Page 59 of Swan Song

Without looking at her he says, “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

He can’t be any clearer than that. What happened on the beach was a fluke, then—except Coco knows it wasn’t. She knows Lamont likes her. So… he’s worried about the rule. As if Leslee isn’t breaking all kinds of rules herself.

Coco moves closer to the bow and sits with Kacy. She considers telling Kacy about Leslee and Benton but the whistles, pops, and bangs make conversation impossible. Kacy snaps a selfie of the two of them—their faces are luminous with a rose-gold glow.

After what seems like an interminable wait—one rocket soars and explodes, then the next, at a leisurely pace—the fireworks start to overlap, unfolding one on top of the other.

This, then, is the finale. Coco turns around to sneak a peek at Lamont—and feels like she’s been slapped. Leslee has taken the empty spot next to him; she has her arm snaked around the back of his seat, and one of her blue-jeaned legs is flung across Lamont’s lap.

Kacy turns to look as well. “Jeez, poor Lamont.”

What had he said on Whale Island? When Bull offered me the job, he told me I’m supposed to treat her like the only woman in the world. But sorry, this is beyond inappropriate. Coco checks to see if anyone else has noticed. Bull is up in the bow with his real estate bros, and the other guests’ gazes are all aimed skyward. Those who have noticed are probably turning a blind eye because they’re thrilled to have been invited on this sail and they may even believe that the way Bull and Leslee Richardson conduct their marriage is their own business.

Coco’s rage glows like a hot coal in her chest. Leslee is abusing Lamont, taking advantage of his service and employment. She probably thinks he finds all the touching and flirting harmless, maybe even flattering.

Does he? Coco wonders.

When the sky finally goes dark, everyone on the boat and back on shore cheers.

Yankee Doodle Dandy, Coco thinks. It’s over.

Bull stands in the prow and raises his champagne flute. “Where’s my wife?” he calls. “Leslee?”

Leslee peels herself off Lamont and weaves among her party guests until she reaches Bull. The music starts back up—“American Woman” by Lenny Kravitz. Leslee grabs Bull around the waist and hugs him close, then they do some hokey dance steps to prove what a cute couple they are.

Bull beams. Coco supposes that to the casual observer, he must seem like the luckiest man in the world.

It’s well after ten when Eddie and Grace get back to their car, but Grace says, “I thought the party would go on much longer. I thought maybe we’d be invited back to their house.”

“This is just as well,” Eddie says. “I have a showing at nine tomorrow.”

Grace sniffs. “Did you see? First Leslee was all over Benton Coe, then she threw herself at Lamont.”

“Wow,” Eddie says. “She’s a real firecracker on the Fourth, huh?”

Grace scowls, leaving Eddie to laugh at his own dad joke.

There’s a knock on the door of Coco’s apartment. She sits straight up in bed, though half her brain is still asleep. She’s dreaming? There’s another knock. No, she’s awake, and someone is here. She checks her phone—it’s a quarter past twelve. Nobody has come up to Coco’s apartment since she moved in.

Another knock.

Well, she thinks, it’s either Bull or Leslee. Maybe Bull realized he was being cuckolded at his own party on his own yacht and wants to get even by trying to seduce Coco. Maybe it’s Leslee because she needs someone to listen while she feels herself: Tonight was so fabulous, the best Fourth of July party this island has ever seen! Maybe she thinks Coco didn’t do a thorough job cleaning up (she did a very thorough job and found another barbecued rib stuck inside the Kleenex box in the guest bathroom; someone was out to make a point). Maybe she thinks Coco didn’t separate the trash and recycling correctly (Coco is fastidious about the trash and recycling after being schooled by the women who work at the town dump).

Whatever the reason, Coco doesn’t want to see either of the Richardsons. She will pretend she’s asleep.

Her phone pings with a text. She reads it and then lies back in bed, blowing air at the ceiling. Ignore it, she thinks. But she can’t.

She opens the front door. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Lamont says. He leans against the doorframe like one of the Abercrombie models from Coco’s youth. He’s wearing his crisp white captain’s shirt; Coco’s eyes are drawn to his neck and the pulse visible beneath his smooth brown skin.

“You do realize that showing up here in the middle of the night comes dangerously close to breaking the rule?” she says.

“Yes.” His eyes narrow at her. Has she ever been looked at so intensely? “My attraction to you is more powerful than my fear of breaking the rule.”

“Is it?” she asks. Her nipples harden beneath the white tank she wears to bed. She moves one inch closer to him but does not touch him. She wants him to be the one to cross the line.

“It is.” His voice is husky. He traces a finger along her exposed clavicle, dipping into the hollow at her neck. His touch is featherlight, more a tease than a touch, and it’s working. Coco feels a pulsing between her legs. She wants to undo his brass anchor belt buckle, but she stands perfectly still.

---