The Twin Test

by Rula Sinara

  “Yeah, that part.” Reed, one of Ivy’s grandsons, frowned at his brother’s smirk. Reed was ever the romantic. A heartbreaker.

  “I want to hear more about Great Aunt Fern and Grandma Ivy’s antics,” Raven, Reed’s twin, said with a grin.

  “Ah, those two. Never lost their sense of humor,” he said with a wistful smile.

  “What about all the children who were sick and the contaminated water wells?” Malia asked.

  “There are good people in the world. I like to think most are. They responded...came in to help. The owners of lodges, including Tabara, helped supply clean water to the villages within reach. Maddie’s contacts in humanitarian organizations stepped up and not only raised funds and awareness of the crisis, but also aided in supplies and water. Hope and other medical teams helped those who were sick, and eventually the children recovered. The few who had permanent problems, like with learning, well, your Mama Pippa kept them under her wing. Even took extra time with them when she finally had her school built.”

  “Did you ever find out what caused the big earthquake? Like if it just happened because of the fault line or if it had anything to do with the fracking?”

  Ah, Rose. Named after her Mama Pip’s middle name. Their budding scientist.

  “Well, we never did find out for sure. I knew what I thought, but there was evidence and defense thrown both ways. Things were different back then. Not just because of what we couldn’t yet do, the kind of data we couldn’t yet gather. It was a time when not everyone believed that what they did would have a lasting effect. Money spoke. Convenience was a priority. Not everyone looked to the future...to the way life would be for our grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

  “Guess they know now.”

  “Yes. They now know that the fracking and so many other things they were doing to the environment at the time, shouldn’t have happened. Hindsight is a great teacher. Your Mama Pip was a great teacher, too. Nothing—not even an earthquake—could stop her from making a difference in as many lives as she could, including mine and your grandmothers’. She liked to shake things up and empower the young. She spread the gift of reading and knowledge and an open mind.”

  Fatigue washed over him again. He turned and gazed outside the window as the sun set behind an old acacia tree.

  “I miss her.”

  Sometimes he wondered if the universe had shaken the earth that day in Kenya just to bring him to her. It wasn’t the way an old researcher was supposed to think about things, but then again Pippa had taught him to see the world through a kaleidoscope. To dream. To love completely and without reservation. To think beyond rules and expectations. So, perhaps science and logic weren’t alone on that day. Perhaps the ground had indeed shaken to bring them together in a kind of cosmic or angelic nudge...or maybe it was their paths crossing that had shaken the earth.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from LOVE, UNEXPECTED by Virginia McCullough.

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  Love, Unexpected

  by Virginia McCullough

  CHAPTER ONE

  ZEKE DONOVAN DIDN’T like his choices. He could simmer inside, or maybe stomp around the dock. Or he could let loose and holler at somebody. But as frustrated as he was, he knew perfectly well he wouldn’t do any of those things. He wasn’t the simmering, stomping, hollering type. Especially not when it came to his dad.

  Planting a hand on his hip, Zeke filled his lungs and let the air out in a long sigh. On the few occasions in the last few years he’d been angry at his dad over mistakes or mix-ups, Zeke always ended up feeling guilty. Besides, anger didn’t solve anything. Today, like other days, he’d just have to figure out a way to clean up the mess Dad left behind.

  Mess was a good word for the ancient motor yacht gently rocking at their Donovan Marine Supply dock in Two Moon Bay. By any standards, the boat was fifty feet of peeling varnish, not to mention the cracks in the wooden cabin house and rails. The sooner Zeke could find a way to get the eyesore off his hands—and off his dock—the better.

  Early that morning, before they’d even flipped their sign from Closed to Open, Zeke learned Drifting Dreamer would be delivered to their dock in Two Moon Bay that day. Like a switch had flipped on inside his head, Dad suddenly remembered he’d inherited a yacht. The memory surfaced after a call from a lawyer’s office downstate in Kenosha confirmed the boat would arrive by noon. How this derelict motor yacht ended up settling a twenty-year-old debt was a question still waiting for an answer.

  Zeke glanced at his dad and then studied the papers he held. “The original letter is dated in March, Dad.” He pointed to a date in the body of the letter. “There it is, right there at the end, the estimated delivery date in June. Today.”

  Frowning, Art Donovan said, “I meant to tell you about that letter from the law firm. But I must have stuck it in the drawer in my nightstand.”

  Out of sight, out of mind, Zeke thought. This shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. His dad often forgot day-to-day events, but typically remembered details of his dealings with a customer from years ago. Unfortunately, stashing the March letter in a drawer in his room was like him, too. Zeke worked with his dad every day, but at no time in these last few months had the letter from the law firm surfaced.

  The letter was addressed to his dad, Arthur Donovan. The facts confirmed that a man named Terrance Smyth had died and bequeathed this very old, but classic yacht to his dad to settle that debt. Zeke slapped the sheaf of legal documents against his thigh. “Do you remember the guy who stiffed you, Dad?”

  “You bet I remember him.” Art flapped his hand toward the boat. “I spent a couple of months trying to track him down to pay for the hardware I sold him to outfit his boat—about two grand worth of top-of-the-line stainless steel. I almost found him, but he disappeared again. I finally gave up. Wrote it off as a bad debt and moved on.”

  Art shook his head and jabbed his finger in the air toward the run-down boat. “But it wasn’t this boat he was outfitting, not Drifting Dreamer. What I sold him was hardware for his fiberglass sailboat.”

  None of that really mattered. “We might as well have a closer look.” Zeke stepped from the dock to the deck of Drifting Dreamer. He bounced a few times to test its strength before glancing over his shoulder and nodding to his dad. “Come on aboard. Seems sturdy enough to support us. At least it’s teak and probably cleans up pretty easily. The deck might be newer than everything else topside.”

  From th
e aft deck, Zeke quickly scanned the boat from bow to stern. “Since you own this baby, such as she is, free and clear, we might as well see what we can salvage. Or...”

  “Or what?” Art asked.

  “Beats me.” Zeke grinned at his dad, his mood softening enough to bring back his sense of humor.

  For the next few minutes, Zeke pushed away worrying thoughts of his dad’s odd memory lapses. Were they really happening more frequently, or did it only seem that way sometimes? Like now, when a fifty-foot boat showed up unannounced. The one bright spot was that unlike some of his dad’s other mistakes, this one wouldn’t hurt their marine supply business, except in lost time spent ridding themselves of the run-down yacht. But still, how could anyone, even a forgetful person like his dad, let an unexpected inheritance this substantial slip his mind?

  Thinking back twenty years, Zeke had been away at college and had no memory of this bad debt. Dad obviously had handled it by himself, as he had everything connected with the family business.

  “Hey, Zeke,” Art called from the wheelhouse, “Drifting Dreamer must have been a beauty in her day. Not everything’s old, either. She’s got electronics they didn’t make back in 1939.”

  “I can see that,” Zeke said honestly, looking at the spec sheet. Even the diesel engine was only six years old and showed its good condition with a healthy hum when the two guys hired to deliver Drifting Dreamer had maneuvered between the pilings on the dock. Newer equipment aside, on closer inspection, the overall condition of the boat was every bit as sad as it appeared at first glance. The remaining traces of varnish on the mahogany trim and wheelhouse were only reminders of the yacht’s better days. Zeke grimaced at the sight of blackening wood and cracked joints and seams.

  “All the hardware is bronze,” Zeke called, trying to insert a positive note. “That’s worth something.” If they scrapped the boat parts, they’d recoup the original two thousand dollars—with interest. Zeke gently kicked the toe of his shoe against the row of wooden bins under the rail of the aft deck. They rarely saw that high-quality mahogany anymore, except on the luxury custom boats very few people could afford.

  When Zeke went into the main cabin, his dad was peering inside the oven of the newish stove, another item on the spec sheet that puzzled Zeke. Someone had a plan to bring back Drifting Dreamer. But who? Zeke shook off the question. It intrigued him, like a mystery, but it didn’t matter. He and his dad needed a new plan. Now.

  To start, Zeke supposed they could ask Nelson White, their old friend who owned the marina and boatyard next door, to haul the boat out of the water, so they could begin salvaging whatever was valuable and get rid of the rest. But then he muttered, “A little sweat and sandpaper could help. To get her ready to sell, I mean. Maybe there’s life in the boat yet. We don’t need to junk her.”

  His dad grinned and cupped his ear, acknowledging the groan of the pump that ran for a few seconds before coming to a halt with a clunk. “The bilge pump works.”

  “See? Another selling point. Besides, we know for sure she’s seaworthy enough to make the trip from Kenosha.”

  According to the paperwork, the nearly eighty-year-old yacht had been built in Duluth, Minnesota, and launched in 1939. It was a Bergstrom 50, a legendary design. That alone made her a classic, Zeke thought. From the attorney’s letter, Zeke learned Smyth bought the boat four years before he died. It had been sitting under a tarp in a boatyard, the victim of years of neglect.

  He’d added a note in his will about it being better late than never to make restitution.

  “Man, oh, man, you don’t have this much storage in your house,” Art called from the forward cabin.

  “That big, huh?” Zeke was amused by his dad’s remark, even knowing it was his responsibility to resolve this result of a twenty-year-old problem. As a kid, he and his dad had been referred to as Art and his boy, Zeke. Even when he’d been almost thirty years old he was still Art’s boy. But over these last years, the situation reversed. Now people around town called them Zeke and his dad, Art. The shift was subtle at first, and really shouldn’t have mattered. But it did, mainly because Art had changed over the years, and Zeke had all but forced his dad to leave the apartment over their store and move into his house down the street.

  “Must have cost a small fortune,” Art said as he came out of the cabin. “But there’s a lot of pride in this old yacht.”

  Standing in the galley, Zeke agreed with his dad. It was built to be a showpiece and was made with the best materials available in the 1930s. In his mind’s eye, Zeke could take himself back to the day Drifting Dreamer was launched. The original owner, whoever it was, had chosen that name for a reason. Maybe a couple had her built, or it could have been a family. What kinds of dreams did they have mind?

  “Kinda musty in here,” Art said, wrinkling his nose. “I can hardly smell anything anymore, but I got a whiff of old-boat odor. Maybe a little mildew mixed in. But it’s probably just the smell of a boat that’s been closed up too long.”

  His train of thought interrupted, Zeke reached up and opened the porthole above the sink to let in a little fresh air on the sunny day.

  “I suppose we better get back to the store,” Zeke said. “We won’t solve this problem today. But who knows? Someone might come along with money to burn and make you an offer, Dad.”

  “Yep, and we left Teddy alone,” Art said, “not that the little mutt gets himself into too much trouble. I’ll take him for a walk.”

  Zeke smiled at that characterization of the dog that had maneuvered his way through the back door of their store one day, plunked himself down and never left. In his pocket, Zeke’s phone signaled a text. As he read the screen, he got an immediate hit in his gut. He glanced at his dad, who was opening and closing storage lockers. But now they had another problem to solve. And right away.

  “Uh, Dad, we really do need to get back.” He left out any mention of the customer’s problem. Well, a Donovan Marine Supply problem now. If he said anything about his dad mixing up an order for one of their best customers, he’d just upset him.

  Zeke quickly scanned the shabby cabin one more time. Drifting Dreamer would have to wait.

  * * *

  WHENEVER ANDI STERLING’S mood needed a boost, a little aimless wandering usually did the trick. But that Friday night, even meandering along Two Moon Bay’s streets, Andi found her state of mind darkening as daylight faded into dusk.

  She’d been in Two Moon Bay only a few days, but already she’d learned her way around the picture-book town. Ironically, despite not having a permanent place to live for herself and her daughter, Brooke, the town was beginning to feel like home. That evening, though, she deliberately avoided the shops and restaurants downtown and instead kept close to the waterfront parks and businesses.

  Andi drew her hand across her brow, damp from the humid evening air. Since it was much too warm to let her long hair hang loose down her back, she tucked the stray wisps into the twist she’d fixed at the nape of her neck. “Stay put,” she murmured, mocking a tone of authority.

  Since she knew almost no one in town, she could ramble around unnoticed, almost as if she was hiding. And in a way she was. For now, she craved privacy, even anonymity. She couldn’t say why that was true, but maybe it was because she had so many loose ends in her life and didn’t want to try to explain them.

  Crossing the block-long park, the aroma of brats and burgers cooking on grills caught her attention. Couples and families were having old-fashioned cookouts around the clusters of wooden picnic tables and benches. The pleasant scents carried over to the party-like atmosphere of the Two Moon Bay Marina, a hot spot in late June. The breeze carried the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter, and a few boats were motoring out of the protected yacht basin and into the bay for a late-evening sail.

  As Andi approached the well-lit docks, she spotted the tour boat with the almost whimsical name, L
ucy Bee. Brooke had been on a trip on that boat with her stepmom, Lark, last summer. It amused Andi that Brooke was way more familiar with Two Moon Bay than she was thanks to her dad—Andi’s ex—living there.

  A loud cheer drew Andi’s attention to a deck party on a large yacht, where a big-screen TV showed a baseball game. But then her eye was also drawn to a small runabout tied at the dock, where two teenage boys sat across from each other, phones in hand, so engrossed in video games or texting they were oblivious to what was going on around them.

  Couples, parents, kids. Everywhere Andi looked she saw people busy having fun. But a few men and women weren’t too preoccupied to raise their hands in a sociable wave as she passed by. She was all smiles as she returned the greeting and kept walking as if she had somewhere to be.

  Soon, Andi left the well-lit marina behind and reached an empty stretch of grass she knew led to a pair of docks belonging to the marine supply store. She and Brooke had ventured this way a couple times over the last few days, either on foot or on their bikes. They were usually taking the long route to the park or the Bean Grinder, where she and Brooke—and apparently all of Two Moon Bay—found their favorite coffee drinks and other treats.

  A wave of nostalgia gently washed over her. Only recently had she fully accepted that the days when Brooke could be distracted with trips to the park or luscious cookies were fast disappearing. At ten years old, Brooke was growing up and asking hard questions. Like when was her mother going to get another job, and where were they going to live in their new town? At the moment, Andi didn’t have answers. No matter how hard she tried to keep up a cheerful and optimistic attitude about their move to Two Moon Bay, Andi still had regrets—and doubts—and they couldn’t help but spill over onto Brooke.

  At least once a day, Brooke pointed out that she had no friends in Two Moon Bay. Andi gave her pat reassurances that she’d make new friends at riding camp and, later, in her new school. Brooke had already spent many weekends with her dad, who’d moved from Green Bay to Two Moon Bay late last summer. Miles and his new wife, Lark, had moved into a lakefront home. Her ex’s remarriage and move became the chief catalyst for Andi’s decision to relocate. For one thing, it would be so much easier to keep their shared custody agreement working smoothly—as it had for years. Those long drives involved in taking Brooke back and forth to each other’s houses in towns an hour away had grown old fast. Moving closer made a lot of sense, especially because Andi no longer had a job to anchor her in one place.