“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll tell Merilee you were here.” I held the door open for him as he passed through.

“Thanks,” he said, heading for a tan, mid-size Chevrolet sedan with traces of rust creeping up the fenders.

“By the way,” I called after him. “Mirabelle is a great kid.”

He turned around then nodded at me; three quick pops of his head. “I know. And thank God she looks like her mother.” He winked.

I hoped he meant it conspiratorially. Not in the sense of “Too bad that you don’t look more like your mother.” As I watched him drive away, I decided it must have been the former. After all, he seemed harmless. A time-share accountant; a job as beige as the socks he wore and the car he drove. At least Merilee provided some color in Mirabelle’s life, and maybe Elliot gave her stability. Maybe he had a nice wife and other kids for her to play with. I thought of all the questions I would ask if I saw him again, but that time never came.

That evening, Merilee drove us all several miles away up a winding road lined with coconut and banana trees and tall clusters of birds of paradise. We parked at the top on a wide, grassy promontory overlooking the ocean where the air was sweet with the scent of plumeria and gardenia. I had wanted to stay in the apartment, but Merilee insisted I could not leave without seeing the sunset.

Mirabelle pulled me to where a low brick wall stood, barely the suggestion of a barrier between us and the cliffs. “Look down there.” She pointed to where hundreds of seagulls circled a white lighthouse, the same one I’d seen on our hike but from a different angle.

“That’s the Kilauea lighthouse, Jackie,” Mirabelle chirped.

She had on my leather jacket. It came to her knees and the sleeves were a mile too long. I’d decided to leave it for her even though I loved it. I felt like it was the least I could do.

“We’ll take you next time you visit.”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded. The chance of that happening was exactly zilch.

“Stand right here and I’ll take your picture.” She pushed up a sleeve and fished out her Instamatic. “I just got a new roll of film and I’m gonna’ use it all up on you.” Mirabelle declared.

I waved her off. “Oh no, that’s not—”

“Say cheese!”

“—necessary.” I sighed as she snapped my picture.

It was warm and clear. Three days of rain had left the air fresh and moist. Bea pulled a few old folding chairs from the trunk of the car and Merilee brought out a picnic basket of fruit and cheese. Mirabelle ran around us, her camera clicking.