“Of course.” Leo turned up the volume on Bob.

For a while, they just cruised to the soothing reggae. “So can I ask you something?” Joey finally said.

“You can ask me a lot of things, Jones. It’s time for talking.”

“We’re talking,” she said, irritated he was framing it otherwise. “We covered Salvador. We covered my family. You told me about yours. Shall we recap? Your parents: divorced. Maisy quit drinking ten years ago and remarried. New husband is our age and a personal-trainer-slash-green-juice entrepreneur. Rand is still trading. Basically living off the grid. But with WiFi. Also now a sheep farmer.”

Leo laughed a small laugh, his lips barely parted. “That about sums it up. Did my dad win Biggest Departure from the Old Days on Corfu?”

“No doubt. Rand turning into a reclusive shepherd, not what I would have voted him up for in any yearbook awards.”

“You know my dad though. Prickly around people.”

“Prickly indeed.”

“Better with sheep,” said Leo, and they both laughed. “Hey, how’s your grandmother?”

“You remember G?” Joey laughed, but she didn’t feel the laugh spread to her whole face like the prior one had. “She hated you, sorry to say it. The not-Jewish boy.”

“Some things are immutable, I guess.” Leo smiled. “But I remember when we went to that reunion of the Corfiot survivors at the synagogue.”

“Wow. I haven’t thought of that in ages.”

“I thought about it a lot, actually, after. I always wondered if you found out how your grandmother escaped the Holocaust.”

Was it possible Joey still didn’t know? “I’m ashamed to say this, but honestly, I still haven’t broached it with her. It’s always felt painful to me, my grandparents’ stories. But that’s not an excuse, is it? I have to ask her.”

“You should. Before it’s too…”

“I know. I will.” Joey winced, before making a mental note to do exactly that. Then she steeled herself and said, “Hey, Leo, who’s Arthur?”

“He’s my son,” said Leo, just as a fish soared from the water. “Hey, a marlin!”

Joey twisted to watch, but she caught only the piddly splash as the fish plunged back into the depths. The water churned with its piercing and then stilled. “Your son?” she said softly.

“I guess that didn’t show up in any Google searches.”

“I guess it didn’t.”

Joey absorbed it, this son of Leo, named Arthur. She pictured a sweet, bucktoothed kid with thick black glasses posing on the edge of a chair for some school picture. What could have been swooshed through her, like a gust through the slats of an abandoned house. “Wow, Leo.”