Brothers of Paradise Series

He grins and drops his hand. “She’ll love it.”

“She wanted to take a sailing class, too, but-”

“The minimum age is eight. She’ll have to wait two years.”

He remembered when her birthday was. I’d only mentioned that in passing, weeks ago. “Yes,” I say, a bit stunned. “She will, if we’re still here then.”NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

Parker’s eyes grow serious. “Of course you’ll be here then. My new newsletter won’t run itself.”

I run a hand over my arm. “No, I suppose it won’t.”

Someone calls from the docks. It’s Neil, I think, and Parker turns. “Gotta go,” he says. “Sorry about that. I’ll see you later?”

“Yes, of course. Go,” I tell him, and watch as he bounds across the dock, cutting through the mass of people. The marina is his home and these docks his streets, and it isn’t long until I lose him amidst the crown. So I turn back to the food stand and the waiting line of people.

“Everything okay?” I call inside.

“We’re out of rolls,” Sarah says. “Can you get another box?”

And so it continues. My mother and Emma arrive an hour later, walking down the dock. Emma is holding my mom’s hand, her eyes round as she looks around. Everyone is here. Craftsmen sell jewelry, the gelato shop has a stand, there’s face painting and live music. It’s more than a regatta-it’s Paradise’s summer festival.

Emma spots me first and breaks into a run, her hair whirling around her. She bounces on her plastic sandals. “Mommy, they have face painting!”

“I know,” I say. Her hand is warm in mine. “Want to try it later?”

“Yes, yes, please, can I?”

“Absolutely, but we should eat first. Hi, Mom.”

Mom smiles. “Huge turnout this year.”

“Bigger than usual?”

“It feels like it, yes. Must have something to do with the new leadership.”

We grab three rolls and a snack-sized bag of chips to share, sitting down on the dock. Emma has a thousand questions and Mom and I do our best to answer all of them. Between the two of us, we know embarrassingly little about sailing for two people who live in Paradise.

But Emma doesn’t seem to mind.

“Look!” she exclaims. It’s the third look in five minutes.

“At what?”

She points in the distance. “It’s the captain,” she says and reaches for another chip. They’re more interesting than her roll.

So it is. Parker is standing on one of the training dinghies, his arms moving as he rigs the sail. It must have tipped, because clinging to a dinghy next to it is a teenager in a life vest.

“Who’s the captain?” Mom asks.

“Parker. He showed Emma his boat the other night,” I say.

“Oh. Interesting. Lily’s… brother, right? Did I get it right this time?”

“Yes, and he was kind enough to give me a job at the yacht club.” I emphasize the word kind.

Mom’s eyes glitter. “That’s right. And seeing his boat, Jamie?”

She’s always been talented at writing her own narratives. Maybe that’s always the case with creative types, an extra sensibility right at their fingertips. Her mind is great at putting two and two together and getting six.

“Don’t,” I warn her. “Please.”

“I won’t say a word,” she says, in a tone that makes it clear she’s thinking all of it anyway.

After we’ve eaten, I take Emma to get her face painted as Mom chats with a few of her neighbors. Half of the charm of the regatta is the socializing.

Maybe that’s why I always avoided it.

“There she is!” Emma says, spotting the lady with the paint. But there’s something familiar in the set of her shoulders, the auburn hair up in a bun.

“Wait-”

But Emma has already raced forwards. All her shyness suddenly forgotten, she stops in front of Lily, hands knotted in front. She rocks back on her feet.

I watch, in slow-motion, like I’m observing a car crash, how Lily leans forward. “Hi there,” I hear her say. “What’s your name?”

“Emma,” my daughter says. She sucks in her bottom lip, suddenly remembering her personality. The girl is always shy around strangers. She looks over at me. Come here, the look says. Now.

“Hi Emma,” Lily says. “My name’s Lily. How are you?”

“Good.” Her bravery forgotten, Emma takes a small step toward me. I reach her in time to put a hand on her shoulder.

Lily looks up at me. Her familiar face freezes, eyes widening. “Jamie?”

“Hello,” I say.

She swallows, and looks back down at Emma. Lily blinks and blinks again, her eyes suddenly glossy. “Hello,” she says quietly.

Emma curves her body into mine and looks at the paint in front of Lily. “Do you paint?” She whispers the question.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” Lily says. She takes a deep breath and blinks again. “Do you want a face painting?”

“M-hm.”

“Well, come and have a seat here.” Lily pads the stool in front of her. “What are you in the mood for? I can make you into a butterfly or I can paint flowers, stars.”

“A butterfly?”

“Yes, like this.” She points at a picture on a laminated sheet. “But I can also paint you as Spider-Man or as a tiger.” Lily looks up at me, half-smiling. “I don’t think she’ll choose one of those, but I have to say it.”