She still had to shuck the corn, put on water for both the corn and the lobsters, tear greens for a salad, whip up a dressing, and clarify three sticks of butter. She gulped the rest of her drink and poured another and squeezed what was left of the lime into it. She heard someone say, Really, Connie, another drink? And she looked up, thinking it was Meredith, but Meredith was at the back door watching Harold frolic in the waves. Meredith had washed her hair and put on her white shorts and navy tunic. She hadn’t worn that outfit since the evening she’d been photographed in it, so Connie was happy that she felt okay putting it on, and besides, she looked good. The sun lit her up like a statue. This had been Wolf’s favorite time of day. The room was starting to spin, but no, Connie didn’t have time. Water for lobsters and corn, salad dressing, set the table. Find the lobster crackers and picks. She wished they had blueberry pie.


At the stroke of seven, there was a knock at the door. Dan was one of those prompt people. Wolf, too, had strived for promptness, but Connie consistently made him late. She came by it honestly; her parents had been late to absolutely everything. Late to my own funeral, Veronica used to say. Wolf would get so mad, and as much as Connie didn’t like to think about it, she and Wolf had fought. Connie took a fortifying gulp of her drink despite the fact that her vision was blurring and her heels kept slipping off the backs of her espadrilles. The water for both the corn and the lobsters was boiling-too early, if they were to enjoy a proper cocktail hour-but the salad looked crisp and fresh, and the salad dressing was complete, though Connie’s fingertips now smelled like garlic. Meredith had set the table for three.

Dan knocked again. Connie hurried to the front door and nearly turned her ankle. Stupid shoes.

She opened the door and there was Dan, showered and handsome in a white shirt and jeans, which was Connie’s favorite outfit on any man. He was holding a bakery box in one hand and a large paper bag that contained the lobsters in the other hand. He held out the bakery box.

“For dessert,” he said.

Connie took the box. It was a blueberry pie.

“Oh!” she said. She looked at Dan, thinking, This is incredible, the man read my mind. It was more than a lucky guess; it had to be fate. They were simpatico. Dan knew that a lobster dinner needed blueberry pie. “Thank you!”

She took a stutter step backward and nearly lost her balance, but Dan grabbed her arm. She said, “Whoa, geez, these shoes. I’d better take them off before I break my neck. Come in, hello.” She moved in to kiss him, hoping for a kiss like the one he’d given her that morning, but this kiss was perfunctory and dry. He seemed somewhat less enchanted by her than when he’d arrived to pick them up for the boat trip. Quite possibly, Connie thought, he didn’t even want to be here. Quite possibly, he’d only come out of a sense of obligation, because he had the lobsters.

As Connie headed back into the kitchen, she tried to figure out what she’d done that day to put him off. Maybe he’d decided he just didn’t like her. She liked him; she liked that he was prompt. She liked that he had brought blueberry pie.

She said, “Can I get you a drink?”

He said, “Sure. Do you have any beer?”

Beer again. Connie hadn’t thought about beer. She checked the fridge and found two green bottles of Heineken in the back, thank God, bought by one of her houseguests, probably Toby, before he quit for good. Toby used to drink beer even after his first try at rehab, because he claimed beer wasn’t alcohol. Drinking beer was like drinking juice, Toby said. It was like drinking milk. Toby was an alcoholic, as purely and classically as their mother, Veronica, had been, but he’d beaten it now. He was sober. Connie pulled a beer out, opened it, poured it into a glass and watched it foam all over her counter.

Dan was out on the deck with Meredith, admiring the water. Meredith pointed out Harold’s dark head. She said something and Dan laughed. Connie wondered again if Dan liked Meredith. Maybe they would be a better couple. But that was silly. Connie was glad to see Meredith outside on the deck. She hadn’t ventured out to the deck since the photograph. Connie supposed she felt safer with Dan around. A man.

Connie joined them outside. She handed Dan his beer, and the three of them did a cheers.

“Thank you for a perfect day,” Meredith said.

Connie took a breath to chime in but she couldn’t think of what to add, so she just smiled. At Merion Mercy Academy, it had been popular to practice walking with a textbook balanced on one’s head to promote good posture. Connie felt like she had a book balanced on her head now, one that was in danger of sliding off and hitting the ground. Or maybe it was her head that was threatening to fall off.

Dan said, “Well, thank you for joining me. It wouldn’t have been much fun alone.”

Connie nodded. Yep. She realized she was still holding her gin and tonic. She thought she had switched to wine. Meredith’s wine glass was empty; she needed a refill. Connie would fetch the bottle.

Dan said, “I think the highlight was watching you dive!”

Connie nodded. Yep. Great watching Meredith dive. Meredith was a fantastic diver-champion, had been.

Meredith said, “That was fun! Of course, I used to be much better.”

“When you were younger,” Connie said. Her voice sounded funny to her own ears. Had those words made sense? Meredith and Dan were both looking at her now. “I used to go to all of Meredith’s meets. Every one, every meet, every single meet.”

They were still looking at her. Okay, what? She didn’t want to know. She wanted to go get the bottle of wine. She would pour her gin and tonic down the sink. She picked up a cracker and cut a messy piece of Brie. Food! Connie devoured it. She’d had nothing to eat since the half of the half sandwich on the boat.

Dan said, “Do you need help with the lobsters?”

“No, no,” Connie said, her mouth still full. She made some hand motions indicating I’ve got it, I’ll go in now and take care of things, you two stay here.

The two pots on the stove were at such a rolling boil that their lids chattered. The bag with the lobsters was on the counter. Connie didn’t want to do the lobsters, she realized. Wolf had always done the lobsters, and last summer, Toby had done them. Wolf, Toby, Freddy Delinn. How long would the lobsters take? Should she get Dan or just drop them in herself? She needed to clarify the butter. Meredith and Dan looked happy out on the deck; they were talking. They were enjoying their cocktail hour. So what if Connie was slaving in the hot kitchen? So what if Meredith was a great diver? Graceful and all that? Sexually limber. Who had said that? Connie took off her shoes. Ahhh, now that was a good idea. Wine. Connie poured herself a glass of wine and she should refill Meredith’s glass also. She would, as soon as she was done with the butter. She went to pour her gin and tonic down the drain, but there was only a scant inch left, so she drank it.

She put the butter in the pan and turned on the burner.

Late for my own funeral, Veronica used to say. Veronica had died of cirrhosis of the liver. This had surprised no one. And then, at her funeral, something had happened between Meredith and Toby; Connie was sure of it.

Toby, Wolf, Freddy Delinn, Dan. Danforth Flynn, that was a nice name.

The butter was melting and Connie decided she would just do it: She dumped the lobsters into the boiling water. One, two, three. She secured the lid. There was a barely discernible high-pitched noise: the lobsters screaming. But no, that was a myth. It was the sound of air escaping the shells, or something.

Wine for Meredith. The butter was melting. What about the corn? The corn would only take five minutes.

And then Connie remembered her cell phone. She hadn’t checked her cell phone since early that morning, before Dan arrived. What if Ashlyn had called?

Connie hurried up to her bedroom to grab her phone. Danforth Flynn, Freddy Delinn, Wolf, Toby. Her phone showed no missed calls. No missed call from Ashlyn. Never a call from her headstrong daughter, but why not?

Connie checked her texts: there was one unread text, which probably meant her cell-phone carrier had sent her a reminder that her bill was overdue. Connie held her arm straight out so she could read the display. The text was from Toby. It said: Sold the boat to the man from Nantucket. Will be on island in 3 weeks, OK?

Toby would be on island in three weeks? The man from Nantucket? Who was that? It was a joke, but Connie had forgotten the punch line. Toby was coming in three weeks! Her handsome, funny-fun-fun brother! Sold the boat? That just wasn’t possible, unless he was buying a bigger boat or a faster boat.

Connie pushed the buttons that would reply to Toby. She had never really gotten the hang of texting, but maybe she should, maybe if she texted Ashlyn, Ashlyn would respond.

OK? he asked. Connie punched in: OK! Then she remembered about Meredith. She couldn’t let him walk into that surprise party unwarned. What she wanted to say was You won’t believe this but Meredith Delinn called me up and asked me to throw her a lifeline, and I did, and guess what? It’s been great. Except for the paint on the house. And the slashed tires. But that was far too long for a text, especially when Connie couldn’t see the buttons clearly. While she was getting Meredith’s glasses replaced, she should have picked up a pair for herself. Connie left the text at OK! But then she thought to add LOL! which her friend Lizbet had told her meant “laugh out loud.”