It’s nine at night by the time Harper gets back. People are playing Truth or Dare. Or, as Fleur calls it, Security Risk or Do Something Stupid Because It’s Fun. There are other people on the boat with Harper. Thank God, Fleur says. He’s here. But it isn’t David. It’s three men and a woman, all in knife-pleated pants, white shirts. Are those the caterers? someone asks. Fleur shshes them. Friends of David, she says, and goes down to the dock to meet them. No kisses this time. Thanh, Harper says. Let’s go somewhere and talk.

They’re at the top of the stairs when Thanh sees a plastic bowl, rainwater in it, on the landing. Hold on, he tells Harper, and pukes into it. Takes the bowl into the bathroom, dumps the vomit and rainwater into the toilet. Rinses it. Rinses his mouth. Okay. He’s okay. Harper is in their room, sitting on the little bed. They’re okay, he says. They’re in the hospital. She was having contractions. They’ve given her something to stop the contractions. And something else, uh, Dexamethasone. I looked it up on the phone. It’s a steroid. It increases surfactants in the lungs. Whatever those are. So if he’s born, he’ll have a better chance. He, Thanh says. Oh, Harper says. Yeah. Naomi spilled the beans. Sorry about that. We need to go back, Thanh says. Thanh, Harper says. We can’t. There are no flights. No seats. Not tomorrow anyway. I called. Han’s there. The contractions have stopped. Tomorrow morning, first thing, you can go over to the mainland and talk to them. Thanh lies down on the bed. He doesn’t undress. There’s sand between his toes. He’s cold. Harper lies down beside him. Harper says, It’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. They’re almost asleep when Thanh says, I don’t know about this David guy. I rode over with some of his work friends, Harper says. Bad news, those guys. I asked what exactly David did, and they started talking about the lesson of 9/11. Thanh says, Someone asked if they were the caterers. Caterers, Harper says. Like you’d want to eat anything they served you.