“I’m going to read for a bit, Nut,” he says. “Good night.”

He goes into his bedroom and sits at his desk, which is where he keeps his laptop and a paper calendar listing all his charters as well as files for bills and boat maintenance. He pulls a piece of paper from the tray of his printer, finds a pen that works, and thinks, Here goes nothing.

He writes a letter to Irene. He doesn’t worry about his spelling or word choice; he doesn’t start over when he wants to change his phrasing, just crosses things out. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to be true.

When he’s finished, he reads it through, folds it in thirds, sticks it in an envelope. He’s probably the only fool on earth who’s still handwriting letters, but what he had to say shouldn’t be texted and she won’t talk to him. A letter is outdated, but it will also be difficult to resist reading. He hopes.

He just has to figure out how to get it to her.

A few days later, Maia stays overnight with Ayers. It’s the first time Huck has been alone since Irene left. He could easily go out and spend a few hours tinkering on the boat, then grab a burger from the Tap and Still on the way home. Or he could buy some good beer, grill some tuna, lie down in his hammock, and finally crack open the Patterson book. But when he pulls up to the National Park Service dock and lets out his charter guests—a perfectly nice couple from he can’t remember where and their three boys, who were all in boarding school; they obviously didn’t see one another very often because they were so happy to be together—he hears steel-drum music coming from Mongoose Junction blending with strains of Kenny Chesney over at Joe’s Rum Hut: Save it for a rainy day! And he decides he doesn’t want to be alone. He calls Rupert. “You out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Skinny?”

“Aqua.”

Good, Huck thinks. He’s been craving the Aqua Bistro’s onion rings for a while now. “I’ll be there in an hour,” he says.

“I’ll be waiting,” Rupert says. “But I gotta meet Sadie at Skinny at nine and Dora at Miss Lucy’s at ten thirty.”

Typical Rupert; he has a woman at every watering hole. No doubt Josephine will be singing tonight at the Aqua Bistro. Huck will hurry and shower. He loves Josephine’s voice.

Forty-five minutes later, Huck is seated at the round open-air bar of Aqua Bistro next to Rupert. Josephine is playing the guitar, lulling everyone into a sense of well-being with her sultry rendition of “Come Away with Me.” Rupert orders tequila shots with beer backs.

“Don’t forget, I have to drive home,” Huck says.

“Ha! That’s no excuse on this island. Stay left, go slow, tell the donkeys to get out of your way. You and I both know you could do it blindfolded.”

They click shot glasses and throw the tequila back. Huck feels okay. He slaps down five bucks and asks for the roll. The bartender hands him a leather cup filled with dice. He shakes it and lets them spill—nothing.

Rupert laughs. “Might as well have taken out your lighter and set your money on fire.”

It’s something to do. Only locals can roll. Irene can’t roll. The Invisible Man couldn’t roll. Huck’s luck has been so damn awful this week that it’ll surely take a turn soon. Why not now?

He throws the dice. Three threes, five, six.

“The pot is over a thousand bucks,” the bartender says. “Nobody’s won since before Christmas.”

Josephine sings “Do You Know the Way to San Jose,” only she changes “San Jose” to “Coral Bay.”

“I love that woman,” Rupert says.

“You love a lot of women,” Huck says. Part of him wishes he were built this way, but he isn’t. He loves Irene. I love you, Irene, he thinks and he throws the dice one last time. Two fours, two ones, and a six.

The bartender sweeps up his money. Rupert says nothing but Huck can sense him wanting to blurt out I told you so.

“Heard you and the Invisible Man’s wife are shacking up,” Rupert says.

“You’re behind on your gossip. She moved out.”

“Any fool off the street could have told you that wasn’t going to work,” Rupert says. “There’s too much tangled up between you.”

Huck wants to tell Rupert he knows nothing about it but he doesn’t like to bicker with Rupert, and also the phrase tangled up feels like a bull’s-eye. Huck and Irene have always communicated on the level. But beneath all that was a mess both of them had willfully ignored—because neither of them had created it. Those diaries must have been salt in a wide-open wound. Huck should never, ever have showed them to her. It must have seemed like he wanted to hurt her, when the truth was, he assumed she was so strong and resilient that Rosie’s words wouldn’t matter.

Why would they matter when she has me? Huck had thought. He was there for her day in, day out, waiting, adoring, offering whatever support and encouragement she needed. Wasn’t that enough? Why did the events of thirteen years or six years or two years earlier matter?

Huck spins his finger at the bartender. Another round—more shots, more beers. He found a way to get Irene the letter, ingeniously, or so he thought. He hasn’t heard from her. Yet.

“You’re right,” Huck says to Rupert. “It was never going to work.”

Josephine takes a break and comes to sit between them. Onion rings arrive, compliments of the kitchen. Huck admires them—fat, golden, glistening with oil, stacked on a dowel like so many rings in a game of quoits. (Did he eat any? He couldn’t say. He might have waited for them to cool and then forgotten about them.)

Another beer.

Rupert says, “Jojo, you have any lady friends you could introduce to Huck here?”

“I hear Huck’s taken,” Josephine says, but Huck is saved from explaining that he’s not, because it’s time for her second set.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rupert says. “I’m late for Sadie.”

Huck follows Rupert around the road in Coral Bay over to Skinny Legs. The place is crowded but there are two bar stools empty in the corner—how is this possible? Rupert must have called in on the way.

They take the seats; Huck orders a margarita with salt. Rupert says, “Who are you, Jimmy Buffett?” He asks for Cruzan Gold over ice. Heidi is bartending. She’s in the weeds but she takes one glance at Huck and Rupert and says, “How ’bout a couple of burgers, fellas?”

Burgers, yes, sure. There’s a band playing songs that Huck doesn’t recognize and a bunch of kids in their twenties dancing. Tourists, spring-breakers. Huck and Rupert are geezers in this crowd but it doesn’t matter, they’re having fun, Heidi is taking good care of them. Huck feels a hand on his back and he turns to see Sadie. She pulls Rupert up out of his chair, and he claps a hand on Huck’s shoulder, which is his way of saying he won’t be back, please cover the check, Rupert will get him next time.

Fine, fine, Huck thinks. Good for Rupert. Sadie is Huck’s favorite of the women anyway.

He should leave—but it’s been so long since he’s been out like this and it’s working like a tonic against the ache in his heart. He orders a beer in an attempt to sober up.