Amy Rivers sensed something, perhaps. She turned toward Meredith. Meredith bowed her head. Amy Rivers had left a message on the answering machine in the Delinns’ Park Avenue apartment, a screaming, hysterical message in which she’d used the word “fuck” as every part of speech. She could not fucking believe it. Freddy was a lying, criminal bastard, an inexcusable fuck of a human fucking being. Then Amy lit into Meredith. Meredith had fucked her, fucking betrayed her. And I thought we were fucking friends. What the fuck? Meredith wanted to call Amy back, to remind Amy that it was she who had begged Meredith to get her in with Freddy. Meredith had given Freddy Amy’s business card as a favor. Meredith had no idea Freddy was running a Ponzi scheme. She had no clue she was setting Amy up to lose all her money. Amy said herself that the returns were “unbelievable.” Things that seemed unbelievable usually were. Amy was smart enough to know that. Where was Amy’s due diligence? Why was this Meredith’s fault?

Meredith felt Amy’s eyes on her. She could see Amy’s feet and legs. She was wearing her white Tretorns with the pink stripe, the same shoes she’d played tennis in at the Everglades Club. Meredith closed her eyes and counted to twenty. She felt a hand on her arm.

Connie said. “Hey, are you okay?”

Meredith looked up. Amy was gone.

“Yes,” she said. And she went to the counter to buy her books.


That run-in was enough to send Meredith back to the refuge of Tom Nevers, but Connie was hot to keep going. They went into Stephanie’s gift shop, and Connie read aloud all the funny sayings on the cocktail napkins, and Meredith faked a smile. She had let her guard down in the bookstore, and she’d nearly been assassinated. She had to remain aware at all times; she would never be safe.

They moved on: down the street, they gazed in the window of Patina at the tall, incredibly elegant Ted Muehling candlesticks.

“They’re, like, eight hundred dollars apiece,” Connie said.

Meredith didn’t mention that in her life before, she would have waltzed right in and bought four or six of the candlesticks in different sizes. She would have filled them with the hand-milled beeswax candles that she bought at Printemps in Paris; she would have looked fondly on the candlesticks a dozen times over the next several days, feeling the buzz that buying fine, expensive things gave her. But by the end of the week, the buzz would be gone; the candlesticks would be just one more thing for Louisa to dust, and Meredith would have moved on to wanting something else-buying it, then forgetting it. It had been a shameful way to live, even when she’d believed the money she was spending was her own. She wondered if she would ever buy anything as frivolous as candlesticks again.

On to Vanessa Noel shoes. The shoes were glorious-suede and snakeskin, patent leather and sequined. There were sandals and slides and slingbacks and peep toes. Connie tried on a pair of pink slides decorated across the vamp with striped grosgrain ribbon. They fit perfectly; they made her legs look amazing. She was so tall, so slender. Meredith felt fifty stabs of jealousy, but she was used to feeling jealous about Connie’s looks.

Meredith said, “They’re fabulous. You should get them.”

Connie said, “I think I will. But where will I ever wear them?”

Meredith said, “How about on a date with Dan Flynn?”

Connie looked at Meredith in shock, alarm, anger perhaps. Had Meredith overstepped her bounds? Connie was still singularly devoted to mourning Wolf. Meredith had noticed that Connie had been sleeping each night on the sofa under a blanket, and when Meredith asked her why, she said, “I can’t sleep in the bed without him.” Meredith found this a little strange. It had been two and a half years! But she’d said nothing. Now, she’d stuck her foot in her mouth.

But then Connie said slyly, “I am going to get them!”

While Connie was paying, Meredith picked up a pair of silver heels decorated with milky blue stones. Gorgeous, original-they would have matched a blue silk shutter-pleat dress that Meredith had left in her closet in Cap d’Antibes. These were shoes for a dress she no longer owned. They were on sale for $495.

No.

On the way back home, they stopped at Nantucket Looms where Connie bought a certain kind of wildflower soap that she liked, and then they passed Saint Mary’s, the Catholic church. It was a gray-shingled building with white trim-just like every other building on Nantucket-and there was a simple white statue of the Virgin Mary out front. The Virgin held her hands out in a way that seemed to beckon Meredith in.

She said to Connie, “I’m going in to light a candle, okay?”

Connie nodded and took a seat on a bench. “I’ll wait here.”

Meredith entered the church and inhaled the vague scent of incense; a funeral Mass must have been celebrated that morning. She slipped three dollars into the slot, and even then, she felt a twinge-three precious dollars! She lit the first candle for Leo. It was a parent’s job to keep his children safe, and Freddy had failed. He had so wanted the boys to join him in business, although it had been obvious from the beginning that he would only get Leo. Leo had worked preposterous hours, and he had made very little money compared to the people who worked on the abhorrent seventeenth floor. Surely the Feds realized this? If Leo was in on the Ponzi scheme, wouldn’t he be rich, too, like the rest of them? Why would Freddy involve Leo in something illegal? How was it any different from giving Leo a handgun and forcing him to hold up a 7-Eleven?

Keep Leo safe, Meredith prayed.

She lit a candle for Carver. Carver was a free spirit; he’d had no interest in an office job, and Freddy, reluctantly, had let him go. Carver had asked Freddy for a loan in order to buy his first renovation project, and Freddy had said no. No handouts. So Carver had gone to the bank himself, and they gave him the loan because his last name was Delinn and nobody turned down a loan to a Delinn. And now, thank God, he wasn’t involved; he was a carpenter, and he could keep a roof over his brother’s head.

Keep Carver strong, Meredith prayed.

She struggled with the last candle, then decided she would light it for Freddy.

But she couldn’t think of a word to say to God on his behalf.

She blessed herself and stepped back out into the sun. She was ready to go home. Her wig was starting to itch.


As they pulled into Connie’s driveway, Meredith studied the front of the house. The paint had come off, but the power washing left the ghost of the word behind. If you looked closely, CROOK was still there-only instead of hideous green letters, it was marked by shingles that were paler than the others. Dan had come back that morning to do some touch-up work. They had missed him, but there were telltale puddles in the front yard. Dan had promised that, over time, the shingles he’d blasted would weather back to gray. In six months, he said, the damage would be completely gone.


Connie pulled her purchases from the backseat of the Escalade. “Dan was here,” she said, eyeing the dripping eaves. “I can’t believe we missed him.”

Meredith was the first one to the front door. A business card was sticking out of the screen. She plucked it-it was Dan’s card. On the back, he’d written, “Connie, call me!” Meredith felt a rush of adolescent excitement.

“Look!” she said. “He left this!”

Connie flipped the card over. Her expression was inscrutable. She said, “It’s probably something about the house. Or about the bill.”

Meredith felt a twinge of panic. The bill. She would pay it, but how much would it be? Four hundred? Six hundred?

“You’re going to call him, though, right?” Meredith said.

“Not right now,” Connie said.

Meredith didn’t push it. Once inside, she extracted the bobby pins from her head and pulled off her wig. Ahhh. Her real hair, which could now only be described as blondish gray, was matted. She tried to fix it in the mirror. Her glasses were truly awful. No man would ever leave a business card for her. But that was okay; that was absolutely for the best.


Meredith longed to go for a swim. There was the sunny deck, and there was the beach twenty stairs below. There was the golden sand and the cool, blue water. But unlike the center of town with all its busyness and crowds, being on Connie’s property spooked her.

Connie said, “There’s Harold.”

“Where?” Meredith said.

Connie pointed offshore, and Meredith saw the sleek black head surface, then disappear. Yes, only one seal.

“How long has Harold been around?” Meredith asked.

“I was wondering that the other day,” Connie said. “And I figured out this is the fifth summer.”

“The fifth? Really?”

“Wolf saw him first when he was fooling around with his binoculars. The next summer, Wolf was sick, but we came here anyway, and Wolf spent a lot of time on the deck, wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t see very well by that point, but I would tell him every time I saw Harold. The following summer, Wolf had died, and we scattered his ashes here. Then last summer. And now this summer. So, five.” Connie was quiet for a moment, then she said, “It’s amazing how Wolf’s death has put everything into two categories: before Wolf died and after Wolf died.”

Meredith nodded. She certainly understood that: the before and the after.

“Let’s have lunch,” Connie said.


Connie wanted to eat on the deck, but Meredith refused.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Connie said.

“I can’t help myself,” Meredith said. “I feel exposed.”

“You’re safe,” Connie said. “No one is going to hurt you.”

“You don’t know that,” Meredith said.