Although there’s another reason, a reason we don’t mention as we lie sweating against each other afterward, hearts going ga-thud in that familiar slow, heavy rhythm. Tomorrow I leave for another photography assignment, this time on the Yangtze River to capture the evacuation of British refugees, and I don’t know exactly when I’ll return.

An hour later I’m on my bicycle, pedaling west toward Coolibah, while the breeze tumbles through my hair and the early sun warms my shoulders. I like to tell Leo that it isn’t him that keeps me here, it’s the weather. I don’t know, maybe it’s both.

Or maybe it’s Coolibah that keeps me here. My father did not leave me with nothing, after all; he gave me a brother and a sister, and the woman he loved, and they’re all trooping in from the beach right now, still dripping with salt water. I stand on the lanai and wave.

“Where were you, Janey?” Doris demands. “The waves were that high!”

“Unavoidably detained by the birthday boy, I’m afraid.” (There is a snort from Irene’s direction.) “But I’m here now, aren’t I? Where’s Olle?”

“He’s picking up the present right now. Kaiko’s trying to start the fire in the pit. Doris! Wesley! For goodness’ sake, go around back. You’ll get the rugs all wet.” Irene turns to me. “You’ll help them with the cake, won’t you? Doris wants to bake it all herself, but you remember what happened last time. And she has to let Wesley do at least some of the frosting.”

“Oh, sure, and I’ll just telephone Uncle Joe and convince him to end the Berlin blockade while I’m at it. Can’t you at least lay out a few preliminary spankings?”

Irene shrugs. “You’re on your own. I’ve got the pig to worry about.”

In the end, it all comes together. Nobody mentions that Doris’s cake is lopsided, or that Wesley forgot the frosting h in birthday, which is a miracle because Kaiko’s the kind of fellow who comes out and says whatever thought’s inside his head. Olle drinks too much, but everybody expects that, and anyway he never drinks too too much, if you know what I mean, at least around the children, whom he adores almost as much as their mother.

As for that suckling pig, well. Irene always was the kind of infuriating woman who does things impeccably, and this particular pig is practically perfect, down to the pineapple in its mouth. Kaiko got the coals going, so it cooked all day in its pit and the meat falls apart from the bones whenever you prick it with your fork. Now the fire dances in the night, and everybody’s laughing and happy, and it’s time to give Leo his present.