There are goodbyes but they don’t pick another day and time to meet. Shane and Lillibet race each other down the trail, with Lillibet, predictably, shrieking. Maia’s insides have become crumbling ruins. Ahhh—but just like Par Force, she has a sturdy foundation. It’s a nice thought that doesn’t make her feel any better.
“I’m leaving too,” Maia announces.
“Well, wait for us,” Joanie says.
“Yeah,” Bright says, and he tugs on Maia’s ponytail. “Wait for us.”
Maia backhands Bright against the chest. She dislikes anyone touching her hair. Bright grabs her arm and pokes her in the ribs, then tries to tickle her. She shoos him away.
“My mom can probably give you a ride home,” Bright says to Maia. “It’s not that far.”
Bright lives on Gifft Hill, across from the school. It’s not that far but it’s not close either. Bright probably has a crush on her. He used to like Posie Alvarez, but that’s over. Maia thinks about how easy it would be if she could just transfer the feelings she has for Shane to Bright. Bright is in her grade and he goes to Gifft Hill. He’s tall and he’s good at sports and his parents own a rental-car company, which is cool because he gets driven around in all these brand-new Jeeps in juicy colors. But Maia likes Bright only as a friend. Probably because she knows him too well; she remembers when he threw up during library time in second grade.
Colton and Bright run up ahead, leaving Maia and Joanie to eat their dust.
“Hey, wait up!” Joanie says. “Cole!”
Her mother was right, Maia thinks. Love is messy and complicated. And, most of all, unfair. Irene
Because she no longer has a vehicle of her own, Irene joins Huck on his errands after their fishing charter. This means going to a few places:
Starfish Market for (most) groceries. It’s BYOB—bring your own bag. Huck keeps a stash of reusable shopping bags behind the driver’s seat of his truck, which Irene finds charming. Russ rarely (if ever) shopped for groceries, and the idea of him remembering reusable shopping bags is laughable.
Papaya Café and Bookstore for a Vietnamese coffee and a browse through the stacks of used books. Huck is a particular fan of the coffee (he has turned Irene on to it as well) and of Michael Connelly. He’s patiently waiting for some tourist to turn in a copy of Dark Sacred Night. In the meantime, he buys a James Patterson novel, one of the Women’s Murder Club series, which he says aren’t half bad.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Irene says.
“Why don’t you pick out a book?” Huck says. “My treat.”
It’s kindnesses like this that make Irene emotional. She thinks back to New Year’s Day, her dinner at the Pullman Bar and Diner with Lydia followed by a trip to Prairie Lights, where Irene thought nothing of buying whatever books struck her fancy. Now it feels like an unreasonable luxury to spend ten or twelve dollars on a used book. Irene shops carefully. What will help her escape? She finds a well-loved copy of The Vacationers by Emma Straub for six bucks. She hands it to Huck. She wishes they were merely vacationers.
“Thank you,” she says.
Huck studies the cover. “Maybe I’ll read it when you’re done. Do you want a coffee too, AC?”
She has stopped trying to get him not to use the nickname. She likes it more than she cares to admit. “Please,” she says.
Pine Peace Market for beer, wine, and a fresh bottle of Flor de Caña. Best prices.
St. John Market for anything they didn’t have at Starfish. St. John Market is right across from the Westin resort and time-shares, so it’s heavily populated by fish-belly-pale tourists buying groceries. (It’s to be avoided at all costs on Saturdays, when families arrive for the week; Irene learned this the hard way.)
A few days earlier, Irene bumped into her own son at St. John Market. Baker was buying a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of white bread, for Floyd’s school lunches, Irene assumed. He had been too busy considering the ingredients on the peanut butter jar to register any surprise at seeing Irene. (Maybe he wasn’t surprised, Irene thought. It was a small island.)
“This isn’t organic,” he said. “And it has a lot of sugar.” He held up the bread. “This isn’t sprouted whole-grain spelt or whatever. If my school wives from Houston saw this, they’d stage an intervention.”
“They’ll never know,” Irene said, and she and Baker shared a smile for the first time in what felt like forever.
Irene and Huck had also bumped into Ayers Wilson at St. John Market. They were walking in while Ayers was untying Winnie from the railing outside.
“There’s my granddog!” Irene said, crouching down to rub Winnie’s silky butterscotch head. Winnie’s tail was going nuts. Winnie was happy to see Irene—but Ayers seemed to be another story.
“Hey,” Ayers said flatly. She didn’t look good. Her hair was unbrushed, her eyes puffy, her skin sallow. Cash had told Irene that Ayers had taken a leave of absence from the boat and also that her engagement had ended, leaving her free to care for Winnie.
“I owe you a huge thank-you for helping Cash out,” Irene said. “I’m not sure what would have happened otherwise.”
“It’s no big deal,” Ayers said. “I like having her around…good distraction and all that. It gets me outside a couple of times a day, anyway.”
“Are you okay, honey?” Huck asked. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like death on a stick.”
“Huck!” Irene said.
“It’s okay,” Ayers said. “I’m just…going through some stuff right now.” She frowned at Huck. “And I’ve been meaning…there’s something I need to talk to you about.
