Cove for so long that they had their own cabana, something available only to longtime residents. It bore the traditional canvas stripes and the interior was roomy, like an old-fashioned salon with potted tropical plants and a ceiling fan, upholstered chaises and a small fridge stocked with drinks. On the side, the surfboards were lined up according to size.
In the distance, Charlie and his cousins were boogie-boarding in the waves. “Charlie’s the one in the red trunks,” he said, pointing him out to Darcy.
“I remember him from last summer.”
“Dad!” yelled Charlie. “Yo, Dad!” He jumped up and down, waved his board and rushed into the surf, his cousins surrounding him.
“Looks like he’s having a great time.”
Logan nodded. Charlie moved with a lithe athleticism that reminded Logan he wasn’t a little boy anymore. Every time he saw his son after an absence of any length, he marveled at how much his boy had grown and changed. Not just the inches and pounds, but the attitude, as well. Thanks to the Japanese lessons he’d been taking, he had the rudiments of a new language, a taste for seaweedy snacks and real ramen. He’d told Logan he was excited about living overseas, taking train rides and field trips to pagodas and temples. It’s lucky, Logan told himself, his mantra these days. There were perks for Charlie in having two separate families. The chance to experience life in a foreign country with his mom. The chance to go surfing at Thanksgiving with his dad.
Still, the custody arrangement frustrated the hell out of Logan. Even just a couple of months made a difference. Charlie’s haircut was different. He wore clothes Logan had never seen.
“He’s getting to see the world,” Logan said to Darcy. “It’s hard, though, feeling like I’m missing out on my son’s life.”
“You’re not missing out now,” she said. “He’s right here, and he’s having the time of his life.”
“Good point. Let’s go over and say hi to everyone.” Around the cabana, his parents, sisters and brothers-in- law were arranged on chaises and canvas sling beach chairs, drinks in hand.
“They look like a fashion layout in a travel magazine,” remarked Darcy.
“Yeah? They were, once,” he said. “We were.”
“Really?”
“
She laughed aloud, as if he was joking. He wasn’t joking. Appearing in the pages of a glossy lifestyles magazine had been a peak experience for Marion O’Donnell. More than anything, his parents valued appearances. They wanted the world to see them as the best at everything—a success in business, driving the best cars, sending their kids to the best schools, the unequaled best at being a family.
To this day, they had no idea how much pressure that put on a kid.
Logan was a grown-up now. He was past all that and he’d never point the finger of blame. But sometimes he admitted there were several unexamined reasons he’d been so screwed up.
“Did that mess with your head?” Darcy asked. “Having to look like a magazine family all the time?”
She was reading his mind. “Hell yeah, it did.”
“Why do parents do that?”
“Not sure. I’m trying my best not to repeat the pattern with my own kid.” He paused and regarded Charlie, who had abandoned his boogie board and was now staggering around with a red plastic bucket on his head. “I don’t think my kid struggles with perfectionism.”
“Good for you. And him.”
“Come on. Let’s let everyone know you’re here and then go for a swim. Er, do you like swimming?”
She lit up with a smile. “Yes, I do. I do indeed.”
He wasn’t sure why she found that funny. “Hey,” he called out, approaching the cabana, “Look who I found skulking around the house.”
India squealed and jumped up to hug Darcy. Yes, his sister was a squealer. And it didn’t seem to matter how old she got, she squealed whenever she was excited. “You made it! I’m so glad.”
To his relief, Darcy did not squeal back. “Thanks for having me,” she said, addressing Logan’s folks. “Your place is beautiful. I really appreciate being here.”
“We’re so pleased you could come.” His mother’s smile was a beacon of welcome. She clearly approved of Darcy Fitzgerald, Logan could tell. He always knew when his mom was merely being polite or when she was genuinely pleased. Darcy was the type his mother liked—a girl from a “good” family, whatever that meant— educated, classy. A girl most likely to turn into a woman like Marion O’Donnell.
Logan sometimes took a perverse pleasure in bringing home women who didn’t exactly fit the O’Donnell mold. He’d had one girlfriend with more piercings than a pincushion, and purple hair to boot. Another was multiethnic, with rainbow hair and tribal tattoos, and the most recent was a performance artist who worked in edible paints. He had loved each one, but ultimately, one or the other pulled back. Something wasn’t right or didn’t match up; somehow their hearts just weren’t in sync.
At the moment, there was no one.
It was not for lack of trying. God knew, he loved women. He loved the companionship, the rush of emotion, the sex. He wanted to be in love. Through the years, he’d watched his friends pairing up, moving in together, moving on... And sometimes in the deepest, quietest part of the night, he felt a gaping hollow of loneliness. He tried not to want more than he had—good friends and family, and above all, Charlie.
Still, the biggest lesson he’d learned from being a dad was that he was a family man, through and through. It felt like a special kind of hell sometimes, going it alone, because he wanted to commit himself fully to someone. He wanted a family. More kids, for sure—brothers and sisters for Charlie.
His life wasn’t stacking up that way, though. He met women, he dated them, hit it off with them, got laid. And it was fun enough. For a while. Then it would hit him that the fun had gone away, they weren’t making each other happy the way he longed to be happy. He’d wake up in the night and realize it wasn’t the girlfriend he wanted, but what he thought she could give him.
While Logan was silently bemoaning the barren state of his love life, Darcy was engulfed in greetings. His dad was already fixing her a “morning Mojito,” his specialty, made with twenty-three-year-old Cuban rum, an indulgence supplied illegally by one of his shipping clients.
True, she didn’t look like his type, but when she let loose with her easy laugh or dug her bare feet into the warm sand, Logan couldn’t take his eyes off her. Whatever it was—loneliness or horniness—it made Darcy Fitzgerald look like a roast turkey leg to him. And he was one hungry pilgrim.
“A toast,” said Al O’Donnell. “Welcome to Sea Breeze.”
“Thank you.” She took a tiny sip of her drink. “I’m thinking of becoming a professional mooch. Al, this is delicious. I didn’t think I liked rum.”
Logan’s dad beamed. “You’ve been drinking the wrong kind of rum, then.” Al O’Donnell loved treating worthy people to fine things.
“I’m going to have to pace myself if you’re starting the party this early in the day,” said Darcy.
“Thanksgiving is all about overindulging,” Marion assured her.
“My parents party harder than we ever did,” India said.
“Aunt India says she wouldn’t have made it through college without you,” said Bernie, Logan’s know-it-all niece.
Darcy set her drink on a table. “She’s exaggerating.”
“Am not,” said India. “You coaxed and tutored me through comparative lit
“You didn’t tell me you were a brainiac,” Logan said.
“You didn’t ask. And if you had, I would have denied it.”
“Surf’s up,” said Logan. “Want to try surfing? Who’s up for a ride?”
“I’ll join you,” said his brother-in-law Bilski. China’s husband was a classic guy’s guy. He and Logan were buddies.
“So will I,” said Darcy.
Logan was startled at her readiness to try it. “Okay. India’s board would probably work for you. It’s nice and big, for stability.”
She nodded, but picked up a small, nimble short board. “This will do.”
