“You look like you could use a quiet afternoon, Claire,” June said, sitting down in the lounger beside mine.

“We have fifty-one years of marriage behind us, so Walt knows when to sit still and keep quiet.”

“Fifty-one years of fish slipping off the hook,” Walt said, closing his eyes against the bright Caribbean sun.

“That’s the actual tally.”

I laughed out loud, a sharp, clear sound that surprised my own throat.

I had not made that sound since the middle of September.

June smiled warmly, adjusting her wide-brimmed straw hat again by pinching the front brim.