Snowfall in the City

by Susan Wiggs

  Charlie’s face fell. “I’m letting him go, then.”

  “Okay. That’s a good decision. Now, I need to give Darcy a surf lesson—”

  “Dad.”

  Logan turned to Darcy, but she was gone. Concern shot through him. Maybe she’d been swamped by a wave, caught in a riptide. He shaded his eyes to check the lifeguard station.

  “Dad—”

  “Not now, Charlie.” Logan’s voice was sharp with command. “I need to find Darcy.”

  “But—”

  “Not another word.”

  At that, Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face the horizon. He pointed at something out on the water.

  Holy crap. Darcy was lying prone on her board, paddling out to the break—completely alone.

  Logan bolted into action, rushing through the surf and jumping on his board to paddle after her. She hadn’t even been here an hour. He’d be a lousy host if he drowned his guest.

  She had somehow managed to put a good bit of distance between them. She seemed like a strong paddler, using swift, deep strokes, the kind that would give her aching shoulders tonight. When a white wave barreled toward her, Logan called out a warning—having the board swept away could be scary and dangerous.

  She surprised him by sinking in front of the wave, then passing the board overhead and coming up on the other side.

  Okay, he thought, his worry easing. She knew a little something about how to get out to the surf. Still, he needed to catch up with her before she reached the green water. The waves were not exactly tame today. He paddled full speed but didn’t catch her, and the noise of the pounding surf made yelling pointless. She rode up one side of a mounted wave and down the other, disappearing into a trough.

  In the distance, a big roller took shape, gathering momentum.

  She stopped paddling and turned her board.

  No, oh, hell no.

  “Darcy!” he yelled, though he knew she couldn’t hear. “Wait up.” He whistled to get her attention, to no avail.

  He imagined the worst—she’d get battered by her surfboard, sucked out to sea, slammed under the force of the wave—and he felt responsible, letting her head blithely out into the open surf alone. “Damn it,” he said, paddling furiously in the direction he’d last seen her.

  Then a movement flickered in the rise of the wave, and he stopped dead, bobbing on his board. His mouth dropped open as she went surfing past, giving him the cowabunga sign, a grin of delight on her face, her killer body, slick with salt water, flashing past, her hair streaming out behind from the speed, Botticelli’s Venus made flesh.

  Logan stared like an idiot, mesmerized as she surfed up and down the tube, expertly carving turns, her feet seemingly glued to the board. She rode as if the water were a mountain of glass instead of an undulating tube, skimming one hand into the surface for more control. She flashed momentarily behind and then rose on the other side. At last, the white water caught up with her and she dove headfirst into the surf.

  He still couldn’t move, riveted by the performance. It had been a long time, way too long, since a woman had taken him by surprise.

  Too late, he saw an enormous wave rolling straight at him. Though he bailed over the side of his board, the force of the wave slapped him to the bottom of the ocean.

  * * *

  “This,” Logan said, “is what is known as a post-feast stupor.” He was slumped on the sofa in his mother’s designer living room, his feet propped on her designer coffee table. A football game—the third of the day—was playing on the TV, the crowd noise a low murmur punctuated by cheering. In the next room, Charlie was playing Parcheesi with his cousins. Inez, the housekeeper, was in the kitchen with his sisters, storing away the leftovers and cleaning up after the big meal.

  Darcy, equally slumped, turned to him. “You mean you don’t want to go surfing again?”

  He chuckled, the picture of her surfing like a goddess playing over and over again in his mind. “What, you don’t think you schooled me already?”

  “I wasn’t trying to school you. I just love to surf and don’t get to do it often enough.”

  “Where did you learn to surf like that?”

  “Long Island. I was a lifeguard at Cupsogue Beach all through high school. Then in college, I did a study year abroad in Australia, just a bus ride away from Bondi Beach.”

  “Very cool.” Logan had always sensed a special kind of sexiness in athletic girls. There was something about their confidence that appealed to him. And Darcy had it in spades.

  “What about you?” she asked. “You looked pretty good out there yourself.”

  “I’m surprised I never ran into you at Cupsogue,” he confessed. “It was one of my favorite places to go when I was shirking chores in the summer.”

  “I probably blew the whistle at you when you were a skinny kid getting too close to the jetty,” she said.

  She was the same age as his older sister, he thought. Four years older than him. “You should have said hi,” he pointed out.

  “Maybe I did. Or maybe we weren’t meant to meet until now.”

  For some reason, he liked the idea that they’d been circling closer and closer, unaware of each other until now. He’d never felt quite so comfortable around a woman before. She was just easy to be with. And now that he had the indelible image of her in his head—yellow bikini, board glued to her feet, long hair streaming—she was more interesting than ever.

  The brothers-in-law perked up when there was a big play in the game. Al pounded his beer bottle on a side table. “Damn, that’s sweet,” he said. “I always thought you should have gone out for football in high school, son.”

  Logan chuckled, though he wasn’t amused. “As I recall, I stayed so busy with soccer there wasn’t time for anything else.”

  “You make time for what’s important to you,” said Al.

  Logan was determined not to rise to the bait. “Right now I’d like to make time for Mom’s pumpkin pie.”

  “Ah, sounds fantastic,” said Bilski.

  “I’ll go start hovering in the kitchen,” said Ethan, the other brother-in-law, rising from the sofa with a groan.

  “How about you?” Logan asked Darcy. “Pumpkin pie, or pecan?”

  “Pumpkin all the way.”

  “Hey, I heard a rumor of pie,” said Logan’s niece, Bernie. The rest of the nieces and nephews, along with Charlie, came charging into the room.

  “I have a secret weapon,” said Inez as Ethan wheeled out the dessert cart. “I put whipped cream on top and sprinkle it with chopped maple glazed pecans.”

  “I can’t make up my mind,” Charlie said.

  “Inez, you’re killing me,” said Logan.

  “You’re awesome,” said Charlie, wedging himself on the sofa between Logan and Darcy.

  Thanks, pal, thought Logan. Thanks a hell of a lot.

  “Arigato,” Charlie added.

  “He knows lots of words in Japanese,” said Fisher.

  “Yeah,” said Goose. “Charlie speaks Japanese now.”

  “Are you getting excited about moving to Japan?” Bilski asked him.

  “It’s gonna be pretty rad.” Charlie shoveled in a big bite of pie.

  “What are you looking forward to the most?” asked China. She was a teacher, adept at getting kids to talk.

  “Dunno,” Charlie said. “I’m not there yet. My Japanese teacher said I’m gonna like the food and the culture. What’s culture, anyway?”

  “It’s everything,” said Bernie. “Duh. Mom, when can we go to Japan to visit Charlie?”

  “We can’t,” said her older sister, Nan. “He lives with his other family there, and they’re the enemy.”

  “Are not,” Charlie snapped.

  “He’s right,” said China. “They are not the enemy. Where in the world did you get
that idea?”

  “After people split up, they’re enemies,” said Nan, with firm authority.

  “That’s just silly. Tell Charlie you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Sometimes I feel the same way,” Charlie admitted, mumbling past another bite of pie.

  Logan lost his appetite. He ached for the kid. Was there any way to protect him from feeling torn loyalties? Any way to protect him from the life Logan and Daisy had given him? He hadn’t asked to be born to two people who weren’t meant to be together. All he wanted was to be part of a family, a regular kid. But Logan wasn’t sure it was his job to make the kid feel okay about moving halfway around the globe.

  “Hey,” he said, “you’re in Florida, you stood up on a surfboard today, you had an epic Thanksgiving dinner and pumpkin pie. So life is good.”

  “Yeah.” Charlie nodded agreeably enough.

  “We have a lot,” said Logan. “A lot to be thankful for.”

  “Yep.”

  “Friends and family,” China said.

  “Full bellies and Florida sunshine,” Marion added.

  “And pie that makes me forget the whole world,” Darcy said. “Marion, I really appreciate being here with you guys.”

  “I wish you could stay longer,” said Logan’s mother.

  Logan checked his watch. “That reminds me. My shift is about to start.”

  “How’s that? Are we eating in shifts now?” asked Bilski.

  “Charlie and I are going to help serve dinner at Ryder House. It’s a place for kids who aren’t with their families.”

  “Are they orphans?” asked Bernie.

  “Some of them, yes. And some are just there temporarily. They come from lots of different circumstances.”

  “Can I come?” Bernie asked.

  “If you want to help,” he said, looking around the room. “Anyone else?”

  “I’ll join you,” Darcy said. “I need to find a way out of this food-induced trance.”

  * * *

  The SUV was full, with Charlie and three of his cousins buckled in the backseat and Darcy in the front. The cargo area was loaded with boxed pies Logan had ordered the day before from the Sky High Pie Company, his contribution to the community feast. The afternoon light of South Florida gilded the neighborhood in a dreamy sheen, but as they left Paradise Cove behind, the scenery shed its charm, like the sad aftermath of a parade.

  In the backseat, Nan led everyone in a chorus of “Over the River.” There were no rivers in sight, no white and drifting snow, just a depressing series of strip centers that all looked virtually the same—nail salons, pawnshops, coin laundries, payday loan outfits.

  The Ryder Center was surrounded by chain-link fencing. Although the welcome sign proclaimed it “A Place For Hope,” an air of despair hung like Spanish moss from the trees. This was where people brought children they no longer wanted or couldn’t care for. The social workers and volunteers were passionate and committed, but sometimes there just wasn’t any substitute for family.

  “Is this a regular commitment for you?” asked Darcy.

  “Yep. I’ve been bringing Charlie here to help out ever since he was old enough to serve a wedge of pie.”

  “That’s nice,” she said.

  “Is it?” He pulled in by a small fleet of vans with the Ryder logo on the side, a silhouette of a candle cupped in two hands. “I always find myself wishing I could do more.”

  “There’s always more to do,” she murmured.

  “I feel sorry for the kids who live here,” said Bernie. “I’m kind of bashful about meeting them.”

  “Kids are kids,” said Logan, opening the back of the SUV. “There’s usually a pretty good party going on here.”

  Everyone helped carry the boxed pies to the serving area. The feasting had been going on all day, with a rotating series of kids and volunteers. Some of the children were long-term residents of Ryder House, while others came for the day. People were gathered around tables decorated with flower arrangements, crepe paper turkeys, cornucopia and candles. The buffet line moved slowly along a sideboard laden with a feast with all the trimmings. At one end of the room, a bluegrass ensemble played background music.

  “Ready to help out?” Logan asked, handing out aprons to Charlie, the nieces and nephews. “We’re on the pie detail.”

  “Okay.” Like his cousin Bernie, Charlie seemed timid around the other kids, though eager to help out. They went to the dessert table and got to work, carefully placing small slices of pie on white china plates and setting them out for people to eat.

  There were smiles and subdued thank-yous, although an air of melancholy pervaded the atmosphere. Some of the older kids seemed chastened by the understanding that they were receiving charity. Logan served a slice of berry pie to a boy who looked to be about Charlie’s age. His clothes were clean but worn, and he had a peculiar world-weariness that made him seem much older. He furtively took his dessert, mumbled a thank-you and shuffled away to a table.

  I will never complain again about my life, thought Logan.

  He noticed that Darcy wasn’t serving food, but had hunkered down in the play area, supervising a game of Jenga blocks. She seemed so vibrant, surrounded by kids, relaxed in their presence. It made him wonder about her comment last summer, when she’d claimed she was averse to children.

  She was something of a puzzle to him. An intriguing puzzle. A puzzle he found far more attractive than he should.

  Maybe it was deprivation, plain and simple. He hadn’t dated anyone this fall. In the first place, he hadn’t met anyone he wanted to date. In the second place, he’d been way too busy with Saddle Mountain. True to his word, he’d created an investor group and they’d acquired the ski area. The transfer was going smoothly, but it was a lot of work. All-consuming work. It left little time for a social life. He’d been working twelve-hour days, seven days a week, since signing the papers, and this holiday was his very first time off. The mountain was slated to open for skiing in a week. It kept him busy to the point of exhaustion. Yet the project fulfilled him in a way his insurance business never, ever had.

  The ensemble played some traditional tunes while some of the younger kids ran around, pretending to dance.

  “Time for the hokeypokey,” announced a guy on the microphone. “Come on, everybody, don’t be shy. Let’s bust a move!”

  Logan scanned the room, and noticed Darcy bearing down on him.

  “Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, apprehensive about the glint of mischief in her eyes.

  “You heard what the guy said,” she told him. “Don’t be a chicken.”

  “Yeah, Dad,” said Charlie. “Don’t be a chicken.”

  Resigned, Logan took off his apron and set it aside. “You’re coming, too, buddy.”

  “No way.” Charlie stuck out his chin. “No w-a-y.”

  Darcy was having none of it. She grabbed Charlie with one hand and Logan with the other. “Let’s go, boys.”

  Feeling all kinds of foolish, Logan joined the raucous circle and forced himself to do the hokey-freaking-pokey.

  Darcy was ridiculously into it, and in spite of himself, he couldn’t take his eyes off her when she did the “shake it all about” part. Damn.

  When Charlie saw his cousins and some of the older kids joining in, he got over his bashfulness and let himself go. Within minutes, he was in the center of the action, laughing and shaking, surrounded by children who seemed to forget, if only for a moment, that they were homeless, neglected, troubled, abused.

  Logan caught Darcy looking at him, and she laughed. “Now, that,” she said, indicating the mass of squirming, laughing kids, “is what it’s all about.”

  chapter seven

  Darcy got up early the day after Thanksgiving. The lovely guest room at Sea Breeze didn’t feel like the
real world to her. That, at any rate, was something to be thankful for. A quick check of her phone showed that she’d missed a few calls and text messages from her parents and sisters. She shrugged them off; she’d return their calls later, maybe from the airport.

  In some respects, being away from her family this Thanksgiving had been unexpectedly painful. She couldn’t help resenting Huntley for supplanting her at the Thanksgiving table. Even as she’d toasted and feasted with the O’Donnells, she’d caught herself thinking wistfully of her dad’s gentle humor, her mom’s perfectly seasoned stuffing, her sisters’ gossip and laughter. She missed their chatter and her parents’ banter, and the deep, elemental security of being part of a family. But having Huntley there would have put a damper on everything.

  The best way to keep from stumbling over the past was to move forward, she reminded herself. That was her whole rationale for braving the holiday travel crowds and coming to Florida in the first place. She got up and went to the window, opening the plantation shutters and looking out over the gardens.

  There was a unique sort of beauty in the tropical morning. The air was warm already, and according to the tide chart posted on the wall above the writing desk, the surf was going to be perfect. She slipped into her borrowed swimsuit, cover-up and flip-flops and headed down to the beach.

  In the morning quiet of the garden, Darcy woke her mouth up with a calamondin plucked straight from the tree, wincing at the taste of the bittersweet peel and tart center. Then she plucked a couple of oranges and tucked them in her bag.

  “Can’t stay away from the beach, can you?”

  She turned, already blushing. “Oh, hey, Logan.”

  “Hey yourself. You’re up early. It’s not even seven.”

  “I wanted to get a little more beach time in before I have to go. I have to get back to New York this evening.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Mind? Mind? “That’d be great,” she said.

  They walked in silence—a silence she found to be quite companionable. For no good reason, she felt very comfortable with Logan. He was easy to be with, easy to talk to. Easy on the eye, though she pretended to look around and not at him. The air was sweet with the smell of magnolias and the sea, and a light breeze brought with it eddies of warmth.