Agnes couldn’t find Dabney, yet she knew her mother must be around somewhere. Dabney had invented Business After Hours years and years ago—monthly cocktail parties where Chamber members gathered to “discuss issues in the business community,” which was a grand euphemism for drinking and gossiping.

There was the guy who owned the body shop and towing business. There was Hal Allen of Allen Heating and Cooling; Agnes had dated his son, Duke, in high school.

Old boyfriends banging down the door?

Where was her mother?

There was a guitar player tucked in the back corner, playing a Jack Johnson song. Agnes exhaled and concentrated on the music for a second. Jack Johnson songs always made her think of hibiscus leis and coconut drinks. She was dying to go to Hawaii on her honeymoon, but CJ had been to Hawaii “too many times to count” with Annabelle. CJ wanted to take a cruise to Alaska. Agnes had heard that Alaska was beautiful, but it sounded cold, and who wanted a cold honeymoon? And spending her honeymoon in the cramped quarters of a cruise ship held even less appeal. But CJ had insisted she would love it.

The song ended, there was a smattering of applause, and the guitar player said into the microphone, “This next one is for Agnes, who is back on Nantucket for the summer.”

There was a collective murmur. Agnes? Is that Agnes? Her cover was blown, although she hadn’t ever had a hope of remaining incognito. Agnes craned her neck to get a look at the guitar player. He smiled—those teeth, the Hawaiian-print board shorts. It was Riley, from the office.

He launched into “Puff the Magic Dragon,” a childhood favorite of Agnes’s, learned at circle time in Montessori, although Riley would have had no way of knowing that. Unless Dabney had told him.

Agnes chatted away, sounding exactly like her mother—Oh, it’s so good to see you, yes, it’s been a while, home for the summer, working at Island Adventure, so great to be back, there is no place like Nantucket!—until finally Riley took a break and appeared at her elbow with a fresh glass of mediocre Chardonnay.

“Hey,” she said. “Thanks for outing me. I did love the song, though.”

“I can’t believe you came,” he said.

“You didn’t tell me you were performing,” she said.

“I didn’t want to oversell myself.”

“You were great,” Agnes said. How thrilled Dabney must have been when she discovered that Riley played the guitar! “I hope my mother is paying you extra.”

“I’m playing for tips,” he said. He showed her a plastic cup with a single five-dollar bill in it.

“Riley,” Agnes said. “Is my mother here?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

“She’s not here,” Agnes said. She drank the remaining Chardonnay from the plastic cup. She knew her mother wasn’t here because if Dabney were here she would have been the epicenter of the party.

Agnes studied Riley. His eyes were brown, like his hair, and he had one dark freckle on his cheek. She could tell just from looking at him that his parents were still married, that he had grown up with siblings, probably sisters, and that his life had unfolded smoothly, making it easy for him to be a surfer, and a guitar player, and an aspiring dentist.

Agnes figured he was a good egg. Her mother hired only good eggs.

“Did my mother come back to the office this afternoon?” Agnes asked.

“No,” Riley said. “Nina said she was running errands.”

“This is so strange. My mother is the most transparent person who ever lived. She does not disappear like this.”

“I know nothing,” Riley said. “I’ve worked at the Chamber for two and a half weeks. Your mom and Nina have all this shorthand, and secret code, and nicknames for people, and Celerie and I can’t figure out what they’re talking about. I’m pretty sure that’s by design. I think we’re only meant to see the tip of the iceberg.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to wear board shorts to work,” Agnes said. “Did my mother give you a hard time?”

“No,” Riley said. “She told me they were fabulous.”

“She did?” Agnes was starting to feel like the planet was spinning the wrong way on its axis.

“She did,” Riley said. “If you want to know where your mom is, maybe you should ask Nina.”

“I tried, this afternoon,” Agnes said. “Nina isn’t giving her up.”

“Well, I’m finished playing,” Riley said. “Do you want to get out of here? Go somewhere else, maybe?”

“God, yes,” Agnes said.

They climbed into Riley’s Jeep, a forest-green Wrangler with a six-foot soft-top surfboard strapped to the roll bars. It was the quintessential Nantucket vehicle. He told her he’d owned it since he was eighteen and had driven it only on the island, back and forth between his parents’ house in Pocomo and the south-shore surfing beaches.

“I’m sorry it’s covered in dog hair,” he said. “I have a chocolate Lab named Sadie, and she is the queen of this particular castle.”

“Oh my God,” Agnes said. “We had a chocolate Lab for thirteen years named Henry. My mother loves chocolate Labs. I think I just figured out why my mother hired you.”

Riley laughed. “Believe me, I’m used to people loving me for my dog. Now, where should I take you?”

Agnes plucked at the yellow silk of her dress and arranged it around her legs. She wasn’t used to anyone asking her what she wanted. In her life at home in New York, CJ made all the decisions. He picked the restaurants and the Broadway shows and the parties they would attend, he told her when to meet him at the gym, he picked the color of her nail polish when she got a pedicure.