“Claire Bellows was my girlfriend,” Cash says. “And you slept with her—not because you liked her, but because you wanted to prove to me that you could.”

“You knew Anna and Floyd were coming,” Baker says. “And you didn’t tell me.”

“If you’d answered your phone, you would have known.”

“You’re in love with Ayers yourself,” Baker says. “And that’s why you didn’t tell me Anna was coming.”

“You shouldn’t have been on a date with Ayers,” Cash says. “You’re pretending you’re a single man, but you’re far from it.”

Baker pulls up in front of Uncle Joe’s B.B.Q. and puts the car in park. “Get chicken and ribs,” Baker says. “And a bunch of sides.”

“I need money,” Cash says.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Baker says. “I’ve paid for everything on this trip. You haven’t paid once.”

“I told you my bank card doesn’t work down here.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Baker says. “What’s the issue? You own a business, right? A business that Dad handed you on a silver platter. Are the stores not making money?”

Cash stares at the dashboard. He’s going to punch his brother. He clenches and unclenches his fists. They are right downtown, people are everywhere, Floyd is in the backseat, he has to control himself.

“The stores failed,” Cash says. “They’re gone. The bank owns them now.”

Baker throws his head back to laugh. Cash gets out of the Jeep, but instead of going to Uncle Joe’s B.B.Q., he storms off toward the post office and the ferry dock.

Baker yells from the car. “Cash! Where are you going, man? Listen, I’m sorry.”

Cash doesn’t turn around. He ducks behind a tree and watches Baker drive past, looking for him.

Cash isn’t flat broke. He still has twelve dollars, which, because it’s now happy hour at High Tide, will buy him another margarita.

An hour later, he’s buzzed and indignant. The heinous things Baker said roll through his mind, one after the other. You’re in love with Ayers yourself… a business that Dad handed you on a silver platter… she likes me more. All women like me better… Are the stores not making money? Baker thinks he’s better than Cash. He has always thought that, and maybe Cash had thought it, too. But Baker isn’t going to win this time, not if Cash can help it.

He calls Ayers’s cell phone. He vaguely recalls that she’s busy tonight, not work, some other commitment—but she answers on the second ring.

“Cash?” she says. “Is that you? Is everything all right?”

He breathes in through his nose. He tries to sound sober, or at least coherent. “Baker canceled your date for tomorrow night?” he says. “He told you our sister arrived on the island?”

“He did,” Ayers says. “I didn’t realize you guys had a sister. Neither of you mentioned her before…”

“We don’t,” Cash says. “We don’t have a sister. Baker was lying.”

“Oh,” Ayers says.

“The person who showed up was his wife, Anna. And she brought their son, Floyd.”

“Oh,” Ayers says. “He told me they’d split. That she left him.”

“She’s leaving him, yes,” Cash says. “That part is true. For another doctor at the hospital where she’s a surgeon. But she’s here now, with Floyd. Baker didn’t know they were coming.”

“He didn’t?” Ayers says.

“He didn’t at all,” Cash says. “He was blindsided and he didn’t want you to know, so he lied and said it was our sister.”

“I see,” Ayers says.

“I’m pretty drunk,” Cash says. He’s standing in Powell Park near the gazebo. The sun is setting and the mosquitoes are after him. “Do you think you could come give me a ride home?”

“I wish I could,” Ayers says. “I’m busy, I’m sorry.”

Cash takes a breath. He’s come this far; he might as well go the rest of the way. “Ayers, I have something to tell you. I’m in love with you.”

“Oh, Cash,” she says. “Please don’t make this complicated. You’re a great guy, you know I think that…”

“But you have the hots for Baker,” Cash says. “Because that’s how things always go. Women think I’m a great guy but they have the hots! for! Baker!” He’s shouting now, and he has attracted the attention of a West Indian policewoman, who crosses the street toward him. “You really shouldn’t be interested in either of us. Do you know why?”

“No,” Ayers says. “Why?”

“Russell Steele? Rosie’s boyfriend? The Invisible Man?” Cash says.

“Yes?” Ayers says. She sounds scared now. “Yes?”

“He was our father,” Cash says. And he hangs up the phone.

HUCK

Hard things are hard. And there’s no instruction manual when it comes to parenting—or in Huck’s case, step-grandparenting—a twelve-year-old girl.

His dinner with Irene, instead of heading in an amorous direction, as he had hoped, ended with a quandary. Irene was dead certain Maia was Russ’s blood daughter. Huck had been skeptical. Why wouldn’t Rosie have just said so? Why make up the story about the Pirate and then pretend the Invisible Man was a different guy? Rosie was prone to drama; maybe she wanted her life peopled like a Marvel comic.

To prove her point, Irene brought Huck a framed photograph: Rosie with an older gentleman, lying in a hammock. Russell Steele. But in the photo, Russ was wearing sunglasses. There was something in his face that was replicated in Maia’s face, but without seeing his eyes, Huck couldn’t be 100 percent sure. Then Irene scrolled through the pictures on her phone and found a good, clear picture of her husband’s face.

Yes, Huck thought. There was no denying it. Maia had the same half-moon eyebrows, the same slight flange to the tip of her nose, the exact same smile.

“Uncanny,” Huck said.

“She’s his,” Irene said.

“Yes.”

“Yes, you see it?”

“Impossible not to see it.” Huck remembered back to when he and Ayers told Maia that Rosie was dead. She had said, What about my father? She knew. They’d told her, maybe. She was twelve, old enough to understand. It also explained why Russell Steele paid for Rosie’s living expenses and Maia’s tuition. Huck had checked Rosie’s bank account balances. She had seven thousand in her checking and a whopping eighty-five thousand in savings, and it looked as though she might have some kind of account in the States. Huck would need to hire a lawyer to get access to that money on Maia’s behalf, and he supposed he would need to legally take custody, although his distrust of lawyers and his distaste for paying their exorbitant fees had kept him from doing anything just yet. The custody question was a moot point—or so he had assumed. No one on this island was going to dispute his claim to the girl, not even the Smalls, Rosie’s father’s people. So there was no sense of urgency. Until now. Maybe.

“I’d like to meet her,” Irene said.

Huck could not put the inevitable off any longer: he needed a cigarette.

“I’d like to smoke,” he said.

“I’ll join you,” she said.

They stepped out onto the deck and Huck lit up. He took a much-needed drag, then handed the cigarette to Irene. “Or I could light you your own.”

“A whole cigarette would be wasted on me,” Irene said, though she inhaled off his deeply. “I know she’s not related to me.”

“Just let me think a minute,” Huck said. “I need to consider Maia. Maia’s emotional state, Maia’s best interests.”

“I don’t think there are blueprints for this,” Irene said. “The circumstances are unique. I, for one, can’t accept the information that Russ has a child, a daughter, without wanting to meet her.”

“What do you hope to get out of it?” Huck asked.