by Janna King
Jill brought over a mounted blown-up screenshot and set it on the easel she unfolded. Mia couldn’t believe her eyes.
Grace waved off the seasonaires. “Now get to work. Sell some merch and, more importantly, sell yourselves.”
Presley was the first to walk away. Cole was the last, leaning into Mia and whispering, “See, you’re doing some designing after all.”
Mia smiled.
“This dress is so freaking cute!” One country club daughter pointed to the Mia display.
“We’re taking pre-orders,” said Jill, overhearing.
Grace noticed Mia’s wide-eyed gaze. “If you want us to wait to move forward until you talk to an attorney, we will. Lyndon just feels that we should strike while the iron is hot.”
“This is just so, um—” Mia stammered. “Surprising.”
“Why? You’re talented. Own it.” Grace put her face close to Mia’s. “You know, I didn’t go to college either.”
Mia shook her head.
Grace caressed Mia’s arm. “I had a feeling we were soul sisters when I saw you at the thrift shop.”
From the buffet table, Presley eyed them. She took a swallow of champagne.
“I have to admit,” Mia said to Grace. “I was surprised to see you welcome us that first day. I didn’t put two and two together.” She chuckled. “See? College probably would’ve helped.”
“Bullshit. You’re whipsmart, Mia. Both Lyndon and I are very aware of that.” On her smartphone, Grace showed Mia the popular Wear National Instagram post of Ruby in the water, kneeling in the bikini bottom. “There’s her.” She held it next to the blowup of Mia. “And there’s you. You are us.” She dropped her phone in her purse and walked with Mia to the buffet table.
Jade and J.P. were eating grapes off the same plate. Grace tapped the plate. “You’re going to have to stop with the sideshow, Jade. You’re not so famous that we won’t send you home.” Grace left the event.
“She won’t send me home.” Jade popped a grape in her mouth. “She has zero say. That’s why she grabs the low-hanging fruit.” Her eyes were on Jill, who helped two women with handbags.
“What does she mean by sideshow?” asked J.P. “She wasn’t at the party when Otto crashed it.”
“She didn’t need to be, thanks to you.” Presley displayed her phone: the video of Otto and Jade on J.P.’s Instagram.
“How did that . . . ?” Heated, he turned to Jade.
“Why would you post that?” said Jade, glaring at him with her hip cocked.
“Are you shitting me right now?” snapped J.P. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, deleted the post and stormed off.
Jade shrugged. “He’ll get over it.”
“Guess it’s dog-eat-dog.” Presley eyed Mia.
A young girl approached. “Mia, will you take a picture with me?”
“Of course.” Mia looked back at Jade and Presley as she walked with the girl to the easel topped with her likeness. Vincent snapped a few photos, then took some with the girl’s phone. The girl grinned at Mia.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime,” replied Mia.
When the girl walked off, Presley stepped up to Mia.
“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” she said to Mia.
“Working.” Mia looked puzzled at Presley’s tone.
“You had this all planned.”
“The only thing I had planned was to do a good job.”
“Right,” Presley sneered, leaving Mia standing by her own wet and alone image.
TWENTY-FOUR
Presley had barely said two words to Mia in over a week. She ignored her through whale-watching, tubing, a game of poker, and two trips to the Lyndon Wyld store.
Before a beach barbecue, Mia asked her to help with false eyelashes. “I still can’t get the hang of it.”
“You’re talented enough to do them on your own,” said Presley, applying her own makeup at the vanity. Mia went without the eyelashes. She couldn’t tell if the silence was due to jealousy or lack of trust. Maybe Presley was distracted by Mac. She had gone off on her own a couple times and returned no more or less interested in talking to her.
It was Sunday, a free day, and Mia had been roped into cooking dinner the next night. She and Grant had bet on the Red Sox–Phillies game. Grant would make everyone tacos if the Sox won. Mia would cook spaghetti with homemade sauce if the Phillies were victorious. Mia lost.
After a night of drinking and dancing at the Chicken Box, everyone was still asleep at eleven, so Mia grabbed a couple recyclable totes and headed out the door to bike to the Farmers & Artisans Market.
“Bitch, wait up.”
Mia turned, surprised to see Jade putting on her aviator sunglasses, her hair in an impressively high topknot, spiral curls springing out of the top. They got on cruisers and peddled to town.
“Where’s your BFF?” asked Jade. “Pres-ley.”
“She’s pissed at me,” replied Mia.
“You mean jealous.”
“Pissed, jealous—both look the same.” The breeze felt good on Mia’s face.
“Haters gonna hate. Have you read comments on my social?” Jade snickered.
“I don’t think Presley’s a hater.” Mia stopped at a bike rack near the entrance of the buzzing Farmers & Artisans market.
“Don’t fool yourself, but don’t give a shit either.” Jade lifted her long leg off her bike. “You’re here to succeed, right?”
Mia locked up the bikes. “I want to move forward in my career, yes.”
“You want it? Then get it. Be a fuckin’ boss.”
Mia stopped at the bakery stand and pointed to a vanilla and maple morning bun. “I want that.”
“There you go!” Jade laughed.
They bought two pastries, strong cups of coffee, and ciabatta for dinner.
Nantucket’s resident three-piece acoustic band, Dolphin Shine, performed its quirky brand of folk music while the two girls walked around the stands. The bursts of summer color were bright against the whitewash of the surrounding buildings. Mia picked out ripe tomatoes, fresh basil, and garlic, along with salad ingredients. Jade put together two huge bouquets from the flower stand.
The patchouli, lavender, and mint of handmade soaps wafted through the air as Mia perused long sea glass necklaces crafted by a local jeweler. She rubbed the smooth translucent blue and green pendants between her thumb and forefinger.
“Mermaid tears,” said the jeweler. “Legend has it that every time a sailor drowned at sea, the mermaids would cry and the sea glass was their tears washing up on the shore.” The jeweler moved off to ring up a customer.
“Cheesy,” Jade said under her breath.
“Maybe. But I happen to like tales.” Mia left the necklace. “You don’t have to believe them to like them.”
The singer of Dolphin Shine, who wore a kooky hat topped with a fin, was giving out free hugs. Mia tried and failed to duck out of one. Jade laughed.
They walked by a T-shirt stand with red, white, and blue Nantucket tees and sweatshirts.
“I can’t believe it’s almost the Fourth of July,” said Mia. “This summer is going by so fast.”
“Time flies.” Jade waved a mini American flag, then put it back in the display.
“I heard the fireworks are amazing here,” said Mia. “Fireworks on my side of Boston consist of sparklers and the occasional obnoxious Red Devil before the cops confiscate everything.”
“My dad puts on his own fireworks.” Jade ate a strawberry from a stand. “I’m going to his annual Blue Bash in the Hamptons.”
“It looks like a killer party. I’ve seen photos online,” said Mia.
“It’ll beat The Rabbit Hole, that’s for sure.” Jade made duck lips for an Instagram selfie. “Come with. I’m going to drag J.P. He’s still pouting over the Otto video I posted on his Instagram, but he’ll do anything to get in with my dad.”
“Why did you do that?”
“To mess with my family. It might�
��ve been a lapse in judgment, which is why I deleted it.” Jade blew on a patriotic pinwheel. “Come with us.”
“We’re not supposed to leave the island,” said Mia.
“Lyndon didn’t implant microchips, Mia. Although I know she wants to.”
Mia pointed to Jade’s phone. “Our social media is basically a microchip.”
“That’s true. But if we didn’t want it that way, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Can I ask you something?” asked Mia.
“Yup.” Jade shrugged and leaned over to smell a candle.
“Why are you here?”
“I want to make my own life,” said Jade. “I’ve always been the daughter of the royal couple. This job was my way to be me.”
“‘Remember, we’re not microchipped,’” replied Mia, tossing Jade’s words back at her. “Your dad doesn’t control you.”
“He controls the purse strings.”
“Buy your own damn purse.” Mia touched woven bags hanging on a rack.
“Those are fug.” Jade scrunched her nose with distaste.
“I’m just saying, ‘Be a fuckin’ boss,’” said Mia with a grin.
“I get it.” Jade hooked her arm through Mia’s as they continued walking. “I’m still going to my dad’s party because the thought of spending our country’s birthday in that stinky fucking Rabbit Hole dive makes me want to hurl my morning bun.”
“Well, don’t do that.”
“I won’t. In fact, I want another one.” Jade settled for a blueberry turnover at the Island Pie Shop stand, where they bought a cherry pie for dessert.
Jade gobbled down the turnover. “I have my period and there aren’t enough carbs to make me happy right now.”
They stopped at the pharmacy for “lady products,” as Jade faux-delicately put it. Entering, the air-conditioning hit them with a cold blast after walking in the sun. They walked to the feminine care aisle and Jade picked out tampons. As they continued down the aisle, she perused the condoms.
“Magnummmms, where are you?” She found them. “There you are!”
“TMI,” Mia chuckled.
“Really? TMI?” Jade raised an eyebrow. “You saw J.P. on the boat during Truth or Dare. Don’t pretend you didn’t look.” She hip-bumped Mia.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Hahn needs a paper prescription and he’ll have to come in himself with his ID.”
The name “Mr. Hahn” made Mia and Jade look toward the pharmacy window. Ruby was talking to the pharmacist. An empty vial sat on the counter between them. Mia and Jade hung back in the aisle, unseen.
“He’s a super busy man.” Ruby offered a friendly smile to the pharmacist, who didn’t return the pleasantry.
“Oxycodone is a Schedule 2 drug so we can’t fill it any other way,” said the pharmacist.
Jade nudged Mia and whispered, “Don’t you want to say ‘hi’? According to Presley, you two are tight.”
They watched Ruby dial her phone. “Hey, Otto, it’s me, Ruby. The pharmacist needs to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to interrupt,” Mia whispered back to Jade. “She’s making a phone call.”
Ruby clicked off her phone and spoke to the pharmacist in her sweetest voice. “See? He’s so busy, he’s not answering his phone. But you’d be doing me such a solid if—”
A siren’s blare outside drowned out Ruby’s words. Through the window, Mia and Jade could see firetrucks pass.
Ruby’s phone pinged with a text. She looked. “Our store is on fire.” She raced out the door with other customers, missing Mia and Jade. Mia followed, but Jade grabbed her.
“Hey, my items!”
“Jade!” Mia glared at her, making Jade abandon the tampons and condoms, though not happily.
On the street, Mia called for Ruby, but her voice was no match for the sirens.
When they arrived at the Wear National store, firefighters were dousing the flames devouring the right side. The front window was shattered from the heat pressure, and the display bearing Ruby’s image was melted and singed.
“Holy shit,” muttered Jade.
Paramedics were loading Quentin into an ambulance. The left side of his face was burned and covered in gauze. He moaned in pain.
“He’s that Wear National seasonaire,” Mia said to Jade. They stayed behind the invisible line that a cop indicated with wide arms because lookie-loos had started to gather.
Ruby hugged Axel, who stood with another cop and a weeping salesgirl. She was too preoccupied to notice Mia and Jade.
The black Crown Victoria drove up to the curb. The man with the two different colored eyes got out and stepped up to the crowd control cop. “Detective Miller,” said the cop with a nod. Miller nodded back.
The ambulance screamed off. Jade pulled Mia away. “Enough disaster porn.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Presley’s eyes were closed, her head tilted back. She felt Mac’s gaze, so she moved even more slowly and sensuously, holding him back. When she opened her eyes, she saw him staring at her face, not her body. This made her heart beat faster.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re fucking beautiful,” said Mac.
Presley brushed her hand over her face.
“Don’t stop.” Mac pulled her into him.
She put both hands on his chest and let him look into her eyes. They both finished and she fell into his arms. She curled up next to him and together they breathed. Their bodies glistened. The boat’s tiny bedroom was hot.
“I’ve been the other woman before,” said Presley. “Usually I don’t care.”
“I could’ve figured that about you.”
“But with you, I don’t like it.” Presley scratched her fingernails lightly down Mac’s stomach.
“You mean you care,” replied Mac.
“Maybe.” Presley scratched harder.
Mac winced and smiled, grabbing her hand. “That’s okay. I care, too.” He released.
“Have you cheated on Eve before?” She caressed him gently.
“Neither of us are saints, that’s for sure.”
“Then how can she claim you?”
“Ha. No one claims me.”
“I could claim you.”
“Oh, you could, could you?” Mac kissed her forehead. “Eve and I make better coworkers than a couple. I’m not even sure about that anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not anything I want to talk about with you.”
“Oh.” Presley removed her hand from his chest.
“Because this is really nice,” said Mac as he pulled her in tightly. “I’d like to keep it that way. I want to make changes in my life.”
“What kind of changes?” asked Presley.
“Just . . . changes.” Mac kissed her deeply. His facial scruff was rough against her skin.
“Your beard is scratchy.” Presley giggled.
“Do you want me to shave it?”
“No.” She touched his chin. It was square with a dimple hidden inside his beard. She kissed him. They made love again, then dozed in and out of sleep for the next half hour. Mac started awake and looked at his smartphone on the windowsill.
“I have to get to my shift.”
They dressed. Mac zipped Presley’s sundress, nuzzling into the nape of her neck.
“Tell Eve I say ‘hi,’” said Presley, slipping on her sandals.
“I won’t,” replied Mac.
Presley stepped out of the boat and headed up the dock with an extra swing in her strut. She put on her oversize tortoiseshell sunglasses, but didn’t bother to smooth her hair. She glanced back at the boat, then turned to see Ruby heading toward her. Her face flushed with anger. Ruby’s expression was peacefully buzzed.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Presley blocked Ruby’s path. “The last time I saw you on a boat you were unconscious.”
Ruby smiled. “The sea is relaxing.”
“Especially with an empty bottle in your lap,” replied P
resley.
Ruby looked around, smiling at all the blue around them—the water and the sky. “It’s a beautiful day. What are you doing here?”
“Enjoying the harbor.” Presley put a hand on her hip.
“Maybe you’re here for the same reason I am,” said Ruby.
Presley let two fishermen pass before responding. “I doubt it.”
“You and I aren’t so different,” said Ruby, tilting her head and staring into Presley.
“Oh, honey, please.” Presley rolled her eyes.
“You put on the face, the hair, the clothes, but I can still see it.” Ruby smiled. “I know what you’ve been through. Anybody who looks in your eyes knows it.”
Presley’s expression hardened. “You don’t know shit about me and don’t you ever assume that you do.”
“It’s okay.” Ruby touched Presley’s arm. Presley noticed all Ruby’s bracelets, including the thin blue enamel bangle. With a caress, Ruby walked around her. Presley stood and watched as Ruby continued down the dock, her woven backpack heavy on her thin frame. Ruby knocked on The Taken Aship. The door opened and she stepped inside.
Presley turned and walked away from the dock.
TWENTY-SIX
Night fell over Manhattan. The last of the Lyndon Wyld employees walked past Lyndon’s glass-enclosed office and out the door. Lyndon and Grace sat on the couch with Lyndon’s iPad on the coffee table in front of them.
Grace was reading a new story: “Here’s a quote from Otto Hahn: ‘The most important thing is that no one was killed.’”
“You have to use a voice like a parrot in a torturously tight waist trainer,” said Lyndon, sipping her tea.
Grace did her best imitation of Otto as she continued reading. “‘Stuff can be replaced. People can’t.’”
“What a fucking tosser,” replied Lyndon. “I think the meth lab in the store’s basement exploded.” She crossed her arms.
Grace read silently for a beat. “The poor lad suffered third-degree burns. Otto had him airlifted to his hometown’s hospital and he’s not returning.”
“He’s not photogenic for Otto anymore,” scoffed Lyndon.
“Or fuckable,” added Grace. She pointed to the trending Twitter hashtag: