“The island has stories,” she said.
“I assumed.”
“One says Savannah came here to write an album.”
“She cannot identify coral.”
“Another says you are secretly married.”
“To whom?”
“Savannah.”
“I met her less than a week ago.”
“Details weaken island folklore.”
I drank my coffee.
“Nobody here is talking to reporters,” Rosa added.
“I know.”
“Hank banned them from the boat. I banned them from asking questions before dessert.”
“That seems commercially motivated.”
“Everything is easier after pie.”
I looked toward the window.
Across the road, a tour group stopped beside Reef Rascal. The guide pointed toward the shop.
Maybe he was explaining the difference between snorkeling and diving.
Maybe he was identifying the site of a minor celebrity incident.
“I don’t want Pelican Key to become a place where nobody can say her name because they think I’ll break.”
Rosa stopped wiping.
“Will you?”
“No.”
“Then they can say it.”
“I also don’t want every sandwich to become a discussion about my private life.”
“That is why you sit in the back.”
I looked at her.
She shrugged.
“Balance.”
A shadow fell across the table.
