I said to her, “Please don’t tell my mother”—Estella rolled her eyes as if to say, Rosie-child, no matter how you implore me, you know I could never keep a secret from LeeAnn—“but a gentleman who stayed here over Presidents’ Day weekend begged me for the conch-fritter recipe. He wants to give it to the chef at his country club so they can serve them at his wife’s surprise birthday party and I promised him I’d send him the recipes for the fritters and the aioli. He gave me his e-mail, but I lost it, Estella. And I feel terrible. I remember he said his wife’s birthday is May twenty-third because that’s a day after mine and so time is of the essence. Can you help me find the man’s e-mail, please, Estella? I want to provide the kind of service Caneel is famous for.”

Estella huffed for a minute. Didn’t I know that accessing the guests’ personal information was forbidden?

I said, “But he already gave it to me and I lost it! It’s his wife’s fortieth birthday!”

Estella hesitated, then she ushered me into the back office, and together, we looked. The name Russell Steele didn’t turn up in the system, which was perplexing. Had he used a fake name? Was he not only a pirate but an impostor?

Then I said, “Let’s check the name Todd Croft.” And it popped right up—room 718 for two nights, total bill $1,652. There was an e-mail, but it was Todd’s, and my heart sank, though I did think it was encouraging that it was a BVI e-mail address.

I copied it down and thanked Estella, who closed the file and hurried us out of the office, saying, “That was the easy part. Good luck convincing Chef to hand over his recipes.”

I wrote to Todd Croft, explained who I was, and said merely that I would like an e-mail address for Russ so that I could send him the conch-fritter and aioli recipes that he’d requested.

But I guess Mr. Croft saw right through my ploy because here I am, holding ten large.

I know I should feel insulted but all I feel is relieved. Because if Mama kicks me out, and she very well might, I’ll have money to get a place for me and the baby.

I’m telling her tomorrow.

May 1, 2006

I was so nervous that I got out of bed early after barely sleeping all night. I couldn’t wait another hour, another minute. Once I heard both Mama and Huck in the kitchen, I walked down the hall, comforted by the idea that in thirty seconds, the secret would be out. They could holler; they could scream, call me names, and cast me out, but all of that would pale against the relief of speaking the truth.

When Mama saw me, she was shocked. “Rosie? What are you doing awake? Is everything all right?”