Back on the lawn, the jazz trio was gone, and somehow they’d taken their grand piano with them. Now there was electronic dance music blasting from someone’s portable speaker. The device wasn’t much larger than a softball, but it filled the night with a relentless, thumping bass that shook my entire body. Guests were shouting to be heard over the looping melodies. I returned to my dinner table but Tammy and Abigail were gone. In their place were a bunch of young people I hadn’t met, drinking shots and slamming the empty glasses onto the table. I glanced up to the third floor of Osprey Lodge, but the silhouette in the window was gone.
It was hard to recognize anyone in the dark. My night vision isn’t as good as it used to be. I circled the tables and studied all the different figures, scanning the crowd for Maggie’s familiar silhouette. I passed two men making out on a chair; one straddled the other’s waist, and they looked like they were trying to devour each other. The legs of the chair buckled beneath their weight, teetering on the verge of collapse. Elsewhere on the lawn, three women had started a game of horseshoes, even though it was too dark to see the pit; they were just hurling the rings into the black of night and listening for the clank of metal.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see my sister. She was carrying Abigail on her hip, and the little girl was drowsy with sleep. “There you are,” Tammy said. “Where the heck have you been?”
“Looking for Maggie.”
“You just missed her, Frankie. She came to our table while you were off wandering around. We had a nice long conversation but she got tired of waiting for you.”
“What about Aidan? Have you seen him?”
“Not yet, but I need to get Abigail outta here. She’s got a bellyache, and besides, this party’s getting a little dystopian.”
I agreed this was a good idea. Pennsylvania foster parents are expected to care for their children in safe environments free of drugs, alcohol, and promiscuity—so Tammy was currently failing her duties on multiple levels. If photographs of the party ever filtered back to DHS, she would never host another foster child again.
Abigail nuzzled her face into Tammy’s shoulder, then opened her eyes and gave me a sleepy smile. “I’m sorry I dropped the chicken, Mister Frank.”
I told her not to worry about it. The kid looked exhausted, and I knew it had been a long day for all of us. I said I’d be home soon, and I watched my sister carry Abigail into the night.
Then a steel horseshoe whizzed past my face, just inches from my nose, and a young woman ran bounding after it. “Sorry!”
I walked down to the lake and—as Hugo promised—there was an enormous bonfire blazing on the beach. Two shirtless guys were throwing more and more wood into the conflagration, coaxing the flames higher and higher. I thought they were being irresponsible. There was a gentle breeze coming off the lake and I knew there was a real risk of embers blowing into the woods; it would only take a single spark to ignite some dried leaves. I thought back to the news that morning, to the nine Americans dying every day in accidental fires.
And then a young woman in a white robe walked between me and the fire. She untied her belt, shook off the robe, and let it fall to the sand. Underneath, she was completely naked, with a slender back and long muscular legs. She marched confidently into the water, wading in until she was waist-deep. Then she dove forward and disappeared below the surface. Others were already in the lake and cheered at her arrival—a chorus of disembodied heads, all smiling and bobbing in the gently lapping waves.
And when I looked around the beach, I recognized another half dozen figures in various states of undress. Young people stripping down to their bras and boxers and thongs. I spotted Maggie standing among them, a white robe belted tight around her waist.
“Dad! Where have you been?”
“Looking for you. What are you doing here?”
“We’re going swimming, as soon as you take off.” She winked. “It’ll be a little awkward if you stick around.”
I told her this was a terrible idea. “Some of these people are taking drugs. THC with extra wild card.”
She laughed. “They’re just microdosing.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s totally safe. Commercial-grade psilocybin and ketamine. They make it in labs, like vitamins.”
“Does Aidan take them?”
“I wish Aidan took them. He could use them.”
“Is he here? In the water?”
“No, definitely not.”
“You’re going skinny-dipping without him?”
“Trust me, Dad. This is not his kind of thing.”
She took me by the hand and led me back to the lawn, and in my peripheral vision I saw boxer shorts dropping and robes springing open and long bare legs sprinting past us. “Where have you been all night? I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”
“I know and I’m sorry, but I’ll make you a deal. Go back to your cottage now. Get a good night’s sleep. And I promise I will meet you first thing tomorrow at eight-thirty. We’ll take an early morning canoe trip. Just like we always used to do, okay?”
She offered her hand, and I shook it.
“It’s a deal,” I told her. “But promise you’ll be careful in the water, okay?”
“Good night, Dad. Get some rest. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Maggie.”
She left me on the lawn and bounded back to the beach, and I didn’t turn to watch. I agreed that going back to the cottage was a good idea. I was exhausted from a long drive and a long day, and I was ready for a solid night of sleep in a child-size bunk bed. But as I walked up the lawn, I came to a pair of Adirondack chairs where Errol Gardner and Gerry Levinson sat facing the beach and drinking tumblers of bourbon. They recognized me and raised their glasses in a salute.
“There he is,” Errol said.
“The father of the bride,” Gerry said.
Sierra was standing behind her husband’s chair and gently massaging his shoulders and neck. “How was your dinner, Frank?”
“Very nice.”
Gerry winked at me. “You thinking of swimming tonight? Joining the youth contingent?”
“No, I was just saying good night to Maggie. I’ve scarcely seen her since I got here.”
Errol drained the last of his bourbon, then set the empty tumbler in the grass. “You know, there’s something I’ve been wondering, Frank. How long has it been since Colleen passed away?”
“Fifteen years, just about.”
“I noticed you didn’t bring a guest this weekend. Should we assume you’re not seeing anyone?”
“Not right now.”
“Think you’ll ever remarry?”
Of course I’d thought about remarrying plenty of times. I knew I’d probably be happier if I did, and Colleen used to joke that I would never have any trouble finding a second wife, because I was always knocking on women’s doors and delivering things they wanted.
And yeah, I guess I’d been keeping my eye on Vicky for the past year or so, but I wanted to patch things up with Maggie before making any moves. I wanted to make sure our father-daughter relationship was solid before introducing the notion of a stepmother.
I didn’t feel comfortable sharing any of these things, so I just shrugged and said, “Getting married’s a pretty big commitment.”
“Oh, I’m not suggesting you get married,” Errol said. “I just wondered if you’d enjoy some company this weekend.”
“Weddings are a great place to meet women,” Sierra said.
“It’s true,” Gerry agreed. “As soon as they hear Pachelbel’s Canon, it’s like they all lose their minds. Jump into the bed of whoever’s standing closest.” Sierra swatted his shoulder in protest, but her husband insisted that facts were facts.
“I’m just saying I would be happy to make some introductions,” Errol said. “If you gave me a few basic parameters—hair color, body type, some kind of age range—I’m sure I could find someone. And then you could relax a little. Do you know what I mean?”
I thought I knew what he meant—but I couldn’t believe he was actually suggesting it. “I appreciate that, Errol. But I want to be present for Maggie this weekend.”
“She’s fine, Frank! She’s twenty-five years old. Your daughter is a fully grown, independent woman. I think you need to focus less on her and more on you.”
And maybe on some level he was right, but I did not like the tone of these comments at all. I don’t like anyone telling me how to be a father.
“You know, Errol, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Where is your son tonight?”
“I don’t know. He’s around.”
“No, he’s not. I haven’t seen Aidan since we left your study. Supposedly all these friends are here to celebrate his wedding. You have all these incredible crab cakes and cocktails and a bonfire but I don’t see Aidan enjoying any of it. Where the hell is he?”
“Aidan’s twenty-six years old. I don’t babysit him.”
“Maybe you should. Don’t you think it’s strange that you’re here, and Maggie’s here, and I’m here, and Aidan’s been missing all night?”
“I don’t know, Frank. What are you suggesting?”
I didn’t know what I was suggesting. But I remembered all of Brody’s warnings from earlier in the morning:
Trust your instincts.
You know something’s wrong.
He’s the Prince of Fucking Darkness.
Gerry cleared his throat and then spoke in his soft, quiet voice. “Frank, I think I can answer your question. Earlier this evening, I saw Aidan going into the lodge. He told me he was going upstairs, to sit with his mother. She isn’t well enough to attend the dinner, but he didn’t want her feeling left out. So he brought up some plates of food, and he’s been keeping her company all night.”
Sierra’s mouth fell open, and she rested one hand on her breast. “Oh, now that is just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. You raised a fine young man there, Errol Gardner.”
“Aidan does look after his mother,” Errol agreed. “He’d do just about anything for her.”
I decided this all seemed plausible. Aidan could have been in Catherine’s room when I knocked—maybe he was the person I’d heard shuffling on the other side of the door. And maybe Catherine had told him she didn’t want visitors. Maybe she’d asked him to ignore me.
“I’m sorry, Errol,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I’ve been awake since three-thirty and I think I just need some sleep.”
He stood up and shook my hand. “No hard feelings, Frank. It’s a big weekend full of big emotions. Especially for us dads.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be a wonderful day,” Gerry assured us. “The weather looks perfect for a hike, and then we’ll all have fun on the lake.”
I wished them all a good night, then crossed the lawn and walked toward the trees, following a trail that would lead me back to the cottage. Just before stepping into the woods, I took one last look back at Osprey Lodge—and I noticed the silhouette had returned to the third-floor window. And even though I could only see a general outline of her figure, I had the distinct sense she was watching me. I offered a small wave, as Khalani had done. And to my surprise, she raised her right hand, returning the greeting. Then she stepped back from the window and extinguished the light.