“I know, right?” Willa says. Her eyes shine with prurient excitement.
Carson wants to be careful about how she proceeds. “He doesn’t seem like the cheating type, does he?”
“No!” Willa says. “But Pamela is so…”
Bitchy, Carson thinks. Controlling. Unpleasant. “Merciless?” Carson says. “She clearly enjoyed beating the crap out of him at tennis.”
Willa rolls her eyes.
“Does she think she knows who it is?” Carson asks lightly. “Any leads?”
“Not yet,” Willa says. “She can’t access his phone records because it’s issued through ATC. But she texted me this morning to say she needs to talk to me ASAP, so there might be a new development.”
Carson feels like she’s riding a mechanical bull at the moment before she gets flung to the ground. “Well, it’s nice that she’s made you her confidante.”
Willa laughs, then disappears into one of the stalls. “It is nice,” she says. “Twisted, but nice.”
Willa, Carson, and Leo all return to the table just in time for cake—a yellow cake with chocolate frosting, yellow sugar roses, and Happy Birthday, Lucy written in the middle.
Lucy? Willa thinks. Penny Rosen must have been the one to talk to the pastry chef.
Lucinda blows out the candles, then winks at JP and Savannah. “You’ll never guess what I wished for.”
“Mother, please,” JP says.
Willa and Rip are the first to leave; Willa is tired—quelle surprise—she likes to be in bed by nine and it’s an hour past that. Leo and Marissa leave next; Marissa is mopey and barely manages to say thank you and goodbye. JP and Savannah wait ten minutes before they excuse themselves. Are they leaving together? Carson suspects their relationship is platonic; they probably sit around and talk about how much they miss Vivi.
This leaves Carson, Lucinda, and Penny Rosen.
Carson says, “I’m going to go flirt with the bartender.”
“Excellent idea,” Lucinda says. “Penny and I will join you.”
“No, Lucy,” Penny says. “I’m driving you home.”
“Happy birthday, Grammy,” Carson says, and she kisses Lucinda’s cheek.
“Thank you, darling,” Lucinda says. “You were very well behaved tonight. I was surprised.”
“And I was disappointed,” Penny Rosen says with a wink.
Carson takes a seat at the bar. Zach and Pamela are long gone—off for an evening of Zach’s carbonara and Netflix. They’ll chill, maybe have a little wine; maybe they’ll make love. Carson tries not to care.
Pamela thinks Zach is having an affair.
Not any longer, Carson thinks. It’s over, there’s nothing to worry about, and Pamela can’t access Zach’s phone, so Carson is safe. She’s not sure why her heart is beating so fast. Maybe it’s because of Marshall.
“What can I get you?” Marshall asks.
“Ginger ale,” Carson says. “What the hell, make it a Shirley Temple.”
Marshall nods and cashes out the only other member at the bar, Dr. Flutie, who must be a hundred years old. He used to play Santa Claus at the club Christmas party when Carson was a kid.
“Shirley Temple seems a little strong for you,” Marshall says. “Did something happen?”
The club is a good place for Marshall to work, Carson decides, because he takes a genuine interest in people the way bartenders do in the movies. They’re always portrayed as good listeners filled with sage advice. The only thing Carson ever asked people at the Oystercatcher was if they wanted to cash out or start a tab. She’s interested in making drinks, in providing quick, accurate service, and she’s interested in cash on the barrelhead. But she isn’t interested in people. She has too many problems of her own to take on someone else’s, even for twenty minutes. But Marshall’s plate seems pretty empty, so he can heap on servings of his customers’ anxiety and stress.
“I got fired,” Carson says. She holds his eyes. “I had a douchebag customer, big-money guy, who ordered kamikaze shots and asked that I do one with his group.”
Marshall groans as he sets her Shirley Temple down in front of her. It’s dark pink, nearly red; he had a heavy hand with the grenadine, but that’s how Carson likes it, and he added three cherries. Bravo.
“That happened four times,” Carson says, shaking her head. The situation with Brock Sheltingham is one that seems far worse now than it did in the moment. What had she been thinking?