Rosie got back together with Russ after LeeAnn died; she was vulnerable—and she was free.
The journals mention Irene, the wife at home in Iowa City, a woman Rosie saw as a rival. Was Russ planning on leaving Irene and moving down to the islands permanently? It’s anyone’s guess. Starting in 2015, there are mentions of Russ’s business dealings—the villa and land in Little Cinnamon, the business trips to Anegada, to Grand Cayman. There’s mention of Russ wanting to get out of his business dealings and Todd Croft not allowing it; Todd Croft showed up at La Tapa to threaten Rosie.
He killed them, Huck thinks. They were headed to Anegada on New Year’s Day and Todd Croft blew them up.
What did Irene say? That the charges might not stick; Croft might be released.
The journals have to go to the FBI. Huck has Colette Vasco’s number programmed into his phone. He should call her; she needs to see these.
But…maybe not yet.
Huck believes in honesty. In this situation, does that mean that he should tell Irene he has these journals and that he’s planning on handing them over to the FBI? Should he ask Irene if she wants to see them? Or, out of regard for her emotional well-being, should he spare her? Should he give the journals to Vasco and when Irene finds out say he didn’t read them and didn’t think she should read them either? Is this reasonable? This sounds reasonable, but it’s not honest. Is it better? Will it save Irene’s heart from breaking again?
Irene is adjusting to their new circumstances better than Huck expected. She’s now sleeping in Maia’s room. They have developed a routine. Irene worries about money, he knows, but guess what—so does everyone else in the world.
Irene’s attorney in Iowa City calls and leaves a message while they’re out on a charter. Her mother-in-law’s estate is through probate and Milly Steele has left behind “assets,” though in the message, the attorney doesn’t say what kind.
“Do you think it’s money?” Irene asks Huck. “Do you think it’s a lot of money? Do you think Russ used Milly’s account as a place to hide cash? Do you think Milly knew what Russ was doing? Was she in on it?”
Most of these questions sound rhetorical, so Huck just answers the first. “Assets could mean money,” Huck says. “Or it could mean a pile of crocheted afghans and used bingo cards.”
“You’re making an old-lady joke,” Irene says. “By definition, assets are worth something. Maybe Milly owned real estate I don’t know about?” Her voice is hopeful, then, sounding defeated, she says, “I’m actually hoping that Russ hid money with his ninety-seven-year-old mother and that now it will be mine and somehow the FBI won’t find out.”
“And you won’t tell them?”
“I’m not sure,” Irene says. She fiddles with the end of her chestnut braid, worrying the band that keeps it together, which is something Huck has noticed her doing a lot recently. This gives Huck hope that Irene Steele is just a regular gal after all and not some kind of superhuman who elegantly copes with whatever life throws at her. “I hate to say it, but I might be tempted to keep it.” She honks out a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s probably afghans. Or her cane. Or a fifty-percent-off coupon for an order of wings at the Wig and Pen.”
Two days later, Huck sees the Jeep with the tinted windows parked outside the minimart in front of Rhumb Lines just as someone is climbing into the front seat. The “someone” appears to be a white female, small in stature. Huck chuckles. Probably just some local concerned about the sun. Although…if it were a local, he would have seen the Jeep before. Maybe she just bought it. It’s not impossible.
Irene gets hold of her Iowa City attorney, Ed Sorley. The assets are a collection of blue-chip stocks that Milly has apparently had for decades; converted to cash, they will net Irene one hundred and seventeen thousand dollars.
Irene is jubilant. “The assets are clean!” she says. “They were investments Russ’s father made years and years ago that Milly never touched.”
“And she left it all to you?” Huck says. “You’re rich!”
“It’s breathing room,” Irene says. “I’m going to split it four ways—me, Cash, Baker, and Maia.”
“Maia?”
“For her education.”
“AC…”
“Just let me do it, please,” Irene says. “She’s Russ’s daughter, Milly’s granddaughter. I’m not arguing with you about it.”
“Okay,” Huck says. “Should we celebrate? Maia is with Ayers tonight, so it’s just the two of us.”
“Shambles?” Irene says.
Huck chuckles. Shambles is Irene’s new obsession. It’s a brightly painted local bar at mile marker two on the Centerline Road that overlooks the Paradise Lumberyard and a mechanic’s car-strewn lot. The place puts the loca in local, which is maybe what Irene likes about it, along with the drinks. The first time they went, the bartender, Nathan, made Irene a rum punch that she claimed was “magic” (or maybe just strong). The food is better than it needs to be; it’s downright delicious.
Huck and Irene grab two bar stools, then order a couple of rum punches and pulled pork sandwiches with fries and slaw. They chat with the mechanic and his wife and a couple visiting from Toronto. Nathan slips Irene a second rum punch and, Huck suspects, maybe even a third, because by the time they’re ready to leave, Irene has talked the couple from Toronto into booking a fishing charter.
“Ha!” Irene says as they climb into the truck. “That was fun. And I made it rain! We have a full-day charter on Friday.”
“Good job, AC,” Huck says. When he pulls into the driveway at home, he turns off the ignition but he stays in the truck, and Irene stays in the truck, and it feels for all the world like he’s taking her home after a date. Should he kiss her? He promised to let her make the first move.
She places her hand on his thigh. She takes off her seat belt and scoots closer to him. She raises her face to his cheek; he can smell the rum and fruit on her breath. How magic were those rum punches? he wonders.
“AC,” he says. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
He warns her they’ll be difficult to read.
“It’s the story of their relationship,” he says. “Start to finish. I can give you the CliffsNotes version, if you’d rather?”
Irene shakes her head, clutching the journals to her chest. Instantly, he wants to snatch them back. Rosie never intended those journals for Huck’s eyes and she definitely never intended them for Irene’s eyes.
“When I found out about Rosie and Russ, I told myself that I would find a way to forgive them,” Irene says. “Maybe understanding how it all unfolded will make that easier.”
No, Huck thinks. It won’t. “Maybe,” he says.
She’s standing in front of her bedroom door. The air between them is charged—yes? Maia is away overnight for the first time since Irene moved in.
“I appreciate you giving these to me,” Irene says. “I’m sure it was a hard decision.”
“Torturous,” Huck says. He needs a cigarette, badly. “Well, good night, AC.”
“Wait,” Irene says. She opens the bedroom door, sets the journals on the nightstand, and reemerges to give him a kiss. It’s a real kiss, long and delicious, that leaves Huck breathless and aching. She pulls away for a second, then comes back in for more. Huck is very careful with his hands. One is on her shoulder, one on the side of her face. Her fingers are linked through his belt loops. He forgets about the cigarette, about the journals, about the FBI, about the Jeep with the tinted windows, about Rosie, Russ, LeeAnn. He’s here with Irene in this moment. It’s all he wants in the world.
She reels him in; she lets him go; she reels him in a little closer. He’s hooked. She is the Angler Cupcake.
She lets him go. Pulls away. Smiles at him. “That’s all for tonight,” she says.
Huck raises his palms. He can’t speak.
She disappears into her room. Huck grabs the Flor de Caña from the shelf in the kitchen and his pack of Camels and goes out to the deck.
>
The next day, Irene is fine, she’s normal. She tells the boys about the money from Milly. Baker says he doesn’t need his share; he got a windfall from Anna. He tells Irene to split his portion three ways.
And Cash is…
“He seemed more relieved than anything,” Irene says. “Thirty-nine grand is a big boost for him, so I thought he’d be more excited. He sounds preoccupied. Tilda has just left on a work trip with an investor in this project her parents have cooking and he’s bothered by that.”
“Women,” Huck says. “They’ll get you every time.”
Irene’s expression is inscrutable. Has she read the diaries? Huck is afraid to ask, but his gut tells him the answer is no.
The next day, they have the charter with the couple from Toronto whose names, Huck sees when he checks the confirmation text from Destiny, are Jack and Diane Boyle. Little ditty, Huck thinks, ’bout Jack and Diane…He wonders how many times those poor folks have heard people sing that to them. Huck makes coffee for himself and Irene, makes an egg and toast with papaya jam from Jake’s for Maia. Irene has yet to come out of her room, which is unlike her.
“Is Irene okay?” Maia asks. “I thought I heard her crying late last night.”
Crying? Huck’s heart sinks. “Hurry it up, Nut. I’m going to run you to school a little early, then come back and scoop up Irene.”
Maia shovels in her egg, takes her toast to go.
Huck calls out, “Be right back, AC!”
The black Jeep with the tinted windows is waiting in the elbow joint of Jacob’s Ladder, a step closer than it was the last time. Huck stares at the place where the driver would be. If the Jeep is still there when he comes back, he’s going to knock on the window.
As soon as Huck and Maia pass, the Jeep follows them. In his rearview, Huck can see the woman—brown hair pulled back, round face. He doesn’t recognize her. When he turns left, the Jeep turns right, toward Cruz Bay.
Okay, Huck thinks. The driver doesn’t seem particularly villainous, but there’s no denying she’s watching them. Who is she?
When Huck gets back to the house, Irene is out front. Her hair is braided, she has her sunglasses on, her face is grim. She climbs in the truck and slams the door a little harder than necessary.
“I take it you read the journals.”
“I don’t want to talk about it until after this charter,” Irene says. “But you should know, today will be my last day working for you.”
“What?” Huck says. “Irene…”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Irene says, “until after this charter. This charter was my doing and although I would rather be anywhere else today, I’m honoring my commitment. But after today, Huck, no, I’m sorry.”
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.”
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