I turn to see what they’ve seen, an inauspicious gray cloud issuing from the stern of our cruiser. Now I can see that Hugh’s sleeves are rolled up practically, not jauntily. He’s got oil stains on his linen shirt, which is not like him. He’s been trying to fix something. This has never once gone well in the entire seven years I’ve known him. He begins to pace the dock, pointing wildly at a burly, bearded man who seems to do nothing but shrug. It’s not until John pulls up and cuts the engine that I recognize the guy. He’s a mechanic who’s come out a few times all the way from Devon to see to the island’s small power station.

“I’m not the expert here,” he’s saying, and something in his tone tells me this isn’t the first or even fifth time he’s had to recite that over Hugh’s shouting.

“But see, you are the expert here, because all other experts are gone. You know engines. You know your own boat. Can’t you just take another look at this one?”

Hugh can’t stop moving his hands, into his thick hair, his pockets, picking at each other, balling, releasing. It’s no wonder the mechanic perches there unmoving, like a rabbit in a field deciding which way to run.

“Out. Want get out.” Emma starts crawling through the open window too quickly for me to grab her.

Just in time, two hands appear as if from nowhere and snatch her into the parking lot while she wiggles wildly. “You can’t fly, fairy princess. You haven’t got your wings yet!”

“Oh my God.” I practically keel over with relief as Joanna opens the door for me. “This child is going to kill me.”

Jo grins, adjusting Emma onto her hip. “I have her. You go talk to Hugh.”

I hesitate. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Engine trouble.”

Worry sinks into my stomach, but it’s tempered with excitement of a different sort. The truth is, I was disappointed when Hugh suggested we get away this week. I’ve been so curious about the local traditions, so damn patient—waited nearly seven years for the mythical Day to come around—but Hugh seemed desperate to go.

It didn’t take me long to realize why. His father passed away seven years ago, on the Day, by some sick coincidence, and Hugh wasn’t there to say goodbye. He was in the middle of the Atlantic, on the deck of an ocean liner, meeting me for the first time. Falling in love while his father died.