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Prologue
Jack Murphy had been back in town for less than four weeks since he’d finished out his Navy contract and returned to Chatham, MA from where he’d been stationed in Bahrain. Already, his family had noted the changes in him. Quieter. More brooding than he used to be. Refusing to take his old job as V.P. of Global Properties for the family business, Murphy Resorts.
And, perhaps most notably, not bothering to show up for a family football game the day before even though all five Murphy brothers were back in town at once. Clearly, something was wrong.
Jack’s younger brother, Keith, watched him now as they shared a table at their older brother’s engagement party currently taking place on the lawn of the family’s home overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Jack stared out at the waves while – one table over- their father tapped his beer bottle to signal the crowd’s attention.
As the family peacemaker, Keith naturally felt tasked to pinpoint the problem with Jack. He’d ruled out PTSD last week, thank God, after strong-arming his closed-mouthed brother into a conversation about his second overseas stint in four years. Instead, he’d discovered that all signs pointed to a woman problem.
And that, Keith planned to address tonight.
“To the future bride and groom!” Their father made the hearty toast that reverberated through the huge outdoor tent on the lawn.
On cue, Keith clanked glasses with Jack and their two other brothers, Daniel and Kyle, while they raised a collective cheer for the eldest, Ryan, and his bride to be. At leastoneof the Murphy Men was in a good mood today.
Not that they weren’t all glad for Ryan, whose hard work with Murphy Resorts, Inc. had more than earned him some personal happiness. That’s why all the Murphys heeded the call to return to Chatham, Massachusetts and the sprawling house on Cape Cod to take part in the outdoor engagement party brouhaha tonight.
Jack didn’t bother suppressing an outright scowl despite the festivities. Even as the chamber ensemble gave way to a lively dance band that cranked up the tunes for the future bride and groom, Jack slid back into his chair and drummed his fingers on the white linen tablecloth.
The guy’s problem had a name, of course. Alicia Le Blanc. She was a firecracker and just the kind of woman a strong-willed man needed. But with two ardent opinions at work, they’d been too stubborn to see the possibilities of a future together and Jack had joined the Navy at a critical juncture in their courtship, telling her not to wait for him.
Nothing like slamming a door on a future.
The family had assumed four years away from home – returning only on the occasional leave – would cure him of Alicia. But he’d returned from Bahrain more restless and edgy than ever. Something needed to be settled between those two, one way or another.
Luckily, Keith had a plan to shove his hard-headed brother in the right direction since he just happened to have the woman in question aboard his boat and docked nearby at this very moment. Alicia had approached Keith two weeks ago with some questions about developing a business plan for a bed and breakfast she hoped to purchase. He might have simply given her the advice and sent her on her way except that the inn she wanted was up in Bar Harbor, Maine – close to where Keith needed to hand off his catamaran to one of his company’s VIPs as part of a corporate incentives reward. He’d agreed to give Alicia all the help she wanted, but with his busy schedule running his own company, Keith had talked her into letting him ferry her up to Bar Harbor when he relocated the boat.
Right after Ryan’s engagement party. Right after Keith trotted out a little old-fashioned maneuvering to make sure Alicia’s ex- Jack – was aboard that boat tonight for the trip north instead of him.
“So how’s theVestahandling these days?” Keith began, turning the discussion to watercraft as the band launched into “Moonglow” and their parents took the floor beneath a small chandelier suspended under one of the tent canopies. “Are you getting tired of sailing solo yet?
It was a comfortable, easy place to begin a familiar argument about the merits of their respective boats, and Keith tipped back the last of his champagne while he watched Jack’s scowl deepen. Around the small table, Danny peeled the label on his microbrew while Kyle thumbed a text message faster than a teenage girl in spite of his massive hands. The mild evening weather stirred a breeze fragrant with late blooming flowers the landscaper had imported for the occasion.
“She’s as smooth as ever,” he bit out, although he didn’t seem to rise to defend the 26’ vintage fiberglass sailboat with the same fire and brimstone as usual. “But I’ve got an offer on her and I’m taking the boat down to Charleston this week to meet with a potential buyer.”
Crap.
Keith hadn’t planned for that possibility, thinking he could goad Jack into a boat switch for a few days with no problem.
“You’re selling theVesta?” This surprised him for a few reasons, not the least of which was because “Vesta” used to be Jack’s nickname for Alicia.
What if Jack was truly making an effort to move on?
“Probably. Maybe.” He shrugged. “Heading south this time of year is bound to be a good idea either way. I’m doing some investing in local businesses and I figured I might as well free up my capital to continue in that direction.”
What direction? Keith wanted to shout since “investing” hardly amounted to the kind of hands-on work that Jack preferred. But he hadn’t found his footing since getting out of the Navy four weeks ago.
All the more reason to forge ahead with his plan, right?
“Yeah?” Thinking fast, Keith tried to envision how to make the scheme come together in light of the new wrinkle. “You ought to let me take theVestadown there for you, bro. I have a client I need to see down that way and I’m well overdue for some down time.”
Jack snorted. “You? Sail theVestasolo all the way to South Carolina?” He shook his head. “You forget a vintage classic like a Pearson Triton doesn’t come equipped with all the techno-gadgets like satellite positioning and automatic docking that you need on the miniature corporate yacht you’ve got.”
“Is that right?” Keith felt the same thrill as when he had a new client on the line, ready to close a deal that would reap fat rewards for his growing environmental consulting firm. He could tell he had Jack on the hook. “I’ll bet I could handle theVestaa whole hell of a lot easier than you could navigate a state-of-the-art 45’ power catamaran on your own.”
Across the table, Daniel’s eyes flicked their way and Kyle set down his phone, their brothers drawn into the bickering like moths to a flame. Hell, they’d forged a brotherhood by more than blood. Every Murphy present was used to the unspoken family code of “don’t talk the talk if you can’t walk the walk.”
And they all talked a damned good game. Bets and competitions were their way of life. No clan affair was complete without an impromptu game of football or a wager over who could throw a ball, horseshoe, javelin, you-name-it the farthest.
