Then, Eddie saw the shed.

The garden shed.

He heard Barbie’s voice: You need to get your house in order.

He tried the knob. Locked. Why would the door to the garden shed be locked? He pressed his ear to the door. He could hear noises-breathing, he thought, and movement.

He knocked on the door. “Benton, you’re all done here, as of right now.” He cleared his throat. “You’re done, and I will not be paying your final bill. You’ve taken more from me than I owe you. Now, I’m leaving, and you will leave right after me, and you will never come back.”

With that, Eddie turned and headed around the side of the house, into the driveway, past the black pickup, into his Cayenne. He felt preternaturally calm as well as proud of himself for his restraint. He had handled the situation admirably, he thought. Even Grace’s grandmother Sabine might have approved. There was no messy confrontation, no fistfight; there were no screamed accusations or denials.

Down the road a couple hundred yards, Eddie pulled off into the parking lot of Polpis Harbor, and he waited. By the time he counted to ten, Benton’s truck drove past. So Eddie was right. They had been in the locked garden shed together. They had been… Here, Eddie broke down. He didn’t cry, exactly-he never cried-but his breathing changed. Grace, his Grace, whom he had first set eyes on as she served blueberry pancakes at the Morning Glory Café. She hadn’t struck him as beautiful so much as wholesome. She had those big, brown, innocent eyes and a perfect smile. When she got embarrassed, the tops of her ears turned pink. She was the kind of girl Eddie had always wanted to marry, the kind who would put home and family first.

And she had. Until that summer. Or, possibly, last summer? How long had this thing with Benton been going on? Eddie couldn’t bear to know. He realized he wasn’t perfect, he realized he was so obsessed with making money that he’d let everything else fall to Grace. She did the housework and prepared all the scrumptious meals, she did the shopping and took care of the girls. She’d gotten angry once and asked Eddie if he even knew what grade the twins were in. He had become indignant and said, Of course I do, they’re in third grade! But the answer had been fourth grade, and Grace had said to him, I’m never going to tell them you got it wrong, because they will be devastated. But really, Eddie, make an effort!

He had tried harder after that. He showed up at Allegra’s Thanksgiving play and Hope’s flute concerts, even when it meant rescheduling an important showing. He had taken Allegra to New York City for the modeling interview, but Grace had been angry about that, too, saying that Eddie expended energy on the girls only when there was glory to be reflected upon him.

He knew that as a wife, Grace probably wasn’t as happy or fulfilled as she might have been. For a long while, she compared herself and Eddie with Madeline and Trevor-a losing proposition every time. Trevor and Madeline held hands everywhere they went, Trevor bought Madeline flowers, Trevor always referred to Madeline as “my bride” instead of “my wife.” Trevor watched romantic comedies with Madeline, and they had taken ballroom-dancing lessons together. Eddie had sneered at the dancing lessons, which had made Grace cry, presumably because Eddie had let her down in the ways she described, and in other ways he couldn’t even imagine.

But what good would wallowing in his inadequacies do him?

Eddie collected himself, and then he drove back to work.


When he walked into the office, Barbie raised an eyebrow at him.

“Handled,” he said.


Grace called the office an hour later. Eloise said, “Your wife is on line one.”

Eddie said, “Put her through to my voice mail.”


At three o’clock, Eloise approached his desk. Gone was her supersweet and helpful manner; that had vanished into thin air a few weeks earlier.

“Edward,” she said, “I’d like my paycheck.”

“What paycheck?” Eddie said. He paid Eloise every other Friday; she made twenty dollars an hour.

“For last week and this week,” she said.

“It’s only Monday,” Eddie said. “I’ll pay you Friday.”

“I’d like my paycheck,” Eloise said. She was wearing her no-nonsense expression, which scared Eddie a little bit. Eloise’s husband was a Coffin; they had four children and thirteen grandchildren and were related to just about everyone. Eddie couldn’t really afford to piss Eloise off, but he didn’t have sixteen hundred dollars in the office account to give her.

“It’s only Monday,” Eddie said again. “Do you mind me asking why…?”

“I’ve gotten myself into a situation,” Eloise said. “And I’d like the money today.”

“I can give it to you tomorrow,” Eddie said, thinking of Nightbill. “In cash.”

“That won’t work,” Eloise said. “I need it now.”

Eddie couldn’t believe the way the women in his life were taking it to him today. It must have been Poop-on-Eddie Day, but nobody had bothered to warn him. He brought out the company checkbook and cut Eloise her check.

“Thank you,” Eloise said crisply.

Eddie nodded. If she tried to deposit it today, it would most certainly bounce.


When both Eloise and Barbie were out for lunch, Eddie listened to Grace’s voice mail. She said, Hey, the girls are both home tonight, so I’m going to marinate some rib eyes and roast those fingerlings you like and shuck some corn. I was hoping we could have a nice family dinner…

Then she dissolved into tears. She bleated out, I’m so sorry, and hung up.


Eddie worked until six, and then six became seven. Both Eloise and Barbie left for their lovely little lives outside of work. Eloise had her check tucked safely in her purse, no doubt, and was off to deal with her “situation.”

At ten after seven, Eddie’s cell phone rang, and he figured it would be Grace, asking when he would be home for dinner. As lovely as grilled steaks and corn and a good bottle of red wine and the company of his wife and daughters sounded, he couldn’t go that far. He would not be placated by fingerling potatoes when he’d caught his wife sleeping with the gardener! He couldn’t just play through as though nothing had happened, as though nothing had changed.

He needed to talk to someone. He needed a friend. He pulled out his phone and dialed the Chief’s supersecret cell phone number.

“Hey, Eddie,” the Chief said. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” Eddie said, a little too enthusiastically. The Chief had said Eddie could call if he needed a hand. And Eddie needed one now. He didn’t necessarily want to share what had happened; he just wanted another man to talk to. “Are you free tonight? I’d love to meet you somewhere for a drink. How about the Brant Point Grill in twenty minutes?”

“I have plans tonight, Eddie,” the Chief said. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Eddie said. “It’s really last minute. I’ve just had a day. Could you meet me later? Say, around ten?”

If the Chief could meet him at ten, Eddie could grab a burger from Lola and linger until nine fifteen, when he would slip out to 10 Low Beach Road to collect the cash-and then make it to the Brant Point Grill by ten.

“Ten?” the Chief said. “That would put me out past my bedtime. Sorry, Eddie.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie said. “Nothing I can say to persuade you?” It was embarrassing, supplicating like this, but Eddie was near desperate to connect with someone who had nothing to do with his family or work or his diabolical side business.

“Maybe another time,” the Chief said. His tone of voice was verging on irritated, and Eddie didn’t want to be an itch, so he said, “Okay, Chief, no problem.” And hung up.


Eddie sat in the office until the sun went down and the room grew dark. Out on the street, Eddie watched people headed out for their delicious summer evenings. Groups of teenagers loped toward the Juice Bar for ice cream sundaes; parents pushed strollers to the playground at Children’s Beach. Couples held hands on their way to dinner at Oran Mor or the Club Car. How Eddie would have loved to be picking up Grace and taking her to dinner at the Club Car. They could have ordered the caviar, which was served with an icy shot of vodka. Afterward, they could have sung at the piano bar. He would even have sprung for the twenty bucks it would have taken to get Ryan to sing “Tiny Dancer.” He would have done it for Grace. She loved Elton John.

He was so… lonely. But he didn’t have to be. He could go home for dinner. He could go next door to Lola, get himself a martini and a burger and maybe hand out some business cards.

In the dark, the office was downright gloomy. His depleted empire.

Eddie finally turned on a light. He forced himself to go through the pile of unpaid bills on his desk. There, on top, was a bill for twenty-four hundred dollars from Hester Phan. Her success bonus.

That did it. Eddie felt as if he were falling into a fiery pit of anger and indignation. Success bonus, his ass! He picked up the phone and made the call he’d been wanting to make all day.


After Benton left the office, Eddie drove out to Low Beach Road. He was still shaking. Grace Grace Grace. He’d come so close to losing her. Eddie tried not to regret what he’d just done, but a part of him wished he had just gone home. He thought about Grace coating the rib-eye steaks with her magic marinade. He pictured her drizzling the fingerling potatoes with olive oil, sprinkling them with sea salt and coarsely ground pepper, and shucking some Bartlett’s Farm corn. Both Hope and Allegra would still be in bathing suits, lying in chaises side by side at the pool, reading. When Grace called them to set the table, they would dutifully rise to go help. They would even pick up their towels and deposit them in the outdoor hamper, where they belonged. Then Hope would go to the silverware drawer, and Allegra would pull out four plates. Together, they would head out to the deck.