“That’s what you get for taking over the room of a halfbroke public servant.” Gabe was referring to his firefighter brother, Nick, who’d had to cancel his trip because of his wife’s unexpected pregnancy.
“You’re right. I should have held out on coming until you agreed to swap me for your room.”
“You’d have held out a long time.”
“How’s Sloane doing, anyway?” Christopher asked.
“Still the size of a house, last time I heard.” Gabe’s eyes twinkled. “Twins will do that to you.”
They stepped outside into the fresh sea air.
“Hi, Christopher.” Gabe’s wife, Hadley, stood at the rail with their sons, Keegan and Kelsey, her pale hair blowing in the breeze. The slender blonde gave an impression of fragility, but there was a core of strength there as well. And excitement to rival that of her sons, he saw as she waved at the pine-covered islands that dotted the waterway. “Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous?” she demanded.
Gabe stepped forward and kissed her. “Yes.”
She made a show of rolling her eyes, but she didn’t move away, Christopher noticed. “I’m going to take the boys down to play with the other kids and leave you two to relax. There’s some sort of rumor about stuffed penguins somewhere on the ship.”
Gabe dropped a kiss on her temple. “I have a better idea. Let Uncle Christopher show them the penguins, and you can help me find my phone.”
“You’ve lost your phone?” She frowned. “When? Do you remember where you saw it last?”
“On the bed, I think. Under the pillows. Maybe under the covers.”
“I’ll find it, Dad.” Keegan raced inside and began throwing pillows industriously off the bed, chiefly in the direction of his little brother Kelsey, Christopher noticed. Who threw them right back.
“Now you’ve done it,” Hadley said, as the pillow fight escalated.
Gabe put his hands up. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Thanks for the thought.” She leaned in and kissed him thoroughly just before the chorus of yelps started inside. “I’d better get in there before they tear the place up. You two have fun.”
Gabe walked in and supervised pillow cleanup, then watched her herd the boys out the door. He headed back outside, this time with the addition of a couple of beers.
“Quite a woman you’ve got there,” Christopher said, taking one.
“Ain’t she, though?” Gabe Trask sat back in one of the deck chairs with a beatific smile.
“Too bad kids put a hitch in the cruise romance stuff.”
“Not at all.” Gabe twisted the cap off his beer and took a swallow. “You just get friendly Uncle Christopher to take them for a walk. A really long walk.”
Christopher eyed him. “What’s it worth to you?”
“You’re not going to make me call in a marker, are you? Who was it who got you the date with Lulu Simmons?”
“Did you forget how that turned out?”
“It’s not my fault that you shut the door on her skirt and ripped her—”
Christopher winced. “Can we talk about something besides my worst high-school moments?”
Gabe gave him a sunny grin. “But it gives us so much to talk about.”
“How about your life as a hotel magnate and sexually deprived father of two?”
“Funny thing about hotels,” Gabe said thoughtfully, “all those beds. I’m betting you’re more sexually deprived than I am.”
“It’s a depressing thought, but you’re probably right.”
“You ever hear from Nicole at all?”
“Not since the divorce came through. I see her in a magazine every now and again.”
“It’s been, what, four years? How long since you’ve had a date?”
“It’s been, what, four years?” Christopher gave a faint smile. “The goats are beginning to look really good.”
“Sick bastard,” Gabe said. “How is life on the farm, anyway?”
Christopher took a swallow of beer. “Hey, how about those Red Sox?”
“I take it that means not so good?”
“There’s a reason they call it subsistence farming. Although I’m not doing all that well on the subsisting side.”
“That’s because you blow all your money on hay parties.”
Once, money hadn’t been a problem, back when he’d been working in D.C., living in the corridors of power with a glossy model wife, an architecturally notable condo on the water, a Manhattan apartment and a stock portfolio that was the envy of any broker. What did it mean that he’d spent a dozen years in pursuit of a goal, only to realize it was the wrong goal, a dozen years in pursuit of the perfect life, only to realize that it was the wrong life?
It had taken him only a few weeks to be sure that farming was what he wanted. He couldn’t say how long it had taken Nicole to know it wasn’t. The drift had been gradual. A modeling job here and there. Weekends in Washington and New York with her friends, then full weeks. Then more.
It had taken a while for him to clue in enough to call it quits. Of course, by that time it had become pretty clear that without the endless round of parties and receptions and dinners, there was little between them. As with a juggler, it had been the furious motion that had given the illusion of substance. Once the motion had stopped, there were only a few small balls on the ground. Or knives, more like, he thought, remembering the acrimonious end.
“So how serious is it?”
Christopher looked out at a hawk circling over a stand of pines on a passing island. “Pretty damned. When I get back, I brush up my resume and start getting the place ready to go up on the block.”
“What the…But what about that deal with Pure Foods you were working on?”
“I’m still working on it. A year and a half into it and we’re no closer to inking a supply agreement than we were at the start.” He rose and walked to the rail. “Their northeast division has twelve grocery stores across New England. I doubled the size of my herd to be able to supply them with the amount of product they wanted. I’ve got chèvre coming out of my ears, but now they’re dragging their feet and telling me I need to be certified by some sustainable agriculture group before they’ll start buying from me. That’s going to cost a few grand and take at least another six months. In the meantime, the money just keeps bleeding away.”
“Get a loan to tide you over.”
“Gabe,
