Page 90 of Swan Song

“Isla,” Kacy says. “You have got to get a hold of yourself.” Kacy isn’t unhappy about this turn of events, though it’s disheartening that Isla seems so destroyed about it and that she apparently forgot that she and Kacy were having their own affair. “Listen, I’m out right now—”

“I need you, Bun,” Isla says and blubbers some more. “Please don’t hang up.”

Kacy sighs. “Okay, let me go say goodbye. I’ll call you back in five, okay?” Kacy hangs up and texts Stacy: I’m sorry, I have to go. Rain check?

Stacy sends a picture of their two martinis side by side, looking as seductive as two drinks possibly could. Go back upstairs! Kacy tells herself.

But she can’t forsake Isla. She exits the phone booth and leaves the club before her good sense can kick in.

31. The Third Eight

Coco has made it deep enough into the summer that she’s confident she can take a few liberties. When she stops at Nantucket Meat and Fish, she gets the steak tips, the salmon, and the bag of Bull’s favorite pretzels that are on Leslee’s list, but she adds a slender bottle of truffle oil, a package of crisp rosemary flatbreads, and a pound of Rainier cherries for herself (she’s not even sure she’ll like the cherries but they’re expensive and she figures they should be something she at least tries). Down the street at Pip and Anchor, she buys Leslee’s usual organic rosé and her Savage cheese, then goes on a spree in the jams and spreads section. She throws a bottle of homemade ketchup into her basket along with cider syrup and a jar of strawberry Italian plum rosewater jam (for the name alone). Leslee has never once asked Coco for a receipt, never questioned a charge, so why not indulge?

She opts to go to Sea View Farm rather than Bartlett’s, hoping to “bump into” Delilah. She would like to speak in code so that Delilah knows that Coco, too, would have filled Leslee’s G-Wagon from floor mats to dashboard with lobster dan dan noodles if she thought she could’ve gotten away with it.

Delilah isn’t around, but no matter. Coco chooses a rainbow of heirloom tomatoes, six ears of Silver Queen corn, a dozen eggs that are still warm in their carton, and half a dozen lilies (at fifteen dollars a pop) to brighten up her own apartment.

At the register, she hands over Leslee’s card and sets the eggs and produce gently in the canvas bags she brought from home (this is her own touch; Leslee doesn’t care about reusable bags).

“I’m sorry,” the cashier says. She’s a teenager with a pale round face and one prominent zit on her chin that’s hard not to stare at. “Your card isn’t working.”

“What?” Coco says.

“It’s been declined.”

Coco smiles indulgently. “Would you try it again?”

The girl feeds the chip into the reader. “Declined again. Do you have another card?”

Coco has only her own card and some cash, her own personal money. The total is a hundred and twenty-six dollars (for tomatoes, corn, eggs, and lilies!). There’s no way Coco is paying for this. She wonders if Leslee blocked Sea View Farm on her credit card because she hates Delilah so much. Is that a thing you can do? There are three people behind Coco in line, and she has two choices: use her own money or humiliate herself by putting everything back. This, she thinks, is karma pinching her for her hubris.

Just buy it, she thinks. The lilies will look pretty on the counter and they’ll smell nice; who cares if they cost ninety dollars? (Coco cares. It’s not the money, it’s the money.)

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I think I should just…” She remembers the young mothers she used to see at Harps in Rosebush, asking the cashier to take off the six-pack of Mountain Dew (We don’t need it) and the clementines (I’m not even sure how they got in my cart) when they spent more than they had on them. Coco feels the heat of the other customers’ gazes at her back.

“Coco?”

Coco turns to see Delilah approaching. Which makes the situation a thousand times more awkward. Now Coco will have to suck it up and pay.

“Is there a problem?” Delilah asks.

“Her card—” the teenager says.

“My card,” Coco says, “I mean Leslee’s card was declined. But it’s fine, I have cash of my own, I’ll just—”

Delilah waves a hand. “Put it on my house charge,” she tells the teenager.

“Oh, no, you don’t have—”

“Coco, please,” Delilah says. “I’m just so happy to see you somewhere other than Triple Eight.”

Coco takes her bag and the lilies. Delilah strolls with her to where Baby is parked. Coco says, “Thank you, I’m sorry. The card being declined was… unexpected.”

Delilah winks. “Leslee probably forgot to pay her bill because she’s been so busy getting everyone on the island stinking drunk.” She peers in the passenger window at the other parcels. “Do you ever splurge on treats for yourself?” she asks. “Because I know I would.”

Coco lays the lilies across the seat and puts on her new sunglasses; she finally upgraded from the pink plastic pair she’d found at her bar. The new pair has polarized lenses that turn the whole world a clear, sparkling blue. “For myself?” Coco says, as though the idea never occurred to her.

Coco has one last errand—to fill Baby’s tank with gas. Baby takes premium unleaded, which on Nantucket is a mind-blowing five dollars and sixty-five cents a gallon. But Coco doesn’t get to spend ninety-five dollars on three-quarters of a tank of gas because, once again, Leslee’s card is declined.

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