“I wish there were more we could do,” Lydia says. “I can’t believe how awful this is…your beautiful house. You worked so hard…remember when they sent the wrong-size pool cover and we thought that was a catastrophe?”
“I have to go, Lydia,” Irene says. “I’ll call you later. Thank you for…I appreciate it.” Irene hangs up, hoping she didn’t sound rude or, if she did sound rude, that Lydia forgives her. Lydia is too nice to handle the FBI agents in Irene’s driveway—but Irene knows someone who isn’t too nice.
She scrolls through her contacts until she finds the number of her former colleague Mavis Key.
Irene barely has to explain; Mavis gets it. The FBI has seized Irene’s property. Mavis doesn’t ask why; she knows about Russ’s second life in the Caribbean, so she can surely guess why. Irene tells Mavis that all she wants from the house is the photograph of Milly, Russ’s mother, taken in 1928 in Erie, Pennsylvania.
“I’m on my way over right now,” Mavis says. “And make no mistake, I will get that photograph.”
For the first time all morning, Irene feels her shoulders relax. Mavis will get the photograph. Mavis is a thirty-one-year-old dynamo who moved to Iowa City from Manhattan, stole Irene’s editor-in-chief job at Heartland Home and Style, and is turning the magazine into a midwestern version of Domino or Architectural Digest, complete with a snappy “social media presence.” The magazine’s publisher, Joseph Feeney, was correct in hiring and immediately promoting Mavis Key, Irene sees now. The woman is effective.
“Thank you,” Irene says.
“Text me your mailing address,” Mavis says. “I’ll have it packaged properly and shipped with insurance.”
“That’s above and beyond—”
“And Irene,” Mavis says, “I want you to call my twin sister. She’s a corporate attorney in New York City, and she deals with white-collar criminals who make Russ look like Mister Rogers.”
Irene very much doubts that. “I didn’t know you had a twin,” she says. Then she realizes she knows next to nothing about Mavis’s personal life.
“Well, I’m warning you, she’s very tough. I find her a bit intimidating, to be honest.”
This gets Irene’s attention. Mavis, with her extreme self-confidence, her stylish clothes, her cutting-edge vision, finds her sister intimidating? What must the woman be like?
“I’m not sure what I need,” Irene says.
“You need Nat,” Mavis says. “Natalie Key. Call her, Irene.” Baker
Thursday, four in the morning, Houston, Texas. Baker sits straight up in bed. This is it. This is happening. Their flight to St. Thomas is in a few short hours.
His phone shows two missed calls from Cash the night before plus a text that says, Pick up, bro. It’s urgent.
Baker still has last-minute packing and organizing to do before Ellen comes to take them to the airport. He doesn’t have one spare second to talk to his brother, though he figures Cash must have heard the news: Maia saw Mick kissing Brigid on the beach, Maia told Ayers, and Ayers is going to break off the engagement.
Well, Baker already knows. Ayers texted him right after it happened.
It’s a sign from above; this new chapter in his life is going to work. A tropical island, a nontraditional lifestyle, and, most important, Baker’s relationship with Ayers Wilson. He’s going to win Ayers over or die trying.
“We’re going to miss you like crazy,” Ellen says. They’re curbside at the airport, which is congested with Ubers and taxis and people wheeling their roller bags while talking on their phones, but Ellen insists on getting out so she can give Baker a proper hug goodbye. “Becky is in charge of finding us a new school husband.”
“What?” Baker’s friendship with his school wives is rare and, he thought, special. He never dreamed he’d be replaced.
Ellen shrugs. “She’s the one in HR.”
“Just as long as it’s not Tony,” Baker says.
Ellen grins but her eyes are shining with tears. “I’m only kidding, Bake,” she says. “You know what? We’re already planning a trip to visit you this summer.”
“You are?”
“I’m terrible with surprises,” Ellen says. “Sorry about that. Yes, we’ll see you in a few months.”
“You can stay at the villa, you know,” Baker says. “It has nine bedrooms.”
“You’re sweet to offer, but we wouldn’t do that to your mom and brother,” Ellen says. “I’m going to book rooms at Caneel.”
Baker finds himself getting choked up as he shepherds Floyd into the terminal. His school wives are the only people in Houston he’s going to miss, and he’s touched that they feel the same way, so much so that they’re already planning a trip down. Once they see St. John and Irene’s villa and meet Ayers, they’ll understand why he’s making the move. He’d be a fool not to.
When Baker and Floyd check in with all their luggage, Floyd is carrying his copy of The Dirty Cowboy under one arm, and the woman at the United desk is so taken with him that she bumps them up to first class. “You’re the only child I’ve seen in years who isn’t mesmerized by a screen,” she tells Floyd.
Baker wills his son not to mention the iPad that’s tucked in Baker’s carry-on or the fact that Floyd has watched Despicable Me 3 ten times in the past week.
“Thank you,” Baker says. First class! He’s already dreaming of a Bloody Mary and a decent nap.
Turns out, Baker’s and Floyd’s seats are across the aisle from each other. Is this going to be okay? Sitting next to Floyd is a West Indian woman who is already situated, watching a movie with headphones on. The seat next to Baker is empty. Maybe Baker will ask about switching.
Baker stows his carry-on and Floyd’s backpack but tells Floyd not to
