I smile at my precious little boy and ask, “How would you feel about Jonny being with us on the tour? Like, all the time.”

  Alex eyes Jonny. “Why?”

  “Um. Because . . .” I struggle for an answer, not sure how much to tell him.

  “Are you guys in love?” Alex asks.

  I laugh, because Alex never ceases to surprise me. “Can’t put anything past you, can I, kiddo?”

  He moves to climb onto my lap. “So now you won’t be sad anymore?”

  “No, buddy, I sure won’t.”

  He leans against my chest. “That’s good.” Another pause. “I still don’t think I need a tutor.”

  “We’re not talking about this again, Alex,” I say. “You’re getting a tutor.”

  “That’s stupid.” He glances at Jonny. “You’re not the tutor, are you?”

  Jonny laughs. “No way. Only thing I could teach you is Spanish, and maybe how to tie really good knots.”

  “I can tie my shoes, and I know some bad words in Spanish. I learned them from Miguel, at school, back in Chicago.”

  “Well, I don’t think your Mom would appreciate it if I taught you bad words.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” She taps Alex on the nose.

  Ava returns and smiles—she caught the last of the conversation between us.

  “Honey, I want you to go with Auntie Ava. I need to talk to Jonny alone for a minute.”

  “Are you guys gonna do sex?” he asks.

  I splutter. “Alex Martin, where in the world did you hear that?”

  He shrugs. “School.”

  I sigh. “Sounds like you learned a lot of not so good stuff at that school.”

  He nods seriously. “Yeah, maybe. That’s why I don’t think a tutor is a good idea. I wouldn’t learn bad stuff from PBS, now would I?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Nice try. Now, go. Maybe Auntie Ava will put on a movie for you in the tour bus.”

  After they leave, I lock the door behind me, something Jonny doesn’t miss.

  “Need to talk to me alone, huh?” he asks, grinning.

  I shrug, and point at the couch. “Privacy and horizontal surfaces are going to be in short supply for a while, I think,” I say. “I’m not quite ready to have you move into my room on the bus just yet. I want to introduce our relationship to Alex gradually. He’s never seen me with anyone.”

  He nods his head as I sit on the couch beside him. “I totally get that.”

  I eye him cautiously. “Are you sure you’re up for everything a relationship with me entails? I mean, even Alex is a lot to adjust to. I’ll need help with him, and he’ll bond with you, and I don’t want to do that if . . . if things aren’t going to work out.”

  Jonny pulls me onto his lap, so I’m sitting sideways across his thighs. “Babe, it’s gonna work out. It may not always be easy, and there may be hiccups, but we’re gonna figure it out. We’ll take it slow.”

  I pull at his belt buckle. “The only thing I want to take slow is being open about things in front of Alex,” I say. “It’s a little late to take our relationship itself slowly.”

  “How about I take you slowly?” he asks.

  “I like that idea.”

  Since the door is locked, I stand up and remove my dress and bra, and then sink to my knees in front of him and tug his boots, socks, and jeans off, and then his shirt.

  “This is the second time we’ve had a door to lock,” I say, “and the first time was kind of rushed. I want to see you naked.”

  “This is the first time we’ve been together without having to worry about being interrupted,” he says.

  I’m on my knees between his thighs and he’s hard. I can’t resist the urge to take him into my mouth. He smells like sex and tastes like it, like his seed and my essence commingled. He groans as I take him to my throat, bob on him until he lets out a curse in Spanish. He pulls away and then lies down on his back on the couch, and I move astride him. I sink onto him, my breasts brushing his chest, and I groan at the feel of him inside me, filling me, stretching me. He pulls me down for a kiss, and that kiss becomes more, consuming us as we move together, my hips grinding against his, the thick hardness of his cock sliding and slipping, hitting me just right, bringing me to the brink within seconds. And then I’m falling over, screaming into the kiss, and Jonny is murmuring to me in Spanish in that way he does, repeating the same phrases over and over, which I think mean I love you, and you’re so beautiful, and you feel so good, and God, please don’t stop; I’m not exactly super fluent in Spanish, though, so they could be oh yeah fuck me harder, and ride that dick, sexy mama. You never know.

  I cling to his neck and ride him through my first orgasm, and he holds out and I touch myself to get a second, and then he’s moaning and growling, and I squeeze around him, palm his face and meet his gaze as he moves in me with increasing desperation, until he’s pounding into me with his hands grasping my hips to yank me down onto him, and I’m whimpering and he’s saying te amo, te amo, te amo over and over and over again, and then I feel him unleash inside me, a wet hot flood filling me, and I whisper that phrase back to him: te amo te amo te amo, so we’re chanting it unison as I come around him a third time as he shatters inside me.

  The intensity of it, of knowing this is real, that we’re going to be together, that he’s going to be on the tour with me, overwhelms me. I have this vision of us, him and me and Alex, together.

  A family.

  Tears slide down my cheeks as I fight for breath, and Jonny sees them. He doesn’t ask, he knows what they mean.

  “It’s always been me and Alex. You and me—us—we . . . we could be a family.” Then panic shoots through me. “Shit, shit. I don’t want to scare you away, I just . . .”

  He touches my mouth with two fingers, silencing me. “You can’t scare me away. Not with that, not with anything.” He tilts my chin so I’m looking at him. “We are a family, Delta. You, Alex, and me. We’ll take it slow and we’ll do it right, but we’ll be a family.”

  “You’re sure that’s what you want?”

  “More than anything. I’ve been running from home and from family for damn near thirty years, Delta.” He smiles at me. “I’m ready. I’m done running. I want home and family, babe, and I want it with you and Alex.”

  I snuggle closer to him, more content than I’ve ever been, wrapped up in his arms.

  On the tour bus between New York and Philadelphia: the next day

  * * *

  Alex is taking a rare nap and Jonny is in the Suburban with Rob and some of the guitar techs, following behind the bus, so it’s just me and Ava on the bus. We’re sitting at the little table near the kitchenette, and Ava is clearly chewing on something, trying to figure out how to say it.

  Eventually, after idle small talk, I poke her on the shoulder. “Out with it, Ava.”

  “Out with what?”

  I snort. “Whatever it is that’s eating you.”

  She sighs, tracing patterns on the tabletop with her fingertip. “I . . . I’m going crazy.”

  “You’ve always been crazy, Ava. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  She sniffles. “It’s almost two months since Christian—since he—since . . .” She shakes her head, unable to finish the thought. “I just . . . I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Oh, honey,” I say, shifting closer to her. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t get it. I’ve tried to come to terms with the fact that he’s gone, but . . . I . . . I have this feeling, Delta.” She looks up, meets my gaze, and she’s crying. “He’s out there.”

  “Ava, you heard what Jonny said. That . . . it’s not really possible. How could he have survived a storm like that?”

  “HE’S ALIVE!” she shouts, slamming her hand on the tabletop then says it again more quietly. “He’s alive. I know it. I know it. He’s out there. He’s stuck, so he can’t come back, or something. I don’t know. I just . . . I know this sounds crazy, but I feel it. I feel it in my bones, in my gut, in my blood.”

  “So . . . what are you going to do?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know. But I have to do something. I have to look for him. I have to.”

  “Ava, that’s crazy. Where would you even start?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know.” Her gaze goes to mine, and I see the determination, the hardness that says she won’t back down. “I don’t know. I just know I have to look. He’s out there, and he needs me. I lost Henry, I can’t lose Christian, too. He’s alive, and he needs me, and I’m going to find him.”

  “Talk to Jonny. He might have some ideas.” I pause. “I love you, Ava, you know that, right? So I feel like I have to say, as your big sister, that this is crazy. Even if he is alive, he could be literally anywhere.”

  “I know.” She nods, sniffling. “I know. I don’t care. I’ll look as long as it takes. I just . . . I know he’s alive out there. I don’t know how else to explain it. I know it as surely as I know my own name—Christian is alive.”

  “Crazier things have happened, I guess.”

  She nods, hesitating, and looks at me. “I already talked to Jonny, actually, and he told me where to find his friend Dominic, down in Charleston. So I called Dominic yesterday, and he’s going to take me out with him. He’s crossing the Atlantic, and I’m going with him. He knows lots of fishermen and boat captains and harbormasters, so he’s going to help me look for Christian.”

  “So you do have a plan of some kind, then?”

  “The start of one, yes,” she says. “I . . . I don’t want to leave you. Not now, not with everything that’s going on with you.”

  I smile at her. “Ava, I’m fine. I have Jonny. And Rob.”

  “Jonny is amazing, and Rob is pretty cool too.” Ava sniffles again. “I’m happy for you, and proud of you, you know.”

  I wrap her up in a hug. “Thanks.” I pull away and eye Ava. “You hate fishing boats, and you hate the open ocean.”

  She nods, laughing. “I know. But . . . it’s Christian,” she says with a shrug as if that explains it.

  Which, it does. Jonny and I have only been officially together for a day, but I’m already starting to get it. If something happened to Jonny, I’d probably go crazy too. And if I thought he was alive out there somewhere, needing me? I’d do anything to find him. And that’s after one day; Ava has loved Christian for ten years. Multiply what I’m feeling by ten years’ worth of days . . .

  I shiver and shudder, thinking about it, trying to imagine loving Jonny that much.

  “You have to go, Ava.” I tighten the hug, squeezing her.

  “You understand?”

  “It’s Christian,” I say, as if that explains it.

  She sniffles, and it turns to tears again. “Exactly. It’s Christian.”

  “You sure you’ll be okay? Again, may I remind you how much you hate it out on the ocean?”

  She laughs through her tears. “I have to. Maybe I’ll learn to love it.”

  “Maybe,” I say, doubtfully. “So, when do you leave?”

  “I’m taking a flight from Philly to Charleston, which is where Captain Dominic is. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Holy shit, that’s soon.”

  She nods. “I’ve wasted too much time already. I’ve always felt like he’s still alive, but it’s now at the point where I can’t handle it any more, I can’t—each moment of each day I think about him, and I picture him out there, hurt, alone, needing me, and I—I hate myself for hesitating, just because I hate the ocean. I hate the ocean, but I love him, and he needs me. So . . . I’m going.”

  “We’ll miss you.”

  She puts her arms around me. “You and Jonny, you saved my life. I can’t ever thank you enough.”

  “You’re my sister, dummy, and that’s just how Jonny is.”

  She sniffles, nodding. “He’s good people. I’m glad you found him.”

  “I’m glad I found him, too.”

  We talk about our men then, and I relish this time, just me and Ava hanging out together, talking about boys, giggling over dirty stories, being sisters.

  A few hours later, we reach Philadelphia, and Jonny, Alex, Ava, and I take the Suburban to the airport, with a driver hired by the label behind the wheel. Ava has a single duffle bag packed, and she has her ticket in hand, a frightened but determined expression on her face.

  I leave Alex with Jonny in the Suburban at the drop-off line, and accompany Ava to the security line. She turns to me, wraps me up in a hug. “I’m scared, Delta.”

  “You’ll be fine. Jonny is good people, and he trusts Dominic, which means he’s good people, too, okay? You’ll be fine.”

  “I know, it’s just . . . I’ve lived in Florida my whole life. I’ve only traveled with Christian. This is the first time I’ve gone anywhere alone.”

  I can’t help laughing. “Aww, my baby sister is all grown up.”

  “Shut up,” she laughs, “don’t be mean to me.”

  “I’m teasing.” I squeeze her. “Just be careful, okay?”

  “Being careful would mean not doing this, and I’m way past being careful.”

  I laugh and nod. “I know, I know.” I push her toward security before I try to convince her to stay. “Go find your husband.”

  She waves without looking back, moving to join the security line. “I’ll call you.”

  “You better. I love you!”

  “Love you, too.”

  She’s in the security line, ID and boarding pass out, getting screened through, and then she’s out of sight.

  Back in the Suburban, Jonny wraps his arm around my shoulders as we drive back. “She’ll find him. Dominic is a good man, and he knows a lot of people all over the world. If anyone can find him, he can.”

  I eye him. “You wish you were out there too, don’t you? Going with her to look for Christian?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah, of course. He’s my best friend, and . . . I spent my whole life out there.” A long pause. “But my life is here, now. And if Chris is alive, which I think is possible if not likely, then Ava and Dom will find him.”

  “But you want to be out there.”

  He nods. “Yeah, but I want to be here more.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder and smile. “Good answer.”

  Epilogue

  The day is hot. This is unsurprising, however, because all of the days have been hot, thus far. Humid, too. Lots of flies, lots of biting things.

  His head hurts. This, too, is unsurprising as his head has been hurting pretty much nonstop for as long as he can remember.

  Which . . . isn’t much.

  His mind is fuzzy, foggy. It’s hard to recall things that happened earlier in the day, and impossible to remember things that happened yesterday, and further back than that? There’s just . . . nothing.

  Usually.

  Sometimes, he gets . . . flashes. Not full memories, really, but more . . . fragments of images.

  A hand: female, with candy-apple red nails, delicate purple-blue veins, a two-karat diamond solitaire ring with a platinum band on the ring finger; the hand slides down his chest, nails scraping, digging, trailing erotically down his stomach.

  A sweep of short, ink black hair sprays across a pillow.

  Vivid blue eyes, potent, fierce and wild.

  A sailboat, a catamaran, slicing down a steep wave, the sky behind it angry, black, pregnant with a vicious storm.

  Waves all around, being spun in circles and twisted and tossed like a marble in a washing machine.

  A grave, a rectangle dug six feet into the soil. A tiny casket being lowered. Sunshine and black veils and tears.

  Flashes of the past, but too little to cling to, each one fraught with violent emotion.

  When the flashes wash through him, they paralyze him. He goes utterly still, seized by the images, squeezed by the emotions woven into the images like ivy wrapped around a tree.

  He’s desperate to remember.

  But the harder he tries, the less he remembers. The flashes come randomly, sometimes a dozen a day, sometimes new ones, sometimes the same image repeated over and over again.

  He is outside, most of the time. Sitting in an ancient, rickety wheelchair in the shade of a huge, ancient, spreading tree, and even in the shade it is oppressively hot. Gulls and terns and other shore birds make occasional appearances overhead, which means he’s near the ocean.

  The people around him do not speak English, and he doesn’t speak their languages, one of which he’s relatively certain is French. The other languages he hears are . . . well, he’s not sure. African dialects, maybe? The speakers are black, most of them are medical workers, and they all seem to use their languages and dialects interchangeably. Either way, he can’t make out a word, and they don’t understand him, even when he can summon the ability to speak at all. There are perhaps a dozen people that come and go around him, and they see that he eats, sleeps, uses a toilet, and they regularly check his various injuries, of which there are many.

  His left arm is in a cast from shoulder to fingertips, and his left leg from hip to ankle. His ribs scream in raw, excruciating agony with every breath, each movement. His right arm is in a cast, as well, but only from elbow to wrist, leaving him some use of his right hand. His head is bandaged, and it is his head they check most frequently. They shine flashlights in his eyes, hold up fingers and he knows he’s supposed to tell them how many fingers there are by holding up the same number of fingers. They ask him questions, but of course he can’t understand him nor they him, so the whole process seems somewhat futile to him, but they persist and he cooperates, simply because he doesn’t know what else he would do.

  There is one phrase that they repeat to him over and over and over again: “Comment vous appelez-vous?”

  He knows this one: “What is your name?”

  He doesn’t know the answer, though.

  There is so little he knows, so much he doesn’t know.

  The flashes of memory, the fragments of images, they are all he has of himself, of whatever his life was before he arrived in this place, wherever it is, whatever it is, however he got here.