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walls were plastered with Post-it notes—lists and reminders and appointments on the right, quotations on the left. Her current favorite was a quote from Joseph Joubert:
    Imagination is the eye of the soul.
    She had no idea who Joseph Joubert was, but she liked the quote just the same.
    Below that was another.
    A man [or a woman] can stand almost anything except a succession of ordinary days.
    Goethe had said that, and it had been bothering her ever since she’d found it in a book and duly written it down on the yellow Post-it note. Maybe that was why she’d been feeling restless. Maybe her life was becoming a succession of ordinary days.
    She showered and shaved her legs and put on white shorts and a short-sleeve blue-and-white-striped top. Her mother was downstairs in the kitchen with Benjamin. She was wearing a bathrobe, her faded blond hair tousled, reading the newspaper and sipping coffee. Benjamin was making himself a bowl of cereal, keeping his thumb hooked inside the bowl so he’d know when he’d added enough milk. Her father would already be down at the restaurant, cooking for the fishermen and the early morning ferry crowd.
    â€œGood morning, everyone,” Zoey said cheerfully.
    Her mother looked up from her paper and smiled wanly.“Don’t be so cheerful; my head can’t take it.”
    â€œHung over,” Benjamin said, walking with his cereal to the table.
    â€œNo, smart guy,” their mother said. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” She grinned. “Your father and I were arguing, so naturally we had to make up.”
    Zoey shook her head and reached for the box of muffins on the counter. “Mom, do you think you could spare us the details? We are your kids.”
    Her mother shrugged. “You do know the facts of life, don’t you? I mean, you do know where you and Benjamin came from and all?”
    â€œYes, of course I know. I just don’t need to think about it. You’re warping me.”
    â€œI don’t do all that parental crap, you know that,” her mother said, waving her hand dismissively. “You want Donna Reed, go hang out with Daisy McRoyan. She likes to stay home and bake pies while her husband’s out banging everything in a skirt.”
    Zoey glared at her mother. “I don’t think you should go around saying things like that. What if Jake was over here and heard you say that about his dad?”
    â€œIf Jake doesn’t know it, he’s the only one,” her mother said. She rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I take it back. Fred McRoyan’s a saint. Everybody on this island’s a saint. We’re all justone big, happy family.” She turned the page of the newspaper.
    â€œI’m going out,” Zoey said.
    â€œYou going over?” Benjamin asked.
    â€œNo, I was just going to head down to the circle, see if anyone’s around. See if Nina wants to do anything. You want to come? Or did you want me to pick something up for you on the mainland?”
    â€œNope. Just wondering,” Benjamin said. “Take it easy.”
    â€œWe could use a few hours of your time down at the restaurant later,” her mother said. “Just this afternoon.”
    â€œNo prob,” Zoey said. The restaurant was the whole family’s responsibility. Besides, her parents paid her for her work.
    â€œHey,” her mother said suddenly, looking up from her paper. “What’s this I hear about the Cabral kid coming back?”
    Zoey turned. “We thought we saw him yesterday evening. No one’s totally sure, though.”
    â€œHe was a cute kid,” her mother said. “Remember how he’d come down the hill in the morning and bring us those sweet rolls his mom made? Now there’s a woman who should open a bakery. Your dad’s been after her recipe for years.”
    â€œI remember,” Zoey said. Lucas would sit at the table and drink coffee