Aunt Franny looks thin and tired—I caught a glimpse of her on the screen before I ducked down here. She’s only five years older than my mom, but I don’t think Nepal agrees with her. Guess it wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone if my grandma’s Having a Great Time! postcards are all one big fat lie. It’s the Saint-Martin way, after all.

While listening to Aunt Franny tell Evie about the school in Nepal that she and Grandma are teaching at, trying to get my mind off Lucky and the boat ride, I stare at a shelf of Evie’s weird taxidermy collection—a mouse wearing a tiny wizard outfit is the only one I truly like—and space out momentarily.

Until I hear Aunt Franny say something.

“—surprised she has the guts to move back to Beauty, frankly, since whatshisname is out of the navy and back in town.”

Hold up a minute. What’s this all about, now?

I look up at Evie on the bed.

She looks down at me with wide eyes.

Aunt Franny is talking about my mom … and some guy. Some navy guy.

“Who’s ‘whatshisname,’ Mom?” Evie asks when I prompt her by yanking at her pajama pants leg and mouth the question. “Who are you talking about?”

“I can’t remember his name. It was high school.”

“High school? Why would Aunt Winona care about someone from high school?” Evie says. “What’s up with this mystery man? Spill the beans, Mom.”

Her mom is silent for a moment. “No one, baby. I shouldn’t have said anything. That’s all in the past, and not our business.”

“Mom—”

“Evie,” her mom says over the laptop screen, “that’s enough. If Winona wanted us to gossip about her, she’d tell us herself. End of story.”

Great. Mom will never tell me, and I definitely won’t be asking. Mom will shut that down faster than a food inspector visiting a rat-infested pizza parlor. But now I’m super curious about Navy Man, who was possibly some boy in high school … who would have been reason enough to stop my mom from coming back to Beauty?

Now I’m remembering when we first came into town and how nervous she was, and I thought it was all the town gossip or possibly the Saint-Martin curse. But now I wonder if it’s something more.…

I ponder this while Evie asks her mom about Grandma Diedre, who refuses to participate in these calls—they have no Wi-Fi in their living quarters, and she hates having to walk down to a local internet café. And just when I’m thinking of leaving Evie’s room to give them some privacy, my phone buzzes inside the pocket of my shorts. A text from a local number. Not in my contacts.

Have you recovered from our excursion on the SS Too Big?