Ivy understood the life of a service employee. Customers didn’t always make eye contact, could be rude, and often said things to her they’d never say to a peer. Many spoke around her as if she were invisible or she couldn’t hear. In high school, that line had never kept Ivy and Dani from hanging out, but she’d always been aware that folks with money had a different set of problems than she did.

Dani picked up another picture. “Who is that?”

“That’s Carlotta,” Pete said.

“Carlotta?” Ivy asked.

Pete appeared to rummage in his mind for a detail. “DiSalvo. Carlotta DiSalvo. She was the singer that summer.”

“Singer?” Ivy asked.

He tapped the picture of the showboat. “She worked on the Maisy Adams. The vessel was damaged in a spring storm, and the cast and crew were stranded nearby. The entertainers fanned out, looking for work at the resorts and hotels. Carlotta came to the Seaside Resort.”

“Do you remember her?” Ivy asked.

“Oh, I sure do. She was impossible to miss. A larger-than-life personality who took the stage as soon as she walked into the room. Women envied her, and the men, well, they desired her. I remember hearing her sing and thinking that I just might be in love.”

Dani laughed. “How old were you, Dad?”

“Six.” He shrugged. “Hard not to appreciate her.”

Dani gently jabbed her dad in the shoulder with her fist. “Dad, you have never mentioned her.”

“I forgot about her until now.”

Ivy pointed to Talley. “Ruth never spoke about her.”

“They were great friends for years, but they’d had a falling-out. Last I heard, Talley was living in Elizabeth City in an assisted-living home. I didn’t see her at the funeral, but she’s been ill recently.”

Ivy reached for the address book but spotted no Talley. “Another mystery.”

“She was sweet. A little nervous. She and Ruth were best buddies that summer. But I was more interested in swimming in the pool and playing with my friends. Then things turned sideways that summer, and I forgot all about the Seaside Resort for the next decade.”

CHAPTER TWELVE ANN

CHAPTER TWELVE

ANN

Sunday, June 18, 1950, 12:00 noon

Ann Manchester held her gin and tonic in her left hand and a cigarette in her right as she huddled her already red body under the shade of the poolside umbrella. This was her third drink in the last hour, and as much as she wanted a fourth, she needed to slow up. It was barely noon, and at the rate she was going, she’d be flat on her fanny by dinner. And she would be damned if she would waste any of this vacation time passed out. She was aiming for pleasantly drunk—that delicate haze that softened life’s angers and frustrations always nipping at her heels.