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ChapterTwenty
The chaotic sailing bar, a five minute’s walk from the sailing club, was aptly decorated. Fishnets lined the walls, antique paintings of ships in the throes of stormy seas hung in celebration of the old days, and a fake whale skeleton hung from the ceiling. On top of it all, one of the bartenders had an eyepatch, but nobody was sure if that was for show or actually necessary for his health. Nobody dared to ask.
Back in the old days, Aiden Steel had been a regular at the sailing bar, seated at the counter, nursing his beer and regaling stories from his time at sea. As the bar itself also served as a restaurant, Mallory, Cole, and Alexie had been allowed to sit at the restaurant table while their father socialized. As they drew pictures with stubby crayons and drank milkshakes, they cast occasional glances at their father, a man they adored.
It was difficult not to swim in these memories each time Mallory returned to the bar. Cole, a sailor himself, had been to the bar too many times for those memories to count. He’d created a world all his own there. Mallory always felt like an outsider.
As Mallory stepped through the grimy glass door, Jimmy Buffett’s “Margaritaville” blared on the speakers.
Wasting away again in Margaritaville.
Searching for my long-lost shaker of salt
Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame
And I know this is somebody’s fault.
True to form, Alyssa had managed to make herself the center of attention at the bar, standing on top of the counter itself with a beer in hand. She lifted the beer to her lips and howled the lyrics of the iconic tune while other all-day bar revelers watched from below, slightly amused.
“There she is everyone!” Alyssa called during a musical interlude. “My gorgeous cousin!”
Cole waved from the far end of the bar. He might have been a twin version of Aiden Steel, with the same beer glass sweating before him, the same black tank top over his muscular frame. As Mallory sidled up, the bartender placed another beer before her with a wink from his single visible eye.
“Thanks a lot,” Mallory said. “Did you read my mind when I walked in?”
The bartender laughed. The skin around his black eyepatch tightened into several wrinkles. “If you’re related to that woman up on the bar counter, then I’d have to guess that you need a drink.”
“What’s she gotten herself into this time?” Mallory asked Cole.
“We’ve only been here like an hour,” Cole said. “But she doesn’t have Lucy this month and wants to cut loose.”
“I can understand that,” Mallory said, clinking her glass against Cole’s.
“Is Zach with Lucas?”
“Yeah. For three days. We’ve worked out a system,” Mallory explained. “One that almost works for both of us.”
Cole sniffed.
“What?” Mallory demanded, suddenly terrified that she was getting wronged in ways even she didn’t see.
“I just didn’t think Lucas had it in him. Coming through for you and Zachery like that. I have to hand it to him. Maybe he’s not such a dirtbag, after all,” Cole affirmed.
As the last bars of “Margaritaville” twinkled out, Alyssa dropped down on the stool on the other side of Cole. She wrapped her lips around her margarita straw and wagged her eyebrows.
“Everyone thinks it’s this joyful song about celebration,” Alyssa said. “But gosh, it’s so tragic, isn’t it? He’s devastated, just drinking the days away. Not like us. We’re celebrating! Everyone’s on the up-and-up right now. Cole’s about to sign the paperwork to be a professional sailor. Mallory’s on the road to being a whip-smart criminal lawyer…”
“An eight-year road,” Mallory countered. “But yes, a road.”
“And me? Well, I’ll figure something out for my future. Maybe even this month, while Maggie takes care of Lucy,” Alyssa continued dreamily. “Maybe I’ll write a book! Or a screenplay! Or…”
“Start small,” Cole quipped. “Why not a diary entry?”
Alyssa rapped her knuckles against her forehead. “That’s it! Organize my thoughts. Figure out what’s going on in this head of mine.”
Mallory found it easy, almost blissful, to fall into the hilarity of conversation with Cole and Alyssa. Cole confessed that he was about to head out for his first big “professional” sailing expedition, which was sponsored by a beer company out west.
“Sailing to the Caribbean,” he said. “Mom’s going to freak.”
