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Hilary bent down in front of her and made a face that reminded Rose of those days twenty years ago when Hilary had been her refuge, her only friend. Hilary cupped Rose’s hands in hers and breathed, “Let’s go upstairs where it’s more comfortable. Okay?”
Rose felt like a child. Hilary guided her upstairs and stationed her in the shade on the veranda with a glass of wine. Dinner was nearly ready, but Rose felt no itch to go tend to it. Ada and Robby ran off to finish it, which was a real shame. The final touches were what mattered on the dish because they were Southern-inspired. Robby and Ada wouldn’t know to do them.
Some things are more important than dinner,Rose thought dully.
Hilary and Stella sat on either side of Rose. Rose felt her heartbeat through the veins of her forehead.
“The cops say they’ll be here soon,” Stella said.
Rose flared her nostrils and filled her mouth with wine.
“Who else have you told about the sculpture?” Hilary asked now.
“All of you,” Rose said. “But that’s all.”
Hilary pressed her lips together. “You’ll have to talk to the client. Maybe they know something?”
Rose’s heart seized. “Do you think they had it stolen to get out of paying the last installment?”
“Anything is possible,” Stella said. “But most artists have their studios elsewhere, don’t they? Who else knows you have your studio at home?”
Rose gestured vaguely. “All of you.”
“And others, surely,” Hilary said.
Rose sniffed. Maybe she’d mentioned her at-home studio somewhere in an interview. The internet was rife with information about her “artistic” life.
I’m a wealthy person now. I’m a wealthy person whose public information is out there for the taking.
Hilary snapped her fingers. “What about your video footage?”
“Right,” Stella said, nodding urgently as though this would finally solve everything.
Rose winced and burrowed herself into the cushions of the outdoor sofa.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t get the camera fixed.” Hilary grimaced and gave Rose a look that made her think of Mrs. Walden.
Maybe when you’re born wealthy, you will learn how to make that face, Rose thought.
“It slipped my mind.”
Rose’s security video camera had stopped working last autumn, and Rose had had it on her to-do list practicallyforeverto fix it. But she was far from the wealthiest person in Nantucket; she was far from the wealthiest person in the near vicinity. Rose had self-made wealth, which was never as staggering as inherited wealth.
It wasn’t that the thieves had taken anything else.They’d only taken her sculpture. They’d decided to hit her where it hurt.
Oh, it hurts so much.
It felt as though someone had carved out a piece of Rose’s soul.
The police arrived shortly after that to take a statement. Rose showed them photographs of the sculpture and told them what she was selling it for. The police looked vaguely flabbergasted although they were surely accustomed to hugely expensive pieces of modern art in Nantucket.
I used to be one of you!Rose wanted to tell them, perhaps as a way to get them to help her even more. But she knew that once she’d crossed the boundary between the wealthy and the not, she’d ceased being one of them so much that they would never recognize her as one of them.
Well, they would probably recognize her if she lost everything again. But they’d also call herstupidfor losing her wealth once she’d earned it.
Catch-22, she thought now.
One of the cops was a man Rose vaguely recognized from somewhere. It was almost as though he’d lurked in the outer edges of her dreams, as though she’d seen him thousands of times at the grocery store and never remembered saying hello.
