"I can do soup," he said, and she thought she detected a trace of knowing humor in his tone.

She waited until she heard his footsteps on the stairs. Her skin was prune-wrinkled and pink, but she shivered when she stepped out of the tub. She rubbed herself down with one of her mother's big, soft towels. Like the rest of the house, the bathroom was tasteful, understated and comfortable. It bore little resemblance to the series of functional apartments and houses her parents had rented when she and Sig were growing up.

Riley could remember when her mother had shared Emile's excitement and vision for their work, for the center. His growing fame and the pressures of his single-mindedness--her husband's single-mindedness, her own--had put a subtle, ever-present strain on everyone.

Relationships weren't easy even when you had everything in common, Riley thought, sprinkling herself with powder. She and Straker didn't have anything in common, and whatever was going on between them, it could hardly be called a relationship. Just because she couldn't stop thinking about him in the most basic, physical ways didn't mean a thing. He was a rough, competent, utterly masculine man, and what she was feeling was. simple biology.

So why was she sorry she'd sicced Armistead on him? Why did she want to hear him laugh?

Don't even think it, she warned herself, and quickly pulled on her clothes.

Her mother had a bowl of steaming, homemade bean soup on the kitchen table.

"John's back talking to Sig," she said.

"He doesn't seem as... unbalanced as I expected."

"He believes in Emile."

Her mother looked pained.

"So do I, Riley."

"I didn't mean it that way." She sat in front of the soup, wished she could stop her mother from being so defensive.

"Straker considers himself Emile's friend, but that doesn't mean he thinks Emile couldn't have" -She stopped abruptly. Couldn't have killed your ex-lover.

"It doesn't make any difference to him if Emile's done something or not."

"John's always had his own way of looking at things." Her mother attempted a small smile, twisted her hands together as she paced in her homey kitchen.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to put you on the spot.

I'm not proud of myself. For Sam, for not telling you when I found out it was his body you'd found. "

"You don't owe me an apology or an explanation." Riley tried the soup, but she'd lost her appetite.

Mara leaned against the counter and shut her eyes, her regret, her pain, evident. Her father was missing; Sam Cassain was dead.

"I hadn't seen Sam in ages, not even after the Encounter went down. I didn't want to see him."

"Why did he stop by?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know, just to say hello, he said. He seemed content, almost smug. I think..." She chose her next words carefully.

"I think our affair was a coup for him. I was a scientist, Emile Labreque's daughter, Richard St. Joe's wife--your mother. I saw that last week, and frankly, I didn't like it. I didn't like him. I didn't like myself."

Riley wanted to crawl under the table. This sort of introspective, heart-to-heart talk with her mother made her squirm. She tried more of her soup, but her stomach rebelled.

"Sam Cassain was a selfish, greedy man," her mother continued. "His needs always came first, and he wasn't afraid to ask for what he wanted. I guess I needed that in my life at one time."

"Mom, I'm not judging you" -- "No." Her smile reached her eyes.

"Of course you're not. It's long, long over. I love your father. We worked things out. That's all that matters."

Riley nodded.

"I guess I'm as thick-headed as Emile. I never suspected a thing. You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I plan to head up to Schoodic, stay at Emile's" -Her mother winced.

"I wished you wouldn't."

"I'll be okay. I can't just sit back, I have to do something. If I can find Emile" -- "You think it'll make a difference?" Mara asked.

Riley ignored the trace of bitterness in her mother's voice.

"I'll be careful," she said.

"I'll go on back and say goodbye to Sig, see what Straker's up to."

"You know where I am if you need me."

When Riley ducked onto the back porch, she found her sister standing next to a packed overnight bag. Straker was nowhere in sight.

"Straker left," Sig said.

"He told me to tell you he needs room to maneuver and you should go find some whales and dolphins to save."

Riley groaned.

"I hate him. I've hated him since I was six years old."

"You're so full of it. You know, he's better looking than I remembered. And sexy. My God, don't tell me you haven't noticed. I know it's not just my raging hormones. Well." She slipped a shawl over her shoulders, further concealing her pregnancy.

"I've decided to help you look for Emile."

"What? Sig, you're pregnant. You can't."

"I'm not helpless. And Emile's my grandfather, too."

Riley frowned at her sister and searched her face for clues to her real motives. Sig loved Emile. There was no question of that. But that wasn't why she'd packed up. Sig had always had a laissez-faire attitude toward their grandfather. She wasn't one to meddle in his decisions and actions, whether he was filming a documentary on whales or having his reputation ripped to shreds by tragedy and reckless accusations. Her policy, from as long as Riley could remember, was to stay out of it.

"It's Matt," Riley said.

"Isn't it?"

Sig made a face. "No wonder Straker snuck off on you. He told me you're a pain in the ass, and you are."

"Sig, you don't think Matt had anything to do with Sam's death, do you?"

But her sister went pale, mumbled, "I don't know," and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. She leveled her dark eyes on Riley.

"For my sake, and the sake of my babies, I have to find out. He's in this thing up to his eyeballs, Riley. I just don't know how or why or where it's all going to end."

"Oh, Sig," Riley said.

"Does Mom know you're going?"

"I packed while you were in the tub. She's opposed, but she knows she can't stop me. That's why she's not seeing us off. I'm thirty-four years old. I know what I have to do." She set her jaw.

"If I don't go with you, Riley, I go alone. It's that simple. Your choice."

"Like that's any choice. All right, but here's the deal. The second I think you're pushing it, I'm hauling you back here or straight to a hospital. I won't have you endanger your health on my watch."

Sig sniffed.

"I'm not on your watch. I'm on my own watch. And I have been for some time." She attempted an encouraging smile.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Good, because I sure as hell don't."

"That's another quarter for my mason jar." She yawned, not exactly looking up to traipsing after her seventy-six-year-old grandfather.

"I'm thinking of exempting hells and damns. What do you think?"

Riley laughed.

"I think Straker'd be happy he didn't stick around.

This whole family's nuts. "

Nine ^ ^1 hey stopped for lobster rolls and wild-blueberry pie and made it to Emile's before Riley had to stop a third time for Sig, who constantly sipped water, to go to the bathroom.

"You're going to be impossible in your third trimester," Riley told her.

"I hope so. I hate suffering in silence." The air was cool and still, the tide out, the last of the dark clouds pushing east and exposing a starlit sky. Riley breathed in, feeling herself relax. She could smell the ocean, spruce, pine, and for an instant, she was carefree and six again.

"We should build a bonfire and toast marshmallows," Sig said beside her, obviously sharing her mood.

"Maybe Emile would smell them, wherever he is, and come to his senses."

"Do you think he's out here somewhere?"

"I don't know. I gave up a long time ago trying to figure out how he thinks."

Riley unlocked the door to their grandfather's cabin, and they carried their gear inside. The place seemed empty, almost uninhabited. She turned on lights and built a fire in the woodstove while Sig, looking more exhausted than she'd ever admit, flopped onto the couch.

"You still believe he can do no wrong, don't you?"

"You mean Emile."

"Of course I mean Emile."

Riley opened the dampers on the stove, struck a match and set her kindling ablaze. She watched the flames, remembered the orange glow of Sam's house last night, the crush of fire lighters and police and onlookers, and Matt Granger there at the edges of the crowd. Her brother-in-law. Sig's husband. Riley hadn't told her sister about seeing him at Sam's, about her encounter with him earlier that afternoon. It was obvious Sig wasn't here because of Emile. She was here because of Matt.

"I was nearly killed last year." A skinny piece of kindling caught fire, blackened and smoked as the flames ate it up. Riley kept her back to her sister. If she didn't, she was afraid Sig would guess she was hiding something.

"Those hours in the submersible with Emile will haunt me to my dying days. We were hot, couldn't breathe. We were so sure we were going to die."

"Even Emile?"

"I think he already knew Bennett was dead--I think he thought we'd all be lost. Everyone aboard the Encounter. He never said. He's so stoic.

His only concern was me, what had happened to the crew. He didn't care about the ship, his mission, his research. "

She sighed.

"We were cut off from Sam and the crew. We wanted to believe they got into the life boats, but the fire and flooding were so horrific, we just didn't know."

"Sam always struck me as self-serving, but you have to admit he never benefited from accusing Emile. His own career went down the tubes this past year."

But Riley was back in the submersible, hot, gasping for air.

"I didn't panic." Sig seemed to know what she was talking about.

"Maybe it was shock, I don't know. Emile never said a word about how he thought the ship caught fire."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me," Sig said.

"If you're about to suffocate or drop to the bottom of the ocean, what difference does it make who did what?" "I suppose. Still, when the Coast Guard picked us up and Sam started flinging accusations, Emile never defended himself. I don't know if he blamed himself out of a sense of honor because the Encounter was his ship, or if he really believed he'd cut safety corners--or if he just didn't want to credit Sam's accusations with a response."

Riley shut her eyes. She thought she'd had all this worked out. That she'd done all her post-trauma work and she would never again feel this crawling sense of panic. Her narrow escape in the submersible, she realized, would be with her forever.

"Riley? Look, if this is too hard for you to talk about" -- "It's not.

I'm fine." She took a breath, held it, let it out slowly; she couldn't lose control when Sig had so much more at stake. Twins, a faltering marriage.

"The question is, do I believe Sam's version of what happened to the Encounter? Do I believe Emile's arrogance and obsession with his work caused it to go down? The engine should have shut off. If the automatic safety features weren't working properly, if there'd been a crewman posted..." She turned, faced her sister.

"I don't want to blame Emile, but the truth is, I don't know what happened to the Encounter."

Sig frowned, stretched out on the couch, her shoes off.