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hard. They have simple directions on the Internet,” says Jill.
    “It wasn’t hard for you. You’re amazing,” says Courtney. “You must’ve been preparing all day.”
    “It didn’t take that long,” says Jill, taking great pleasure in all the fuss.
    “You could do this for a living,” says Beth.
    Jill’s been a stay-at-home mom for sixteen years, and she certainly doesn’t need to work as long as Mickey keeps moving houses, but it’s not a bad idea. She could hire herself out to thewealthy summer residents, hosting lavish book club parties. They’d love her.
    “Okay, now everyone choose a seat. Each place card has the name of one of the characters, so you’ll—”
    “We’re not talking about the book tonight,” says Petra.
    Beth’s stomach tightens. She wishes she could at least down a glass of sake before they dive into this.
    “What?” Jill smiles nervously. “Of course we are.”
    “No, we’re not,” says Petra.
    Petra is five years younger than the youngest of them, but she’s without question the alpha male of the group. The oldest of seven children, daughter of Polish immigrants, and owner of Dish, one of Nantucket’s most beloved restaurants, Petra is tough and bossy and will say with a shameless, crooked smile that she comes by it naturally. But she’s also fair-minded, and there’s not a nasty bone in her tall body. If anyone can derail Jill’s book club extravaganza without tears or a friendship-ending argument, it’s Petra.
    “And we need something stronger than sake. You have any vodka?” asks Petra.
    “But that’s not Japanese,” says Jill, still trying to resist the suggestion of deviating in any way from the book’s theme.
    “Jimmy’s cheating on Beth with the hostess at Salt, and he moved out,” says Petra.
    Again, Georgia is the first to gasp. Jill turns to Beth and absorbs the fear and apology in Beth’s eyes. Without another word about Japan, she walks into her kitchen and returns to the table with a bottle of Triple Eight vodka in one hand and a bottle of Ocean Spray cranberry juice in the other.
    “Will this do?” she asks as she sits down.
    “Perfect,” says Petra, and she begins pouring vodka into wineglasses, leaving little room for juice. “Show them the card.”
    Beth pulls the card and envelope out from her book and obediently passes them to Georgia.
    “Oh, Beth,” says Georgia after reading the card and passing it along to Courtney. “This is from the hostess at Salt? Who is she?”
    “Angela Melo,” says Beth.
    “I don’t know her,” says Jill, skeptical of there being anyone on Nantucket whom she doesn’t know.
    “She’s only been here a couple of years. She’s from Brazil. Came over with her sister as summer help,” says Petra. “They applied for jobs at Dish, but I couldn’t use them.”
    “I don’t know her either,” says Courtney. “How long has this been going on?”
    “Since July,” says Beth.
    “Oh my God, Beth,” says Jill.
    “I know,” says Beth.
    She takes a big gulp of vodka from her wineglass. It’s warm, it doesn’t have enough cranberry juice, and it scorches the back of her throat. The sake would’ve been better. Talking about the book would’ve been better. She tips down another big gulp.
    “I told you not to let him work at Salt,” says Georgia. “That place is too sexy. The music, those martinis. Even I want to have sex with someone after I’ve spent an hour in that place.”
    Jimmy used to scallop from October to March and bartend a few shifts here and there over the summers when scalloping is prohibited. But he never actually needed to bartend. Nantucket scallopers used to make great money. He bartended mostly to stay busy, not because he had to. Jimmy made a proud and reliable living over the years, and Beth enjoyed having him around for summer vacations with the kids.
    But the scallops started disappearing from the harbor a few years ago. Then, in a frighteningly short amount of time, they