In the background, Sunny shrieks.

“But wait,” Ayers says and she silently curses Mick for being thoughtful enough to contact her parents and despicable enough to cheat on Ayers two days later. “It’s not Mick’s baby.”

“It’s not?” Her mother. “What do you mean? Whose baby is it?”

“Mom, stay on the phone, please.” They always do this, pass the phone back and forth like they’re playing a game of hot potato. “I’ll explain it to you and you can explain it to Dad.” Ayers rolls onto her back. The spinning ceiling fan above makes her nauseated, so she closes her eyes. “While Mick and I were broken up, I met a man named Baker Steele.”

“Baker Steele?” Sunny says. “That sounds like a name from a soap opera. Baker Steele.”

“I liked him a lot but he lived in Houston—”

“And you don’t date tourists.”

“That’s right. But he has…family ties here, so he came back and I slept with him and now I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, Freddy,” Sunny says.

“I haven’t talked to Baker about it yet, but I…I think I’m going to have the baby, Mom.”

Phil gets on the phone. “Your mother is crying,” he says. “Happy tears? Yes, happy tears, happy champagne tears. We’re going to be grandparents.”

Ayers sighs. “The baby isn’t Mick’s, Dad, it’s this other guy’s—Mom will explain. Anyway, I called because I was feeling overwhelmed and alone and I wanted to hear your voices.”

“We love you,” Phil says. “And guess what, Freddy—you weren’t exactly planned either.”

“I know, Dad,” Ayers says. Her parents were living on Wineglass Bay in Tasmania when Sunny realized she was pregnant. They figured out the baby had been conceived a few weeks earlier at Ayers Rock, and they decided that would be the official name, boy or girl.

“But out of all the good things we’ve experienced in our lives,” Phil says, “becoming your parents is on the top of the list.”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Sunny says. “Remember what we taught you to do when you get to the end of your rope?”

“Make a knot and hang on,” Ayers says.

The next day, Ayers steps out of St. John Market—she bought lemons, a knob of ginger root, a two-liter bottle of ginger ale, and white bread, hoping one or all of these would cure her nausea—and bumps into Huck and Irene.

Irene comes right over to hug Winnie. “My granddog,” she says.

Grandmother, Ayers thinks. My baby’s grandmother. Or one of them. The other one is probably flying over the Congo right now on her way here.

Ayers thinks about how surreal it is that she’s pregnant with Irene’s grandchild and Irene has no idea, but when Ayers sees Huck, she starts thinking about Rosie’s journals and what they say. This makes her even queasier.

When Ayers gets home, she pulls the journals out from under her sofa, and Winnie sniffs them, tail wagging. Ayers moves them to the center of her kitchen table to be safe. She should photocopy every page in case the FBI confiscates them as some kind of evidence and they vanish into the black hole of bureaucracy. But to copy them requires a trip to the St. John Business Center, and Ayers lacks the energy for that, plus she’s bound to see people there she knows, people who will peer over her shoulder and ask what she’s doing.

The journals contain relevant information about Russ. Ayers will give them to Huck and let him deal with contacting the FBI.

But…she needs to do this when Irene isn’t around. And now Irene works with Huck on the fishing boat and she lives with him. She drives everywhere with him. They’re joined at the hip.

Ayers sends Huck a text: That thing I need to talk to you about is sensitive and confidential. Any chance you can swing by La Tapa after service tomorrow?

Past my bedtime, Huck says. But yes, I’ll see you tomorrow night.

Huck shows up at La Tapa at nine thirty and Ayers still has three tables lingering, so he takes a seat at the bar and orders a beer from Skip.

Ayers goes over and tells Skip, “That’s on the house. You remember Captain Huck, Rosie’s father?”

“Captain!” Skip says, reaching a hand across the bar. “It’s an honor to have you in. We all miss Rosie very much. We have customers asking about her every day.”

“Well,” Huck says. He clears his throat. “Thank you. She was…yeah.”

“I’ll get your beer,” Skip says.

Ayers lavishes her last tables with extra love and attention—Can I get you a box for that? Would you like another decaf latte?—because suddenly, she questions what she’s about to do. The journals are private. They’re intimate. And no one except Ayers knows they exist. What if she holds on to them for ten years and gives them to Maia when she’s in her twenties, long after this whole mess has blown over?

Her tables pay their bills and wander out to the street. Skip cashes Ayers out.

“You look better today,” he says. “Peppier.”

Huck throws back what’s left of his beer. “Skip was telling me what a fixture Mick has become over at Cruz Bay Landing. I hear they’re planning on having him bronzed.”

Ayers gives Huck a weary smile. “Walk me to my truck? I have something for you.”

When they’re out on the street, Huck says, “I must admit, my interest is piqued.”

They walk past the Tap and Still, up by the baseball diamond of the Sprauve School, and around the traffic circle to Ayers’s truck. Ayers says, “Back when we cleaned Rosie’s room and you asked me if I found anything, I lied to you.”

“Money?” Huck asks. He sounds hopeful. “More money?”

“Not money,” Ayers says. “Rosie’s journals about her relationship with Russ.” She forages under the passenger seat of her truck, then hesitates ever so slightly before she hands the journals over. Is this the right thing to do? “I intended to save them for when Maia’s older. But this whole thing with the FBI has me spooked.” Ayers pushes out a breath. “They’re pretty detailed, Huck, about how the whole relationship unfolded. There’s stuff in there about Irene, and Russ’s boss, Todd Croft…”

“Oh, jeez,” Huck says.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s sensitive.” Ayers pauses. “Which is why I wanted to talk to you alone. Irene…she probably shouldn’t see these. But the FBI might be interested.”

“Agent Vasco said she’d hoped there were diaries,” Huck says. “I’ll probably just call her and hand them over. I’m sure Rosie wouldn’t want me reading them.”

“I should have told you sooner, though. I’m sorry.”

“You did the right thing in telling me now,” Huck says. “And I’ll make sure we get them back.”

Ayers nods. She feels as flat and insubstantial as a paper doll. Giving away the journals is like having an arm ripped off.

Huck leans over and kisses Ayers on the cheek. “You handled this just right, honey. I’ll take it from here.”