“Wait,” Irene says. She opens the bedroom door, sets the journals on the nightstand, and reemerges to give him a kiss. It’s a real kiss, long and delicious, that leaves Huck breathless and aching. She pulls away for a second, then comes back in for more. Huck is very careful with his hands. One is on her shoulder, one on the side of her face. Her fingers are linked through his belt loops. He forgets about the cigarette, about the journals, about the FBI, about the Jeep with the tinted windows, about Rosie, Russ, LeeAnn. He’s here with Irene in this moment. It’s all he wants in the world.
She reels him in; she lets him go; she reels him in a little closer. He’s hooked. She is the Angler Cupcake.
She lets him go. Pulls away. Smiles at him. “That’s all for tonight,” she says.
Huck raises his palms. He can’t speak.
She disappears into her room. Huck grabs the Flor de Caña from the shelf in the kitchen and his pack of Camels and goes out to the deck.
The next day, Irene is fine, she’s normal. She tells the boys about the money from Milly. Baker says he doesn’t need his share; he got a windfall from Anna. He tells Irene to split his portion three ways.
And Cash is…
“He seemed more relieved than anything,” Irene says. “Thirty-nine grand is a big boost for him, so I thought he’d be more excited. He sounds preoccupied. Tilda has just left on a work trip with an investor in this project her parents have cooking and he’s bothered by that.”
“Women,” Huck says. “They’ll get you every time.”
Irene’s expression is inscrutable. Has she read the diaries? Huck is afraid to ask, but his gut tells him the answer is no.
The next day, they have the charter with the couple from Toronto whose names, Huck sees when he checks the confirmation text from Destiny, are Jack and Diane Boyle. Little ditty, Huck thinks, ’bout Jack and Diane…He wonders how many times those poor folks have heard people sing that to them. Huck makes coffee for himself and Irene, makes an egg and toast with papaya jam from Jake’s for Maia. Irene has yet to come out of her room, which is unlike her.
“Is Irene okay?” Maia asks. “I thought I heard her crying late last night.”
Crying? Huck’s heart sinks. “Hurry it up, Nut. I’m going to run you to school a little early, then come back and scoop up Irene.”
Maia shovels in her egg, takes her toast to go.
Huck calls out, “Be right back, AC!”
The black Jeep with the tinted windows is waiting in the elbow joint of Jacob’s Ladder, a step closer than it was the last time. Huck stares at the place where the driver would be. If the Jeep is still there when he comes back, he’s going to knock on the window.
As soon as Huck and Maia pass, the Jeep follows them. In his rearview, Huck can see the woman—brown hair pulled back, round face. He doesn’t recognize her. When he turns left, the Jeep turns right, toward Cruz Bay.
Okay, Huck thinks. The driver doesn’t seem particularly villainous, but there’s no denying she’s watching them. Who is she?
When Huck gets back to the house, Irene is out front. Her hair is braided, she has her sunglasses on, her face is grim. She climbs in the truck and slams the door a little harder than necessary.
“I take it you read the journals.”
“I don’t want to talk about it until after this charter,” Irene says. “But you should know, today will be my last day working for you.”
“What?” Huck says. “Irene…”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Irene says, “until after this charter. This charter was my doing and although I would rather be anywhere else today, I’m honoring my commitment. But after today, Huck, no, I’m sorry.”
She’s angry, Huck thinks. She’s hurt. He’s an idiot. He should have handed the journals over to Agent Vasco, honesty be damned.
What makes matters worse is that the charter with Jack and Diane is magnificent from start to finish. Diane is a nurturer—she’s the mother of six, she tells them—and she has brought treats for the entire day, starting with a thermos of coffee and sausage-and-egg sandwiches from Provisions, which Huck knows Irene loves, though since losing the villa, she can’t spare the money for them. Jack is a terrific guy, a regional manager for a Canadian bookstore chain called Indigo. (Huck has never heard of it but Irene has. Apparently, it’s like the Barnes and Noble of Canada.)
Jack and Diane are hearty; they’re excited to go offshore and try their luck with the fish. “We’re here, aren’t we?” Jack says. “Let’s go for it.”
Huck cranks the music. He starts with John Cougar just for fun and they love it, singing along, arms raised in the air and then wrapped around each other. In his mind, Huck changes “Jack and Diane” to “Huck and Irene.” Hold on to sixteen as long as you can.
Amen, Huck thinks.
The water is smooth, and the boat skates along with barely a bump. Right before they reach Tambo, they get a hit on the outrigger line. Huck stops the boat. Irene is already handing the rod to Diane, who, after a short fight, brings in a respectable-size wahoo, bright as a bar of sterling silver. Irene handles the gaff like a pro now. As Huck watches her he thinks there’s no way she’s leaving; she loves this boat too much, this job, him—that kissing the other night was real stuff. Nothing that’s in the journals—things that happened years ago—can dismantle that.
They move on to Tambo. The birds are out; there are fish around. They get another bite and Jack takes it. Mahi, a beauty. Then they get another hit, and another. Diane takes one rod, Irene the other, while Huck helps Jack with his fish. Diane brings in a barracuda, Irene another wahoo.
Then
