Chad hurries up the stairs. He might tell his parents he skipped the party in protest or that he didn’t feel like he deserved to celebrate the eighth of August, considering what he’d done. He heads into his parents’ room, the master suite, which is a universe unto itself. There’s the actual bedroom, then there’s his mother’s sitting room, his father’s upstairs study, the palatial marble bathroom complete with Jacuzzi tub for two, and his-and-her walk-in closets. Chad goes to his mother’s closet—he hasn’t set foot in here since he was eight years old, when they moved in—and tries to guess where Whitney keeps her belts. Her hanging clothes take up three walls of the room, and the fourth wall is floor-to-ceiling cubbies for shoes. There are…sixty-four pairs of shoes, here, on Nantucket, where a woman could make it through the summer with sneakers, flip-flops, and one pair of sandals.
He tries not to think about Paddy.
In the center of the walk-in is a free-form structure of drawers and shelves where Whitney keeps folded things—light sweaters, pashminas, T-shirts, her yoga clothes. There’s also a tall, slender dresser by the door. Chad avoids the two top drawers, assuming they hold his mother’s underwear, and opens the third drawer. It’s socks and stockings. The fourth drawer holds clutch purses; there are half a dozen. Chad gets on his knees and opens the fifth drawer, which holds—bingo!—belts. They’re coiled up like sleeping snakes and Chad pulls them out, one by one: Hermès, Tiffany, Louis Vuitton, and—yes, he just can’t believe his luck, he really can’t believe it—a black suede Gucci belt with a rose-gold double-G buckle. He doesn’t have to think twice; he takes it.
On his way out, he gazes down at the party from his parents’ picture window. The sun is setting, making all of the vivacious, well-dressed guests look like they’ve been dipped in rose gold. He thinks about how easy it would be for him to change into madras shorts and a pink oxford and slip through the crowd, shaking hands, making eye contact, saying, Yes, sir, good to see you, sir, definitely looking forward to working with my father in September. I can’t wait to dive into the world of venture capital.
Chad knows he could quit his job tomorrow and be finished with Bibi’s kleptomania and her complaining; he would never have to scrub another toilet, fold another towel, or see another hair wrapped around a bar of soap. He could golf all day, then drink a Mount Gay and tonic and eat mini–crab cakes with people who talk only about Wimbledon and their stock portfolios. But he can’t pretend May 22 never happened. He has to do penance. That’s what his job at the hotel is all about—it’s an atonement. Maybe Paddy will never learn about Chad’s job, or if he does, maybe he won’t care. But Chad is going to keep at it anyway. He likes living a life of purpose.
He wraps his mother’s belt around his fingers like brass knuckles and heads down the hall to hide in his room.
The next morning, Chad leaves for work an hour early. No one notices; his parents and Leith are all still asleep. （They were rocking out to Bob Seger and Madonna until almost midnight, and when his mother inevitably knocked on his bedroom door and asked him to “come down and make an appearance, please, Chaddy, people are asking about you,” he said he’d be down in a minute, knowing his mother would forget—and she did.）
Chad arrives at the hotel at seven and uses the service entrance, the belt inside an old L. L. Bean backpack of Leith’s that he found in the mudroom. He waits until Joseph, who runs the laundry, goes on a cigarette break, then he buries the belt in one of the big rolling baskets of dirty linens.
Not all superheroes wear capes, he thinks. He’s always wanted to say that about himself, but of course, he never had a reason. Until now.
At the start of his shift fifty-five minutes later, Ms. English announces that the Gucci belt has been located in the laundry.
“It has?” Bibi says.
“You sound surprised, Barbara,” Ms. English says.
“Not surprised at all,” Bibi says. She’s a liar and a thief, Chad thinks. But he admires her audacity and he hopes she got a good price for Claire/Maybe-Shelly’s belt. “I knew it would turn up.”
Lizbet finally connects with Heidi Bick, who suggests they go to the Blue Bar for dinner. Lizbet says, “I will eat literally anywhere else. I have to get out of this building.”
“But not the Deck?” Heidi says.
“Not the Deck either, I’m sorry.” Lizbet could return to the Deck now that Christina is gone. In a weak moment, Lizbet texted JJ to ask how he was doing and he replied, I miss you. Lizbet had stared at that text long and hard but she didn’t feel angry, she didn’t feel sad, and she didn’t miss him back.