“I don’t know,” Flynn said.

“Is this suitcase big enough? I don’t think it’s big enough.”

“Uh—”

“How can you see with that hair? You need a haircut before you go.”

“Mom, I’m fine. I like it this way.”

“Oh, okay. No, you’re right. It’s cute.”

Holly Stabler had questions for her staff, too. For the nanny—about Flynn’s friends Milo and Spencer (were they bringing their own rods?). For the travel team—about the itinerary (how many days would the yacht spend out on the deep ocean? how many docked at Catalina?) and Flynn’s luggage (would a bigger suitcase fit in his quarters? had they checked with the yacht’s steward?). For Letty and Flora—(where was that green suit?). Just inside the door to Flynn’s bedroom, a phalanx of helpers waited their turn to answer. Erin was standing in the back of the scrum, wordlessly coordinating the effort without seeming to. Even though the staff had been in constant touch with Vic, his wife, the crew of the yacht, Harbor Patrol on Catalina Island, and the Pacific office of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration for close to a month, ensuring that every possible outcome of this trip had been foreseen and prepared for, and that indeed Holly had no reason to worry, these thirty minutes had been set aside for her to worry like a regular mom.

Flynn’s bedroom in the east tower was round, with windows that looked to the east, south, and west, but he kept them shielded by light-filtering roller shades just like the ones in Ted’s office. Any teenage boy who lived mostly through his laptop might have preferred it that way, dark and moody, but Zanne couldn’t help thinking of a castle keep, locking him in.

“This is all so complicated,” Holly moaned. “Erin, in the future I really need you to set aside more time for me to go over things. This is too much.”

“Okay, no problem.”

Zanne caught Erin’s eye and lifted the ditch bag up to show her she’d brought it. Erin could have been Holly’s older sister, if Holly had one—taller, hair a darker shade of auburn, glasses that slipped down the bridge of her nose when she nodded, which she did often and patiently. She frequently looked exhausted, her lips chapped and her limp, tangled hair in need of a brush, but it was amazing what sharp frames and a regular manicure could do to make her dishevelment seem intentional. Erin was orderly where Holly was scattered, responsible where her boss was rash. She was Holly without the money and polish, though by this point she made too much money herself for anyone to pity her. Erin nodded at Zanne and pushed the navy blue frames on her face back into place.