Prince’s song “Kiss” blared from the speakers, producing a fine mist of yellows and oranges before Remi’s eyes. The colors of happiness.

The crowd “awed” over the earliest pictures of Darlene and Gil’s relationship. ’80s hair. Ripped denim. Hair spray. They were so young and full of hope.

Young Darlene looked at the skinny, gawky Gilbert like he’d hung the stars in the night sky.

The photos tracked a timeline of love and laughter. An entire lifetime of happiness, Remi realized. Sure, it was a highlight reel. There had been fights and frustrations. There had been late nights with vomiting children and long talks about discipline. There had been bills to pay and parents to mourn. There had been rough patches and uncertainty. But they’d made a commitment to each other to grow and change together.

Tears filled her eyes as the happy couple stared down at fresh-to-the-world baby Kimber, sleeping peacefully as her parents gazed at her with awe. A family now.

There was Darlene, pregnant, working the dispatch desk at the station. Gilbert with his bushy mustache and plaid corduroys. Brick’s hold on her tightened almost imperceptibly at the next picture. A tiny, red-faced, red-haired baby frozen mid-scream.

They’d made room for her. Loving her as fiercely as she’d loved them. Even though she’d been different. Even though she’d been too much and not enough.

Was a life like this possible? Could she build one?

She reached behind her and put a hand on Brick’s rock hard thigh, reassuring herself that he was still there.

The song changed to Kool and the Gang’s “Cherish,” and the colors she saw shifted accordingly to purples and blues.

With care, Brick laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand, connecting them despite his unexplained anger, despite her confusion and fears. It was real and binding.

What he hadn’t shared with her created a valley between them. But what they’d shared together, the intimacy, the vulnerability, bridged it.

She was electrified sitting there with him in the dark. As if her entire being was plugged into his. As if those broad shoulders and wide chest were the home she’d sought. As if he was a beacon in the dark, a lighthouse.

The craving to have his hands on her, even now, even among family and friends, was overpowering. Handholding had never been erotic before. It had never signified anything more than a flirtation. But in this moment it took on the weight of this secret between them, the weight of the secrets he carried. She felt the steady strength in his grip and knew that her body belonged to him even if her heart and mind couldn’t trust it.

They needed to talk. Needed to set things straight. Needed to remember where they’d come from and where they were heading.

His thumb skimmed over hers as the screen followed the now teenage sisters and their parents. And there was Brick. It had to have been one of his first days on the island. He was standing in the Ford kitchen, cowboy hat on, quietly observing. He was so young. And there was hurt in the set of his shoulders. Sixteen-year-old Remi was standing in front of him, head tilted way back. She was smiling smugly up at him as if to say, “You’re already mine. I’ve already won.”