Cash gives him an incredulous look and Baker thinks it’s probably justified. Being a park ranger must require years in forestry school or some such.

“And before you ask, Ayers is still with Mick. I saw them together at La Tapa last night.”

“He’ll cheat on her again,” Baker says.

“Agreed,” Cash says. He holds Baker’s gaze for a second and Baker can tell they’re thinking the same thing: Once Mick cheats on her again, it’ll be brother against brother.

Or maybe not, Baker thinks. Maybe Cash will realize that he and Ayers should just remain friends. Maybe Cash will fall for one of the young, single women who climb aboard Treasure Island.

“What’s up with Anna?” Cash asks.

“She and Louisa have accepted positions at the Cleveland Clinic,” Baker says. “They’re moving to Shaker Heights. Floyd will go there holidays and summers. That’s why we decided to move down here. There’s nothing tethering us to Houston anymore.”

“Great minds think alike,” Cash says. “I was going to head to Breck to ski but it’s too late in the season for me to get a decent job. Then Ayers told me about Treasure Island. I start my lifesaving classes on Monday.”

Baker is surprised that Cash is so organized; it sounds like he’s thought something through for once. Objectively, Baker has to admit that Cash would be great as a first mate on a tour boat. When Baker and Anna visited Cash in Breckenridge, they had a chance to see him in action as a group ski instructor and they had both been impressed. Cash was friendly, engaging, funny, kind, and patient—his patience had been astonishing, in fact.

“What would Dad think,” Baker asks, “if he could see us together right now?”

Cash raises his eyebrows. “The more relevant question is, what would Mom think? I talked to her yesterday and she didn’t tell me you were coming down. Does she even know?”

Baker eases himself into the pool and swims over to Cash. He peers down at Floyd, splashing in the lower pool. “She doesn’t.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I’m not sure,” Baker says. “Probably because I didn’t want her to stop me.”

“Legally, it’s her house,” Cash says. “I’m not trying to be a jerk but my advice is to call her and tell her you’re here.”

Baker knows Cash is right. “I will,” he says. “I’ll call her tonight after Floyd is asleep.”

Before Cash can respond, Baker hears the strains of “Blitzkrieg Bop,” by the Ramones—and Cash pushes himself up out of the pool. He pulls his cell phone out of his hiking shorts, looks at the screen, and says, “Well, guess what, it’s Mom.”

“Good,” Baker says. “Tell her I’m here. She’ll like it better coming from you anyway.”

Cash says, “Hello, Mother Alarm Clock, what’s up? Good, yeah…I saw Maia today. Ayers and I took her on a hike, or she took us on a hike, actually…yeah, I start Monday, they said I’ll be good to go in a week. Hey, listen, I have some news…oh, all right. No, you go first.”

There’s a pause during which Baker can hear the tinny sound of Irene’s voice over the phone and Baker grows hot and uncomfortable. He just wants Cash to spit it out already! Baker checks on Floyd, who is splashing around, happy as can be, like a model only child. Baker will check out preschools for Floyd.

When Baker phoned Anna and told her that he and Floyd were considering moving down to St. John on a somewhat permanent basis, Anna had accepted the news the way she accepted everything he said: with indifference.

“It’s nice there,” Anna said. “I’ll have to see what Louisa thinks—”

“It doesn’t matter what Louisa thinks,” Baker said. “She doesn’t get to weigh in on my decisions.”

“But Floyd…” Anna says. He recognized her distracted tone of voice; she was probably writing in someone’s chart while she was talking to him.

“Louisa isn’t Floyd’s mother,” Baker said. “You are. Now, assuming I find a suitable school for our child, do you have any objections to Floyd and me spending some time in St. John? The vacation schedule will be the same. Nothing changes except he won’t be in Houston. Do you object?”

“No,” Anna said. “I guess not…”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Baker said, and he hung up before she could change her mind.

Baker is yanked back into the present moment when he hears Cash say, “A week from Monday?”

A week from Monday what? Baker wonders.

“Well, you’re in for a nice surprise,” Cash says. “Because guess who else is here—Baker and Floyd!”

Pause. Baker hears his mother’s voice, maybe a little more high-pitched than before.

“Yep, I guess Anna took a job in Cleveland and so Baker and Floyd are…yep, they’re here now. Yes, Mom, I think that’s the plan.” Cash locks eyes with Baker and starts nodding. “Yes, it will be so nice, all of us together.”

All of us together? Does this mean what Baker thinks it means?

“Just text to let us know what ferry you’ll be on,” Cash says. “And one of us will be there to pick you up. A week from Monday.”

 

That night, they grill steaks and asparagus and Baker makes his potato packets in foil and he and Cash and Floyd devour everything and Baker remembers that it’s nice cooking for people who actually appreciate it. Floyd goes inside to watch Despicable Me 3 for the ten thousandth time and Baker and Cash stare out at the scattering of lights across the water.

“So Mom is coming a week from Monday,” Baker says. He’s not sure how he feels about this. “There are obviously pluses and minuses to this situation.”

“Agreed,” Cash says. “On the plus side, we have been through a family crisis. If Mom stayed in Iowa, I would worry about her.”

“I can’t believe she quit her job,” Baker says.

“She wants a change, she says.”

“But working on Huck’s fishing boat? Mom? She’s a fifty-seven-year-old woman. She must have been kidding about that.”

“Don’t you remember the way she used to wake us up at dawn on Clark Lake to go out on Pop’s flat-bottom boat to fish for bass? Mom took us, not Dad. Mom baited our hooks. Mom taught us how to cast.”

“Yeah, I do,” Baker says. He hasn’t thought of it in eons but suddenly he has a vivid picture of being out on Clark Lake before the sun was even fully up, Irene yanking on the starter of the outboard motor, then Irene driving the boat to the spot where the smallmouth bass were biting. Irene had indeed taught both Baker and Cash to cast. She had shown them how to reel in a fish after they felt a tug on the line. She had deftly worked the hook from the fish’s mouth, using one gloved hand to hold the fish and one hand to maneuver her Gerber tool. Irene could snap fishing line with her teeth. She could fillet a bass or a perch so expertly that there were no bones to worry about when it came off the charcoal grill that evening at dinner. Baker had forgotten that his mother liked to fish, but even now that he remembers, he wonders if this is really what she wants to do for a living. Maybe she needs a break, a respite, a time to recharge and reset.