Irene says, “And that’s not all. My other son, Cash”—here, Irene pivots and casts a concerned glance behind them, at the water—“is over on Lovango Cay with his friend Tilda. Her family is building an eco-resort on Lovango, and, if I’m not mistaken, Cash and Tilda are the only two people on the entire island. I’m going to try to call Cash to make sure they made it through okay.”

This is such a good local story that Margaret feels like she hit the jackpot on the first try. She asks Huck and Irene to repeat all of this—including the shtick about the name Inga—with the cameras rolling. She has Linda get a close-up of the cookies and then she asks Linda to pan across the water toward Lovango Cay.

When they finish filming, Irene says, “I’m not one to play the name game but I think you know my cousin.”

Margaret smiles. She loves this woman, this couple; they’re authentic and charming, and even if Margaret has no idea who Irene’s cousin is, she might pretend she does. “Who’s your cousin?”

“Mitzi Quinn,” Irene says.

Ha! Margaret thinks. Ha-ha-ha! “Mitzi? Mitzi is your cousin?”

Irene nods shyly. Huck looks lost. “Who’s Mitzi?”

“Mitzi was married to my ex-husband for many years,” Margaret says. “Mitzi’s son, Bart, is my children’s half brother.” She beams. “We’re practically related!” She pulls out a business card and hands it to Irene. “Please, let’s keep in touch. If you ever need anything…”

“Thank you,” Irene says.

Margaret tilts her head. “Before I move on, I have to ask one more question. How did the two of you meet?”

Irene and Huck smile at each other and Margaret can see something pass between them that seems to indicate it’s a story too complicated for a sound bite. Of course, Margaret thinks. All the best stories are.

“We could tell you,” Huck says. “But you’d never believe it.”

Irene

Cash and Tilda are okay. The cell phone reception when she’s talking to Cash goes in and out but the gist is that they’re going to stay on Lovango for a few days to try to clean up before they take the skiff back over to St. John.

“It was scary,” Cash admits. “The cottage shook so bad, we felt like dice in a cup. During the worst of it, I looped my belt through the handle of the front door and pulled, and Tilda sat behind me, bracing me. We knew if we lost the door, the roof would be next.”

Irene gets a chill. You should have stayed with us, she almost says. The Happy Hibiscus didn’t sustain any damage because it’s made of stone, because it’s sheltered from the water, because the yard has only bismarckia trees, no palms. The wind was loud, the windows rattled, they could hear the branches of the trees coming down, but that was the worst of it. The baby cried a little, which was a sound everyone loved, and Winnie whimpered, which was a sound nobody loved but everyone tolerated. “Isn’t it lonely being the only two people on that whole island?” Irene asks.