“I can’t believe the Beach Bash is happening so soon,” I said to Daisy now, as she hung the garment bag over one arm. “I feel like we just graduated.”

“Thirty-six days to go,” she told me. There was that exactness again; the girl lived by her calendar, with several backups. She was like NASA she was so organized. “Not that I’m keeping track.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Maybe explain to your brother what fashion-forward means.”

“I will,” I told her. “As soon as I figure it out myself.”

She smiled, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. “Call me as soon as you get off work. You hear me?”

I hugged her back. “I hear you.”

“Nice to meet you, Benji,” she said, turning to go back inside.

“You, too!” he replied. And then, again, he was running out ahead of me to the car, like a dog on one of those retractable leashes, grabbing all the distance possible before he got pulled back.

In the car, I checked my messages. Besides the text earlier from Margo in response to my inquiry about more towels—No towels. Come back for further instruction—I had two new voice mails.

“Emaline, hello, it’s me.” Pause. “Um, Theo.” Another pause, during which I could think of nothing but that kiss among the toasters. “I just spoke to Ivy and she’d really like us to go ahead and nail Clyde down for an interview as soon as possible. I mean, you know, at his convenience, of course. But today. Preferably soon? So if you could”—here, someone in the background was saying something—“call him and set that up, we’d really appreciate it.” More direction from Ivy. Then, “Just call me back as soon as you can. Thanks!”

I hit Delete, looking at Benji, who was fidgeting in his seat, tapping one foot while drumming two fingers on the open window. The next message began.

“Emaline, it’s me again. Theo.” I sighed, then cranked the engine. “So Ivy thinks it would be best if we could just get Clyde’s direct number? So that we don’t have to bother you with these requests? I explained to her that he preferred to go through you, but”—muffled noises, voices, static—“anyway, if that’s possible, you can just text his info to me and I’ll take it from there. But if not, you know, just call me back”—more muffling—“as soon as you can. Thanks!”

“Oh for God’s sake,” I said out loud. Pushy, driven, whatever they chose to call it: it was still annoying.

Instantly, Benji froze, dropping his drumming fingers, silencing the bouncing leg. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

“No, no.” I waved my phone at him. “Them, not you.”

“Oh.” He brightened visibly. “Okay.”

We pulled out into the traffic, and I looked over at him again. He was such a kid, all impulse and emotion, but he was young; it made sense he was so easy to read. I could only imagine how he’d take the news that his parents were divorcing, whenever they did finally tell him. It broke my heart just thinking about it.

When we got to the office, we found Margo in the conference room, sitting at her laptop. All around her, on the table, chairs, and every other flat surface, were towels. All white, all sizes: bath, washcloth, hand, mats. It was like the linen closet had exploded, albeit very neatly.

“I thought we were out of towels?” I said.

She looked up at me, her expression irritated. “I didn’t say that. I said there were no towels for you.”

“Okay,” I said. “But I don’t actually need any. The clients do.”

“This morning, at the meeting,” she said, in a way that made it clear a scolding was to follow, “I carefully detailed the new, computerized system I have implemented for inventory of the towels. Ten minutes later, you went back to the storeroom and took a bunch, ignoring everything I said. “

Beside me, Benji was watching this exchange, looking at Margo, then me, then back at her again. I nodded in his direction, saying, “You remember Benji, right?”

She gave him a glance. “Oh, yes. Hello.”

“Hi,” he said. “That’s a lot of towels.”

“Yes, Benji,” she replied, in the same know-it-all tone, “yes, it is. It is, in fact, all the towels we have here at Colby Realty for midweek replenishment for renters. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s necessary to have this many so we can always be sure we can meet the needs of our guests.”

“Margo,” I said, “he’s a kid. He doesn’t care about this.”

“The point is,” she continued, ignoring me, “I developed a system to ensure we always know how many of each kind of towels we have at our disposal. All that is required to make the system work is that each employee who checks a towel out logs it in the database. Is that so complicated?”

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” Benji replied obediently, at the same time.

“We don’t need an exact count, just a general idea,” I said. “It’s towels, not radioactive material.”

“And you are not in charge here,” she shot back. “I say we are using this system, so we are. End of conversation. Now come in here and get a refresher course so I can get back to work.”

For a moment, I just stared at her, and she held my gaze, just as fiercely. Under other circumstances, I would have held my ground like I usually did. But beside me, Benji was fidgeting again.