“It was beautiful,” Ella said. She sounded like some soppy little thirteen-year-old, but she didn’t care. They were the only words that worked. “Absolutely beautiful.”

On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays they had 8:00 am art history classes at the Finnegan. It wasn’t a popular time slot, but starting that early meant they had afternoons free and besides, Dr. Berns was one of the better lecturers. They always grabbed some coffee at the tourist stand near the beach and settled around one of the firepots. After yesterday’s kiss, she’d been looking forward to talking to her friends.

“Well, I’m glad it was worth skipping class yesterday,” said Dovie. “Was Mr. Baywreath okay with him taking the afternoon off?”

“It was more like a long lunch, really.”

“Nice to be the boss’s cousin,” said Dovie. “But really… was it that good? I’ve been kissed a lot and to tell the truth, it’s still kind of a mystery to me. Just lots of flesh rolling around in your mouth and hands trying to get under your clothes.”

“I get it, Ellie,” said Margaretmarie. “I know exactly what you mean. There’s nothing like learning what it’s all about, is there? And he’s good-looking too! And rich! Ginny Pascoe tells me the mainland Baghills are knee-deep in the good stuff! Her dad absolutely hates them!”

“I guess he’s got money,” said Ella, “but really that doesn’t matter to me. Suddenly she felt uneasy. Pop and Jerome Pascoe still met for drinks sometimes. If Jerry hated David’s father, would Pop disapprove too? What if it were like when Great-Grandpa and Old Jack got so mad at Pop and Mom for marrying? What if Pop stopped speaking to her?

She was getting ahead of herself. It wasn’t like she and David were engaged or anything. “It’s just fun,” she said.

“It’s nice to be seeing someone I actually look forward to seeing.”

“You be careful, Darlin’,” said Margaretmarie. “Those mainlanders are a hoot, but they can be mean and tricky. Don’t let him… well, if you do let him, you be careful and make sure he’s careful. You don’t want to end up like that poor Ballou girl.”

“I promise I’ll be careful. And anyway, I don’t think he’s out to just… well… Please don’t laugh, but I think he’s being a gentleman.”

“After we kissed yesterday, he said, ‘Don’t you think it’s about time you told your family we’re dating?”

Monday was the best time. Dad didn’t work that night, and Ella’s Tuesday and Thursday classes were late, so she could sleep the next morning as long as she wanted. David would take her out for a nice dinner and pick her up at the house so Mom and Pop could get a look at him without the ante being upped too much.

“David Baghill?” Dad asked when she told him. “The kid who’s come to work for that clot Harry Baywreath?”

“You’ve met him, Pop?”

“Not really. Saw him at the Rose when Harry brought him in for a welcome dinner the first night he was here. Quite the young prince…”

Mom cleared her throat.

and Pop added hastily, “Good looking young man. Supposed to be smart.”

“He sounds adorable, Ella,” Mom said.

“I can’t wait to get a look at him.”

Nothing more was said to Ella, but by sunset on Monday it was plain to her that word had spread in the family.

Aunt Kitty showed up at 4:30, Lucas about fifteen minutes later. Ella knew, although she’d not yet walked out onto the porch, that Lucas and Dad were now sitting at their chess table.

Kitty was beating Mom at dominoes.

Ella was dressed, ready, but she didn’t want to step out onto the porch until David was there. She wanted to keep to a minimum the comments from the family about how she looked.

Then she heard Kitty say something.

“Here he is.”

She heard Dad and Lucas get up from their chairs, some murmurs.

She waited until she figured everyone had shaken hands and gotten the greetings out of the way.

Dad’s expression went carefully neutral when he saw her. Lucas’ did not.

David quickly, gracefully kissed her on the cheek before turning back to Pop.

“…of course there are a few adjustments,” he continued, “but I think it’s a job I can enjoy. It’s not just sitting at a desk, for one thing. I get out in the field with Ray McSherry, visit the plants, talk to people…”

“…about what?” asked Dad, flashing his broad smile.

“Processes, efficiency. That kind of thing. There’s always room for change, but you want to nail down what’s working. Don’t want to throw out the baby with the bathwater, you know.”

Dad was still smiling. “Yes, I’ve heard Ray say that. Those talks out at the plant… I assume you mean the plantation in Theodosia? Your and Ray’s visits there wouldn’t have anything to do with those worker meetings Mel Sauvaterre’s been holding at the Mechanics’, now, would they?”

David looked startled, and a little put off, and Ella heard Mom quietly getting out of her chair.

“Well, Mr. Macana, you run a business yourself,” David said. “I think we can agree that it’s important to be aware of everything happening in your place, even one that’s relatively small. You don’t want people taking advantage of your employees. Especially here on the island, where folks can be a little unsophisticated.”

“Yes-yes-yes! It is good you have come, sah!” exclaimed Lucas in an exaggerated Island accent. “Dis collective bargaining some speak of, we know not of dese tings! We ask only to sing and laugh as we pick de fruits of our island de good Lord has…”

“That is enough,” Mom said.

She smiled at David. “Excuse the men in our family. They like to tease newcomers. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.” She took his hand. “I suppose we have you to thank for seeing our daughter in a dress at last. She’s told us so many wonderful things about you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Macana. Believe me, the pleasure has been all mine.”

“David, let me introduce you to Aunt Kitty,” Ella said.

She looked at him closely as they walked to where Kitty was sitting. Had he been offended? David’s face was set, thoughtful, and his expression worried her.

“David Baghill, this is my great aunt, Kitty Rose Baranca,” she said.

“Mrs. Baranca, It’s an honor,” he said. “I first heard ‘Green Circle’ on the radio while visiting my parents in Monroeville, and Father told me you were not only the musician, but the composer. It’s a wonderful song.”

Kitty smiled.

“Why thank you! Your father — he’d be Jonah’s youngest boy, wouldn’t he? Your grandfather was so proud of him! I worked for Miles Baghill when he was running the theater here, you know.”

“Wish Ella had made it clear how handsome you are. I’d have put on a little lipstick.”

They ate dinner outside at The Spotswood. David seemed to have recovered from his encounter with Dad and Lucas. The meal, like every other moment with David, seemed like a dance, a graceful, delightful, intoxicating waltz. Every cliche she’d ever heard about being in love — “Head in the clouds,” “butterflies,” “Heart skipping a beat” made sense to her now.

Afterwards, they walked out onto the patio overlooking the beach. Kissing David… There were no words left for it anymore. It had only become more intense, more intoxicating.

He drew back and he looked at her, and she thought, even if this is the end…

…even if he says, “this was lovely, Ella, but…” Even if he gently held her at arms length and said “you are so young, and you should see other people.”

It was still worth it. That’s what she told herself.

“Ella,” he said.

“I know this is sudden. I know this is soon but… I think I am falling in love with you.”

“I hope…” His voice was husky, and he reached out to touched her face. “I would like to keep seeing you. I’d like to see you seriously, Ella. Not just as someone showing me the island. Not just…”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He sighed. “God, you are beautiful tonight,” he said. “Not just pretty. Not even just beautiful. You are spectacular.” David smiled. “You should wear makeup all the time. You should do yourself justice.”

“Yes,” she said, pressing his hand against her cheek. “I will.”

The day did not badly at all. Judy and Marion came by just before lunch. They wanted to take her out to eat, but she hadn’t felt like going anywhere. She didn’t enjoy it much these days, and she wasn’t very hungry. So they sat on the patio and talked for awhile.

Marion told a funny story.

Yesterday afternoon, Leon came home from work early, and Marion heard him calling for her outside. As he’d driven in, he’d spotted Gwennie in the top of a neighborhood tree. “He was horrified,” she said, laughing.

“I came out to find him across the street, pacing back and forth under the tree. Gwennie’s head was sticking out at the very top, and she was waving down at him and shouting, ‘look at me Daddy!’ and Leon was waving back and shouting ‘That’s nice, sweetie. Now come down!’ trying not to sound panicky. He was terrified she’d fall. I’d told him she’d been topping every tree in the area, but I guess he hadn’t really heard me.”

Laurette smiled.

She’d been the same when she was a girl, climbing every tree, conquering it. Suddenly she could remember taking joy in the lightness of her own body,

the strength and hardness of her arms and legs as she pulled herself upwards in a world of dappled green.

It occured to her that Judith was being very quiet.

“How are things with your family, Cherie?” she asked.

“We are fine, thank you Tante.”

“Sergei is teaching Lish so much he’s becoming very handy around the house. And Mother is feeling a little better. She went out for a walk with me yesterday all the way to vista park.”

“Is Elisha still seeing that girl?”

“The Ambriz girl? Oh yes, she still comes around.”

“And what about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” Judith said.

“Not these days.”

“Oh.”

In the past, Judith would have smiled and said, “Oh yes, so-and-so and I have been going out.” She liked men, and men liked her. Sometimes, Judith reminded Laurette of Judith’s great-uncle Greg. She had not only his brains, but the same ability to charm the opposite sex, the same easygoing pleasure in flirting, loving, then moving on.

“Well, I for one am a bit peckish,” said Judith. She touched Laurette lightly on the shoulder and rose from her seat. “Would it be alright, Tante, if I went in and made a sandwich or two? I promise not to make too much of a mess.”

“I’d appreciate that, Judy,” said Marion. “I’m a little hungry myself.” She looked at Laurette. “Would it be all right for Judith to use your kitchen for a bit?”

“Of course.”

Marion waited until Judith had closed the door behind her.

Then she leaned forward and said, her voice lowered, “Did you know she’s moved back in with her family?”

“No! When?”

“Two weeks ago. She’s worried about her mother. That last heart attack really knocked the stuffing out of poor Brigitte. Judy doesn’t like to let on about it, but I really thought you should know.”

“Brigitte is still not herself, then?”

Marion smiled sadly. “All the fight seems to be gone. She never gets angry anymore. Not even at Leon. And it’s so hard now to get her to exercise, walk around, do things. Which she has to do if she’s going to really recover.”

“I just wanted you to know. If Judy seems quiet these days, it’s because she has a lot on her mind.

The sandwiches Judy made from the leftover roast chicken were nice. Laurette ate all of her’s, but she noticed Judy had little appetite and didn’t even finish half. Before they left, Marion and Judy asked if Laurette had plans for dinner, and she showed them the pot of Perlow Mimi had carried over earlier that day. Artie and Mimi had wanted her to come up to the house to get a look at some young man Ella was seeing, but Laurette didn’t feel like talking to strangers.

Judy needed her help. Brigitte needed her help.

Why had she not thought of it before? Too selfish, really. She’d allowed herself to become mired in grief and self-pity. Yes, Brigitte had her own table, and could make a good tonic.

But for true effectiveness, nothing beat one made by someone with talent.

Vinjoie, that’s what she would make. That’s what would put her poor niece back on her feet, make her take an interest in things again.

Once, Laurette would have had no need to consult the book. Once, her hands would have moved instantly, naturally, reaching for the proper ingredients, bringing them to exactly the right measurements and temperature.

But it had been a long time, and the ancient machinery creaked. It was important to get it right. So she read, her old eyes straining as the light of day faded.

It was dark when she truly began.

But once she got started, the confidence began to return.

Perhaps she moved more slowly, but she could still feel herself falling easily into her old movements.

It felt good. It felt…reassuring. It was as though she’d been in an unfamiliar place, and was finding her way back.

How long did she work? Three hours? Four?

Longer perhaps than it once did, but what mattered was that it felt right. The scents rising where exactly what they should be, the surface in the cauldron bubbling in patterns she recognized.

There. The mixture was cooked, measured out precisely, poured into a jar of exactly the right size. All it needed to turn the right color was to bubble down, uncovered in the moonlight for about an hour, and then she could pour it into a pretty bottle for Brigitte.

She was hungry. Hungier than she’d been in a long time. That brown perlow would taste very good right now.

It smelled so wonderful as she heated it on the stove. Brought back memories. Wasn’t a brown perlow one of the first things she’d eaten here on the island?

She’d been so young. Six? Seven? A baby really.

As she ate, she thought about Vinjoe. She needed to get back into the habit of making it, and other tonics. Nice gifts for birthdays or Midsummer or Christmas. Not as good as Tel’s of course. Not even Greg could make Vinjoie as good as Tel’s had been. But good enough. Artie, Mimi, Lucas, and even Ella would appreciate it. Judy too. And Laney and Kim…

After she’d finished and washed up, she walked out into the night invigorated, happy. Yes, it was late, very late, and she was tired, but it was a good weariness. She drew in a long breath, savoring the scent of grass, the faint tang of the ocean carried on a cool breeze that touched her cheek like a kiss.

It took her a moment to realize what was wrong.

The scent of the ruined tonic was like rotten wood, and there was something else, something wet and salty. The smell of the ocean was no longer faint but harsh, overpowering.

“Why?”

The tears were no less humiliating because no other living person could see them.

“I was your friend,” she whispered. “Why are you hurting me?”

She would have called out the name, but could no longer even bear to utter it.

The drowned woman.