Page 74 of The Summer Club

“I always felt different from them. At first I used to think it was the twin thing. That Hugh and Andi had this special bond I wasn’t a part of and that they didn’t want to share with me. Later I thought maybe it was because of our age difference—they were teenagers while I was this nosy, little kid always following them around. Either way, they left me out.” She blinked at the memory. “I always felt lonely.”

“Honey. That must have been awful.” It was certainly awful to hear it, as their mother. Cora knew there’d been challenges with the kids, but she’d had no idea about this.

Sydney shrugged. “It did, for a while. But then I realized it wasn’t just the twin thing or the age difference. Andi and Hugh used to complain about it and I realized they were right. I was treated differently.”

Cora’s heart began to sink. She didn’t want to hear more. It was one thing to realize you were screwing up as a parent while on the job, while the kids were still growing up. At least then you could try to fix it; there was still time. But to hear this now—well, it was too late. It was like being told the only job you’d ever had and ever loved, you’d failed at. “Sydney, your dad and I tried really hard to raise you kids the same—”

“No, Mom.” Sydney put a hand on hers. “I don’t mean it like that. You guys did great. I meant Tish.”

“Tish.” For a woman they didn’t see a lot of, she’d left quite a mark on the family fabric.

“I knew she felt differently about me. That she saw something in me she didn’t in them, for whatever reason. And I loved it. I was so jealous of the twins, of their whole weird twin bond. And I was desperate for attention. So when Tish sent me bigger gifts or lauded me with praise in front of them, I sucked it all in. I basked in it. I wanted to feel more special.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “And when she gave me Riptide, for a second I went right back to being that insecure ten-year-old kid. Only this time I had the upper hand. I was given something they prized. And it was all mine.” She burst into tears.

Cora pulled her chair closer and pulled Sydney in tight. “Oh, honey. We are all human. Messy, complicated humans.” She laughed, sadly. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“All week they’ve tried to talk to me about Riptide. And each time I wouldn’t. I said I needed to wait until James came up. Until we talked it over. But none of that was true.”

“What is the truth?” Cora was almost afraid to ask.

Sydney swallowed hard. “I thought about what I could do. And what I should do.”

“And?”

“I’ve decided to keep it. It’s selfish, I know. But you heard Tish when she came here the other day. Riptide was hers to do with as she pleased. And it pleased her to pass it down to me.” Sydney sniffed and dabbed her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I want to keep it all for myself. I want it to stay in the family and for everyone to use it, just as we always have.” She looked around the yard. “This place is too special. I would never sell it.”

Cora sat back in her chair. So that was where the chips fell.

“Are you disappointed?” Sydney asked, voice wavering.

It was a hard question. “No, honey. I’m just relieved you aren’t going to sell it. It’s a complicated situation and it’s going to take some getting used to. But the choice is yours.”

It was the one thing Cora struggled with most about her kids growing up. They were their own people. Try as she might to steer them or guide them or offer her own two cents, they were autonomous human beings she had raised and she did not have any right to sway or push. Though maybe a nudge, now and then… oh, it was hard, this letting go.

“Have you told the others?”

Sydney shook her head. “James and I talked about it. We want to wait until after the wedding.”

“Very well.” Cora would do her best to honor Sydney’s wishes. “And as far as James goes?”

“Mom.” She frowned. “I know what you’re getting at.”

Cora would make a terrible poker player, but she didn’t care. There were things she understood at her age that her children didn’t yet. “Honey, life throws you surprises. I’m glad you’re keeping Riptide. But I want you to think about protecting it too. The deed is in your name now. I’m sure James would understand if you kept it that way.”

“Mom.”

Cora stared at her hands. She’d said her piece. Sydney had listened. To press further would be to drive Sydney away. “Yes?”

“You’re going to have to trust me.”

The window Charley had mentioned was closed. There were still questions, but Cora bit her tongue. “I do trust you,” she said instead.

That night, as everyone gathered under the big white tent for the rehearsal dinner, Cora found herself watching from the sidelines as if watching reels from an old family movie. Amidst the groomsmen (who were hungover) and the bridesmaids (who showed up late but ready to celebrate) and the caterers (who served up the most divine lobster rolls and corn on the cob and gazpacho) were the faces most important to Cora Darling’s life. Charley at the head of the table, raising a glass in a toast to their youngest. Hugh, bending to whisper something in Martin’s ear and Martin, who gazed back at him so lovingly; they would make excellent parents, she was sure of it. Andi, who was so happy to have her daughter back she kept wrapping an arm around suntanned Molly, who kept shrugging it off, good-naturedly. Nate, who couldn’t take his eyes off Andi the whole time. Even her mother-in-law, who arrived in usual fashion, in a silk emerald pantsuit, looking every bit as dazzling and aristocratic as ever, but also something else—tired, Cora decided, worriedly. But they were there, all of them, and that’s what mattered.

As glasses clinked and laughter echoed and music spilled into the night, Cora Darling excused herself. She walked across the patio in her open-toed heels and, when she got to the edge, she slipped them off. The head of the beach trail was cool, a salt-tinged ocean breeze wafting up over the dunes. Overhead stars twinkled. Cora stepped onto the trail, her toes sinking gratefully into cool sand. This, she thought. This is where I belong, right now.

She glanced back at the patio, glimmering in candlelight and lanterns, shimmering with friends and family. Tomorrow would not be a perfect day, just as the summer had not been. Someone would stumble over a vow or the hem of their dress. Someone would break a wineglass. The weather would be balmy and the guests were always a wild card. But that was life. Messy and imperfect and full of possibility. And hope.

She was midway down the path when there was the reverberation of footsteps in the sand behind her. Cora spun around.