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got an answer from Jean Philippe. He had been silent for hours, softly crying. The Lord, sitting next to him, twirled a raft paddle between his palms.
    Finally Mrs. Laghari rose to her knees, still wearing the long pink T-shirt Geri had given her, her salt-and-pepper hair pushed back behind her ears. She is a short woman, but she commands respect. With a determined voice, she said, “Mr. Jean Philippe. I realize you are grieving. But you must tell us what happened to Bernadette. We cannot have secrets. After this man revived her”—she pointed to the Lord—“did he do something else?”
    â€œThe Lord did no harm, Mrs. Laghari,” Jean Philippe whispered. “Bernadette was dead.”
    Several of us gasped.
    â€œBut she had woken up,” Nevin said.
    â€œShe seemed fine,” I added.
    â€œWe thought he healed her,” Nina said.
    â€œWait,” Yannis said. “I asked if he healed her, and he said he didn’t.”
    He turned to the Lord. “But you did say she was good.”
    â€œShe is,” the Lord replied.
    â€œShe’s gone.”
    â€œSomeplace better.”
    â€œYou smug bastard,” Lambert said. “What did you do ?”
    â€œPlease, stop,” Jean Philippe whispered. He put his forehead in his hands. “She was speaking to me. She said it was time to trust God. I said, ‘Yes, cherie , I will.’ Then she smiled, and her eyes closed.” His voice quivered. “Didn’t she have the most beautiful smile?”
    Mrs. Laghari leaned forward. “Did anyone else see this?”
    â€œAlice,” Jean Philippe said. “The poor child. I told her Bernadette was sleeping. Just sleeping. Beautiful . . . sleep.”
    He broke down. Most of us were crying, too, not just for Bernadette but for ourselves. An invisible shield had been shattered. Death had paid its first visit.
    â€œWhere’s her body?” Lambert said.
    I don’t know why he asked that. It was obvious.
    â€œThe Lord told me her soul was gone,” Jean Philippe rasped.
    â€œWait. He told you to throw her over the side? Your own wife?”
    â€œStop it, Jason!” Mrs. Laghari barked.
    â€œYou dumped her in the ocean?”
    â€œShut up, Jason!” Yannis snapped.
    Lambert sat back, smirking.
    â€œSome God,” he cracked.
    * * *
    This evening, when the sun went down, a group of us were sitting outside the canopy. Nightfall brings fear. It also brings us closest together, as if we are huddled against an invader none of us can see. Tonight, with Bernadette’s absence, we seemed particularly vulnerable. A long time passed without a peep from any of us.
    Finally, out of the blue, Yannis began to sing.
    Hoist up the John B’s sails
    See how the main sail sets . . .
    He stopped and looked around. The rest of us exchanged glances but said nothing. Nina offered a feeble smile. Yannis let it go. His voice is high-pitched and warbly, not something you want to listen to for long anyhow.
    But then Nevin shifted to his elbows. He coughed once and said, “If you’re gonna sing it, lad, sing it correctly.”
    He lifted his neck. I could see his protruding Adam’s apple. He cleared his throat and sang.
    Hoist up the John B’s sails
    See how the main sail sets . . .
    Mrs. Laghari took the next line.
    Call for the captain ashore
    Let me go home . . .
    The rest of us began to mumble along.
    Let me go home,
    I want to go home,
    Well, I feel so broke up, I want to go home
    â€œIt’s break up,” Nevin interrupted. “Not broke up.”
    â€œIt’s broke up,” Yannis said.
    â€œNot in the original lyrics.”
    â€œHow do you feel so ‘break up’?” Lambert said.
    â€œBroke!” Mrs. Laghari declared. “Now do it again.”
    And we did. Three or four times.
    Let me go home, let me go home,
    I want to go home, yeah,