The stranger had an arm slung across the seat back, his hand touching Minor’s neck.

“I don’t know.” Kennet focused tighter, as if looking for little fingerprints on Minor’s nape.

Astrid’s hand fell on his, pushing the binoculars down. “It’s just a friend.”

“Sure.”

She smiled, the wind blowing her hair in her face. Her fingers were still in his. He squeezed them, then slowly guided their joined fist back to the wheel. “Both hands on the helm, skipper.”

“Where to?” she said, not letting go.

“I’ll take you to Grennell Island. Show you my grandmother’s place.”

“Help me drive.”

He put his arm around her and she slid close. “You don’t drive a boat,” he said by her ear. “You pilot it.”

She dug her head back against his shoulder. “Oh, desculpa aí, capitão.”

His nose pressed against the sunny crown of her head a moment.

I had no idea, he thought. I didn’t know it could ever be like this.

Over the wind and spray and hum of the engine, Astrid sang “South American Way.”

Ostensibly, lord only knew how many thousands of years ago, the Fiskares’ land had been one hook-shaped peninsula on the south side of Grennell Island. Tide, time and erosion had shaped it into a bulge on the mainland, and two small islands connected by bridges.

“When he died, Farfar left the main part of the property to Uncle Nyck,” Kennet said. “Major got the island just offshore. The island off that belongs to Marianne until she dies.”

“Nothing for your father?” Astrid said.

“He got the house and the hotel.”

“I see.”

“Uncle Nyck’s family sold their share, so only these two little islands are left in the family.”

Kennet tied off at the long dock on Major’s island. At its far end, a path forked: one way meandering down along the shoreline, the other leading to the house. Along the latter was a signpost reading:

Tre Fiskar

Three Fishes

Private Property

“Is Tre Fiskar the name of the house or the name of the island?” Astrid asked.

“Both. Marianne’s property is called Tre Önskningar. Three Wishes. But practically nobody can pronounce önskningar, so most of the locals just refer to it as Tre-O.”

He’d walked a few paces down the shoreline path before realizing Astrid hadn’t followed. He looked back. She was still gazing at the signpost, then at him, expression puzzled.

“Will we go say hello to Major?”

“Not sure he’s home,” Kennet said, although he’d seen the E-Major tied at the shorter dock and Astrid probably had, too. She missed nothing.

He held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

His hand stayed out hopefully as she came along. Her eyes and nose crinkled as their palms slid together and fingers entwined and folded down.