Sherri noticed that a guest had taken a seat in her section against the glass that separated the café from the sunken pool in the lobby—and when he turned, she saw that he was not just any guest, but Jerry Derzon. “Oh no,” Sherri said to Carmen when she saw him sitting in her section. “That guy with the creepy eyebrows? He’s from my hometown.” She didn’t say that he was her Realtor.

“Oh, that’s the Barnacle.”

“What?”

“That’s what we call him because he’s here all the time, but he’s usually in the Club. Looks like he found a cute friend.” Across from him sat a skinny guy with shaggy brown hair that hung heavy over his eyes.

In high school, she’d walked past Jerry’s football trophies in the display case in the lobby every single day. It was hard to believe he’d ever been the star of the East Troy Trojans—or that he’d once been capable of running down a field. He was only a decade or so older than Sherri, but already he looked like he’d struggle to walk up a flight of stairs. His years of heavy drinking showed in his potbelly and ruddy cheeks.

“Want me to cover for you?” Carmen asked. “I actually kind of like him. He’s harmless.”

“That’s OK. I’ve got it.” Maybe he had news for her; maybe the guy sitting with him had bought her building. That’s what she thought as she approached his table feeling like her entire body was under assault. Had someone put sandpaper inside her shoes? Were there tiny knives twirling around inside her abdomen? Was there an ax in her forehead?

She took a deep breath. She just needed to keep smiling, and endure. That was the word her mother used on the hard days, back when Sherri could still understand her speech. Endurance—now, that was a trait Sherri had inherited, and it was how she’d made it this far at the resort when girls like Maryellen gave up after their first blister.

Jerry wore a checkered polyester shirt with a wide collar spread like wings over the lapels of his brown suit jacket. A gold chain twinkled between the folds of skin in his neck, and a rum-soaked Crooks cigar was wedged between his fat fingers.

It was one thing to be dressed like a Bunny in front of strangers, another to be dressed like that in front of people she knew. As she approached Derzon’s table, she took a deep breath to prepare herself. She was suddenly intensely aware of her costume as a costume.