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can.”

    * * *

    32

    Regina counted the twenties under the tray of the cash register
    drawer. Forty, sixty, eighty . . .

    The lunchtime rush was over, the tourists gone to catch the two
    thirty ferry to the mainland. The afternoon sun slanted through the
    restaurant’s faded red awning, warming the vinyl booths and scratched
    wood floor. Beyondthe plate glass window, the harbor sparkled blue and
    bright, boats at anchor in the quiet water.

    Margred loaded glasses from an empty table into a dish pan, her
    movements languid and graceful as the resident cat’s. She and Caleb had
    returned from their two nights in Portland yesterday.

    “So.” Regina snapped a rubber band around the pile of bills. “How
    was the honeymoon?”

    Margred showed her teeth in a slow, satisfied smile. “Too short.”

    Regina laughed, ignoring her own wistfulness. “That’s what you get
    for marrying the only cop on the island in the middle of the tourist
    season. If you’d waited until September, he could have taken you on a
    real honeymoon. Hawaii, maybe. Or Paris.”

    “I do not want Paris.” Margred’s smile spread. “And Caleb did not
    want to wait.”

    Regina fought a pinch of envy. Had she ever been that happy? That
    desired? That . . . confident?

    “I was surprised to see his brother at the wedding,” she said.

    “Dylan?” Margred cocked her head, leaning forward to wipe the
    table. “Did you like him?”

    “I barely talked to him.”

    No, she’d just had sex with him on the beach. Really excellent sex.
    But no meaningful conversation.

    Her face burned.

    She wasn’t looking for meaningful, Regina reminded herself. And
    neither, obviously, was he. At least, not with her.

    33

    “He seemed to know you, though,” she added.

    Margred’s rag paused. “He is Caleb’s brother.”

    “From before.” Regina wiped her sweating palms on her apron. “He
    said he knew you before.”

    “Did he?” Margred continued her slow, even strokes on the table.
    “What else did he say?”

    Regina had a vision of Dylan’s face, black and bitter. “I did not
    come for my brother.”

    She cleared her throat. “Nothing, really. I just found it interesting.
    Since you, you know, lost your memory and all.”

    “Ah.”

    Let it go, Regina told herself. Not your problem. None of your
    business.

    “So, how did you meet him?”

    Margred straightened, rag in hand. “Curious?”

    Regina scowled. “Concerned. Damn it, you’re my friend.”

    My employee.

    Cal’s wife.

    “So I am. And as your friend, I am telling you to leave this alone.”

    Regina closed the register drawer with a short chaching . “Fine.”

    Margred’s expression softened. “I promise, there is nothing in our
    relationship that Caleb could object to.”

    “Does he know?” Regina asked before she could stop herself.

    “Oh, yes. I have no secrets from Caleb.”

    34

    “Bet the memory loss thing helps with that,” Regina muttered.

    “Excuse me?”

    The bell over the door jingled. Jane Ivey, the owner of the island’s
    gift shop, entered wearing a lumpy cardigan and the determined look of a
    woman on a mission.

    “What can I get you?” Regina asked.

    “Here’s the bride!” Jane exclaimed as if she hadn’t spoken. “You
    looked real good on Saturday, honey.”

    “Thank you,” Margred said.

    “That whole wedding— it was real nice,” Jane said.

    Margred smiled. “Regina did it all.”

    Jane’s tight brown perm quivered as she nodded. “Well, I know that.
    That’s why I stopped by. The girls are coming home for Frank’s birthday
    in September,” she said to Regina.

    “That’s . . . great,” Regina said. Was it great? She couldn’t
    remember how well Jane got along with her absent children. Sons stayed
    on the island, took over their fathers’ lobstering business or bought boats
    of their own. But daughters moved Away, seeking education,
    opportunities, husbands.

    Sometimes they came back.

    “We never thought