Lakeshore Chronicles [10] Candlelight Christmas

by Susan Wiggs

  “Good point.” Logan saluted her and jumped off, crossing back to the platform on the other side, where Charlie waited. The zipping sound of the pulley and cable sang in his ears. Damn, this never got old.

  “Just like Spider-Man,” he said as he came in for a landing. “I swear, it’s the coolest thing ever.”

  Charlie shuffled across the wooden planks of the platform. Logan reached for the clips to attach him to the pulley. “That’s gonna be one small step for Charlie,” he intoned, “one giant leap for—”

  “Dad, hang on a second,” Charlie said, shrinking back. “I changed my mind again.”

  Logan studied his son’s posture: the hunched shoulders, the knees that were literally shaking. “Seriously?”

  “Unhook me.” Beneath the helmet, Charlie’s face was pale, his green eyes haunted and wide.

  “It’s okay to change your mind,” Logan said, “but I don’t want you to have any regrets. Remember, we talked about regrets.”

  “When you have a chance to do something and then you don’t do it and later on you wish you had,” Charlie muttered.

  Which pretty much summed up Logan’s assessment of his marriage. “Yep,” he said. “At the farewell dinner tonight, are you going to wish you’d done the zip line?”

  Logan unhitched himself. Charlie studied the cables and pulleys with a look of yearning on his face. Okay, Logan admitted to himself, it bugged him that Charlie had conquered the jump off the dock with his mom, but Logan couldn’t get him to push past his fear of the zip line. He had a flashing urge to grab the kid, strap him in and shove him off the platform, just to get him past his hesitation.

  Then he remembered his own pushy father: get in there and fight. Don’t be a chickenshit. Al O’Donnell had been a blustering, bossy, demanding dad. Logan had grown up resenting the hell out of him in a tense relationship that even now was full of turmoil.

  The moment Charlie was born, Logan had made a vow. He would never be that dad.

  “All right, buddy,” he said, forcing cheerfulness into his tone. “Maybe another time. Let’s climb down together.”

  * * *

  The final dinner of summer at Camp Kioga was served banquet-style in the massive dining hall of the main pavilion. There was a spaghetti feed with all the trimmings—garlic bread, a salad bar, watermelon, ice cream. Awards would be given, songs sung, jokes told, tributes offered and farewells spoken.

  The families of the campers were invited to the event. Parents arrived, eager to reunite with their kids and hear about their summer.

  A sense of tradition hung like the painted paddles and colorful woven blankets on the walls. The old Catskills camp had been in operation since the 1920s. People as far back as Logan’s grandparents remembered with nostalgia the childhood summers they’d spent in the draughty timber-and-stone cabins, swimming in the clear, cold waters of Willow Lake, boating in the summer sun each day, sitting around the campfire and telling stories at night. In a hundred years, the traditions had scarcely changed.

  But the kids had. Back in the era of the Great Camps, places like Camp Kioga had been a playground for the ultrawealthy—Vanderbilts, Asters, Roosevelts. These days, the campers were a more diverse bunch. This summer’s group included kids of Hollywood power brokers and Manhattan tycoons, recording artists and star athletes, alongside kids from the projects of the inner city and downriver industrial towns.

  The organizers of the city kids program, Sonnet and Zach Alger, pulled out all the stops for the end of summer party. In addition to the banquet, there would be a performance by Jezebel, a hip-hop artist who had starred in a hit reality TV series. The show had been filmed at Camp Kioga, chronicling the efforts of the outspoken star to work with youngsters in the program.

  Tonight, the only cameras present belonged to proud parents and grandparents.

  Charlie was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, because he knew he was getting a swimming award. André was next to him as they took their seats at their assigned banquet table.

  Paige, who stood nearby, handing out table assignments, leaned over and said, “Those two are such a great pair. I bet they’re going to miss each other now that summer’s over.”

  “Yeah, it’d be nice if they could stay in touch. Tricky, though, with André in the city and Charlie off to an air force base in Oklahoma.”

  “Must be hard for you, too.”

  “I can’t even tell you. But...we deal. I’ll see him at Thanksgiving, and he’s mine—all mine—for Christmas.”

  At the moment, Christmas seemed light-years away. Logan wondered how the hell he’d keep himself busy after Charlie left. He had his work, a thriving insurance business he’d founded in the nearby town of Avalon. If he was being honest with himself, he was bored stiff with the work, even though he liked helping friends and neighbors and made a good living at it.

  Initially, the whole point of setting up a business in Avalon had been to enable him to live close to Charlie. Now that Charlie’s mom had remarried and moved away, Logan was starting to think about making a change. A big change.

  His sister India arrived to join in the festivities, and Logan excused himself to say hi. Her twin boys, Fisher and Goose, had spent the summer here. Charlie had had a great time with his two cousins, who lived on Long Island, where India and her husband ran an art gallery.

  Red-haired like Logan and Charlie both, and dressed in flowing silks unlike anybody, India rushed over to her twin sons, practically in tears.

  “I missed you guys so much,” she said, gathering them against her. “Did you have a good time at camp?”

  “The best,” said Fisher.

  “We made you some stuff,” said Goose.

  “Real ugly jewelry, and we’re gonna make you wear it,” Fisher told her.

  “If you made it, then I’m sure it’s beautiful,” she said.

  “Uncle Logan taught us how to light farts.”

  “That’s my baby brother,” India said. “Now, you need no introduction, but I’ll introduce you, anyway.” She indicated the woman behind her. “Darcy, this is my brother, who probably needs to be sent to the naughty corner, but instead, he’s a volunteer counselor.”

  “And head fart lighter,” said the woman, sticking out her hand. “I’m Darcy Fitzgerald.”

  He took her hand, liking her straightforward expression. She had dark hair done in a messy ponytail and a direct, brown-eyed gaze. Her hand felt small but firm, and she had a quirky smile. For no reason Logan could 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 f
or 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.”

  Good.

  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 André, 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 André,” said Charlie. “He’s got a frog in his pocket, so watch out.”

  “You weren’t supposed to tell,” André said, though he was clearly proud of his find.

  “André and Charlie have been buddies this summer,” Logan told Darcy.

  “BFFs,” Charlie said. “We made a blood oath.”

  “Not with real blood,” André said. “With ketchup.”

  “Sounds tasty.” Darcy discreetly wiped her hands with a napkin. “So, are your parents here, André?”

  “My mom’s coming up tomorrow. I wish I didn’t have to go back to the city.”

  André’s mother, Maya, worked as a nanny in Manhattan. André 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 not to pass on to his own son.

  “They look like a great pair,” Darcy said, watching André 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.”

  Balancing the small card on his knee, Charlie began writing diligently, without hesitating. Logan paused, noticing Darcy Fitzgerald writing swiftly, as well. Logan wished for a lot of things, but the only wish that really mattered was the one he couldn’t have—more time with Charlie. All he could do was make sure the time they did have together was perfect.

  And that was what he ended up writing on his card—Make Christmas awesome for Charlie.

  Charlie sealed his envelope and wrote his address, then tossed it into the basket. Darcy followed suit, then tilted back her head, gazing up at the starry sky. “Hard to think about winter on a night like this,” she said.

  “True. What’s your Christmas like?”

  She stiffened and brought her gaze level with his. “Ridiculous,” she said. “I have four sisters. Christmas is always chaos. And this year...” Her voice trailed off.

  “What about this year?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be up for all the madness.”

  “There’s an alternative?”

  “I could go to an ashram. How about you? Is there a typical O’Donnell family Christmas?”

  “My folks like to spend the winter in Paradise Cove, Florida. We usually rendezvous down there. Charlie loves getting together with all his cousins.”

  “And how about you? What do you like?”

  The question took him by surprise. It had been a long while since someone had asked him that.

  “What do I like? Family. Friends and food. I want to be with Charlie,” he said. “Actually, I’d love to take him snowboarding, but that’s tough to do in Florida.”

  “Snowboarding sounds fun. Is there a ski resort nearby?”
<
br />   “Saddle Mountain,” he said. “It’s a twenty-minute drive, tops. Some of my best memories with Charlie were made there. I hope it can stay open.”

  “Financial troubles?”

  “Not that I know of. It’s been privately owned by one family for years. Now the owner’s retiring, so he’s looking for a buyer.”

  “You should buy it.”

  He turned slightly to face her. “You’re a mind reader. I had the same thought, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility if I could get a group of investors together. Most people think it’s a crazy idea.”

  “Some of the best ideas are the crazy ones.”

  He grinned. “I like the way you think.”

  Bags of marshmallows were being passed around. Logan found a stick for himself and one for Darcy. “So, how long have you known India?” he asked.

  “Freshman year of college. Glee club and ski club.”

  Bennington girl, then. He tried not to generalize, but it was hard not to do when every single Bennington girl he met came from the same cookie-cutter mold. “So you sing and ski.”

  “More like a squawk and snowboard.”

  “You like snowboarding?”

  “Yeah. Especially on a bluebird day. Or any day, really. I love to ride the way other people love to breathe.”

  A jock, he thought. Dang. He loved girl jocks. “And after college?” he asked, more and more interested.

  “I took a few wrong turns,” she said, her gaze sliding away. “So...Avalon. Gorgeous. But tiny. How did you end up here?”

  “Charlie’s mom.” He gestured at his pride and joy, who was currently jamming several marshmallows on the end of his stick. “I moved here to be near him. The irony is, his mother remarried and moved away. Now I’m still here and I only get Charlie for summers and holidays. It’s tough.”

  “Sorry to hear it. Kids are life’s biggest complication, aren’t they?”

  “And its biggest perk.”

  She chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  He tried to toast the marshmallows slowly, but they burst into flame. He blew on them and offered the end of the stick to Darcy. “Crispy critter?”