The ferry's engines roared into reverse, and the water churned white around the dark red hull. One dockhand manned the controls, gears shifting as the metal plates creaked into place. Thick lines were thrown and tied. Car engines were started. Marisa held out her hands, as if she could touch the person standing at the rail.

People waiting in their cars began to toot their horns. Only one car remained unmanned, and it was Patrick's. He leaned against the rail right across from them, the setting sun making his red hair shine like copper, his blue eyes sparkle. His black Lab stood beside him, wagging her tail and seeming to grin with her red tongue hanging out.

“You came,” Marisa said.

“I had to,” he said.

“Had to?”

“I'm on a mission.”

Marisa tilted her head, and Jessica reached out, as if she could touch the dog from across the narrow gap that separated them.

“My aunt goes on missions,” Jessica said. “To places like Peru. That's where she is now.”

“Jess,” Marisa said, because she knew how wound up her daughter got on the topic of Sam, and she felt her disappointment that the ferry had delivered someone else.

Patrick's smile widened.

“She's coming,” Jessica said stubbornly. “She's on her way—she has to be! She knows it's the ceili, and she knows we're waiting. She wouldn't miss the chance to play fiddle with you, and she wouldn't let me down!”

“Jessica,” Marisa said, wondering why Patrick looked so happy; his blue eyes locked onto hers, and he wouldn't look away, his smile growing.

“I think you're right,” Patrick said. “Your aunt wouldn't let you down.”

“Patrick,” Marisa said. He didn't know how much Jess loved Sam, how crushed she would be when Sam didn't come.

“You'd better get off the ferry,” Jessica said, still holding out her hand toward the friendly dog. “Whatever your mission was, you're here now.”

“My mission . . .” Patrick said, staring at Marisa.

“You beat Aunt Sam here,” Jessica said.

“Not by much,” a voice rang out from above.

Marisa raised her eyes. The wheelhouse was a tall rectangle, right in the middle of the deck. Wide windows looked in all directions, so the captain could see anything coming at him from any direction—whales, dolphins, fishing boats, seabirds. Maybe even fallen angels . . .

Because he seemed to have met one along the way, somewhere between the other shore and the Cape Hawk landing. The captain stood grinning, waving through the open window. Standing beside him was a tall, freckle-faced vision with bright green eyes and a halo of wild red hair, lifting her fiddle case high above her head in greeting, and her voice in song—sounding like anything but a fallen angel, sounding as if she had wings:

“I'm here!” she called.

“Aunt Sam!” Jessica cried back.