Page 18 of Swan Song

Kacy takes the dress, hands it to Olivia, and says, “Please start her a room.”

Coco steps into the curtained alcove and zips herself into the dress. Her panic escalates. The dress fits her perfectly; her boobs look a-maze-ing. When she steps out, Kacy and Olivia shriek.

Kacy says, “OMG, I have to take your picture.” She whips out her phone and Coco gives her a fake pout that is actually a real pout as she envisions her eleven hundred dollars becoming nine hundred thirty-two if she uses debit, which she should so that her credit card debt doesn’t get any heavier.

“Girl,” Olivia says as though they’re now the best of friends. “Made for you. As in, I wouldn’t even sell it to anyone else.”

It’s a good line (although Olivia probably uses it on everyone), but Coco is too anxious to be flattered. Back in the changing room, she removes the dress and spends one second low-key hating Kacy for bringing her here and Olivia for working here. But the next second, like a paper airplane aimed straight at her by the hand of Fate, she gets an alert on her phone. An email from Bull Richardson.

Coco hesitates before opening it. She has a sick feeling that Bull is going to pull the rug out from under her: He’s changed his mind; he’s hired someone else, or Leslee has. They want a personal concierge who knows the island (and can she blame them?). Coco will have no choice but to spend the summer back in sweltering St. John. This might not have been such a bad option yesterday, but now that Coco has seen Nantucket, she desperately wants to stay.

She clicks on the alert. The email says: We’ll be ready for you to start work on Monday. Our address is 888 Pocomo Road. Looking forward to seeing you again.—B.

Coco gets dressed and bursts from the changing room with Clark Kent–emerging–from–the–phone–booth–as–Superman energy.

She hands Olivia the dress. “I’ll take it,” she says.

Coco tells Kacy that she’s starting her job on Monday, and Kacy says, “Let’s celebrate! Lunch is on me.”

At the Nantucket Pharmacy, they perch on leather-and-chrome stools at the lunch counter. Kacy orders a grilled cheese with bacon and tomato, and Coco is thrilled to see they have ham and pickle salad, which was her favorite thing at Grumpy Garth’s Diner back in Rosebush. Coco asks what a frappe is and Kacy laughs and says it’s a milkshake and it’s pronounced “frap,” not “frappy.”

“Okay, sorry, at home we just call them milkshakes.” To the eager-beaver teenage boy behind the counter, Coco says, “And one chocolate frappe, please!” When it arrives, in a frosty glass and topped with whipped cream, Kacy says, “Let me take a picture of you happy with your frappy.” Coco purses her lips around the straw and bats her eyes while Kacy snaps a million photos. Then Kacy asks the eager beaver to take one of the two of them, a job he takes very seriously: “Get together. Closer. Okay, now work it, sell it, own it!” And they crack up, falling against each other like they’ve been friends forever.

That night, as Kacy is trying to sleep, her phone dings with a text from Isla.

I miss you, Bun.

Kacy runs her fingers over the words. Bun is short for honeybun—honey refers to the color of Kacy’s hair. She wonders how things are going in the NICU, who the new babies are, how people like the nurse they hired to replace Kacy, if Isla has been acting sad and distant and, if yes, has Rondo noticed?

Another text comes in: I don’t understand why you had to LEAVE. I was going to tell him, I just wanted to do it on my own timeline, not because you were pressuring me.

Kacy considers this. Did she pressure Isla to break the engagement? Maybe, but they were in love. Isla’s relationship with Rondo, as Isla herself said, was a sham. Isla came from a fancy Mexico City family—five-story town house in Condesa, beach home in Tecolutla—and Isla’s mother wanted all the California things for her daughter: UC Berkeley, Stanford School of Medicine, a Napa wedding to a man who was also a doctor, a home in Presidio Heights, three or four children, season tickets to the 49ers, a standing reservation at Gary Danko. Kacy and Isla had countless conversations about how Isla should be living an authentic life—she needed to break things off with Rondo, come out to her parents. “You don’t understand how hard that conversation is going to be,” Isla said. “My parents are traditional Catholics. My mother will faint; my father will schedule an exorcism.”

“They’ll get over it,” Kacy told her.

“You’re right, I know you’re right. I just need more time.”

“You don’t have to tell them about me right away,” Kacy said. “But please, for the love of god, break up with Rondo.”

“I definitely will,” Isla said—but what Kacy has learned is that she definitely won’t.

Another text comes in: Leaving was manipulative. You did it to force my hand.

Isla and Rondo must have had a glass of wine or three in front of their gas-log fire, Kacy thinks.

Then, in a move so cruel Kacy can’t quite fathom it, Isla sends a picture of Kacy holding Little G. The next text says: The unit needs you, Kace. It was selfish of you to leave.

Don’t take the bait, Kacy thinks.

Another text: So that’s it? You’re not going to talk to me? Aren’t you more mature than that?

What could be more mature, Kacy wonders, than choosing not to engage? Besides, it’s ten forty-five, and Kacy wants to go for a run in the morning, then drive Coco out to Great Point.

Another text: I love you, Bun.

I love you too, Kacy thinks. She clicks out of her texts and hops on Instagram, where she sees Rondo’s newest photo, posted that morning. Rondo and Isla are seated at a leather banquette with Dr. Dunne and his wife, Tami, who has enormous breast implants and microbladed brows. Behind them is pink-and-green tropical wallpaper that’s so recognizable, Kacy doesn’t even need to read the caption to know where they are, but she does anyway. Champagne and seafood tower @leosoysterbar with my best man and the always-chic @totally_tami_.

Unfollow Rondo, she thinks. Then go to sleep.

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