Sail (2 page)
The Family (Un)Dunne
“I’M CRAZY,
right? I mean, I have to be absolutely, certifiably mad to take this trip! This sailboat extravaganza with my family! And Jake!”
I’ve had this same thought for weeks, but today is the first time I’m saying it out loud.
Screaming
it, actually, at the top of my lungs. Thankfully, Mona’s Upper West Side office used to be a recording studio for a talk-show host. The walls are soundproof, or so Mona tells me.
The way I’m acting, they should also be padded.
“No, you’re not crazy,” says Mona, being her usual calm self. “On the other hand, are you biting off more than you can chew? Perhaps?”
“But don’t I always?”
“Yes,” she says, “for as long as I’ve known you, anyway.
Don’t
say the number.”
Twenty-seven years, to be exact—ever since Mona and I met during our freshman orientation at Yale and discovered we were both closet
General Hospital
fans and harbored ridiculous crushes on Blackie, the character played by a very young—and incredibly cute—John Stamos.
Wow, did I just date myself, or what?
Anyway, for the past two months Mona has been more than my best friend and the sister I never had. She’s also been Dr. Mona Elien, my psychiatrist.
Yes. I know. On paper, that arrangement might not be a good idea. But who lives on paper?
Not me.
I live on caffeine, adrenaline, and relentless sixteen-hour shifts at Lexington Hospital, where I’m a heart surgeon. I just didn’t have the time or patience for the get-to-know-you phase of therapy. Besides, there’s no one’s opinion I trust more than Mona’s. There’s no one I trust more, period.
“It’s not that I’m weighing in against the sailboat trip, Katherine. In fact, I think it’s a great idea,” she says. “My only concern is how much hope you’re pinning on it, the pressure you seem to be putting on yourself and the kids. What if it doesn’t work?”
“That’s easy,” I say. “I’ll just kill them and myself and put us all out of our collective misery.”
“Well,” says Mona, straight-faced as always, “it’s good to know you have a Plan B.”
The two of us crack up. How many other shrinks could I do that with?
Mona’s right, though. I
am
pinning a lot of hope on this sailing trip, maybe too much.
Only I can’t help it.
That’s what can happen when your family is falling to pieces before your eyes and you believe that it’s all your fault.
LONG STORY SHORT—boring personal story made palatable—the problems really kicked in four years ago when my husband, Stuart, suddenly died. It was a devastating shock. Even though Stuart had strayed on me, and more than once, I blamed my career and work schedule at least as much as I blamed him.
At any rate, Stuart’s death was even worse for our three children. I just didn’t realize it at first. Maybe I was too self-centered.
For some reason I thought our family would all rally around, that we’d pull through by pulling together.
I was fooling myself.
Stuart was the family’s anchor; he was almost always there, while I was more often than not at the hospital, or at least on call. Without him around, the kids became their own little islands. They were angry, confused, and worse, they wanted little to do with me. Not that I could blame them. In all candor, I’ve never been in danger of winning any Mother of the Year award. I’m living proof—like so many other women, I suppose—of how hard it is to have both a successful career and time for a great relationship with your kids. Not impossible, just very hard.
But that’s all about to change. At least I hope so. Desperately.
Starting this Friday, I’m taking a
two-month
leave of absence from Lexington Hospital. Dr. Katherine Dunne is officially checking out.
The kids and I are setting sail for the bulk of the summer on
The Family Dunne,
the boat that always used to bring us together when Stuart was alive. It was his pride and joy—and that’s probably why I could never bring myself to sell it. I couldn’t do that to the kids.
Of course, Carrie, Mark, and Ernie hate this whole idea, but I don’t care. Even if I have to drag them kicking and screaming, they’re getting on that boat!
“Oh, here’s some good news,” I tell Mona as we wrap up our session. “The kids have finally stopped referring to this as ‘the dysfunctional Dunne family vacation.’ ”
“That
is
good news,” says Mona with the tinkly laugh I love.
“Yeah,” I say. “Now they’re just calling it ‘Mom’s guilt trip from hell.’ ”
Mona laughs again and I join her this time. It’s either that or start crying and maybe do a swan dive out her window.
What have I gotten myself into? And how can our family survive?
Two very good questions that I can’t answer right now.
AFTER A LIGHT DRIZZLE that persisted all through Friday morning, a noontime fog settled over the Labrador Island Marina in exclusive and very tony Newport, Rhode Island.
Fog.
How fitting, thought Jake Dunne, stretching his lean six-foot-one frame as he stood on the teakwood deck of his late brother’s boat. Maybe that was because he still wasn’t clear about this trip—what to expect, how it would play out. Would he live to regret it?
All he knew was how his former sister-in-law, Katherine, sounded on the phone when she called him a few weeks back. Desperate. Compelling. The way she talked about wanting—no,
needing
—to take this trip with the kids, you’d think it was her last hope in the world.
So how could he say no to her when she asked if he would be their captain? He couldn’t, of course. He always said yes to Katherine.
Jake was about to resume his final inspection of the boat, admiring all the new lines and canvas, when he heard a familiar voice call out to him.
“How ya doin’ there, J.D.? Good to see you.” Jake turned to see Darcy Hammerman, the launch skipper for the marina. Darcy was standing directly below him on the dock. She was dressed in the same blue polo shirt with the Labrador Island logo that everyone on the staff was required to wear. Only Darcy’s shirt was a lot more faded, a subtle sign of her seniority. And why not? She and her brother Robert owned the place.
“Hey, Darcy, what’s happening?” said Jake in his usual laid-back tone.
“Not too much,” Darcy answered, flashing an easy grin. She was in her late thirties, slender, attractive, and always very tan. “Just another day of shuttling rich people to boats that cost more than my house.”
Jake chuckled, watching as Darcy turned her attention to
The Family Dunne.
“So how’s she looking to you?” Darcy asked. “Is she ready to set sail?”
“She was a little rusty, maybe, but she’s definitely sea worthy now,” said Jake, who would know as well as anybody.
Growing up in Newport as the youngest in a family of devout sailors, Jake found boating a lot like breathing—it just came naturally. In fact, of all the Dunnes, Jake had become the most accomplished sailor. Twice he won the Cruising Division of the prestigious—and extremely arduous—Newport Bermuda sailing race.
Still, Darcy didn’t look entirely convinced by his breezy appraisal. As she continued to eye the boat, she actually seemed a little concerned.
“What is it?” asked Jake. “You see something I didn’t? Something come up in your overhaul?”
“Nothing—nothing at all.”
“How long have I known you—about ten years? It’s obviously
something.
So tell me.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed into a squint. “No, it’s just a stupid superstition, that’s all.”
Jake nodded and didn’t press her on it. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what Darcy was talking about. Among sailors worth spit, the superstition was widely known. What’s more, Jake believed in it. Sort of, anyway. It had been weighing on his mind as well. Like a two-ton anchor.
A boat that loses its captain at sea is forever a ghost ship.
Stuart had died while scuba diving off
The Family Dunne.
His tank had malfunctioned, cutting off his air. Stuart went down and never came up—that is, until his body was recovered. So to Jake, superstition or not, his older brother’s boat was a haunting reminder of a tragedy he’d just as soon forget. If only he could. Had it been up to him, he would’ve sold the damn thing before the dirt even settled on Stuart’s grave.
But Katherine absolutely insisted on keeping it, presumably for sentimental reasons. Christ! A wedding band or a watch—those made for good keepsakes. Not a sixty-two-foot luxury Morris yacht!
Worse, the boat had done nothing but sit in some warehouse for the past four years. Katherine and the kids hadn’t sailed it once. She hadn’t even laid eyes on it.
Darcy grimaced. “I’m sorry, Jake. Stupid of me. I didn’t mean to spook you with my typical bullshit. I’ll shut my big mouth now. Better late than never.”
“No worries, Darcy. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Course it is. You’re going to have an outstanding trip,” said Darcy, smiling as best she could. “Do you need my help with anything before you head off?”
“I’m good. Give my best to Robert,” said Jake, glancing at the Tag Heuer strapped to his wrist. The Manhattan Dunnes were late.
Of course.
“The only thing I need now is for my crew to show up.”
FORTY MINUTES LATER the Dunnes finally arrived. The junior contingent, at least. With the fog still hanging low around the marina, Jake heard his niece and two nephews before he actually saw them. Once again he thought,
How fitting.
The mouths on these kids were something awful. Maybe this trip was just what they needed.
The last time Jake had had the ear-numbing pleasure of their company was when Katherine remarried, eleven months ago on Cape Cod, at the ritzy Chatham Bars Inn. At least she had looked happy with Peter Carlyle—radiant, actually—but for that entire weekend it seemed as if the only thing Carrie, Mark, and Ernie Dunne could do was argue with each other.
Wait, correction.
It didn’t seem that way. It
was
that way.
And as Jake listened to their bickering voices getting closer, it was clear that nothing had changed with the Dunne crew—
his
crew now.
“See, I told you it was this way, you idiots. I’m always right. I can see the boat.”
Jake nodded to himself.
That’s definitely Mark, slacker par excellence. Holden Caulfield for the twenty-first century.
“Who are you calling an idiot, you idiot? I’m not the one who got caught smoking weed in his dorm room last month.
That
was impressive.”
And that’s definitely Carrie, our Yalie—our troubled Yalie, from what I hear.
“Oh, yeah?” said Mark. “The only reason
you
stopped smoking weed is because the munchies were making you
fat!
Your ass is dragging, sister.”
“Up yours!”
“Right back atcha!”
A third voice chimed in then—much higher-pitched; kind of sweet, really. “Sorry to interrupt this stimulating conversation between my chronologically older siblings, but I was wondering something.”
“What is it, twerp?” asked Carrie.
“Why hasn’t Uncle Jake ever gotten married? You don’t think he’s gay, do you? Not that it’s a bad thing.”
Jake started to laugh.
That’s absolutely, positively Ernie! An inappropriate question for each and every situation.
The three Dunne children finally appeared through the wisps of fog. They all smiled instantly at the sight of Jake. Whatever contempt they had for one another, they all loved their uncle. He was the “cool” relative. In fact, he was the only reason they had ultimately relented and agreed to the trip.
Not that they were about to admit it to Jake, though. That would be so
un
cool.
“How are you, Carrie?” asked Jake, giving her a hug. Everything about the poor girl looked thinner to him.
Too
thin. Well, hopefully they would remedy that soon.
Carrie plopped a hand on her bony hip. “I gave up an entire summer by the Seine in Paris for this family bonding nightmare. How do you think I’m doing?” she huffed. “Paris, the family Dunne. Paris, the family Dunne. Which would you pick, Uncle?”
“Good to see you too, sweetheart,” said Jake, unfazed. “And I already picked the family Dunne for my summer.”
Next he turned and banged fists with Mark. “What about you, good buddy? What did you give up for this trip?”
“Valerie D’Alexander,” Mark answered, running a hand through his disheveled long brown hair, which hadn’t seen a barber, or maybe even a comb, in months.
“Vaaaal-ler-rieeee!”
squealed Ernie. “That’s his hot and heavy girlfriend from Exeter. Well, actually, she’s not heavy. They’re having premarital sex!”
“Sorry I asked,” said Jake. “Did I ask?”
Ernie shrugged his chubby shoulders. His baby fat continued to be a stubborn holdout on his body. “Actually, Uncle Jake, I think I’m the only Dunne kid who wants to be here,” he said. “In fact, I know that’s true.”
“I suppose one’s better than none.”
“Yeah, I read in one of Mom’s medical journals that a change of scenery is considered essential for kids who are raised in a predominantly urban environment.”
Jake chuckled in disbelief. Whatever happened to kids reading comic books? “How old are you again, Ernie?” he asked. “Nineteen, right?”
“Ten. But in Manhattan years, that makes me about sixteen. Plus I have a twelfth-grade vocabulary.”
“Duly noted. Now where’s your mom?”
“Back with Mr. Hot-Shot Lawyer and the gear,” answered Carrie.
“Mr. Hot-Shot Lawyer, huh? Do I still detect a touch of hostility toward your new stepfather?” asked Jake. “Never mind. What about the gear? Don’t they at least need a hand?”
“
Duh.
What do you think the limo driver from the airport is for?” said Mark.
Jake blinked a couple of times in disbelief. Did the kid really just say that?
Yeah, he did.
As the fog around the marina began to lift, something clicked for Jake. He still wasn’t totally clear on how this little boating adventure was going to play out, but one thing he was suddenly sure of.
Doesn’t Katherine see what the problem is? The real problem? These brats are spoiled. Rotten. They’re getting love all right, but the wrong kind.
It was nothing he couldn’t fix, Jake figured. Two months on
The Family Dunne
would be ample time, he thought. Rigging, raising, trimming the sails. Cranking the jib. Scrubbing the deck. Come hell or high water, he was going to work these kids’ spoiled asses right back to normal.
