When Walter docks the Miss Penelope at Victor Street, Shawn is sitting on the back deck, drinking a beer. A little early for that, Walter thinks as he walks across the lawn, his arms laden with baking trays to go back to Kahvila. “Where is everyone?” he asks.

“No idea,” says Shawn. “I was about to ask you.” He puts the beer down and grabs the trays from Walter. “I can take these back for you.”

“Thanks,” says Walter.

“Want to join me?” Shawn asks. He nudges a blue cooler with his toe. “Left over from last night’s debacle.”

Walter shakes his head. “It wasn’t as bad as all that,” he says. “No violence was perpetrated.”

“No, I suppose we can be thankful for that. Are you heading to the hospital later?”

“On my way there now.”

“Can I get a ride over with you? My car’s wrecked, and Mom’s car’s not here.”

Mom. Even after all these years, Walter can’t get used to that. Ridiculous, he knows. “Sure,” he says. Shawn drinks back the rest of his beer and they head into the house, each carrying half of the pile of trays. It has occurred to Walter that if he had been less of a near-sighted jerk, Shawn might have been interested in taking over Superior Tours. He has a good head for business; it wouldn’t have mattered if it was pancakes or boats. But what could Walter do about it now? Nik Saarinen had probably been a better father to Shawn than Walter ever had, anyway.

When they get into the kitchen, Walter looks out through the window and sees that Kate’s car is, indeed, gone. As is his truck. And Nicki’s car, and Hamish’s truck. “Well, that’s not going to work,” Walter says. He goes over to the Jeep and sees that the entire right fender is smashed in. “What happened here?”

“I have no idea,” says Shawn. “I just got here and found it like that.” He pulls out his cell phone. “Should I call us a cab?”

“Sure,” says Walter, hesitantly. Something about this seems off. The math doesn’t add up. Three other drivers. Four cars missing. Could one have been stolen? No. There has to be another explanation. But he puts it out of his mind. Shawn hangs up with the cab company, and they stand awkwardly on the front porch, trying to think of things to say to each other.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Walter says after a minute. “It’s going to be fun to have a little one around here again.”

Shawn leans against the porch railing, picking at some peeling paint. “There’s not going to be a little one,” he says flatly, avoiding Walter’s eyes. “Katriina had another miscarriage.”