His distress pushes aside her burgeoning hysteria over the situation, and she knows she must say something. Whatever she thought of him in Jamaica, clearly over the decade things changed into something else. And so, with care, she reaches out to take one of his hands.

"I'm sorry, John. The fact that I made it at all to America is something I've got to wrap my mind around." Now she has questions for him, so much that she's desperate to know. But one thing at a time, she supposes.

"Are we—the three of us—living close?"

Jesus, how do they navigate this conversation?