“Cash?”

It’s not Tilda. It’s his mother.

Cash is so crushed, he nearly hangs up.

“Hey,” he says, and he does turn down the music. He’s no longer in a “Sound of Sunshine” mood.

“Cash? It’s Mom. Listen, I have some good news.”

Good news at this point would be Tilda calling to say that Dunk’s picture should be next to douchebag in the dictionary and that she can’t stand him another second and is on her way home, hotel research be damned. He can’t believe how strongly he feels about Tilda. He knew the relationship was promising but his feelings have ratcheted up to the next level now that she’s gone. Gone with Dunk. “Oh, really?” Cash says. He wonders briefly if Irene’s attorney somehow managed to get the villa back. What a major relief that would be! He could leave Peter Bay and regain at least a little of his self-respect.

“Milly’s estate is through probate,” Irene says. “She had stocks that your grandfather bought back in the late 1970s that were sold for us. To the tune of a hundred and seventeen thousand dollars. Now, I wanted to split that four ways—you, your brother, Maia, and myself.”

“Good call including Maia,” Cash says. “That’s really decent of you, Mom.”

“Well, just listen. It turns out Baker doesn’t need the money. He got money from Anna. So Milly’s money will be split three ways. By next week, you’ll be thirty-nine thousand dollars richer.”

Thirty-nine thousand dollars. Cash knows he should be grateful but all he can think is that Dunk has enough money to buy an island. Buy! An! Island! This little jaunt Tilda is on must be costing nearly thirty-nine thousand dollars, if not more.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says. “That is good news. I can buy a truck.” Used, he thinks.

“Your brother bought a Jeep,” Irene says. “And he found a rental.”

“He did?” Cash says, perking up. “How big?”

“Two bedrooms,” Irene says. “In Fish Bay.”

Cash’s mood darkens. “I thought he was looking for something bigger. I can’t stay at Tilda’s forever, Mom. And what about Winnie? She’s living with Ayers.”

“The villa Baker rented is across the street from Ayers,” Irene says. “I forgot to ask Baker if he’s allowed to have pets. He might be.”

Which means that Winnie might have a home—but Cash does not. “Thanks for the call, Mom. I’ll get you my bank information but I’m at work now, so I should go.”

“Honey?” Irene says. “Is everything okay?”

Cash sighs. His mother knows him; his mother loves him. They have always been allies, and if anyone on this earth can relate to feeling abandoned, it’s his mother. Except she seems pretty happy with Huck. “Tilda went away for a week with another guy,” Cash says. “Some super-wealthy investor who’s funding this eco-resort that Tilda and her parents want to build on Lovango Cay.”

“They went away together? Like, together-together?”

“Supposedly all business,” Cash says. “Tilda said he turns her stomach.” Had Tilda said this? No; this is how Cash feels. Dunk turns his stomach. “Whatever. I guess we’ll see.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Irene says, “she’d be a fool to leave you.”

Cash shakes his head. “Thanks, Mom.”

On the second day, Tilda texts Cash a selfie. It’s just her face. She has her mother’s sunglasses on; she’s lying back on a chaise in the sun.

Cash responds by texting her a selfie he takes on the bow of Treasure Island, his sunglasses and headset on, wind blowing his hair. He feels like a jackass.

The third day, Tilda sends a text that says, Off to St. Luscious! With a kissy-face emoji.

Cash texts back: Have fun. He can’t believe the minimalist nature of her communication. One text a day? No calls at all? Of course, Cash hasn’t called her either. Should he? No, he thinks. But an instant later, he does call her. The phone rings six times, he hears the funny tone that means she’s in another country, then her voicemail picks up. She texted only two minutes earlier; is she so busy that she can’t say a quick hello? Maybe she’s on the plane, or maybe she’s frantically packing, trying to get out of the hotel room to meet her car to the airport. There could be lots of reasons she can’t talk. Cash hangs up.

Cash realizes he hates being trapped in the villa in Peter Bay and—hidden cameras be damned—he starts flagrantly breaking the rules. Okay, maybe not flagrantly, Cash doesn’t have a rule-breaking bone in his body. He cautiously breaks the rules. He drinks six of Granger’s Island Hoppin’ IPAs and samples the whiskey in the crystal decanter that he finds in Granger’s study. Granger’s study is dark and serious—there’s a portrait of Abraham Lincoln on the wall. Then again, the Payne family is from Illinois, so maybe this makes sense. The desk is backed by a wall of books, nothing leather-bound, though they’re all hardcovers; fiction, it looks like—Tilda mentioned that Granger is a prodigious and serious reader. Cash sees they’re alphabetized by author, like in a bookstore—Nabokov, Nesbo, Ng. The surface of Granger’s desk is clear, and the drawers are all locked (Cash checks; he’s looking, of course, for notes, some record of Granger’s impressions of Duncan Huntley or possibly even their financial arrangement), so Cash takes only the whiskey, but even that feels like getting away with something.

Before going to sleep on the third night, Cash moves out of Tilda’s wing and into the guest wing, which is where Cash brought Tilda’s friend Max after Max got drunk and sick on Treasure Island. Tilda’s wing of the house is cluttered with Tilda’s clothes, books, magazines, sunglasses, bikinis, hair products, a bunch of half-burned Nest scented candles, corkscrews, the cheap vinyl drawstring backpacks she likes to carry, and pairs of hiking boots, water shoes, and work clogs as well as receipts and piles of cash, her tips from various nights that she doesn’t ever bother to count or deposit, but the guest wing is immaculate. The wing is two stories connected by a floating staircase that appears to be magically suspended in air. Upstairs is a comfy sitting room with a huge television and a perfect little palm-green-and-white-tiled kitchenette that has a petal-pink minifridge filled with soft drinks and beer. How did Cash not know about this? He takes an Island Hoppin’ IPA, thank you very much. The bedroom is downstairs. There’s a four-poster mahogany bed draped with white sheers that looks like what a bed in heaven must look like. Out a sliding glass door is a private garden and a deep, circular plunge pool.

Home for the night, Cash thinks. He doesn’t have to go into the main house at all.

He’s getting thirty-nine thousand dollars free and clear. After he finishes his beer, he feels happy about this. He can buy a truck and stop driving Tilda’s Rover around like he’s the errand boy.

Cash has a difficult time falling asleep in the guest wing. The bed is too soft and it doesn’t smell like Tilda. It’s quarter to eleven; he could still go out. Cruz Bay isn’t exactly a late-night town but Cash knows the Parrot Club will be open. He can take what’s left in his bank account and gamble, now that he knows there’s more money coming.