company you’re keeping?”
She cracked a small smile. “The company’s fine. I think I’m unusually tired tonight.”
“I suspect you were up all night worrying about me.”
It was true. She hadn’t been sure he’d survive. There were complications for those who’d nearly drowned. “But you made it through, and here you are.”
“Without a memory, or a name.”
“I suppose we should call you something.”
“Perhaps,” he said, but it was clear from his tone that he didn’t agree and wasn’t enthusiastic about being called by a name that was probably not his.
“We could try names out, see if anything resonates.”
He gave her a long, hard look that made her stomach do a funny little flip. “I’ll say names and you tell me if anything feels right,” she pressed on.
“Fine.”
“Matthew. Mark. Luke. John.”
“I’m fairly certain I’m not an apostle.”
Her lips twitched. “You know your Bible stories, then.”
“Yes, but I don’t like this approach. I want my own name, or no name.” He stabbed his fork into his dinner but made no attempt to eat. “Tell me about you,” he said, turning the tables. “Why are you here on what appears to be a deserted island?”
“Well, it’s not deserted—it’s an island that serves a scientific purpose, housing one of the five research stations for the International Volcano Foundation. My father is a professor, a volcanologist. We were supposed to be here for a year but it’s been almost eight.”
“Where is he now?”
“Hawaii.” She saw his expression and added, “He is a professor at the University of Hawaii. He juggles the teaching and the fieldwork. Right now he’s back in Honolulu, lecturing, but he’ll return end of the month, which is now just nine days away.”
“And he has left you alone here?”
She hesitated. “Does it seem strange to you?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders shifted. “It’s actually normal for me, and I don’t mind. I like the solitude. I’m not much of a people person. And the quiet allows me a chance to do my own work, because when Papa is here, it’s always about him.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died just before I turned five.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged again, uncomfortable with the sympathy. “I don’t remember her.”
“Would she approve of your lifestyle here?”
“She was a volcanologist like my father. They worked together for ten years, doing exactly what he’s doing now, but in Hawaii, so yes, I think she’d approve. Perhaps her only disappointment would be that I haven’t gone off to college or earned all the degrees that she did. I’ve been homeschooled my entire life, even with the university courses. My father says I’m more advanced than even his graduate students, but it’s not the same. I’ve never had to be in the real world or compete with others for work. I just work.”
“What is your field of study?”
“I’m a volcanologist, too, although personally I prefer the point where archaeology intersects with volcanology.”
“Vesuvius?”
She nodded. “Exactly. I’ve been lucky to work with my father on the volcanology of the southwestern sector of Vesuvius, where archaeological and historical data have allowed scientists to map the lava emitted in the last several thousand years. I’m fascinated by not just the lost civilizations, but the power of these volcanoes to reshape the landscape and rewrite the history of man.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you’ve missed anything by being homeschooled.”
She smiled faintly. “I haven’t been properly socialized—my father said as much. I’m not comfortable in cities and crowds. But fortunately, we don’t have that problem here.”
“Your mother was American, too?”
“French-Canadian, from Quebec. That’s how I ended up Josephine.” Her smile faded as she saw how his expression changed, his jaw tightening and lips compressing. “You will remember your name,” she said quietly. “It’s just going to be a matter of time.”
“You spoke to me in French, didn’t you?”
“I tried a number of languages. You responded in Italian, so I’ve stuck with Italian. Est-ce que tu parles français?”
“Oui.”
“And English?” she asked, switching languages again. “Do you understand me?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“How fluent are you?” she asked, continuing in English, testing him. “Is it difficult to follow me?”
“No. It doesn’t seem any different from Italian.”
He had almost no accent, his English was easy, his diction relaxed, making him sound American, not British. She suspected he’d been educated at one point in the United States. “Would you mind speaking English then?”
“No.”
“But should it give you a headache, or if it creates any stress—”
“No need to fuss over me. I’m fine.”
She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. He was a man used to having the final word. So who was he? And why did he, even now, ooze power?
“Tell me again about the people I was with on the yacht,” he said. “Tell me everything you know.”
“I will after you eat something.”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“That’s strange, because my memory seems to be fading, as well.”
He gave her a hard look. “I’m not amused.”
“Neither am I. You’ve been through a great deal, and we need to get you strong. And as I am your primary caregiver here—”
“I don’t like being coddled.”
“And I’m not known to coddle, so eat, and I’ll tell you everything. Don’t eat, and you can fret by yourself because I have things to do besides argue with you.”
His eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened, making a small muscle in his jaw pop. For a long moment he just looked at her, clearly not happy with the situation, but then he reached for the plate of chicken and took a bite, and then another, and did a pretty impressive job of devouring the rest. He lifted his head at one point and met her gaze. “This is good, by the way. Very good.”
“Thank you.”
“You made this?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I have a freezer, and I use the kiln outside for roasting the potatoes and baking. The rest I prepare on the stove.”
“A kiln?”
“It makes excellent flatbreads, and pizzas, too. I learned how to cook in a kiln when we lived in Peru. That was before here. I loved Peru. My father loved the stratovolcano.” She smiled faintly, remembering his excitement and obsession as Sabancaya roared to life, spewing ash and rumbling the mountain. If