Eddie heart went up in flames, a sudden bonfire. “That can’t be right!”

“It is right,” Philip said. “We sent several notices to your office address.”

Eddie eyed the pile of unopened envelopes on his desk—some new, some older, probably as old as three months.

“Am I going to lose the house?” he asked. He pictured Grace and the girls standing out on the front lawn in their pajamas while bank officials barred the front door.

“I need a check by Monday,” Philip said.

Monday? Eddie thought. Where was he going to get twenty-seven large by Monday? Then he remembered that Nightbill was checking in on Monday and that Bugsy Greer had agreed to pay in full, in cash—eighty-four thousand dollars. Thirty-five of that would go to the girls, forty-nine of that would be split between him and Barbie. But Barbie didn’t know that Eddie had upped the price, so he would have to cash her out at only seventeen-five, leaving him thirty-one-five!

Brilliant.

He said to Philip, “I can have it to you first thing Tuesday morning. In cash.”

“Cash?” Philip said. “What are you planning on doing? Robbing a bank?”

They both laughed.

Philip said, “Tuesday morning is fine. Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie was buoyed by his victory, but he knew it was only a quick fix. He needed something big. He needed something real. Where were all the buyers? Nadia had brought in the man she’d been sleeping with from Kasper Snacks, saying he was interested in buying a house. Eddie had nearly fainted with relief. Here was a benefit to the side business he hadn’t anticipated—the girls would encourage buyers. But, as it had turned out, Nadia’s special friend had been too midwestern, with no clue what investing in the Nantucket real-estate market would cost him. He’d taken one gander at the prices and decided to buy Nadia an ice cream instead.

Eddie spent Saturday in the office. There was nothing going on, and so he finished the paperwork for the deal with Glenn Daley. He stopped for a drink at Lola on the way home, despite the fact that martinis cost twenty bucks. He probably needed to be out more so he could meet people and hand out his business card, but being out cost money that he just didn’t have. On the way home from Lola, he drove past the houses on Eagle Wing Lane. He could practically see himself, crushed like the Wicked Witch of the East, under the foundation of number 9. He couldn’t bear to think of how happy and excited he’d been the day he’d closed on those three lots.

On Sunday morning, Grace was up and out of bed at six o’clock—off to the Hub to grab the Sunday Boston Globe. She was so excited to see the article that Eddie thought she might spontaneously combust. He tried to feel excited as well, but he was too consumed with worry that the beautiful property she loved so much might be repossessed.

He slept until nine thirty, a sure sign that he was depressed. When he woke up, the twins were out by the pool, reading.

“Where’s Mommy?” Eddie said.

“Upstairs in her office,” Hope said. “On the phone.”

Eddie set about making scrambled eggs with dollops of cream cheese stirred in, the one breakfast dish that actually seemed to help his heartburn. He used nine fresh eggs, which was probably too many, but what the hell, the eggs were free.

Grace came down from her study, beaming. “Do you want to see the article?” she asked. “It’s magnificent.”

“Sure,” Eddie said. “Since I paid for it.”

“Okay,” Grace said. “I tried to show it to the girls, but they weren’t interested.”

“Shocker,” Eddie said.

Grace said, “The photographs were all staged, so don’t get jealous.”

“Jealous?” Eddie said.

“Of Benton, silly!” Grace said. She opened the newspaper flat across the sexiest countertop in the world to show the front-page photo of Grace feeding Benton a strawberry. NANTUCKET’S PRIVATE EDEN, the headline read.

“Nice,” Eddie said. The photo was a tad suggestive of… well, exactly what, Eddie wasn’t sure. Maybe he should feel jealous? He looked at the other photos—Grace on the mower, Grace in the pool, Grace and Benton hanging from the elm tree like a couple of capuchin monkeys.

“Go ahead and read it,” she said.

“I’ll read it later,” Eddie said. “I promise.” The article was long, and Eddie didn’t really have the attention span to delve into such an endeavor right then. His brain hurt. He was hungry for his eggs. He was happy that Grace was happy. She’d gotten what she’d wanted. The article was some kind of quest that she’d successfully completed. Eddie wished his life were like that. Instead, it felt as if he were standing nuts deep in icy water, panning for nuggets of gold that he would either spend or lose, necessitating more panning. Endless panning.

He looked at the photograph of Grace feeding Benton again, but instead of feeling jealous, he merely felt intrigued. Benton Coe was a successful businessman. Did he have any money he would like to invest in number 13?

Eddie plated his pillowy, soft eggs and carried them out to the deck. With the first bite, he closed his eyes, and there he envisioned Benton Coe as some kind of prince who might save them all.

MADELINE

When Madeline saw the article in the Boston Globe, she thought to herself, almost involuntarily, Grace and Benton look so happy.

She wasn’t sure if it was the article that inspired her, but for the first time in her writing career, Madeline didn’t have a single hesitation when it came to ending her book. She felt like Gretchen Green, girl hero, swooping in to set things right. First, there was heightened drama and conflict: G’s husband, Renfrew, discovers G’s affair by checking her cell phone records. (As Madeline understood it, this was how most adulterers got caught, but she knew Grace would never get caught this way, because Grace barely used her cell phone.) When the affair is uncovered, G leaves her husband and runs away with B. They move to St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands, where B has been commissioned to build an enormous compound of villas overlooking Honeymoon Beach. G takes up bird-watching, which aligns with her newfound sense of freedom. She feels like she has wings.