Lakeshore Chronicles [10] Candlelight Christmas by Susan Wiggs Page A

of any length, he marveled at how much his boy had grown and changed. Not just the inches and pounds, but the attitude, as well. Thanks to the Japanese lessons he’d been taking, he had the rudiments of a new language, a taste for seaweedy snacks and real ramen. He’d told Logan he was excited about living overseas, taking train rides and field trips to pagodas and temples. It’s lucky, Logan told himself, his mantra these days. There were perks for Charlie in having two separate families. The chance to experience life in a foreign country with his mom. The chance to go surfing at Thanksgiving with his dad.
    Still, the custody arrangement frustrated the hell out of Logan. Even just a couple of months made a difference. Charlie’s haircut was different. He wore clothes Logan had never seen.
    “He’s getting to see the world,” Logan said to Darcy. “It’s hard, though, feeling like I’m missing out on my son’s life.”
    “You’re not missing out now,” she said. “He’s right here, and he’s having the time of his life.”
    “Good point. Let’s go over and say hi to everyone.” Around the cabana, his parents, sisters and brothers-in-law were arranged on chaises and canvas sling beach chairs, drinks in hand.
    “They look like a fashion layout in a travel magazine,” remarked Darcy.
    “Yeah? They were, once,” he said. “We were.”
    “Really?”
    “ Town & Country, 2002. My mother’s finest moment.”
    She laughed aloud, as if he was joking. He wasn’t joking. Appearing in the pages of a glossy lifestyles magazine had been a peak experience for Marion O’Donnell. More than anything, his parents valued appearances. They wanted the world to see them as the best at everything—a success in business, driving the best cars, sending their kids to the best schools, the unequaled best at being a family.
    To this day, they had no idea how much pressure that put on a kid.
    Logan was a grown-up now. He was past all that and he’d never point the finger of blame. But sometimes he admitted there were several unexamined reasons he’d been so screwed up.
    “Did that mess with your head?” Darcy asked. “Having to look like a magazine family all the time?”
    She was reading his mind. “Hell yeah, it did.”
    “Why do parents do that?”
    “Not sure. I’m trying my best not to repeat the pattern with my own kid.” He paused and regarded Charlie, who had abandoned his boogie board and was now staggering around with a red plastic bucket on his head. “I don’t think my kid struggles with perfectionism.”
    “Good for you. And him.”
    “Come on. Let’s let everyone know you’re here and then go for a swim. Er, do you like swimming?”
    She lit up with a smile. “Yes, I do. I do indeed.”
    He wasn’t sure why she found that funny. “Hey,” he called out, approaching the cabana, “Look who I found skulking around the house.”
    India squealed and jumped up to hug Darcy. Yes, his sister was a squealer. And it didn’t seem to matter how old she got, she squealed whenever she was excited. “You made it! I’m so glad.”
    To his relief, Darcy did not squeal back. “Thanks for having me,” she said, addressing Logan’s folks. “Your place is beautiful. I really appreciate being here.”
    “We’re so pleased you could come.” His mother’s smile was a beacon of welcome. She clearly approved of Darcy Fitzgerald, Logan could tell. He always knew when his mom was merely being polite or when she was genuinely pleased. Darcy was the type his mother liked—a girl from a “good” family, whatever that meant—educated, classy. A girl most likely to turn into a woman like Marion O’Donnell.
    Logan sometimes took a perverse pleasure in bringing home women who didn’t exactly fit the O’Donnell mold. He’d had one girlfriend with more piercings than a pincushion, and purple hair to boot. Another was multiethnic, with rainbow hair and tribal tattoos, and the most recent was a performance artist