“Guess so,” I say.
“Back in a sec,” he says, disappearing. A few minutes later he’s back, carrying two sixteen-pound sledges, one in each hand. He slings one through the air to Bill, who looks not even remotely alarmed. He catches its handle and follows Grady into the tent. They pound the iron stake into the ground in a battery of perfectly timed strokes.
I lead Rosie in and crouch on my hams while I secure her leg chain. She leaves that leg planted firmly on the ground, but is leaning hard on the others. When I rise again, I see she is inclining toward a large pile of watermelons in the corner.
“You want us to tie it back down?” says Grady, pointing at the flapping sidewall.
“Yes, if you don’t mind. I don’t think Marlena wants August to know Rosie’s in here till he steps inside.”
Grady shrugs. “No skin off my nose.”
“Say, Grady? Do you think you could keep an eye on Rosie for just a minute? I need to change my clothes.”
“I don’t know,” he says, looking at Rosie with narrowed eyes. “She’s not going to pull her stake out or anything, is she?”
“I doubt it. But here,” I say, walking to the pile of watermelons. Rosie curls her trunk and opens her mouth in a wide smile. I carry one over and smash it to the ground in front of her. It explodes, and her trunk dives instantly into its red flesh. She scoops chunks into her mouth, rind and all. “There’s some insurance,” I say.
I duck under the sidewall and go get changed.
WHEN I RETURN, Marlena is there, wearing the beaded silk dress August gave her that night we had dinner in their stateroom. The diamond necklace sparkles on her throat.
Rosie is munching happily on another watermelon—it’s at least her second, but there are still half a dozen in the corner. Marlena has removed Rosie’s headpiece, which hangs over the chair in front of her vanity. There is now a serving table laden with silver-domed platters and wine bottles. I smell seared beef, and my stomach twists from hunger.
Marlena is flushed, digging through one of the drawers of her vanity. “Oh, Jacob!” she says, looking over her shoulder. “Good. I was getting worried. He’ll be here any second. Oh heavens. Now I can’t find it.” She straightens up suddenly, leaving the drawer open. Silk scarves spill over its edge. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” I say.
She extracts a bottle of champagne from a three-legged silver cooler. The ice inside shifts and jingles. Water drips from the bottle’s bottom as she hands it to me. “Can you pop it just as he comes in? Also, yell ‘surprise!’”
“Sure,” I say, taking the bottle. I remove the wire contraption and wait with my thumb on the cork. Rosie reaches over with her trunk, trying to pry her way between my fingers and the bottle. Marlena continues to dig through the drawer.
“What is this?”
I look up. August stands in front of us.
“Oh!” cries Marlena, spinning around. “Surprise!”
“Surprise!” I shout, twisting away from Rosie and popping the cork. It bounces off the canvas and lands in the grass. Champagne bubbles over my fingers, and I laugh. Marlena is there instantly with two champagne flutes, trying to catch the overflow. By the time we get coordinated, we’ve spilled a third of the bottle, which Rosie is still trying to take from me.
I look down. Marlena’s rose silk shoes are dark with champagne. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I laugh.
“No, no! Don’t be silly,” she says. “We have another bottle.”
“I said what is this?”
Marlena and I freeze, our hands still tangled. She looks up, her eyes suddenly worried. She holds a mostly empty champagne flute in each hand. “It’s a surprise. A celebration.”
August stares. His tie is loose, his jacket open. His face is an utter blank.
“A surprise, yes,” he says. He removes his hat and turns it over in his hands, examining it. His hair rises in a wave from his forehead. He looks up suddenly, with one eyebrow cocked. “Or so you think.”
“I beg your pardon?” Marlena asks in a hollow voice.
He flicks his wrist and sends his hat sailing into a corner. Then he removes his jacket, slowly, methodically. He walks to the vanity and swings his jacket as though he’s going to place it over the back of the chair. When he sees Rosie’s headpiece, he stops. Instead, he folds the jacket and places it neatly on the chair’s seat. His eyes move down to the open drawer and silk scarves spilling over its sides.
“Did I catch you at a bad moment?” he says, looking up at us. He sounds as though he’s just asked someone to pass the salt.
“Darling, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marlena says softly.
August reaches down and pulls a long, nearly transparent orange scarf free from the drawer. Then he weaves it through and around his fingers. “Having a little fun with scarves, were you?” He pulls the end of the scarf, and it slips through his fingers again. “Oh, you’re a naughty one. But I guess I knew that.”