Alessandra goes all the way down Easton, past Great Point Properties, past the entrance to Children’s Beach, past the White Elephant, and Lizbet trails at a distance. She catches a whiff of garlic and butter coming from the Brant Point Grill and her stomach rumbles; she hasn’t eaten a thing all day. Alessandra passes all the grand waterfront homes on the right and takes the curved left turn onto Hulbert before the Coast Guard Station and the Brant Point Light. Lizbet follows. A few cars pass, and Lizbet is afraid she’ll see someone she knows. A bunch of customers from the Deck live on Hulbert; she and JJ used to be invited out here to private pool parties and croquet matches all the time. They’d become friends with two couples, the Bicks and the Laytons, both of whom live in this neighborhood. The Bicks’ house, which has a tennis court, is up ahead and…Alessandra slows down.
There’s no way that Alessandra is living at the Bicks’ house, is there? Michael and Heidi are the quintessential golden couple—they’re both tall, lean, and blond—and they have four young towheaded children. Maybe Alessandra has struck some kind of deal where she watches the kids in the evenings in exchange for housing? But that doesn’t feel quite right. Heidi has a full-time nanny. And something about the way Alessandra said, I have a friend with a house…a new friend. Someone I met on the boat was sexual in nature. Lizbet thought Alessandra was intimating that she’d met a guy on the boat, the guy invited her back to his house, and now she’s living there.
Alessandra stops, swings her leg off her bike, and turns around. “Are you following me?” she says.
Lizbet’s foot slips off the pedal and the bike wobbles, but Lizbet pulls the handlebars straight, hits the brakes, and doesn’t crash.
She has no idea what to say. She considers chastising Alessandra for taking a hotel bike without asking, but that seems petty. “I saw you head out and I decided I could use a ride as well. It’s such a beautiful evening and I have to work the desk tonight.” Lizbet glances at the Bicks’ house. The gate to the tennis court is ajar and there’s a racket lying on the bench, so the Bicks must be back on island. Lizbet dearly hopes they aren’t watching this exchange from their window. She started out the day strong, but now she has devolved into some kind of psycho-boss who follows her employees home. With great awkwardness, Lizbet wheels her bike around. “See you tomorrow.” She pedals away, fighting the urge to check where Alessandra is headed. She tells herself it’s none of her business.
When she arrives back at the desk, she finds Raoul and Louie deeply involved in a chess match. Raoul looks up with wide eyes. “The kid is whupping my butt. Fair and square.”
Lizbet nods, preoccupied with her embarrassment. What must Alessandra think of her? It’s mortifying—and yet Lizbet still feels that something isn’t right, something bigger than lying about an interview （that could be seen as strategic） and bigger than taking a bike without asking （who cares; she’ll bring it back tomorrow）。 Once Lizbet assures herself that nothing pressing needs her attention, she retrieves her cell phone from her office and surreptitiously slides it next to her computer, even though this is, by her own decree, forbidden. She sends a text to Heidi Bick: Hey, girl, just thinking of you. Are you on island? Now that I’m not working at the Deck, we can actually go out to dinner this summer! Let me know when you’re free so we can catch up.
She hits Send and takes a breath. Then she decides to place another ad for a night auditor in the Nantucket Standard classifieds—she won’t be able to go anywhere or do anything until she hires someone. This time, she lists the pay: $25 per hour, plus possible bonuses! Hopefully, that will do the trick.
Suddenly, a young woman is at the desk, holding out a white cardboard box. It’s Beatriz from the Blue Bar.
“Chef asked me to deliver this to you with his compliments,” she says.
Chef, Lizbet thinks. Mario Subiaco. She recalls that morning, JJ’s proposal, the fruit frenzy on the zebrawood cutting board, and the cocktail. She could really use that cocktail now.
“Thank you!” Lizbet says. She opens the top of the box and nearly swoons.
“It’s called the bakery box,” Beatriz says. “One of Chef’s specialties. Clockwise, you have homemade pizza rolls, gougères filled with béchamel, and two favorites from the Blue Bistro—savory rosemary and onion doughnuts and pretzel bread served with his signature honey mustard.”
Sweet lightning! Lizbet thinks. “This looks…amazing.”