In terms of lip reading, it took her a few weeks to learn how each new person chewed through the motions of speech, the subtle individual differences between All set and Not yet. She had a particularly hard time with Tibbet. He tended to purse his mouth a little, even when speaking. This made it hard to see what sounds he was making. He carried a rolled package of Tums with him all the time and, when thinking, would shake one out and pop it into his mouth like a breath mint. Rather than chewing on it, he’d suck on it until it dissolved, warping his mouth movements.

—What?

—You’re their maid.

She wasn’t sure if he meant maid or made. She asked again—What?

She had told the men she was partly deaf. She’d asked them to face her when they talked, to enunciate and not cover their mouths. However frequently, working on something else, they forgot, speaking muffled and angled away or scratching their noses, until they’d finally turn frustrated and half-bellow the words.

Maid—Tibbet yelled—You’re the dolphin maid.

Within a day, the third man, the younger one, was also referring to her as the dolphin maid. He appeared to be some kind of assistant. Blum or Tibbet would speak and point, and he would move in that direction to lug bags or repair a machine or file papers.

She was surprised because lugging, repairing and filing were the sort of tasks her family did, and this man didn’t move or talk like them. With her relatives, she could read with a glance from 20 feet away what they were feeling. They telegraphed emotion with posture and gesture and expression, as subtle as Buster Keaton. Greeting each other, they would clap backs and hug repeatedly, the tone of their voices loud and high. Arguing, they leaned in, their faces inches apart, spitting out the words. Amused, they threw back their heads to laugh, surrendering to the joke so loudly that nearby people startled.

The third man wasn’t like this. He acted like he was playing bridge and had a good hand. His face didn’t move much. His voice was controlled, his posture correct. He hardly ever gestured except to knock the ash off his cigarette. Emotion was betrayed in the stillness of his gaze or in his nostrils flaring. He had straight blond hair and white teeth, the good looks of Barbie’s Ken. He had an endless number of polo shirts and madras shorts.

She knew his family was not like hers. His family was the kind to vacation on the island, not live here. It seemed likely he was working as an assistant for a short time, as a way up the ladder.

She kept trying to figure out his name, but it started and ended with hard-to-hear consonants, the ones formed in the front of the mouth and pushed out with the smallest puff of air. Steff? Jeff? Shep? Since she was only sure of the vowel in his name, she thought of him as Eh.