Mansion Beach

Nicola

After work on the third Tuesday in July, is sitting on her patio with her phone, watching an Instagram reel of a lost

border collie being reunited with its owner, when she hears the purr of mopeds. She looks over and sees three of them moving

up Juliana’s driveway. Has Juliana been out for a ride? Has she found company she prefers to ’s?

Her phone buzzes, a text from Juliana: CAN YOU COME OVER? NEED BACKUP.

thinks for a moment, and then texts back:

TAYLOR IS HERE

WITH DAVID?

NO

Then an emoji, this one: .

Then one more word: HURRY.

’s a rule follower at heart—you’ll find that many who end up at law school are (though certainly not all), and besides

that she tries to do what’s asked of her, for a friend, even (especially?) a new friend. She hurries.

Allison meets at the front door and tells her everyone is on the back patio; she says can go around or through the house. chooses the former, and as she nears the patio she spies a party of three arranged on the furniture: Taylor and another woman about her age, with dark hair, on one of the love seats, and a redheaded male, practically an Ed Sheeran lookalike, same carefully tousled look and alabaster skin, in a chair. Juliana, in denim shorts and a white tank top, messy bun— knows these to be her working clothes, when she doesn’t have video calls—is hovering on the outskirts, and beyond her, also hovering but much less desperately, is Allison, who, having taken the through-the-house route, arrived before .

“Lemonade?” Juliana is asking. “No? Does anyone want a drink drink? Champagne or a glass of rosé? How about at least a seltzer—”

“I’m fine,” says Taylor coolly, then adds, “Thank you.” Ed Sheeran’s lookalike asks for a beer, maybe a lager, and the other

woman says she’d love a seltzer if it is naturally flavored , and otherwise just water, thank you. No ice. “Actually, never mind all that. Did you say you have champagne? I feel like we’re

getting into champagne hour—does anyone else?”

“Of course. I’ll have that too.” This seems too eager of Juliana; she isn’t someone who starts drinking before the day is

done. She hardly drinks at all. Juliana signals to Allison, who hurries toward the house.

Juliana sees and says, “! Hey!” The relief in her voice is so thick you could have stood a spoon up in it. “What

a nice surprise. I’m so glad you stopped by.”

“Yeah, I just...” tries to figure out the best way to play along. “Sorry, I just came to say hi. I didn’t know you

had company.”

“That’s okay!” says Juliana with an unfamiliar brightness that feels forced. “The more the merrier.”

Taylor says, “Oh, hello there, . I forgot you lived right next door.” No way, thinks , has Taylor forgotten. Taylor is not a person who forgets things. tries not to think again of the Country Cousin comment, she really should let it go, but she can’t help it, it still rankles.

Taylor introduces her companions, Michael and Mo, the two M s, if she prefers. ( doesn’t prefer.) Both M s half stand, offer their hands. Old friends from her high school days, Taylor says. “This is David’s cousin,” she tells them.

“And Jack Baker’s—” She clears her throat. “Friend.” She looks at questioningly. “Summer friend?”

“Sure,” says , blushing a little. “Summer friend.” Imagine, she wonders, if she said out loud that she’d seen Taylor

with her own “summer friend”?

“I love Jack Baker!” says Mo, suddenly coming alive. She looks up and down and is pretty sure she finds her lacking.

Michael hits Mo lightly on the leg and says, “I’m right here .”

“No, I just mean from like a distance,” clarifies Mo. “He’s just so—he’s adorable, that’s all.” And Michael says, “Oh, from

a distance, then I guess that’s fine,” and Mo smirks.

“We were just out for a moped ride,” Taylor says. Her voice is so smooth and cool—can a voice be blond? “And we thought we’d

come and check things out here. We obviously weren’t going to invite ourselves in , but Juliana happened to be outside—”

“My cell connection sometimes drops upstairs,” explains Juliana. “So I was walking around in the front, trying to get a signal...”

“And Mo is a huge LookBook fan,” adds Taylor.

“I’m on that site all the time!” cries Mo. “I love a bargain.”

“She really does,” confirms Michael.

“Well, thank you. Thank you for being a fan. And I’m so glad you all stopped by,” says Juliana, although she doesn’t look

at all glad. She looks awkward and stressed. heard the mopeds, of course, so she knows that’s how they’d come, but

something about the general demeanor of these three gives the impression that they have recently dismounted from a trio of

horses, which are now being sponged down and given water by the stable hands.

can’t remember where Taylor went to high school—one of the well-known New England boarding schools, the kind with classes in Mandarin and hard-core ceramics and with gorgeous students who, in mystery novels, are always murdering each other and not getting caught for twenty years, when new information comes to light. Both M s have the same breezy, slightly bored way of looking at their surroundings, like maybe they think Juliana’s house is nice

but not as nice as their uncle’s place in St. Lucia, or maybe Block Island is a cute island but wouldn’t it be cuter if it

were annexed to the Vineyard?

What is Taylor playing at? And why does care? None of this affects , not directly anyway. She’s involved tangentially

through Jack, tangentially through David, so why can’t she leave it in the tangents? She doesn’t know; she answered Juliana’s

summons; she’s drawn in. She studies Taylor, trying to figure it out. Either she knows about her husband and Juliana and has

come to confront her, or she knows about them and has come to engage in some mindfuck game without confronting her. A third

option: she doesn’t know, but is somehow, at this awkward visit, about to find out.

“Who kayaks?” asks Taylor, nodding at the pair of paddles down on the dock.

“Oh, nobody. I mean, I keep them for guests. I don’t go in the water. I don’t like to swim.”

“You don’t like to swim?” asks Mo. She gazes at Juliana like she’s an exotic creature recently brought over on the ferry,

the way the island’s first deer were in the late sixties.

Allison brings out the drinks and asks if she wants anything. No, thank you, she doesn’t. She notices that Juliana’s hands are shaking, and she sees her grip one hand over the other to try to hold them both still. By the time she takes she champagne flute from Allison she has them under control. There’s one unoccupied love seat in the circle. Juliana perches on the edge of it and signals for to sit beside her, which she does. Continuing the charade that this drop-by falls closer to normal on the spectrum of normal to bizarre than it actually does, asks, “What are you guys up to after this?”

Mo says, “A little more exploring, I think. It’s our first time here, me and Michael. Ever since Taylor got the house she’s

been promising to let us visit...” Taylor rolls her eyes and says they haven’t had it that long. “Then we’re going for

drinks at... what’s it called, Tay?” Mo looks at Taylor expectantly.

Tay. Hearing a nickname, meeting two of her high school friends, is able to see in this haughty version of Taylor a younger

version—less ice queen, more teenager. Because the fact is that tall, willowy women like Taylor are often gawky and graceless

in high school: legs too long, feet too big, breasts too small to fit the idealized version of a high school girl. Then around

college they hit some sort of Gisele Bündchen level of beauty and nobody can believe that they ever did anything but glide

effortlessly through life in extra-long size zeros.

“The Oar,” says Taylor. She points across Great Salt Pond in the general direction of the place.

What is trying to articulate is that for an instant, she can see a vulnerability in Taylor, an openness that many of

us have when we are our teenage selves. supposes this is because that’s when we form truly intimate friendships for

the first time, peeling ourselves away from our families layer by layer and giving our minds, our bodies, our hearts to others.

“Love The Oar,” says because she feels like she should say something. And also because she did love The Oar, the one

time she went there.

Mo is sipping her champagne, but when glances at Juliana’s glass there’s only a quarter remaining. Ed Sheeran has barely

touched his beer. Taylor’s hair glows even more goldenly as the late afternoon light turns to early evening light.

“We should come to one of your parties!” cries Mo.

“Abso lutely ,” says Juliana smoothly, glancing at Taylor. “Come on Friday.”

“Yeah? Really?” Mo sits forward eagerly.

“We’re leaving Thursday,” Michael reminds her.

“We don’t have to, though,” says Mo. “We can leave on Sunday instead. Right?”

“I don’t think so. My parents are expecting us in Bar Harbor on Friday.”

“What are these parties all about?” asks Taylor. The aggressiveness of her question, the suddenness of it, makes it seem like

she’s interrupting but actually nobody else is talking at the time.

“About?” asks Juliana.

“I mean, what’s the point? Big parties are so much work .”

“I’m not doing the work,” says Juliana. “I’m paying oth—”

“Well, no, of course not, obviously. But what do you get out of throwing them?”

“Oh,” says Juliana. watches her wrestle with herself. “It’s good for the brand. Free publicity, you know.” She can’t

say anything about the IPO, and can see how badly she wants to.

“I wouldn’t call it free,” snorts Taylor.

“Well, no. Not exactly. But the idea is that with a pretty small investment we can increase the attention on the brand by

a lot. The more influencers are promoting LookBook, you know, the hotter it’s going to be...”

“Maybe I’ll come see for myself,” says Taylor. “If Mo and Michael are invited, I’m sure I’m invited, right?”

“Of course ,” says Juliana. “Please come.” She hesitates so briefly that may be the only one who notices it before adding, “Bring

your husband.” tries to catch Juliana’s eye but Juliana is looking at Taylor.

“Maybe I will,” says Taylor.

Michael says, “You guys should come to The Oar with us. We might grab dinner after.”

Juliana says, “Oh, yeah?” She drains her glass, sits up straighter, looks at and says, “That sounds like fun.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t, I have plans,” says .

“You can’t?” Juliana sends a pleading glance ’s way.

“Jack’s in the Hamptons,” says Taylor, as though that leaves no other options for plans, and resents this.

“That’s such a bummer!” says Mo. “I was hoping to get a glimpse of him.” And Michael again says, “I’m right here, ” and suddenly really wants to get away from all of them.

“My plans are with other people,” says jokingly (but also sort of seriously). “I’m allowed to have other people!”

“Who?” challenges Juliana.

“Work people,” says. “I have a work thing. It’s a Tuesday Talk.”

“What’s a Tuesday Talk?” Mo sounds skeptical.

explains that on several Tuesdays throughout the summer they bring in experts from the scientific community to talk

about topics of interest. “You could come to that,” she suggests. “It’s for the public.” She doesn’t really mean it.

“What’s the topic?” Michael asks. “If it’s great white sharks I’m one hundred percent in .”

The Institute does bring in a great white shark expert, and it’s the most popular program of the summer, but that isn’t happening

until August. clears her throat and says, “Tonight’s talk is on the benefits and progress of seaweed aquaculture in

New England.” To a person, they wince. “It’s more interesting than it sounds,” she says. “All of our speakers are fantastic.”

“I’m going to pass on the seaweed,” Michael says, and thinks that if she got to know him better she might actually

hate him. “Well, then, you come out with us,” says Michael to Juliana. Once he started drinking he took his lager down in about three gulps. It seems

to have enlivened him.

Taylor shoots Michael a look. doesn’t see how any of this can be anything but a terrible idea. She asks where David is, and Taylor tells her he’s out on Johnny O’Neill’s boat for the whole day. She says that like knows who Johnny O’Neill is.

“Johnny O’Neill’s boat is insane ,” says Mo. “I hope he’s here when we come back in August.”

“I can come!” says Juliana. “Sure, why not? That’ll be fun.” She looks down at her shorts. “I might just change.”

Taylor’s lips are pressed close together and she’s squinting out at the water. She opens her mouth enough to say, “You don’t

need to change. It’s just The Oar.”

Allison reappears and quietly tells Juliana that Asia is on the phone.

“ All of Asia?” says Mo. Her champagne flute is empty.

“Excuse me, please,” says Juliana. “I’m so sorry, please excuse me, I’ve been waiting for this call. I’ll be right back, and

I’ll be ready to go. Ten minutes, max.”

She follows Allison toward the house, and , thinking about it for only an instant, excuses herself from the group and

catches up with Juliana.

“Hey!” she says. “What are you doing ?”

Juliana turns toward her, confused. “I’m going inside to take a call,” she says.

“Not that. Going to The Oar. Aren’t you playing with fire? Are you really looking to hang out with Taylor?”

Juliana tucks her hair behind her ears and straightens her spine. “These are the kind of people, Taylor included, who would

never have given the old me a second glance, coming from where I came from. Now look. They invited me . They want to come to my party.”

“So what?” is exasperated.

“I don’t expect you to understand. But I need to go. Tell them I’ll be right back, okay?”

“You told them.”

“If they forget.”

When gets back to the group Mo is whispering something to Michael. He communicates to her with a shrug that whatever she is saying is of no consequence. doesn’t like any of what’s going on. She doesn’t like the whispering. She doesn’t like the version of Juliana that emerged in front of Taylor. She’s physically smaller in size, yes, they all are, both M s included, because Taylor is so tall, but Juliana has made herself emotionally smaller too, and doesn’t like that.

She doesn’t like how eager she is, how desperate to be included, like a middle schooler on the outskirts of a friend group.

Act like who you are! wants to say. You’re Juliana Fucking George! Flex a little.

Taylor stands up, turns to Michael and hisses, “What did you do ?”

“What?”

“You can’t just... I mean, we were going to hang out, the three of us, you can’t just invite an outsider without completely changing the vibe.”

Michael holds up his hands in the defensive posture, palms out, and says, “We’re at her house! And you’re the one who wanted

to come here.”

Taylor starts to answer, then she must remember , and maybe remembers that she’s not sure where ’s loyalties lie,

so she clamps her mouth shut.

Several awkward seconds pass, then can hear her say, “I’m not waiting more than ten minutes. And it’s already been

four.”

Michael says, “But who’s counting.”

“You know what?” says Taylor. “There’s no such thing as a ten-minute call with Asia. I take calls like that too.”

“This could be just a quick check-in,” Michael tries.

can see Mo wavering, then, deciding to come to Taylor’s defense, she says, “Come on, guys. Let’s stick to the original

plan. Cocktails await.”

Michael says to , “Tell her we couldn’t wait, would you?”

“But—”

They’re off the dock and walking around the side of the house before can figure out how to keep them there.

The mopeds start up just as Juliana flies out of the double back doors, in flared black stretch pants, perfect for The Oar,

holding a cardigan in one hand.

Thursday of that week ’s phone pings, late.

U UP? Jack is away through the weekend, but here he is anyway, on her phone.

She checks the time: 1:23. She’d been fast asleep. remembers when she was just a preteen, her oldest sister, who had

experience in such things, told her that nothing good happens after midnight. Many nights in her life have borne this out—college

nights, messy post-college nights, even a night or two during law school—and they are words she now, on the cusp of thirty,

tries to abide by.

But she taps back with a thumbs-up. The day before, she’d had one of the most exciting workdays she’d had all summer. Scratch

that! One of the most exciting workdays she’d had ever. She and two of the interns had assisted in the rescue of a seal, along with the animal rescue people from Mystic Aquarium.

They’d been out by the North Light, doing a seal count. It had been foggy, so it had taken a while to figure out that one

of the seals had a fishing line wrapped around its neck, and that it needed human intervention.

Does Jack, perchance, want to hear about the rescue of this seal, which weighs as much as five Bernese mountain dogs?

No, Jack does not. She knows that without asking.

WHAT R U WEARING? comes the next text.

She turns on the lamp on the night table and looks down. She’s wearing her EVERYTHING WHALE BE OK T-shirt, a gift from her mom.

SOMETHING SUPERHOT, she texts back. She doesn’t tell him she means rising-sea-temperature hot. He’ll see it if he FaceTimes her.

Which he does. He’s lying in a bed in somebody’s summer home, looking rumpled and sleepy and gorgeous.

They stay on for a long, long time, and when he asks her to take off the whale T-shirt she does, and eventually she goes to sleep with her phone next to her on the pillow, thinking that maybe sometimes whatever happens after midnight isn’t all bad.

“You have to come tonight,” Juliana tells the next day. “You have to. It’s going to be the best party of all of them. Who cares if Jack isn’t here.” has said no: some of the people from the Institute are going to a house party off Lakeside Drive. She’s promised that

she’ll go. But then Vanessa, one of the interns, who was going to drive her, comes down with food poisoning, and Ricky, another

intern, decides to go visit a friend in Newport, and suddenly nobody she knows is going to the house party after all. So against

her better judgment puts on a new dress she bought on sale at one of the shops on Water Street (she should have ordered

from LookBook, she realizes too late), gathers her resolve and her phone, and makes her way across the grass, a moth, as always,

drawn to the lights.

But she won’t stay long! She’ll stay half an hour, or maybe forty-five minutes. Her eyes feel scratchy from not enough sleep

the night before. She’ll have one drink, and then she’ll leave.

On the face of it, the party feels like the first party. The DJ is there, giant headphones, black T-shirt, dance moves. The

influencers are there. There are photos galore, and people bent over their phones, tagging and posting and reposting. Word

is there’s a yacht down from Camden and a party of six in from the Vineyard. Four young women are artfully arranging themselves

on the patio furniture and photographing each other in different configurations.

But something is different. Something feels different. can’t put her finger on what the difference is. But it’s there.

The signature cocktail is a twist on a highball. ’s never had an actual highball so she’s not sure where the twist comes in. She sips hers slowly, not wanting a hangover the next day, wanting, for some reason she can’t exactly name, to keep her wits about her. She scans the scene. A couple is having a massive fight near one of the outside gas fireplaces. Two girls who look underage, and commensurately excited to be there, are drinking too fast and laughing too hard. People are dancing, then not dancing, then dancing again. There’s too much food. There’s too much of everything.

It isn’t until later—much later, maybe even the final days of summer—that puts her finger on it. They’re still in July,

albeit late July, but the party has the feeling of an end-of-summer bash. The first party she went to was pure jubilance;

this one is tempered with some sort of gravity, diluted, like a whiskey on the rocks whose ice has begun to melt.

She texts Jack. Maybe he came back early; maybe he’ll stop by. Jack’s travel plans are always fluid. Is this a desperate move?

Is she showing her hand? (What is her hand?) He doesn’t text back. She wanders into the house, pokes her head into the library, where she first met Juliana—empty.

She takes a spot in the bathroom line, more for something to do than because she really needs to go. The woman in front of

her—red streaks in her hair, dangly gold earrings—asks if has a tampon. “I can’t believe my luck!” she says. “Of all

the nights.”

doesn’t, but says she can run and get one from her house because she only lives next door. The woman says, “Oh, don’t

do that! I’m sure I can find one here. Maybe I’ll sneak around, see what Jade is hiding.”

asks, “Who’s Jade?” and the woman claps her hand to her mouth, spreads her fingers out to talk through them, and says,

“You didn’t hear me say that.”

“Okay.” doesn’t wonder for too long because someone comes up to the woman and squeals, “Shelly! Girl! You will not. Believe. Who I just saw...” and Shelly says, “Who?” She turns away from and busies herself

with her phone, looking to see if Jack texted back. Negative.

It doesn’t matter! She doesn’t care. Anyway, this party feels weird. The vibe of the night is weird. She finishes her highball in the bathroom line. Maybe she’ll limit herself to two. Two is very reasonable.

powers her phone all the way off so she won’t be tempted to look any longer. That little fucker, she thinks; he has

her falling for him; he has her joining the long line of women who, from the beginning of time, have sat by the phone (or

in this case held a phone), waiting for a man to call.

Anyway, who cares. She and Jack aren’t exclusive. She can sleep with anyone at the party that night—any night! Any party!—without

a speck of guilt.

After the bathroom, she joins the line at the outside bar. It’s then, just as the bartender hands her a second drink, that

she figures it out, why the night feels so unsteady, its potential chaos just beneath the surface. She spots Taylor’s golden

hair, and David beside her, coming from the wide-open patio doors.

Oh boy, thinks . This night could go any number of ways from here, and none of them are good. Just as sees David and

Taylor, she sees that Juliana does too. She takes a healthy sip of her drink and follows behind as Juliana emerges from a

small clump of people at the edge of the patio.

“You’re here !” Juliana says, looking from one to the other. “David, hello.” She puts out her hand and they shake, formally and absurdly.

“Taylor, how nice to see you again so soon.”

David turns to Taylor and says, “So soon?”

Taylor smiles an icy smile at David. “Didn’t I tell you? I stopped in here the other day. I was out on the mopeds with Mo

and Michael. They’d heard about Juliana being here, you know how Mo is about clothes.” She rolls her eyes. “And she wanted

to see if she could meet Queen LookBook here.”

“I was so happy they came by,” says Juliana, looking the opposite. “Are Mo and Michael here too?”

“They couldn’t stay after all.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Juliana doesn’t sound like it’s too bad at all.

“But they’ll be back in a few weeks.”

Right, thinks . Johnny O’Neill’s boat. feels disengaged from her own body, like her mind is a balloon, bobbing

high above the party on a string. “Well,” Juliana goes on. “I’d love to show you both around.” She may as well have been saying,

I’d love to slice my tongue in two and throw half of it in the ocean.

“That,” says Taylor, “would be spectacular.” She takes David’s hand. The result of this is that to move through patio crowds,

Juliana can’t walk beside them; she has to lead, tossing her words awkwardly over her shoulder as David and Taylor follow

behind.

stays where she is. She has the feeling that if she stood over here , in one place, the ground might be solid enough, but if she goes over there , to that other place, maybe the ground will move beneath her feet. Is it a full moon? She looks up but can see no moon whatsoever.

It’s hiding from her. She tries not to take it personally. She powers her phone back on, ostensibly to pull up a lunar calendar,

but maybe also to see if Jack has texted back.

Not far from her, a girl says to her friend, “You always do this , Harriet, and you never say why. I’m seriously so fucking sick of it!” See? Things are so off-kilter tonight!

Jack hasn’t texted. And the moon doesn’t even have the courtesy to be full; the full moon, she sees, was the week before.

She takes a lap. Takes another lap. Talks to someone whose niece works at the Institute with her. She’s itching to leave;

she’s so tired. She checks her phone. Nothing. She should just go home, right? She should go home. Nobody will miss her.

It’s after some time that she hears her name, an urgent whisper from the shadows at the edge of the patio. Taylor. She’s sitting

on one of the many outdoor couches—who can keep track? There are so many places to sit out here.

“Taylor!”

“I lost David.”

“David?” ’s not sure what to do, so she feigns confusion, as though there are a lot of Davids, and they are often disappearing.

“My husband. Your cousin. David.”

“Ah. That David. I thought I saw him by the outdoor bar, but that was maybe fifteen minutes ago... I was talking to these

other people for a while... or maybe could he be in the bathroom line? The bathroom line has been long all night.”

Taylor says, “I hate this party. Who are these people? I don’t know anyone here.”

“Yeah.” It’s maybe the first time has completely agreed with Taylor on anything. “I don’t know anyone either. I kind

of hate it too.”

“I mean, who even is this person, this Juliana?” (Does she really want to answer this?) “I know who she is, obviously, but like, why is she here? It’s so random.” She takes a breath and then says, “If you see David, please

tell him I’m looking for him. I’ve got work tomorrow.” She holds up a hand as though to stop , but she hasn’t said anything.

“Yes, I know, it’s Saturday, but still, I’ve got work. I’d really like to get the hell out of here.”

“If I see him I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you.” Then Taylor says, “?” turns back. “I want to ask you something. Here, sit down.” She knows, is what

thinks. She knows, and she’s going to ask me, and I’m a terrible liar, and I don’t know what I’m going to say. Taylor

pats the cushion next to her, and , who wants to run in the other direction, sits. And waits. She sits perfectly still,

as though any movement may loosen the question from Taylor. The illumination offered by the lanterns and the twinkly lights

crisscrossing above them is incomplete, so part of Taylor’s face moves in and out of the shadows as she speaks. And somehow,

even here, even now, her hair glows. It glows as if it’s lit from within.

When the question comes, it’s not the one is expecting. And she’s fine with that.

“Did I ever tell you about when I met David?” Taylor leans toward . But she’s not just leaning; she’s swaying a little

bit. Taylor, realizes, is drunk ! has yet to see Taylor in any state other than perfect composure. This is a true plot twist.

“At Yale, right?”

“In the mailroom,” says Taylor dreamily, swaying a bit more. “I had to pick up a package, and I only had ten minutes before

my next class, no time for lunch, so I had grabbed some fries at the Elm”—(Taylor says this as though has any idea

what the Elm is, but okay, she nods and goes with it.)—“and I put the fries down on the counter to balance the package after

I got it, and somebody else in line bumped into me and the whole thing of fries just went all over the floor.”

“Oof,” says dutifully. As far as tragedies go, this is not a big one, but she waits to see what Taylor will follow

it with.

“It was such a dumb thing to get upset about. Not a lot of things unnerved me, even as a little baby freshman. I had my shit

together. I’ve always had my shit together; that’s what I do. I came out of the womb with my shit together. But for some reason

this one thing, these fries...” Her voice trails off for a minute, then she regains it. “For some reason this one thing

got to me, and I started crying . In the mailroom. And this guy came up—”

“And picked them all up for you!” says triumphantly.

Taylor turns to her in wonder. “So he has told you?”

“No.” tries to keep the note of light exasperation out of her voice: where this story is going, after all, is pretty

obvious. “It’s just what David would do.”

“Oh.” Taylor looks momentarily confused, then she picks up the thread of the narrative. “Well, yes. He said, ‘Hey, hey, it’s not so bad, let me help you.’ And he got on the ground and started picking up the fries, one by one, until they were all back in the container, and then he found a trash can, and when he got back from the trash can he asked what residence hall I lived in, and somehow he figured out what room, and later that afternoon there was a knock on the door and there he was, with a new container of fries. So hot and salty, little packets of ketchup on the side...” Her voice trails off. “And that was David.”

Of course that was David, thinks . That whole move is so David. can totally see it. Because it wasn’t a move, the way it would be with some guys. It was genuine kindness.

It was, by the way, such a big deal when David got into Yale. For their family, sure. But for their high school too, and for the town. But , who knew him

so well before he went, does not know so much about his life there, only that he came out of it with a degree, and with Taylor.

Taylor goes on: “Oh, but there’s one other thing. Back in the mailroom, after he threw away the fries, he took the hem of

his shirt and wiped my tears away. It was so silly. I mean, that’s like straight out of a rom-com, right? I hate rom-coms.

They don’t make any sense.”

“They don’t,” agrees .

“It was just so kind. It was so kind . Nobody had ever been kind to me in that way. Because, and I hope this doesn’t make me sound like an asshole, but when you

have a lot of money, and you look a certain way, nobody thinks you need kindness too. But I did. I do. And this is going to

sound crazy, but I said to myself right then, all those years ago, I’ve got to marry this man.”

Despite herself, is getting caught up in the story. There’s something so unexpectedly simple about it. So random. But

aren’t so many of our meetings that lead to big changes in our lives random? A mailroom, some French fries, then, boom, here

you are, fourteen years later, with a child and a house (multiple houses, in Taylor and David’s case, fair enough), and a

shared history, a shared future. “So you did.”

“I did. Because I get what I want. All of the Buchanans do. And now I’ve messed it all up. I think I can fix it, I want to fix it, but I’m worried that I’ve ruined it.”

Of course she must be talking about the man at the construction site. But isn’t supposed to know about him, so she

asks, “Ruined it how?”

This questions snaps Taylor out of what almost seems—for someone so controlled—a fugue state. She says, “Oh, never mind. Forget

I said anything. I’m sorry to bother you with all of this, okay, ? I’m just tired, that’s all. I’m so tired, and I want

to go home, and kiss my daughter while she’s sleeping, and go to bed.”

Nothing about Taylor’s posture suggests she’s looking for a hug, but has to stop herself from offering one anyway.

She tries to remember the things she doesn’t like about Taylor—the way she put the Carrs at such a faraway table at the wedding,

the way she wouldn’t let David persue his race car dream, the Country Cousin comment, even, perhaps unfairly, her Elsa-from- Frozen beauty—but she doesn’t see that Taylor now. “Why don’t I take a look around for David? Will you be here?”

“I won’t move a muscle,” says Taylor, resting her head against the back of the couch.

weaves through the crowd, looking for David. He’s so tall, she’s surprised she can’t find him immediately. Then, on

the far side of the patio, she spots him. He’s with Juliana. They’re standing close together, almost touching but not quite.

“Where were you guys?” she hisses at them.

“We went over and sat on your stoop for a few minutes. To talk,” says David.

“On my stoop?”

“Sorry, we didn’t think you’d mind.” This is Juliana. It’s not lost on that it’s more David’s stoop than it is hers.

It’s actually Taylor’s stoop, so to David it’s a stoop-by-marriage. Something in her smarts at this realization. Even if she

did mind, she’s not allowed to.

“Of course I don’t mind,” snaps .

The mood of the night is pulling down. Jack not answering the texts. Taylor showing her vulnerable side. herself,

wondering what kind of a hand she’s had in someone else’s madness. “Of course I don’t mind,” says again, untruthfully.

“Sit wherever you want. My stoop, your stoop. But David, Taylor is looking for you. She’s over there, sitting down.” She points.

“I told her I’d send you over. And I’m calling it a night. Thank you, Juliana.” Thank you for inviting me to your weird party. “Good night, all.”

“Well, I guess this is good night, then,” says David. looks away—if there’s physical contact between Juliana and David,

or even a smoldering glance, she doesn’t want to see it, not after her conversation with Taylor.

When David is gone, Juliana looks to , stricken. “Oh! I was hoping you’d stay until the end with me!”

“The... like the very end?”

“Please. Please. It won’t be much longer. Please please?”

sighs. She’s never been able to resist a double please . “Fine,” she says. “Okay.”

Juliana’s right; it isn’t much longer. finds a corner to study her phone to see if Jack has texted (no). By then the

music has stopped and the DJ is packing up and the bartender is racking the glasses, and in no time at all everybody is gone

except for Juliana, and except for . Juliana motions to follow her into the kitchen. The caterers have made short

work of everything there, leaving the lights turned low. Juliana switches on the pendant lights above the island and motions

for to sit in one of the upholstered stools pulled up to the island. Upholstered stools! In a kitchen! ’s mother,

Linda, who every ten years or so replaces their kitchen stools with a new set from the store—a discount on top of a discount—would

have been shocked by this. Food and upholstery, her mother would say, do not belong in the same room. They barely belong in

the same house.

The cabinets are gray, and the island is a grayer gray (gray is the new white, supposes ) and the countertops are gleaming white marble. Juliana pours them each a tall glass of water, which needs desperately, then sits at the far end of the island.

Juliana says, “I don’t think he liked the party.”

“Who?” Of course she knows who.

“David. He looked miserable. I thought if he came here during one of the... I thought if he saw... I thought.” She takes

a deep breath, lets it out.

“You thought what?”

Juliana looks thoughtful. She taps her fingertips on the island top and sucks in her bottom lip. “I don’t know. Who knows.

Who knows about anything.” Then she says, “, do you want to stay up with me?”

“I am staying up with you.” gestures to herself, then to the water glasses, the kitchen as a whole, Juliana.

“I mean all night. Do you want to stay up all night? We could watch a movie. I could make popcorn! We could watch the sunrise.

What kind of movies do you like?”

“I can’t. I have to go to sleep. I’m falling over.”

Juliana doesn’t acknowledge this. “Do you think you can get me invited to dinner?”

“To dinner?”

“At David’s house.” stares at her, trying to find the best, most polite way to say, Are you out of your freaking mind? “I’m ready to make plans...”

“Plans?”

“For the future. Future plans.”

“For... what future?”

“For mine and David’s,” she says. “For our future, . David is ready too. We talked about it tonight.” She goes on, “As soon as the IPO is done.”

“Oh, Juliana,” says .

“What?”

“You can’t redo the past,” she says, as gently as she can.

Juliana looks absolutely stricken. “Of course you can!”

“Juliana! Stop. Get ahold of yourself. You’re not thinking straight. You’re not making sense.”

She blinks slowly, then squints at as though she’s said something in a foreign language. “But he doesn’t love her,”

she said.

is so exasperated she can no longer pretend to be anything else. “How do you know?”

“He told me. He told me that tonight. And she doesn’t love him! Do you know...” She lowers her voice, although they are

the only two people in the kitchen. “Do you know she’s having an affair ?”

“How do you know that?”

“David told me.”

“David knows?”

“Please, ? Just get me invited to dinner. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Again has the floating balloon feeling. She wants out of the conversation, out of the party, out of all of the situations

in which she’s become entangled this summer.

She says, “I can’t do that, Juliana.”

The clock strikes midnight.

Okay, nothing strikes. But the numbers on s’s phone, glowing next to her on the island, gleam. She says her goodbyes

and goes home.

But. Not before she sees, as she’s about to cross the lawn, that not everybody has left the party after all—there’s a couple

sitting very close together on the same couch where she’d sat with Taylor not so long ago. The man is facing away from her, and he’s in the shadows, but she recognizes the woman, from the bathroom line. The one with the streaky hair, the one who needed a tampon. Just My Luck.

tries to skulk past them—she’s not about to interrupt a canoodling couple. But she trips on the lip of the patio and

puts a hand out to steady herself on a nearby table.

Which wobbles enough to make a noise.

Which causes both parts of the couple to look at her.

Which is how she knows that the other half of the couple is Jack Baker.

She says, “Jack?”

“Hey, ,” says Jack easily.

“I thought you weren’t coming back tonight.” She hates how she sounds, shrewish and demanding. But he said! And she kept checking

her phone like an idiot!

“Got back early,” he says. “Decided to pop over.”

“Jack? Who’s this?” says Just My Luck. She sounds the way feels, which isn’t a great sign. She sounds self-righteous

and put-upon and a little tipsy and a little possessive too.

“, Shelly. Shelly, .” Jack Baker smiles. He might have been introducing two business associates at a lunch, so

unbothered does he seem by the situation.

They stare at each other, Just My Luck and , until Just My Luck says, “ This is the girl you’ve been seeing?”

God, feels stupid. Stupid as she walks as fast as she can across the grass to the safety of her cottage. Stupid as she brushes her teeth in the almost-dark, not wanting to turn on the bathroom lights fully so she can spare herself the shame on her own face. Stupid as she crawls into bed, pointedly choosing a T-shirt other than the whale, and stupid as she lies awake for longer than she wants to, wishing, not in a serious way, of course, but still in a way that will haunt her later, that something tragic will befall the whole bunch of them, everyone at that party, those who are rich or want to be rich and those who are in love with themselves at the expense of everyone else and also in love with chaos, but most of all those who are careless, careless, careless.

Host: Welcome back to Life and Death on an Island , episode two. Listeners, if you’re enjoying this podcast, please remember to rate it, or, better yet, leave us a review.

And remember, order today from our gold sponsor, Mattress Queen, and our silver sponsor, Buddha Bowls 2 U, Buddha bowls delivered

fresh right to your door, ready to eat or freeze.

Lou: Can I ask you something? What’s a Buddha bowl, anyway?

Kelsey: Not relevant, Lou.

Host (chuckles): Let’s make sure anyone who’s just tuning in to the episode is caught up. We’re talking to four members of the

Block Island Town Council about some startling events that took place last summer. In June and July last year Block Island

was the scene of some pretty wild parties, right?

Kelsey: Very wild.

Host: And at the same time Buchanan Enterprises was trying to get a proposal passed to tear down an old motel and build a boutique

hotel and spa. And then what?

Betsy: At the beginning of August, all of a sudden the parties stopped. That was it. You didn’t hear anything more about parties

at the house on Great Salt for the rest of the summer. I don’t know what the people who always called in about the noise ordinance

did with themselves, without that to complain about.

Lou: August is when the you-know-what really hit the fan.

Kelsey: I was super bummed. I was planning on going to another one. All my friends from nursing school are living in big cities, like Boston or Seattle or Chicago, and I finally had some nightlife to tell them about. I was going to post! I didn’t post the first time, and I really regretted it. I heard there was a Kardashian at one of those parties.

Evan: Yeah?

Kelsey: Not like Kim. But maybe one of the lesser Kardashians. I heard Gertie Sanger was there too. She’s like Hollywood royalty!

Betsy: I’m with Lou. I’d say the beginning of August is when things really fell apart. In my house, at least. One day in the beginning

of August, Henry came home from work and sobbed in his truck. My Henry never cries. He didn’t cry when the basketball team

lost in the playoffs his junior year. Didn’t cry when that surfboard fin sliced his calf when he was fourteen and he needed

eleven stitches. But that day in August, he cried. Something had changed. He wouldn’t even talk to me about it—and Henry always talks to me. He doesn’t always talk to his mother but he always always talks to me.

(Pause.)

Nobody likes to see their loved ones gutted.

Evan: A lot of what was going on behind the scenes was lost on me. We had our busiest summer since the pandemic at the Hangry Angler.

Between that and the kids and these town council meetings, I was straight out. I barely knew my own name. Until the very end.

Until the death. That snapped everyone to attention.