“He asked me for a kiss.”

“I’m sure he did, but you should have ignored the guy instead of turning it into a public spectacle. This isn’t Vegas, Carson. This isn’t Coyote Ugly. It’s a family restaurant.”

“Don’t be grandiose. It’s a beach bar.”

“There are children around and those children have parents and your behavior was inappropriate and doing four shots in a row with customers is obviously unacceptable. I could maybe have looked the other way on that stuff in the name of fun and you showing Sheltingham who’s boss. But drugs on your shift? No. I told you I would fire you and I’m firing you.”

Carson nods to let George know she heard him, but she can’t accept this outcome. “I need this job, George.”

“Take some time, properly grieve your mother, clean up your act or tone it down, do what you need to do. I’ll give you a glowing recommendation in the fall and you’ll be able to work anywhere on Nantucket that you want, or you can go off-island. But you have to get your head on straight.” He sighs. “I like you, Carson. I want what’s best for my business but I also want what’s best for you.”

Carson stands up. She’s getting a hangover, and the coke has made her jittery. There’s a mounting wave of destructive energy inside of her that is telling her to burn this bridge. George says he gets it, but he doesn’t.

“I understand,” Carson says. “You should give my job to Jaime. She’d be great.” With that, Carson leaves the office and walks out of the Oystercatcher, swiping a bottle of Triple Eight vodka as she goes.

In her car, she checks her phone. Nothing from Zach. She sends him a text: Got fired.

Fired. She got fired. It’s so humiliating—and yet, she full-on deserved it. Only two hours earlier, she had considered calling in sick and thought that was the worst thing she could do.

Ha. Not even close.

Zach doesn’t respond so she takes a swig of the vodka, coughs, then calls Zach’s cell. She’s sent straight to voice mail. He’s blocked her. She’ll have to go over there.

It’s five thirty; he’ll be home from work but Pamela might be getting home soon. She works erratic hours—sometimes she stays late, sometimes she goes back to the office after dinner and works until midnight.

Can Carson reasonably go over there?

She drives down North Beach Street, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the neck of the vodka bottle, which she has nestled in the cupholder. Stalking is always a bad idea, she reminds herself.

She can’t believe she’s been fired. It doesn’t feel real. But yes, it is real, she’s out driving around at five thirty in the evening instead of taking drink orders, making people happy, ringing the dorky bell. Her identity is rapidly evaporating. She has lost her mother, lost her lover, lost her job. Who even is she?

She sees people walking into town with strollers, dogs, little kids, teenage kids. These are people who have their lives together enough to take a vacation. Carson feels tears welling, so she plays a game called What Could Be Worse? Well, she could be pulled over right now for driving under the influence, lose her license, go to jail—that would be worse. She needs to eat something! She can sign for food at the snack bar at the Field and Oar Club, get a grilled cheese, a hot dog, a peanut butter and jelly. She can pretend she’s ten years old and has just survived a sailing lesson.

When she pulls in to the club, she sees Pamela’s red Range Rover in the parking lot. She’s here, Carson thinks, probably playing tennis. Which means Zach will be at home alone.

Carson pulls out and leaves the Field and Oar behind.

She won’t park across the street at the horse barn; she’s at least that smart. Instead, she parks beyond Zach’s house at the far end of Gray Avenue. She runs back to Zach’s house and knocks on the front door, then decides she doesn’t need to knock so she swings the door open and calls out, “Zach!”

He comes shooting down the stairs. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I saw Pamela’s car at the club,” Carson says.

“Yes, she’s playing tennis with her mother. Why are you not at work?”

“I got fired,” Carson says and she starts to sob. She is so, so sad, so wounded, so adrift. The driver in the hit-and-run didn’t kill just Vivi. He killed their whole family.

Zach reaches out and takes Carson in his arms and rocks her back and forth, shushing her. “I’m so sorry, baby. But you can’t stay here. You have to go.”

Carson raises her face and they start kissing. Carson feels Zach’s entire body leap to life; he’s helpless when they’re together. How can he possibly think he could break up with her?

He runs his hand up her T-shirt and unbuttons her skirt.

Vivi

She has been watching closely because she’s worried Carson is going to do something stupid—hurt herself or someone else. Vivi should have used a nudge to close the bathroom door so Jaime—poor, sweet Jaime—didn’t see Carson, and Carson didn’t get fired. Or, better still, she should have had Carson drop the cocaine into the toilet. George is right—Carson needs help. She’s on a path to self-destruction.

What can Vivi do?

At that instant, the green door swings open and Martha enters. She has tied a brilliant blue Hermès scarf at the corners, slipped her arms through the holes, and is wearing it as a little shrug.

“Now, that,” Vivi says, “is the cutest look yet.” Then she remembers herself. “What are you doing here? Do I need you?”

“Pull back your scope,” Martha says.

“Gladly,” Vivi says. She was about to leave Carson and Zach anyway, for obvious reasons. She would very much like to nudge them far, far away from each other, but any fool can see that they are beyond the point of a nudge.

Vivi widens her scope—and gasps. Pamela’s red Range Rover is rolling down Hooper Farm toward Parker Lane. She’ll be home in two minutes.

“Carson!” Vivi shouts.

“She can’t hear you.”

Vivi stops herself from swearing out loud, but of course it doesn’t matter; Martha reads minds. “What can I do?” Vivi asks. The Range Rover turns onto Parker and before Vivi can say one more word, it turns onto Gray Avenue.

Carson and Zach are going to get caught. Vivi tries to predict what this will mean. Carson will be vilified by Pamela and by the elder Bonhams—who is Vivi kidding? She’ll be vilified by the entire community. Nantucket will blame Carson instead of Zach. Carson is wild, they’ll say. She gets fired one minute and is revealed to be a homewrecker the next. Vivi thinks about Peter Bridgeman. He’s an odd duck but Vivi would never want to see him hurt. However, Vivi’s main concern is Willa. Poor Willa will be caught in a firestorm. She will take Pamela’s side over her own sister’s because Willa has an intractable sense of right and wrong; she doesn’t even like reading about infidelity. (She didn’t care for Along the South Shore for this reason, she told Vivi.)

Everyone in Vivi’s family has been through enough without piling this on top. Getting fired will, Vivi suspects, be good for Carson in the end. But this—no. The affair with Zachary Bridgeman needs to stop, obviously. But not like this.