“All righty!” Josephine says. “Good luck with that.”

Ayers

Huck has asked Ayers to help him go through the things in Rosie’s bedroom during the week, while Maia is at school. Ayers doesn’t make it up to the house on Jacob’s Ladder until the Thursday before the Martin Luther King Day weekend.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Ayers says. “My life just got really busy all of a sudden.”

“Don’t apologize,” Huck says. “You have two jobs, and now that you’re back with Mick, I’m sure he wants your attention as well.”

Ayers sighs. She is back with Mick and he does want her attention. He admitted that seeing her with Baker (Mick calls him “Banker”) drove him crazy with jealousy, and he vowed not to let anything—or anyone—get between them again. Since they’ve been back together, Mick has stopped by La Tapa at the end of Ayers’s shift each night and walked her to her truck before heading back to Beach Bar until closing. He’s abandoned his usual ritual of late-night drinks at the Quiet Mon and instead drives straight to Ayers’s apartment in Fish Bay, where he spends the night. When Ayers works on Treasure Island, he meets her at the customs dock at four o’clock with a pineapple-banana smoothie from Our Market. On the one day off they’ve had together so far, Mick borrowed his boss’s boat and they cruised all the way up the north shore to snorkel at Waterlemon Cay. They spotted three basking sharks and two spotted eagle rays. Mick is as much of a snorkel-nerd as Ayers. When they saw the second spotted eagle ray rippling along the sandy bottom, Mick dived down and undulated right along top of it. When he and Ayers surfaced a few moments later, he pulled off his mask and grinned like a kid with a shiny new bike, and Ayers felt a wave of the familiar adoration. This was her guy.

They’d left Waterlemon and headed to Gibney for an hour on the beach. When Ayers’s stomach started to rumble, they climbed back into the boat and tied up to the dock at Caneel Bay. They strolled hand in hand, salty and sandy, to the Beach Bar, where Mick ordered a bottle of Moët, the conch fritters, and four sushi rolls.

Ayers had craned her neck to ogle the hotel rooms that lined the beach, each of them as luxurious and appealing as pearls on a string.

“I’m dying to stay here,” she said, then instantly regretted it. The champagne had gone right to her head.

“Guess you’ll have to wait for your banker to come back,” Mick said.

“Guess so,” she said lightly. Mick dipped a fritter in aioli and let the topic go. Maybe he was consciously avoiding a fight or maybe he wasn’t as jealous as he’d claimed to be. Maybe he was content to let the past be the past. Maybe he thought Baker Steele would never return to St. John. Maybe he thought he and Ayers could just continue their relationship where they’d left off, as though neither Baker nor Brigid had ever existed.

Ayers wasn’t so sure.

Huck leads Ayers to Rosie’s room and opens the door. Ayers has been in Rosie’s room only twice before, both times years ago. The first time was when they swung by after work so Rosie could change before they went dancing at Castaways. The other time, Rosie was at work and Ayers was off and Rosie had texted Ayers and begged her to grab her bottle of Percocet—she had just had all four wisdom teeth removed and was crying in pain. But that was it. They were grown women; they hung out in bars, not in each other’s bedrooms.

Ayers remembers, however, that while the rest of the house looked like it was shared by the protagonist of The Old Man and the Sea and the Little Mermaid (Huck and Maia), Rosie’s room was a sanctuary, cool and elegant, and it still is. The wallpaper is printed with pink hibiscus blossoms, and the hibiscus theme is echoed by a bush outside the open window. The queen-size bed has at least a dozen pillows artfully arranged against the rattan headboard. Rosie was a fastidious bed-maker, whereas Ayers sleeps in a tangle of sheets every night and sees absolutely no point in making a bed that she’s only going to climb right back into the next night. (Ayers gets a sudden vision of Rosie folding napkins at La Tapa. She was careful and precise in the task, like she was doing origami.)

Against the wall is a large teak bureau; over it hangs a giant, round silver-framed mirror. The door to the closet is closed tight. The only personal touches that Ayers can see are a trio of framed photographs in one corner and a copy of Jane Eyre on the nightstand. Rosie was a sucker for the classics, especially the novels of Edith Wharton, George Eliot, and the Brontë sisters, and it was nearly impossible to get her to read anything contemporary, though she and Ayers had made a deal: Ayers would read Middlemarch if Rosie would read Eat, Pray, Love. (Ayers hadn’t kept her end of the bargain, which she feels awful about now.)

Huck asked Ayers to “help” him go through Rosie’s things, but it’s clear he hasn’t been in here even once, and Ayers suspects Maia hasn’t either. The room is undisturbed, as if Rosie might walk back in at any moment, straw market bag over her shoulder, singing Aretha Franklin.

That, probably, is the point. If they go through everything and sort out what to keep and what to throw away, they’re admitting Rosie is gone.

“I’ll get started, I guess,” Ayers says to Huck. “I’ll make four piles—to keep, to give away, to throw away, and undecided.”

“Ayers,” Huck says.

She turns to him. She’s afraid he’s going to break down, and if he breaks down, she will too. They both vowed to be strong for Maia, and they have been, but this hasn’t left a lot of time for them to tend to their own grief. Ayers can practically hear the texture and timbre of Rosie’s voice: You make me feel like a nat-u-ral wo-man!

“Last Friday,” Huck says, “the FBI called.”

Ayers snaps back to reality.

“Virgin Islands Search and Rescue contacted them about the wreckage. The agent I spoke to said it looks like there might have been foul play.”

Ayers nods but says nothing. After she and Mick had left Caneel Bay and returned the inflatable dinghy, they’d continued on to Joe’s Rum Hut for happy hour, then they stopped at Woody’s for a drink, then they strolled down to Morgan’s Mango to have dinner. By that time, Mick was drunk enough to engage in some pretty wild theorizing. The bird Rosie was on did not go down by accident, Mick had said. I guarantee you that.

“Turns out the damage to the helicopter wasn’t consistent with a lightning strike,” Huck says. “They think there might have been a bomb aboard or that maybe someone tampered with the wiring to cause an explosion.”

Ayers blinks.

“I just thought you should know,” Huck says. “They’re still investigating.”

“Maia?”

“I didn’t tell her,” Huck says. “The less she thinks about the actual crash, the better.”

“Agreed,” Ayers says. “What about…I mean, do we know if…” She swallows. “Have you heard from Irene?”

“I made her promise she would text me once she made it home,” Huck says. “And she did. Then a day or two later, she texted to let me know that her mother-in-law, Russ’s mother, had passed away. Which I guess was something of a blessing. Though I don’t know…that’s a lot of loss for one week. I sent my condolences, then decided I’d leave her be for a while. So I’m not sure if she knows about this. Though I assume so. Have you heard from the boys?”