name, he felt a subtle nudge of interest.
“Are you here to pick up a kid?” he asked her. “Which one belongs to you?”
“None, thank God,” she said with a shudder.
“Allergies?” Logan asked.
“Something like that.”
“Then you came to the wrong place.” He gestured around the dining hall, swarming with excited, hungry kids. To him, it was a vision of paradise. He liked kids. He liked big, loud, loving families. It was the tragedy of his life that he was restricted to summers and holidays with his only child.
“Except for one thing,” said Darcy, turning toward the dais where the band was setting up. “I’m a huge Jezebel fan.”
“You must be. We’re a long way from anywhere.”
She nodded. “I came along for the ride with India when she invited me to pick up her boys. Thought it would be nice to get out to the countryside for a weekend.”
“So you live in the city?” he asked.
“In SoHo. I didn’t have anything thing else going on this weekend. Yes, I’m that pathetic friend everybody feels sorry for, all alone and getting over a broken heart.” She spoke lightly, but he detected a serious note in her tone.
“Oh, sorry. About the broken heart. Glad to hear you’re getting over it.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It takes time. That’s what people keep telling me. I keep looking for distractions. But hearts are funny that way. They don’t let you lie, even to yourself.”
“Not for long, anyway. Anything I can do to help?” He instantly regretted the offer. He had no idea what to do about someone else’s broken heart.
“I’ll spare you the details.”
She scanned the big, noisy room. “Where can a girl get a drink around here?”
“It’s not that kind of party.”
“Oops. Of course.” She set down her bag and peeled off her jacket. Underneath, she wore a shapeless T- shirt commemorating Jezebel in Madison Square Garden. “I guess we’d better have a seat,” she said, glancing around. “Looks like India found a table.” His nephews, along with Charlie and Andre, had already visited the buffet and were chowing down.
“Right this way,” he said, unconsciously touching the small of her back as he steered her through the dining hall.
She glanced up at him, and he noticed something in her stare. Startlement? Recognition? And he noticed something in himself. Attraction? No, couldn’t be. She was not his type. Like Paige, she was the type his family would want him to date, only unlike Paige, she wasn’t girl-next-door cute. She was...funny and ironic, and she spoke with a boarding school accent that somehow didn’t sound affected. He had no idea why he would suddenly find this interesting.
They went through the buffet line on opposite sides of the long table. “This doesn’t look like the camp food we had when I was a kid,” she said.
“Where’d you go to camp?”
“Walden, in Maine.”
Further evidence that she was the “right” sort of girl, in his parents’ eyes. But Logan told himself not to let that prejudice him. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “How about we—”
“Hey, Dad!” Charlie piped up, motioning him over to the table. “Check it out. I’m Mr. Potato Head.”
Charlie had decked himself out at the salad bar, with rings of green pepper for eyeglasses, a cherry tomato nose, carrot sticks for vampire teeth.
“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Logan said. “And so appetizing.” He turned to Darcy as she set her plate down at an empty place. “My son, Charlie, the boy genius. Charlie, this is Darcy.”
“Nice to meet you.” With the firm, direct manner Logan had drilled into him, Charlie made eye contact and stuck out his hand. The effect was ruined by the stickiness of his hand.
Logan felt Darcy stiffen as she briefly took the grubby little hand. “Hiya, Charlie,” she said. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Andre,” said Charlie. “He’s got a frog in his pocket, so watch out.”
“You weren’t supposed to tell,” Andre said, though he was clearly proud of his find.
“Andre and Charlie have been buddies this summer,” Logan told Darcy.
“BFFs,” Charlie said. “We made a blood oath.”
“Not with real blood,” Andre said. “With ketchup.”
“Sounds tasty.” Darcy discreetly wiped her hands with a napkin. “So, are your parents here, Andre?”
“My mom’s coming up tomorrow. I wish I didn’t have to go back to the city.”
Andre’s mother, Maya, worked as a nanny in Manhattan. Andre claimed she spent more time with her employer’s kids than she did with her own.
Logan could relate to the situation from a different perspective. He’d been the employer’s kid, once upon a time. His parents, busy with work and social obligations, had been distant yet powerful figures in his world, a dynamic he was determined
“They look like a great pair,” Darcy said, watching Andre and Charlie fencing with their forks.
He nodded. “They’re going to miss each other after this summer. Last night I signed them both up for a Skype account so they can talk to each other on the phone.”
“That’s nice.”
“I’m nice. Didn’t my sister tell you?”
“She didn’t need to. You just did. Seriously, that’s a kind thing to do.”
During the banquet, the speeches were mercifully brief. Olivia and Connor Davis, who managed Camp Kioga, gave a quick welcome before handing the mic to Sonnet Alger. Sparkling with enthusiasm, Sonnet welcomed the families and friends of the campers.
Sonnet was Charlie’s aunt by marriage, stepsister to Charlie’s mom, Daisy. Right out of college, she’d been an intense, driven young woman, fierce in her quest for career success. But it was only recently, now that she was a newlywed making a life with her husband, Zach, that she seemed truly happy. She glowed with that inner light of joy of a woman in love. And Zach was watching from the wings, camera in hand, regarding her with a goofy, smitten expression.
Logan was happy for them. The pair hadn’t had an easy road. Logan knew that. Maybe this was how love worked; it had to be tested and proved, over and over again. There had been a time when Logan thought he knew what true love was. Then he looked at couples like Sonnet and Zach Alger, and realized he didn’t know shit. It was nice, seeing the two of them so happy together, but at the same time, it accentuated the giant, hollowed-out ache Logan felt in his own life.
Jezebel performed some of her hit songs, PG-rated ones. The kids and even some of the parents went nuts, clapping and stomping. During a particularly angry rendition of “Put Back the Things You Stole,” he glanced at Darcy, who had stopped eating to simply stare in admiration.
Logan found himself wishing he wasn’t so intrigued by her. She seemed complicated, and he wasn’t so good with complicated women.
After the music, everyone went outside for a bonfire on the beach. “Our last night here,” Sonnet told the group. “We hope you’ll carry a bit of Camp Kioga home with you—the beautiful places you’ve seen, the new skills you’ve learned, the adventures you’ve had. Right now I have a little assignment.”
Groans erupted, but she ignored them. “It’s simple. I want you each to take one of these envelopes and write yourself a Christmas card.”
“A Christmas card? In summer?”
“To yourself.” She passed around a container of pens. “Put your home address on the envelope. Quit looking at me like that. As least this way, you know you’ll get one card this year. I’m going to collect them all and mail them the week before Christmas. On the card, I want you to write a Christmas wish. Keep it to yourself. This is just for you. Friends and parents, you can do the same thing.”
