The kids don’t like it when we argue. I’m not convinced we argue any more than we ever did, but our arguments are now fueled by stresses of a new life on a small island named Faith, where we can’t hide them as well. Lorrie and I love each other and always have; we tell the kids the time to worry is when we quit arguing.

Valentine shows us a poster she has of the French nuclear testing in the Tuamotus—a poster of a mushroom cloud framed by ocean and atolls. She poorly masks her anger and tears as she displays the photo. All powers need an over-there to test stuff on. Washington has New Mexico, and just as folks in New Mexico don’t much care for being Washington’s over-there, folks in the Tuamotus don’t like being France’s over-there.

I recall a man I worked with years earlier who refused a sizeable Christmas bonus. “I always wanted a Cadillac,” he said, “but as soon as I get my Cadillac, the dream is gone. I just think the car can’t be as good as the dream.” People know when they leave the dock, the dream is gone.

A three-meter shark is about ten-feet long.