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Rose’s smile faltered slightly. If the bartender couldn’t make a good enough margarita for this woman, she wasn’t sure how she would manage it.

Also, it horrified her to think of pouring such expensive ingredients into the pool.

“I’ve suggested to my friend Max here that we put other employees to the test,” the woman continued. “A kind of challenge. You’re up first.” The woman pointed at a drink cart in the corner. Its bottles gleamed in the orange light.

Rose knew at once that the woman wanted to embarrass her. She’d already embarrassed the bartender, and she’d adored the power so much that she wanted to keep it going. Rose's seventeen years and nervousness made that power all the more delicious, maybe. But she couldn’t see a way out.

On shaking legs, Rose walked to the drink cart. There, she found a glass, a bottle of tequila, and a pre-cut lime. She felt the woman’s eyes on her. She felt the ache in the room that meant they were all watching her.

Slowly, she tilted the tequila bottle and poured what looked like a shot and a half into the glass. Somewhere in the back corner, someone chuckled.

“Very good,” the woman said, her nostrils flared. “What will she do next?”

Rose wanted to hurl the glass at the woman and storm out of there. But somehow, she sensed that both Steve and Janice were watching her, if only to see how she’d react. She had to play it cool.

She offered the woman a flirtatious smile, then, in a moment of genius, reached for the orange liqueur, remembering that Rhett’s friend had once made a margarita with “the wrong orange liqueur” and complained about it. But what was next? Rose’s stomach swirled. She knew she needed to keep the performance going, if only to give this woman what she wanted. But she’d stalled for too long. The woman was bored with playing with this particular prey.

“I see that I overestimated you.” The woman sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You’re just another lowlife islander without taste. Isn’t that right?”

At this, Rose’s lips parted with surprise. She’d expected to be belittled, but not for being an islander. Her entire family was made up of islanders. Although she’d dreamed of traveling the world, of living off the island someday, she’d never known that being an islander was something to be embarrassed about.

Suddenly, she couldn’t keep it together. With frantic motions, she returned the bottles to the drink cart, then watched as the tequila-filled glass fell to the hardwood floor. She’d dropped it. How had she dropped it? Laughter roared from all directions. Panicked, she turned on her heel and headed for the dark hallway, thinking she could hide in the bathroom and emerge in a few minutes to a different scene. Maybe they’d forget? Or perhaps she could sneak out the window, run into the night, and never come back.

For a full ten minutes, Rose leaned against the chill of the bathroom wall, waiting for someone to get her, yell at her, fire her, or worse. Slowly, she stopped shaking and tried to tell herself what had happened wasn’t so dire. She could rebound from this.

“I gave them a show, Janice,” she practiced saying to herself, in case Janice demanded answers. “That was what they wanted, and it’s what I gave them.”

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, everyone who’d been in the main room, teasing her and laughing at her, had left to swim in the pool. Exhausted, Rose knelt to clean up the glass she’d dropped. She heard their laughter reverberating through the summer air.

“Are you all right?” a man’s voice asked from the dark corner.

Rose froze. She hadn’t realized someone remained there, hiding. Slowly, she raised her head and peered through the shadows at a handsome man in his early to mid-twenties with curly dark hair. His expensive suit told her that he belonged with the others and was a guest at this party. But his expression echoed kindness.

She couldn’t believe anyone from their ranks had actually asked her if she was all right.

Rose’s chin quivered. “I thought I could hack it,” she said, surprised by her honesty.

The man stood and drained his glass of what looked like whiskey. “It looks to me like you’re hacking it all right.”

Rose let out a strangled laugh, then stood, clutching the glass. Everything stank of liquor, salt, and sweat. She desperately wanted to go home.

“Besides,” the man said, “I don’t think anyone in their right mind can hack being around such monstrous people.”

Rose couldn’t help but smile at him. Maybe he “belonged” to them, technically. But he could see how heinous they were, too.

“Come on,” the man said, walking slowly over to the drink cart. “Have a drink with me. A real one.”

“I don’t know,” Rose murmured, glancing furtively behind her. Maybe Janice was watching.

“I’ll make it,” the man said, stepping between her and the drink cart. “It’s time for you to enjoy yourself for a change.”

7

Present Day

Four days after Donna’s passing, Willow stood in the Lexington funeral home and shook hands with the people who’d loved her mother. People who spoke of her mother’s brilliance and her mother’s heart as though they were things they’d only just lost. Behind Willow was her mother’s coffin, a sleek mahogany that, as it had turned out, Donna had selected for herself not long after she’d received the dementia diagnosis.

Willow shouldn’t have been surprised. Her mother had been incredibly organized, and it stood to reason she'd wanted to plan everything as soon as she learned what would happen to her. But it had been so long since Donna had had that kind of foresight. Over time, Willow had forgotten it was possible.