her family that she’s been fired, and now, over two weeks later, no one has asked, not even Leo, who lives with her. The only person who paid attention to Carson’s comings and goings is dead.
“I’ll swing by to chat after we’ve finished,” Carson says.
“I’d love it. Until then, I’ll be admiring you from afar.” He touches her shoulder, then turns and says, “Happy birthday, Mrs. Quinboro.”
“Thank you,” Lucinda says. Then to Penny: “That’s more like it.”
A moment later, Pamela and Zach Bridgeman stop by, sweaty in their tennis whites.
“Happy birthday, Mrs. Quinboro,” Pamela says.
“We don’t mean to interrupt your dinner,” Zach says. His expression, Carson can see, is strained, but his agony can be nothing compared to her own. The inside of her mouth becomes chalky; there’s a bright, piercing pain in her chest. They were playing tennis together? This is hard evidence of their reconnecting, she supposes.
“Who won?” Carson asks.
“I killed him,” Pamela says.
“I have no serve,” Zach says. “I’m fat and out of shape.”
“Me too,” JP says.
“Me three,” Savannah says. “Kudos to you, though, Zach, getting out on the court.”
“You look good to me!” Carson sings out. She winks at him and everyone at the table chuckles. She can’t believe her own audacity—and she’s completely sober. But she isn’t going to let him appear at her family dinner as though everything is just fine.
He doesn’t even look at her; he simply steps back with a raised hand, and Pamela takes the hint. They both head over to the bar and plop themselves in front of Marshall.
Carson needs a drink. Badly. But she won’t let Zach break her. She’s stronger than that.
Their entrées arrive; they chat about the food and how it hasn’t changed in fifty years; they discuss how busy it’s been at the Cone and talk about Savannah’s upcoming trip to Brazil.
“You should go along,” Lucinda says, nudging JP’s elbow. “I always wished the two of you would get together when you were younger, but it never happened.”
“That’s right,” JP says. “I married Vivi.”
“And had us,” Carson says. “Your beloved grandchildren. If Dad had married Savannah, we wouldn’t be here, Grammy.”
The silence that follows seems interminable.
Leo gets up to use the restroom, then Carson and Willa disappear as well. Seeing his chance, Rip slides over next to Marissa. “I hate to talk business at dinner,” he says in a low voice. “But I need to give you a heads-up that insurance isn’t going to cover your Jeep at all, not one penny.”
Marissa shrugs. “I didn’t think it would.”
“Does your mother know that? Because she’s threatening to sue our agency.”
“She’s just blowing smoke.”
“She doesn’t have a leg to stand on; the coverage is spelled out. But it looks bad—for us, for your mom—and we pride ourselves on being an island business with excellent customer service. Having your mom going around complaining about how poorly she’s being treated is unfair.”
Marissa turns to Rip with an expression halfway between a smile and a snarl. “I just want to move on. My mom has plenty of money. She bought me a new Jeep, and the incident is ancient history. I apologized.”
“You apologized for intentionally trashing your perfectly good Jeep.”
“Yes. She knows I was upset because Leo broke up with me. She understands.”
“She understands. That’s good for you, I guess. And the thing is, it’s not a total loss in the end; she can still sell it. The engine wasn’t as corroded as you’d expect for a car that sat in the Bathtub overnight. The mechanic said it looked like the Jeep had been in the water for an hour, tops. But you drove it into the Bathtub Friday night, right? And called the tow truck on Saturday?”
Marissa swallows and casts her gaze down at her butter plate. “Right.”
She’s lying, Rip thinks. But what else is new? He’s in claims. People lie to him every day.
Willa and Carson use the “secret” bathroom on the second floor, across from the Commodore Room, which is for private functions only. This was at Willa’s suggestion.
“I have something to tell you,” she says. “But you can’t repeat it.”
“You’re in luck,” Carson says. “I have no friends and barely any acquaintances.” Normally, Carson would guess that Willa is pregnant, but she ordered wine at dinner, so that’s not it. “Does it have something to do with Brett Caspian?” Carson asks. “Because he said on TV that he’s been in touch with ‘Vivi’s family,’ except it wasn’t me and we both know it wasn’t Leo.”