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 there’s a lull, the best kind of lull, Huck thinks. Jack cracks open a beer and Diane and Irene settle down to talk about books. Irene says she just finished The Vacationers. Diane says she loves Louise Penny.

“I’m probably biased because she’s a woman and she’s Canadian, but I think she’s the best mystery writer alive.”

“Huck likes mysteries,” Irene says at exactly the same time that Huck says, “I read mysteries.”

“How long have you two been together?” Diane asks. She smiles from under the brim of a Blue Jays cap. “Jack and I have been dating since eighth grade.”

“My one and only,” Jack says.

Huck waits for Irene to answer Diane. They’ve been asked this before, of course, and Irene normally handles it by saying they’re not together, that she is just the mate, and everyone is always surprised because they seem like a couple. They finish each other’s sentences.

“I’m just a hired hand,” Irene says. “And today is my last day. I’m moving on. You guys will be my last clients on the Mississippi.”

“Saved the best for last,” Jack says, raising his beer.

Huck has a lump in his throat. She said it out loud to strangers—she’s leaving. Today is her last day. This doesn’t mean it’s carved in stone, he tells himself. She’ll calm down. She’ll reconsider. She has to. Please, God. He can’t believe he’s being punished for telling the truth.

“Will you leave the island?” Diane asks. “Go back to…”

“Iowa,” Irene says.

Huck lights a cigarette in the stern. His nerves are splintering.

“No,” Irene says. “I’m going to go for my captain’s license and get my own boat.”

What? Huck thinks. What?

“Good for you,” Diane says. “Girl power!”

The line whizzes. “Fish on,” Huck says, though he couldn’t care less.

Wahoo, mahi, barracuda, mahi, then lunch (sandwiches from Sam and Jack’s) and a bottle of champagne that Diane brought.

“It’s the forty-fifth anniversary of our first date,” Diane says. “Way back in 1974.” She pours the champagne into four paper cups and passes them around. “But we had no idea you had something to celebrate as well, Irene. Captaining your own boat!” Diane raises her cup. “Hear, hear!”

Somehow, Huck makes himself sip the champagne. He sees Diane grinning at him.

“You must be an excellent teacher.”

“She’s a natural,” Huck says. He’s directing his words at Irene, willing her to look at him. “She’s the Angler Cupcake.”

When Jack and Diane disembark at the National Park Service dock, there are hugs and handshakes all around. Great day, perfect weather, tons of fish, highlight of their vacation; they’ll post their pictures on Facebook and write a five-star review on Tripadvisor.

Huck’s heart is broken.

Irene is silent in the truck and Huck knows not to make any stops on the way home. When he pulls up Jacob’s Ladder, he looks for the Jeep with the tinted windows, but it’s not there.

He says, “There’s a strange Jeep that’s been lurking around here. Black, with tinted windows. Female driver.”

Irene says nothing.

Maia is at Joanie’s, which is good, Huck thinks, because they can talk freely. Irene hops out of the truck and goes around to grab the smaller cooler out of the back like she always does, leaving Huck to handle the bigger cooler. Jack and Diane took four pounds of the mahi, but there’s a lot of fish left. Huck needs to call the restaurants—La Tapa, Morgan’s Mango, Extra Virgin, Lime Inn.

But first.

“Irene,” he says.

She disappears inside and when Huck comes in, she’s standing in the hallway with the journals in her hands. She reads aloud. “‘I’m sex and lobster and champagne-drinking under a blanket of stars. Irene is home and hearth, mother of the boys, keeper of the traditions that make a family.’”

“Irene,” Huck says. “Please stop. I tried to warn you—”

“‘Can I lure Russ away from her? Can I make him feel his family is here? I can try. In the new year, I decided, I’m going to introduce him to Maia.’”

“I know, Irene. I read them.”

“You don’t know,” Irene says. Her voice wavers. “He was my husband. I trusted him. Rosie knew I existed, Huck. She knew about me, she knew about the boys from day one, minute one. She knew about the house I was building, she knew how I was decorating it. She thought I was some kind of…shrew who didn’t appreciate Russ, didn’t respect him or honor his sacrifices, didn’t love or worship him the way he deserved.” In a move so uncharacteristic that Huck can’t believe it’s happening, Irene throws the journals down the hall. They land at his feet, splayed open, like birds shot out of the sky. “She wanted him to leave me. She wanted him to propose.”

“For the record,” Huck says, “at the time, I had no idea any of this was going on.”

“Your wife did,” Irene says. “LeeAnn!”