Colleen followed them down a narrow hallway, its walls covered in pale blue shipboard with photos of family and loads of boats, many different kinds of boats. The images were framed and lined in neat rows. They entered a small kitchen so green that Colleen almost squinted. The countertops were white, and the wooden table was painted one shade lighter. The fabric—on chairs and across the tops of the windows—was a green and white check reminiscent of the curtains in her own house. At the table sat an older man with hair to match the countertops, and a girl facing him. They were deep in conversation but turned their faces to Beckett and Colleen as they entered the room.

“Son.” The man stood and hugged Beckett, effusive as if he hadn’t seen him in months.

“Hey, bro.” The girl wiggled her fingers at her brother and he bent over to hug her.

“Hey, sis. What’s going on?”

“My boss. I hate him. Nothing new. You?”

He placed his hand gently on Colleen’s arm and then withdrew it. “This is my pal Colleen Donohue.”

Dad shook her hand first. “Welcome. I’m Bubba Joe.”

“Dad!” Sylvia’s voice rang out and she stood, jostled her dad with her elbow before turning to Colleen and holding out her own hand. “Hi, I’m Sylvia. And this is my dad, Raymond.”

“Ever since I moved south, I’ve wanted to be Bubba. Couldn’t you have let it go for a few minutes? Let me live my fantasy?”

And then everyone was talking at once, while still somehow carrying on the conversation about the dinner they were having when the passel of siblings came in from Nevada next month.

“Where does everyone else live?” Colleen asked.

Denise rattled them off, top to bottom, where they lived and what they were doing. Colleen couldn’t keep up. She glanced at Beckett, who shrugged and said, “You asked.”

Within minutes they were back in the car. Colleen exhaled. “What a fun family you have. I’m a bit envious.”

Beckett’s face wrinkled in confusion. “You have a fine family from what I can tell.”

Colleen felt the lurch of despair. How could she explain to this man that yes, it appeared she had a family, but she’d also willingly given up on being an intimate part of their tribe.

She grew quiet, running a finger along the passenger-side window, making tiny circles until Beckett parked at the Oyster Shack and they both climbed out. Once seated at a small outside table with a fan whirring overhead, Beckett said, “I feel like I’ve said or done something wrong. You’ve retreated.”

Colleen shook her head. “I’m just not that hungry and . . .”

Beckett stood and held out his hand. “Come on. I’m not one to force a girl to eat. Let’s take a walk instead. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”