“Absolutely not.” Randolph Cahill increased the incline on his high-tech treadmill, finally putting his pricey Moncler warm-up suit to work. “I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” Flynn echoed above the techno music his dad swore had been scientifically proven to improve athletic performance.
“What your father means,” his mother huffed from the elliptical beside him, “is that living aboard a sailboat for three days with you know who isn’t a good idea. For multiple reasons.”
Flynn loosened his tie, both from frustration and because his parents kept their home gym at a temperature meant to encourage spontaneous sweating. For a couple in their early seventies, their fitness routine rivaled health nuts half their age. His parents wanted to live forever and look good doing it. “Is this about the sailboat or about Sage?”
His parents had never approved of Sage. Not from the time he, Sage, and Kevin had become inseparable friends at six years old. And definitely not when he and Sage started dating in high school. They claimed incompatible life philosophies. The Cahills valued wealth, influence, and industrialism. Whereas Shirley, Dawn, and Sage lived on what his parents called a “hippie commune” and sold raw honey at the farmers market with zero aspirations to turn their venture into a Fortune 500 company.
“Don’t make this personal,” his father grunted, increasing his speed from power walking to a brisk jog. “This is about business. As the new vice president of Cahill Enterprises, you can’t play houseboat for three days. I don’t care who it’s with.”
Flynn refrained from reminding his father that he wasn’t vice president yet. His parents planned to make the big announcement during the Blessings Gala at the end of the week—the whole reason they’d dragged him back home.
They hosted the extravagant event at their clifftop estate every year to raise funds for whichever charity made them look the best. Although outwardly altruistic, Flynn suspected the fancy shindig served to solidify their alpha status. Despite his mother’s well-rehearsed platitudes—We could’ve left Blessings Bay the moment your father made his first million. But we chose to stay because we love this town. It’s our home. Blah, blah, blah—he knew the score. His parents enjoyed being at the top. It wasn’t merely an aesthetic choice that they had the “Cahill compound” built on the highest headland overlooking the entire town.
“I don’t have a choice.” Flynn helped himself to a glass of ice-cold cucumber water from the crystal dispenser. “Edwin Mackensie laid out the terms. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be on board the Marvelous Mira looking for his late wife’s diary. You may find this hard to believe, Dad, but he doesn’t care about the money.”
“Everyone cares about money,” his father scoffed. “You simply didn’t offer him enough.”
Flynn chugged the water, drowning his retort. Of course his father would find a way to make the situation his fault. Never mind that Old Man Mackensie was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
“Sweetheart.” His mother softened her tone—a tactic that used to work on him. “We have dozens of boats. You can have any one you want. Take your pick.”
“But I don’t want just any boat. This is the one Kevin wanted.”
His mother’s step faltered at the mention of his brother’s name, and she white-knuckled the handlebars. “It was a trivial childhood dream.” She increased the intensity and quickened her stride, as if she could outrun Kevin’s memory.
Resentment rose in his chest, crashing against his rib cage. They treated Kevin’s death like a dirty secret. Like a stain they could bleach away with stubborn silence. As if bad things couldn’t happen to rich people.
His mother dabbed her wrinkle-free forehead, then slid the towel to her temple, suspiciously close to the corner of her eye.
Flynn squinted. Was that a tear? Before he could be sure, she snapped the towel back and tossed it over the handlebar. “Your brother also wanted a prop from that movie he liked so much.” She waved a hand at her husband. “You know, the violent one about the gangsters that I still can’t believe you let him watch.”
“The Godfather,” Flynn and his father supplied at the same time.
His dad cleared his throat, but not before Flynn caught the raw edge to his voice. Keep talking, Flynn silently urged, eager to continue the conversation, to keep his brother’s memory alive for as long as possible.
“Right.” She nodded, her head bobbing along with her trim body, although her tight bun didn’t budge. “It was a hose. Or a watering can. Or something like that. He went on and on about the prop’s symbolism, and how he’d own it one day, but we never expected him to actually buy the silly thing, did we?”
Flynn held his tongue. The prop in question was a watering gun, and he’d already bought it three years ago after tracking down the collector and offering him an obscene amount of money. Over the last ten years, he’d checked off nearly every item on Kevin’s 30 Before 30 bucket list. The list he’d made the summer before college. The summer he died.
He had two items left. Own the Marvelous Mira—the custom sailboat Kevin had idolized from the moment he watched it set sail. And become vice president of Cahill Enterprises.
He’d mailed purchase offers to Mackensie every year, begging to buy the boat. But each year, despite Flynn upping the dollar amount, the man refused. If his parents hadn’t insisted on his presence at the gala, he never would’ve known about the auction, let alone been roped into the bizarre proposition they so vehemently opposed. How’s that for irony?
Now, with any luck, by the end of the week, he’d have accomplished both remaining tasks.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to happen upon the list’s completion. It wouldn’t bring his brother back. Or make up for the fact that the wrong brother had died that day.
But maybe, in a small way, he could tell Kev he was sorry. Sorry for things he’d never admitted outside the shadows of his own nightmares.
He owed his brother that much, at least.
“I know you guys don’t understand, but this is something I have to do,” he told them with renewed resolve. “I’ll try to mitigate the interference with work as much as possible. And Mom”—he met her gaze in the wall of mirrors—“you don’t have to worry. There’s zero chance I’ll get back together with Sage.”
While the words mollified his mother, they evoked an altogether different emotion in the pit of his stomach.
One he’d be wise to ignore.