In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the butter on medium speed until creamy. Add in the sugar and beat until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the egg and egg whites in one at a time, beating for a minute after each addition. Add in the vanilla extract, making sure to scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl if needed. Add in half the dry ingredients, mixing on low speed, then add in the milk. Finish with the rest of the dry ingredients, beating until the batter is combined and smooth.
Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Bake for 27 to 32 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Let cool completely before frosting.
CHAMPAGNE FROSTING
½ cup unsalted butter
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
4½ cups powdered sugar
3 to 5 tablespoons champagne
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Place the butter and cream cheese in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat on medium speed until creamy. With the mixer on low speed, gradually add the powdered sugar, beating until combined. The frosting will look crumbly, but continue to scrape down the sides and the bottom of the bowl until it’s somewhat combined. Slowly drizzle in the champagne, 1 to 2 tablespoons at a time. You can do this in between additions of the powdered sugar if needed, but I find it works best at the end. Beat in the vanilla extract.
Beat the frosting on medium to high speed until it’s thick and creamy and fluffy, about 3 to 4 minutes. If it becomes too runny, add more powdered sugar, ½ cup at a time. If it becomes too thick, add in more champagne 1 tablespoon at a time. Once the cake cools, frost it!
CHAMPAGNE CANDIED STRAWBERRIES
1½ cups sugar
¼ cup water
⅔ cup champagne
1 pint strawberries, hulled, some sliced, some kept whole
Place the sugar, water, and champagne in a saucepan over medium heat. Whisk constantly until the sugar dissolves and the mixture starts to simmer, then cook for 2 minutes. Add the strawberries to the mixture and simmer for 2 to 3 minutes. Remove the strawberries with a slotted spoon and place them in a bowl—they will be sticky! Additionally, you can store the strawberries in their syrup in the fridge until you’re ready to serve the cake. I like to keep the syrup for drizzling and serve the strawberries on the side of the cake.
ANGIE
When she heard the hammering, she hurried to the window. JP’s silver Jeep was in the driveway. He was downstairs, fixing the wonky board on the porch, just as he’d promised. At least he was reliable.
Unlike Joel Tersigni.
Angie pulled on clothes and headed downstairs.
The sun was in her eyes as she opened the door. “Good morning,” she said. “Coffee?”
JP was on his knees on the porch with a jigsaw and a toolbox, a baseball hat on backward, his Blues Brothers sunglasses resting on the railing. Angie hadn’t noticed his eyes before. They were brown—not deep brown like Angie’s, but more like a reddish brown. He grinned at her. “I’d love some.”
“You’re here awfully early,” she said.
“I have ranger duties today,” he said. “But you were right: this board is an orthopedist’s dream.”
Angie nearly told JP that there was no point in fixing the board, or anything else, because they were going to lose the house. But JP didn’t need to know about the miserable inner workings of the Thorpe family. He thought Deacon was a superhero; Deacon would remain a superhero.
Angie headed to the kitchen for coffee; she hadn’t been able to eat anything after the conversation with Dory the day before, but she had set up the coffee because it was the one thing she couldn’t live without. A house was a house was a house, she thought. People lost houses all the time, just like her mother had said. She could live without this house.
But she couldn’t look at the door frame where she and Hayes and Ellery had all been measured. She wondered if the new owners of the house would paint over the hash marks or keep them. She took three deep breaths, then headed out to the porch with the coffee.
Just as she was about to step outside, Belinda descended the stairs.
This is not happening, Angie thought. It had been a long time since Angie had woken up in the same house as her mother, but she recalled that one of Belinda Rowe’s trademark behaviors was sleeping in.
Apparently not today, however. Maybe the hammering had woken her, although she didn’t appear disgruntled, merely a bit disoriented. She was in her white lace nightgown and white silk robe, and she had her sleep mask pushed off her face; it rested messily in her famous strawberry-blond hair. She had washed off her makeup. Angie was always surprised at how regular her mother looked with clean skin.
“Good morning, darling,” Belinda said.
“Good morning,” Angie said. “There’s coffee.”
“Wonderful,” Belinda said, but instead of heading into the kitchen, she followed Angie out the front door, onto the porch. “Oh, hello,” she said to JP, who was still on his knees. “No wonder I was dreaming about a giant woodpecker.”
Angie rolled her eyes. JP jumped to his feet and offered Belinda his hand. “I’m JP Clarke,” he said. “I was a friend of Deacon’s.”
“Hello, JP,” Belinda said. “I’m Angie’s mother.”
Angie hadn’t heard Belinda introduce herself as “Angie’s mother” in more than ten years, since Angie was a student at Chapin. She had to admit, she was almost flattered that Belinda had identified herself as such. She just as easily could have said, I’m Belinda Rowe, and let JP think: Academy Award–winning actress, former face of Chanel, and cover girl of Vogue (five times), Vanity Fair (twice), and Time magazine (in character, as Vietnamese heroine Mai Hanh).
“It’s nice to meet you,” JP said. “I’m sorry for the ruckus. I wanted to get here first thing this morning to fix the board before somebody hurt themselves.”
“Thank you,” Belinda said. “I assure you, that would have been me. I brought very impractical shoes.”
This caused both JP and Angie to stare at Belinda’s feet, which were bare. Her toenails were painted baby blue.
Angie handed JP his coffee, which he accepted gratefully. Angie said, “There’s coffee in the kitchen, Mother.”
“So, JP, do you live on Nantucket year-round?” Belinda asked.
“I do,” he said. “I’m the ranger out at Coatue.”
“Now that’s interesting,” Belinda said.
“It is if you like nature,” JP said.
“My mother doesn’t like nature,” Angie said.
“I like nature, darling,” Belinda said. “So what does a ranger do, exactly?”
“I’m half-policeman, half-conservationist,” JP said. “On the one hand, I keep track of the tourists. Make sure they stay in the designated areas, help people who get stuck in the sand. On the other hand, I keep track of the wildlife. I count plover eggs and report seal and shark sightings. I get a fair amount of fishing in, and some clamming.”
“And then what do you do in the off-season?” Belinda asked.
“Mother,” Angie said.
“I tutor middle and high school students in math,” JP said. “I was a math major at MIT.”
“Oh my goodness!” Belinda said.
“Before I dropped out,” JP said. “I liked my classes, but I hated the city. I missed Nantucket, so I moved back after first semester junior year. The tutoring gives me time to do what I really love. In the fall, I scallop, and come November, I hunt.”
“My husband hunts!” Belinda cried out.
“Bow or shotgun?” JP asked.
Belinda’s shoulders sagged. “I have no idea,” she said. “He keeps a hunting cabin in Tennessee. But I don’t know what animals he shoots or how he shoots them.”
Angie shook her head. Her mother sounded like a simpleton. She said, “There’s coffee inside, Mother.”
“Yes,” Belinda said. “I heard you the first two times.”
“It’s probably only a matter of hours before the paparazzi discover you’re here,” Angie said. “You might not want to stand on the porch in your nightgown.”