blow the whistle on Claire; she was personally determined to save Claire’s soul. This was so ludicrous that at first Claire hadn’t known whether to believe her—but yes, she had to believe her. I’m doing this for your own good. Claire had to admit, her relationship with Lock wasn’t strong right now. They were too consumed with the gala, and Lock was busy courting his daughter; they had not connected, they had not been intimate. But could she leave him? Could she go back to the person she had been before all this—Claire Danner Crispin, mother of four, local artisan, generally good and moral person? Could she go back to Jason and Siobhan, snap herself back into her rightful place? What would her life be like without Lock? She couldn’t imagine anymore. The conclusion that Claire had come to while she was lying in bed was that she would tell Siobhan she had ended the affair, and then continue it secretly. She would be back to lying to everyone.

Claire had thought the day before the gala would be busy, but she was wrong. Everything had been taken care of: the tent was up, the production team was hanging lights, setting up the audio, prepping the stage. The contract musicians were flying in that afternoon; Edward had an associate picking them up and delivering them to their hotel. Gavin had organized the table numbers, the seating chart, the who-went-where. The chandelier was safe and sound in the concession stand. Tomorrow it would be unpacked and put on display.

Claire had called Bruce Mandalay one final time to make sure Matthew was on his way.

“His flight leaves in an hour,” Bruce said. “He’ll be there at seven o’clock, your time. You just have to make sure you get all of the alcohol out of your house.”