walks out of the ladies’ room without a word. Carson stuffs the cocaine down into her purse—no, that’s not good enough, she needs to throw it away, but she can’t bring herself to throw it away. Jaime won’t tell, she’s too chickenshit, and even if she does tell, it’s Jaime’s word against Carson’s.
Carson strides out to the bar, shoulders back, beaming. Jamey looks relieved to see her. He says, “There’s stuff on your nose.”
“Thanks, now piss off,” Carson says, and she runs the back of her hand under her nostrils.
Vodka tonic, planter’s punch, sauvignon blanc. Carson is pulling a fresh bottle of Matua from the minifridge when she sees a pair of legs. Carson’s eyes travel up. It’s Nikki.
“George wants to see you in his office,” she says.
“Now?” Carson says. “I’m busy.”
“Now,” Nikki says.
It’s not true Jaime is holding a grudge about something I said earlier, my boyfriend broke up with me, my mother is dead, it will never happen again, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, I’ll go to a program, see a therapist, just please don’t fire me.
“I’m sorry, Carson,” George says. “You were warned. I knew you were lying to me when we talked last time. And, frankly, the nonsense with Brock Sheltingham didn’t help.”
“He asked me for a kiss.”
“I’m sure he did, but you should have ignored the guy instead of turning it into a public spectacle. This isn’t Vegas, Carson. This isn’t Coyote Ugly. It’s a family restaurant.”
“Don’t be grandiose. It’s a beach bar.”
“There are children around and those children have parents and your behavior was inappropriate and doing four shots in a row with customers is obviously unacceptable. I could maybe have looked the other way on that stuff in the name of fun and you showing Sheltingham who’s boss. But drugs on your shift? No. I told you I would fire you and I’m firing you.”
Carson nods to let George know she heard him, but she can’t accept this outcome. “I need this job, George.”
“Take some time, properly grieve your mother, clean up your act or tone it down, do what you need to do. I’ll give you a glowing recommendation in the fall and you’ll be able to work anywhere on Nantucket that you want, or you can go off-island. But you have to get your head on straight.” He sighs. “I like you, Carson. I want what’s best for my business but I also want what’s best for you.”
Carson stands up. She’s getting a hangover, and the coke has made her jittery. There’s a mounting wave of destructive energy inside of her that is telling her to burn this bridge. George says he gets it, but he doesn’t.
“I understand,” Carson says. “You should give my job to Jaime. She’d be great.” With that, Carson leaves the office and walks out of the Oystercatcher, swiping a bottle of Triple Eight vodka as she goes.
In her car, she checks her phone. Nothing from Zach. She sends him a text: Got fired.
Fired. She got fired. It’s so humiliating—and yet, she full-on deserved it. Only two hours earlier, she had considered calling in sick and thought that was the worst thing she could do.
Ha. Not even close.
Zach doesn’t respond so she takes a swig of the vodka, coughs, then calls Zach’s cell. She’s sent straight to voice mail. He’s blocked her. She’ll have to go over there.
It’s five thirty; he’ll be home from work but Pamela might be getting home soon. She works erratic hours—sometimes she stays late, sometimes she goes back to the office after dinner and works until midnight.
Can Carson reasonably go over there?
She drives down North Beach Street, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the neck of the vodka bottle, which she has nestled in the cupholder. Stalking is always a bad idea, she reminds herself.
She can’t believe she’s been fired. It doesn’t feel real. But yes, it is real, she’s out driving around at five thirty in the evening instead of taking drink orders, making people happy, ringing the dorky bell. Her identity is rapidly evaporating. She has lost her mother, lost her lover, lost her job. Who even is she?
She sees people walking into town with strollers, dogs, little kids, teenage kids. These are people who have their lives together enough to take a vacation. Carson feels tears welling, so she plays a game called What Could Be Worse? Well, she could be pulled over right now for driving under the influence, lose her license, go