“But you were married to a fella for thirty-five years who turned out to be a cheat and a liar and a criminal,” Huck says. “So I understand how maybe you’re hesitant to trust the very next man you meet. But I promise—Irene, I promise you on my precious granddaughter’s life that I am pure in my intentions and my feelings. I’ve been hurt before too. Hurt badly.” Huck pauses. At some point, he’ll tell her the story about Kimberly, and she’ll understand they’re more alike than she knows. “I’m not going to use kindness to leverage something from you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

Are we okay, then? he wants to ask. Irene steps toward him and puts her hands on his shoulders, then moves closer and clasps her hands behind his neck. She rests her head on his chest.

Two things are apparent in that moment. One, they are okay. And two, Huck doesn’t understand women.

Irene’s phone rings, snapping them back to reality. Happiness is a butterfly that lands and then just as quickly flies away.

Irene answers the phone. “Hello?” There’s a pause. “Oh, Baker.” Another pause. “What? Where are you? Here? On St. John?” She turns to Huck, her eyes wide with alarm, and mouths: He’s here.

Huck stubs out his cigarette. He imagines his buddy Rupert doing his best Chief Brody imitation: Huck, my friend, you’re going to need a bigger boat.

Ayers

Treasure Island has a blown powerhead. It needs to go all the way to Puerto Rico to be worked on and won’t be back in commission for a week.

Ayers is relieved. As usual, she wakes up facedown on her bed at the crack of dawn when her coffeemaker starts gurgling, but Ayers can barely even lift her head. She has to go to the bathroom but it’s ten feet away, which might as well be a country mile.

Depression is setting in. Because of Mick.

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

After Maia called to tell Ayers that she saw Mick and Brigid kissing on the beach—They were all over each other, I saw it with my own two eyes—Ayers nearly smashed her phone against the tile floor of her apartment. But she was stopped by her pragmatism (it would take seven hundred and fifty dollars and a trip to St. Thomas to replace it) and her skepticism. Maia must be mistaken. She’d thought it was Mick and Brigid, but it had to be another couple.

Mick had proposed only two days before. He’d planned the whole thing, luring Ayers out onto his boss’s boat, Funday, rafting up in Christmas Cove near Pizza Pi among all their friends in the St. John service industry, asking Captain Stephen from the Singing Dog to play “Southern Cross,” which was Ayers’s favorite song. My love is an anchor tied to you, tied with a silver chain. He’d proposed in front of everyone, but aside from that, Ayers couldn’t have executed it better herself. And maybe part of her did appreciate the public nature of the proposal. All of their friends knew that Mick had cheated on Ayers with Brigid and had then dated Brigid for two months, one week, and three days. (Yes, it was painful enough that Ayers kept track.) So it was validating to have everyone bear witness to Mick’s ultimate choice.