“They were the men who fathered you and your twin. They were the ones who were your dads. See there in the picture Annie drew.” Her bent fingers swirled around the man in the clouds. “That’s you.”

“But he has a harpoon, Mama. I never touched one.”

“I had twins, and your brother killed himself. I always knew you would be the one who lived on. I always knew that even before he was found dangling off the dock . . . for me it was not a surprise. I knew that in the end, you would be the one to care for me.”

Johnny hugged her hard, and together they cried the way that only a mother and son know how to. The way a mother adores her boy all the days of his life. The longest, strongest bond a man will ever have is with his mother. Wives can’t change that.

Annie moved her weight from one hip to the other. Back and forth. Forth and back. She didn’t want to interrupt. This moment was theirs. It wasn’t about her or the red beards back home.

It wasn’t about rape. It wasn’t about hate. Perhaps she had been dreaming about love.

She was seeing a side of Johnny that she didn’t know was alive. She was seeing a Johnny Cochrane who could show love. Maybe the dreams were meant to bring her here to this. To see Johnny in a different way. Not the guy swaggering down a sidewalk with spurs on his boots. Not the guy with wild hair-washing parties. This Johnny Cochrane had aged into gentleness.

“Now, Johnny, you know I love you,” Mrs. Cochrane whispered, “but I need to make a call. You go get the cordless phone. I have to call Isadore.”

“Mama, who is Isadore?”

“Isadore Stanley. He’s a Métis artist who lives down the hall. I want him to see Annie’s drawings.”

“And how do you know him, Mama?”

“He’s the artist-in-residence this year, and you know what? He’s hot!”

“Oh, my Gawd, my mother is back!” Johnny and his mama burst out laughing. Falling over laughter. Laughter you never want to have stop. The kind that makes you walk away from one another because you can’t stand the ache of it all. When they had finished laughing, Johnny went to get the phone.

The days flew by. The seasons changed bit by bit. On the island, the seasons seemed to move slower. Leaves took longer to change colour. Leaves took longer to drop to the ground. Leaves took longer to roll up and crunch when you stepped on them. Island life was filled with leisurely humidity.