A boat sailed past, heading to the estuary that would take it to the Sound. The woman in the blue bikini jumped once again off the deck of the boat, landing beautifully, with scarcely a splash.

Chapter 51

LU

“ABIGAIL KNOWLES,” SAID Anthony, when he came over, at Lu’s request. He told her that his almost-ex-wife Cassie had taken Max to stay with her at The 1661 Inn the night before, so it was a good time to make the phone call. “Why does the name Abigail Knowles sound so familiar?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Lu. She was hoping to get Abigail’s voice mail. She had written everything Anthony was supposed to say on a yellow legal pad. “She’s part of a bigger agency. She represents mainly nonfiction. The New New Feminism? Ever heard of that book?”

Anthony shook his head.

“Me either,” said Lu. “Anyway, she says she’s the low man on the totem pole. The head of the agency is some guy named Huxley.”

Anthony blanched. “Huxley?”

“I know,” said Lu. “It’s a wacky name. Only in New York, right?” She felt a buzz of excitement. She had an agent! In New York! She was going to publish a cookbook! It all seemed unreal.

“Is his full name, by any chance, Huxley Wilder?”

“Yes! I think that’s it. He’s the head of the agency. WLA, Wilder Literary Agency.”

“Oh, boy,” said Anthony.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. He studied the paper. She watched his lips move as he went over the words, like he was an actor running some very important lines.

They had an agreement that if Abigail did answer her phone Anthony would put the phone on speaker and Lu would scribble down answers to any questions he couldn’t answer. It would be like Cyrano de Bergerac, food-blogger-style, and hopefully without the tragic ending. Anthony assured Lu that the agency would have an assistant taking calls, so if the assistant didn’t offer Abigail’s voice mail but instead transferred the call directly to Abigail they’d have a few extra seconds to prepare.

Lu pictured a sleek Manhattan office, sleek Manhattan assistant—a brave, single young woman in a summer dress and the knockoff version of expensive wedges, a young woman who was beginning to make her way in the world. Of course, maybe the assistant would be a frazzled mother of three who took the train in from Jersey City every day, but in her mind, Lu whispered, You go, girl, you do your thing. You figure out your path.

“Okay,” said Anthony finally. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

“You sure?” said Lu.

“I’m sure. Ready.”

And then, all of a sudden, he didn’t look ready at all. Something in his face shifted. “Anthony?” Lu asked. “Is everything okay?”

Anthony sat down at the kitchen island and tapped his fingers on the granite. “I’m not sure we should do this. The phone call.”

Lu’s pulse started to race. “Why not? You don’t want to? I’m sorry, Anthony. I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation.”