Snowfall in the City

by Susan Wiggs

  “Worse. A motivational speaker, who happens to be the brother of my ex.”

  “And suddenly it all comes clear. You came to Florida to escape the dubious pleasures of the family Thanksgiving.”

  “Exactly. It’s so much easier to get along with other people’s families.”

  “Agreed. And can I just say, this dinner is going to be epic.” He slid the turkey into the oven. Then he looked around the kitchen and wiped his hands on a tea towel. “We’re finished for now. There’s nothing more to be done for about three hours. Let’s hit the beach.”

  He flashed that killer smile again. Oh, why did he have to have a killer smile?

  chapter six

  Working alongside Darcy Fitzgerald in the kitchen didn’t suck. Logan freely acknowledged that. He kind of liked talking to her. He kind of liked her, as much as or maybe more than he had last summer. This was surprising, because he rarely—make that never—felt even a spark of interest in a girl who came preapproved by his family.

  Yeah, he liked her, but she wasn’t his type. Life was simpler without the complication of a divorce survivor. And she didn’t even look like his type, particularly at the moment, in the floppy hat and shapeless robe. That layered-on style made her look like a human coat tree. Still, she had a fun personality and a cute smile. She was the type of girl to have as a friend, nothing more.

  “Time for the beach,” he said. “You’re going to love it.”

  “Lead on, Kemosabe.”

  He walked through the breezeway and held the back door for her. His folks’ place had all the perks—an infinity pool and lush gardens, a small grove of orange and calamondin trees, a tennis court, a golf course bordering one side of the yard and on the other side, a scenic path through a bird marsh leading to the beach.

  “Not too shabby,” she remarked, pausing to get a phone picture of a group of roosting flamingos.

  “We spend every Thanksgiving here. The setting is not exactly traditional, though.”

  “Traditions are overrated,” she said.

  “Yeah? Which ones?”

  “The ones that throw you together with people you don’t get along with and force you to pretend to have a good time.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Those are the traditions I’m talking about.”

  “Well, when you put it that way...”

  “Sorry.” A grin flashed beneath the wide brim of the hat. “Obviously my divorce did a number on me. I’ll get over it. I take it you got through yours.”

  “More or less intact. The hardest part is splitting Charlie’s time. Makes me mental.” He ground his back teeth, thinking about the past couple of months. “The worst part for me is that he’s moving with his mother and stepfather to Japan.”

  “Whoa, Japan?”

  “My ex’s husband is in the air force. They’re moving right after Christmas, and they’ll be away for three years.”

  “Sounds challenging.”

  “It’s totally screwed up, but I’m going to have to make it work. Charlie has been flying on his own back and forth between his mom and me for the past couple of years, so he’s an old hand at it.”

  Having to shuttle back and forth between parents had turned Charlie into an independent traveler. But the grin that lit his face each time he saw Logan was all little boy. The fact was, every time Logan saw his little boy walk through the arrivals door at the airport, with his backpack and roll-aboard in tow, travel documents in a packet around his neck, he nearly lost it. Yet for Charlie’s sake, he held himself together, told the kid he was proud of him. The Unaccompanied Minor guide could barely keep up with him as Charlie ran to fill his father’s arms. Logan never tired of feeling that rush of love and relief washing over him the moment they were reunited.

  “If he’s an old hand, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “But an overseas flight? I’m nervous as hell about how he’ll handle it.”

  “Is Charlie nervous?”

  “Good question.”

  “I bet he’ll surprise you. I was a great adventurer as a kid, always up for anything.”

  Logan found it easy to picture her as a kid, with pigtails and scraped knees. Then he thought about his son. “Charlie’s supercautious sometimes. Last summer, there was zip-lining at Camp Kioga, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Not even when every other kid went for it.”

  “I’m no expert, but I bet fear of the unknown is common in kids. Come to think of it, it’s common in adults, too.”

  “You’d love zip-lining,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  She smiled and ducked her head. Her smile did something funny to his insides. Then, as they reached the end of the path leading to the beach, she said, “Well, this is a great place to come home to. He’s a lucky kid.”

  “That’s a nice thing to say. I hope he feels lucky.”

  “Why wouldn’t he? Look where we are.” They stepped onto the sun-warmed sand together. He heard her catch her breath as she clapped a hand atop her head to keep her hat from sailing away in the breeze.

  “Amazing,” she said, surveying the expanse of brown-sugar sand. The area was bordered by private cabanas. Closer to the surf, the sand was dotted with umbrellas and family groups. Kids played in the waves, and barefoot couples strolled along together. “So this was your childhood playground? It’s fantastic here.”

  Their first stop would be at the O’Donnell cabana—yes, the O’Donnells had been homeowners at Paradise 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?”

  “Town & Country, 2002. My mother’s finest moment.”

  She laughed aloud, as if h
e 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 and advanced calculus.”

  “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.”

  “It’s a thruster,” said Logan. “Not a good choice if you’re a beginner.”

  She smiled. “I’ll give it a shot. I have pretty good balance.”

  Logan decided not to argue. She’d find out soon enough whether or not the board would work for her.

  “I’m ready,” said Bilski. He took a piece of wax from a tub and went to work on his board. After they’d covered their boards with a thick coat of wax, Logan gave the surf’s-up sign and waded out into the ocean with his favorite board, a thruster.

  He turned back to say something to Bilski, and all the words, along with all coherent thought, drained out of his head. Darcy Fitzgerald was the unexpected cause of his brain damage.

  At first he didn’t even realize it was her. Then he saw the big floppy hat and shades left by her beach bag. She’d taken off the big shapeless cover-up to reveal the hottest bikini bod he’d seen since...maybe ever. His sister’s charming but frumpy friend had suddenly turned into a goddess. He tried not to gawk, but damn. She might not be his type, but she sure as hell was built like his type.

  Oblivious of his stare, she bent over to strap the leash of the board around her ankle.

  “Oh, sweet mother Mary,” whispered Bilski. “Remind me I’m a married man.”

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Fisher’s shrill voice pierced the air. “I made you a wig out of seaweed. Come try it on.”

  “There’s your reminder,” said Logan, without taking his eyes off Darcy. She arched her back slightly and shook out her hair. Then in a graceful movement, she bent down again, displaying that perfect ass, and picked up the board. Logan tried not to groan aloud.

  This, he realized, was going to go well. Extremely well. He had been surfing these waters since he was a kid. He knew every wave, every break pattern. She was going to need help. He was the guy to coach her. He’d span his hands across her waist, feel those nice taut abs...

  As she approached him, amazing in the yellow bikini, he wondered if he should warn her about her top—or bottom—coming off in the waves.


  Naw.

  He lowered his board to conceal his excitement.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  “As I’ll ever be.” Her eyes sparkled as she regarded the waves.

  India bustled forward with a rash guard. “Put this on,” she said, holding out the shirt.

  Killjoy, thought Logan. But the rash guard was skintight, concealing nothing. “So, the best breaks are over there,” he said, pointing. “If you start in the white water, you’ll have fun. The green waves are amazing here, but you might want to work up to them.”

  “Dad! Check it out!” Charlie splashed toward him through the surf, kicking up a storm of water, spraying both Logan and Darcy. Charlie waved his sand pail. “I caught a mullet!”

  “Well, jeez, buddy,” Logan said, “you got us both soaked.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “You remember Darcy?”

  “Yeah, from summer. Hi.”

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  The kid stared, his mouth slightly open. He was ten years old, just starting to exhibit the signs of female-induced brain damage. He fumbled with the pail. “Want to see my mullet?”

  “How could I resist such an invitation?” She leaned over and peered into the bucket. It was all Logan could do to keep his eyes off her tits. “That’s pretty cool,” she said.

  “Yeah,” said Charlie. “So, Dad, can I keep him?”

  “A mullet? A freaking mullet?”

  “I mean, just to watch him, you know.”

  “You crack me up.” Logan tousled his son’s damp and salty head.

  “You crack me down.” Charlie grinned, the exchange a familiar one.

  Logan felt a wave of affection for the kid. Charlie wasn’t a little boy any longer. Gone were the round apple cheeks and high-pitched voice. In his place was a funny, smart, sometimes cheeky kid—one who was not immune to yellow bikinis.

  “Just don’t let it drown,” he said.

  “It’s a fish. It’s not gonna drown.”

  “When you keep a fish in a small amount of water, it runs out of oxygen and could suffocate.”