He calls Paulette Vickers to let her know that he and Floyd will be down on Saturday to stay at the villa for a couple of weeks, and might she be able to meet him at the dock with the keys?

“Certainly, Mr. Steele,” she says. “I’m happy to know you’re using it. A beautiful villa like that shouldn’t sit empty. I asked your mother if she wanted me to rent it and she said to hold off for the time being.”

“My mother is overwhelmed,” Baker says. “She doesn’t need more to worry about. I’ll handle all things relating to the villa from now on.” He wonders if he’s overstepping, but all of the goodwill he’s put in with Paulette is paying off because she doesn’t question it.

“Very good,” she says. “I’ll meet you at the ferry dock on Saturday with the keys.”

Baker hangs up and feels an elation so strong he could levitate. The only string tying him to earth is…Irene. Baker should call her and tell her his plans.

But…what he just told Paulette is true—Irene is overwhelmed. She doesn’t need one more thing to worry about. She doesn’t need to fret about Baker and Floyd on St. John or about Anna relocating.

Then again, Irene had been perfectly clear that she would not tolerate any more secrets. Secrets are lies, Irene said.

Baker’s trip to St. John isn’t a secret. Of course it’s not a secret. Paulette knows he’s coming, and before he and Floyd leave, Baker will have to tell Anna.

Once Baker is down there and settled in, he’ll call Irene. This will give her a few more days of relative peace. That’s the kind thing to do.

Rosie

February 21, 2006

My life is a house that has been ransacked. My heart, which I had so recently reclaimed as my own, has been stolen again. Some might say I’m being careless with it.

Friday afternoon was the start of Presidents’ Day weekend, which brings nearly as many tourists as Christmas and Easter now because schools in the Northeast—Massachusetts, New York, and a few of those other densely packed states—give their students a winter break. The problem with the visitors who can afford to come when the weather is the most inhospitable at home is that they tend to be demanding. They want their Caribbean experience to be just so—the sky must be clear, the mangos ripe, the cocktails strong and delivered right away.

Caneel Bay was at maximum capacity. Every room was booked at high-season rates, and along the front row on Honeymoon Bay, it was all return guests, the ones Estella calls “the patronage”: Mr. and Mrs. Very Important of Park Avenue, the Big Deal Family from Lake Forest, Illinois, the New Moneys from La Jolla. I recognized them (and yes, I called them by their real names: Mr. and Mrs. Vikram, the Caruso family, the Burlingames). Their eyes lit up when they saw me but I always reintroduce myself, just in case.