The Sins of the Mother

Chapter 4


Amanda had four suitcases open and was filling all of them when Phillip came home from the office, the night before they were to leave. In addition, there was a hanging bag perched in a doorway, a special bag for shoes, and a Louis Vuitton hatbox sitting on the floor with several hats already in it. Phillip looked at the scene in their bedroom with dismay.

“How long did she invite us for? A year?” he asked, looking at his wife blankly. “I just counted seven bags.”

“And one for toiletries,” she reminded him, “now that you can’t take them on the plane.”

“That’s a relief,” he said with a wry look at her. “I thought maybe you’d take ten. We’re only up to eight.” She always overpacked.

“I can’t just wear blue jeans and a T-shirt on a boat like that,” Amanda said with a look of annoyance, as Phillip set his own suitcase on their bed. His wardrobe needs were less complicated. All he needed were some khaki trousers, white jeans, one pair of blue jeans, some shirts, a blazer, running shoes, flip-flops, a pair of loafers, two bathing suits, and one tie, just in case. That would cover anything that came up, from dinner in a restaurant to swimming at the beach. It would all fit in one bag.

Amanda looked at him in irritation, as he tossed his clothes into the suitcase. Ten minutes later, he was finished, and she was still only halfway through the process, with silk dresses, cotton cover-ups, and half a dozen new outfits. She had no intention of wearing the same clothes every night. Nor would her mother-in-law, she knew. Liz and Sarah were another story, and in Amanda’s opinion, both were always badly dressed, although Liz’s daughters usually looked cute.

“This isn’t a contest, you know, as to who can take the most clothes. My sister never brings more than one bag.”

“That’s because she wears her children’s clothes.” And looks ridiculous, she wanted to add, in things like bathing suits that only teenagers could wear. And Sarah was always a mess. She still wore the same style bathing suits she’d had when she got married eighteen years before and weighed ten pounds less. She still wore clothes she’d had since she was a student. She looked it, and she loved buying clothes in thrift shops, which seemed disgusting to Amanda. She couldn’t understand why anyone married to a Grayson would do something like that. She had gone to Saks, Barney’s, and Bergdorf’s to buy new clothes for their trip. And she had bought three new hats. She never went out in the sun, except heavily protected, slathered with sunscreen, in a big hat. It was why she didn’t look her age. At forty-four, she was on real time now, but so far so good. She went to the dermatologist regularly and had weekly facials to exfoliate her skin. And several times a week she applied a mask at home. Amanda had no intention of aging prematurely, or being badly dressed.

“Did you eat?” Phillip asked with interest. He was starving, and Amanda wasn’t planning to cook dinner. She never did.

“I had a salad at the office before I left,” she said, folding another sundress into her bag. Phillip knew that if she had changed four times a day for two weeks, she still couldn’t wear all the clothes she was bringing, or even the ones she’d bought. “Do you want something to eat?” she asked with a look that said she hoped not. Her facial expression was clear. Kitchen closed. They were leaving on a trip. And they had to get up at dawn the next day.

“I’ll make myself a sandwich in a minute,” he answered. “I think John and Sarah are on our flight,” Phillip commented, and looked pleased. The two brothers got on well, although they were very different.

“With all the money your mother spends on a boat like that, you’d think she could charter a plane to get us there. Flying commercial is such a nightmare these days.” She said it as though she had spent her entire life on private jets, which was not the case. She had never been on one in her life. But she would have liked to.

“That would be ridiculously expensive,” Phillip chided her. “I’d rather spend it on the trip, not getting there,” he said sensibly, ever the financial caretaker, keeping an eye on the bottom line.

Phillip went to the kitchen to get something to eat, and when he came back, Amanda still hadn’t closed her bags. She looked as though there were a method to her madness, but the key theory seemed to be “take everything you own.” And Phillip couldn’t figure out what she’d do with it once she got there, other than look overdressed on the yacht. But she did it on land too. She had had twelve bags the previous year for their vacation at the château whose name she could no longer remember.

“Your mother always likes what I wear,” she said, looking miffed. “You can close them now,” she said, as she waved grandly at her bags. It was a reminder to Phillip of what the trip would be like: Amanda showing off, wearing her new clothes, and looking down her nose at his sister and sister-in-law, because she thought they were boring and badly dressed. Amanda had never made any effort to fit in. She thought Phillip was the prize, but the others were of no interest to her, and it showed. He didn’t dare tell her to be nice to the others, which would set her off. She was usually warmer to him on the vacations, when she felt like it, but only when they were alone in their room. She didn’t like public displays of affection, and neither did he, but even he had to admit that a yacht like the Lady Luck offered interesting romantic possibilities, even if Amanda was not a romantic person. Phillip knew that everything in life was a trade-off and he liked the fact that she had a big career. And he had always tolerated her lack of effort around his family, although all of them were pleasant and polite to her.

Amanda liked being the center of attention, and was unhappy when she wasn’t, but that was Phillip’s mother’s role. She had chartered the boat for them in the first place, and it was her birthday at the end of the trip.

It was midnight by the time Amanda was finally fully packed, and she expected Phillip to move her bags to the front hall. When he tried to, he found they weighed a ton.

“What are you bringing? Rocks?” he asked her.

“No. Shoes,” she said innocently.

“Don’t forget the brochure said that you can’t wear shoes on the deck.”

“I won’t,” Amanda said as she went to run a hot bath.

Phillip was so excited about the adventure of the trip and the time he would share with her that he got amorous with her when she came to bed. But Amanda wasn’t interested. She said she was tired and had to get up too early the next day. His passion would have to wait until they got on the boat. Even on the eve of their departure, Amanda was as unavailable as ever. But this time it didn’t excite him, it made him feel mildly depressed as he turned his back to her and went to sleep.



Predictably, all was chaos at John and Sarah’s house the night before they left. John came home late from the office, and Sarah had final papers to correct, and a million e-mails from her students from a summer class she had just taught. And Alex had invited ten friends over for pizza and to use the pool. There were suitcases all over the place and nothing was packed. Sarah knew she’d be up all night washing towels after Alex’s friends left. She had made him promise to at least bring them in to her, so they were dry in the morning when they left for the airport. Always frugal, she had let their weekly cleaning person off for the two weeks they’d be gone, and she didn’t want to come home from Europe to mildewing towels.

She hadn’t even thought about what to pack—it would be whatever came out of the closet first. And John had just gotten a letter, inviting him to participate in an art show at Princeton in October, and he was in the room he used as a studio, going through his recent work. He wanted to be sure he had enough for a solid show. The moment anything came up to do with his art, he forgot everything else.

Sarah went to the back of the house to find him, and saw him frowning at several paintings he had leaned up against the wall. He needed twelve pieces of recent work for the show. He didn’t even hear Sarah walk into the room and looked up in surprise when she did.

“I just don’t know,” he muttered. Sarah’s hair was wild and frizzy and all over the place, she was wearing cut-off jeans as shorts, flip-flops, and a tank top, and wishing she had lost the five extra pounds she’d been complaining about, before the trip. Now it was too late, but she knew that John loved her just the way she was. They had been madly in love with each other since college, and married for eighteen years. “What do you think?” John turned to her with a worried expression. “I’m not sure this new thing I’ve been doing is fully developed yet. I wish they’d given me more time before the show. I’m not ready.”

“You always say that,” she reassured him as she came to stand behind him and put her arms around his waist. “You have a fantastic talent, and you always sell all the work in every show. It may not look ‘fully developed’ to you yet, but it will to everyone else. And I like this new turn your work has taken. It’s strong.” His palette had gotten bolder. He was a very good artist, and it had been his passion all his life. Design was what he did as a job. Painting was his love. And Sarah of course. She was the love of his life. Alex was the product of that, but Sarah was its source. They adored their boy, but John and Sarah had often admitted to each other that they felt like two people with one soul. They felt blessed to have found each other.

“And you always say you love all the work.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. “How’d I get lucky enough to find you?”

“Blind luck, I guess. I don’t mean to be disrespectful of the concerns of a great artist, but if we don’t pack, we’re going to be walking around naked on this fancy boat your mother chartered.” Her angst over what to take every year, and what was expected of her, kept her from packing until the last second. That and the fact that she worked hard at Princeton, was constantly available to her students, and hated thinking about clothes, particularly in the rarefied world his mother lived in. It was on another planet from their comfortable, easy life. She loved the way they lived, even if their house in Princeton was beaten up and old. It suited them. Most of all, it suited her.

Because he had grown up in it, John was able to travel in his mother’s lofty circles, and was just as happy in their bohemian academic life. Sarah had never set foot in that other world until she’d married John. Her parents were academics, and so were all their friends. She couldn’t remember seeing her father in a tie, and her mother wore Birkenstocks when they went out. So did Sarah usually, but she knew the kind of effort she’d have to make for Olivia. It used to traumatize her, and she’d been terrified she’d make some terrible social faux pas, or use the wrong fork at his mother’s elegant dinner table. Now she knew John didn’t care and loved her no matter what.

Olivia had been brought up with the niceties of life even when they’d been poor. Her mother had inherited beautiful silver and china from her family, even though they’d lost their money. Sarah knew nothing about that world. And John was intelligent, gentle, and charming wherever he went. Sarah had fallen in love with him instantly when they met in college. She had no idea who he was, or the enormity of the wealth he came from. He was a simple, unpretentious, down-to-earth person and kind to everyone, rich or poor. Unlike his brother, Phillip, who Sarah thought was a snob. Their mother wasn’t, but she was so powerful and successful that the world was at her feet. It had been heady stuff to absorb, and Sarah had to exist in that world with him only once a year, on the summer vacations, or once in a great while for dinner, at Olivia’s Bedford home. But fortunately, she rarely entertained and was gone most of the time. All Sarah cared about was that John’s fortune provided them security, that they would never lose their house, and that Alex would be fine when he grew up. The rest was gravy as far as she was concerned. And she needed very little gravy in her life. She loved her husband, though not his world.

“I get neurotic every time I have to pack for these trips,” she confessed, but he knew it anyway.

“You’re gorgeous and I love you,” he said, turning around to kiss her. They held each other for a long moment, and Sarah sighed. Life with John was pure bliss. “I don’t care what you wear. And neither does my mother. She just wants us all to have fun. I think it’s going to be great this year.” He and Alex were excited about the boat, even if it sounded daunting to her. At least at the châteaux her mother-in-law had rented, there was history to think about. The yacht was all about money, and a lot showier than what Sarah would have liked.

“You just want to go fishing with your brother,” she said, and John grinned and looked like a kid. He still seemed like a student to her, and not a forty-one-year-old man with an important job. He was totally unassuming and very handsome. And he thought she walked on water, and had a brilliant mind. She was an extremely intelligent woman, and she admitted to being an intellectual snob.

“That’s true,” he agreed about the fishing. “Phillip and I talked about it this morning. We’re on the same plane to Nice, by the way.”

“I hope your mother put us in coach,” Sarah said with a worried expression as he put his paintings away carefully and turned off the studio lights. He would have to make the decision about which paintings to show when he got back. He didn’t have time tonight. “I hate it when she spends all that money on business.” And Sarah flatly refused to travel in first class. She said it was immoral, and she didn’t want Alex to pick up bad habits or forget what really mattered in the world.

“I think it’s pretty safe to assume she did business or first,” John said gently, trying to warn her. He knew his mother. She wasn’t going to send them in economy to France. She wanted them to be comfortable and well cared for all along the way. And then he laughed, thinking how different his wife was from Phillip’s. “I’ll bet Amanda is complaining that Mom didn’t charter a plane for us. She says it every year.”

“That’s insane,” Sarah said with a look of strong disapproval. But that was typical of Amanda. Sarah put up with her, but her sister-in-law managed to annoy her every year. “I wouldn’t take a private plane. Your mother should give that money to the poor.”

“Don’t worry, she does.” Sarah knew it, or she wouldn’t even have gone on the trip. The whole concept of spending that kind of money went totally against the grain with her. She couldn’t even imagine, and didn’t want to, what Olivia must have paid to charter the boat. The thought of it made her shudder.

They walked through the kitchen on the way back to their bedroom, and saw Alex and all his friends outside. More had dropped by, it was turning into a party, and there were half a dozen kids playing water polo in the pool. She stepped outside the back door and reminded them not to play rough, and when she came back in, John was eating a slice of pizza, and she helped herself to one as well. That was going to be dinner, she still had to pack for her and Alex. She knew John would take care of himself.

“Stop worrying about them, they’re good kids,” he chided her, and she looked serious.

“I don’t want one of those good kids to get hurt. They play too rough. Every year some kid we know gets hurt in a pool. Not here, thank you very much.” She worried about their son, and everyone else. One of her students had become paralyzed in a pool accident the year before. It happened, and she didn’t want it happening to them.

“They’re just having fun.” Alex loved everything athletic and was on the swimming team at his school. He played soccer and lacrosse, had joined the basketball team, and was a natural athlete. At seventeen, he was still more into sports than girls, which in some ways was a relief to them. There had been no dramas, failed romances, or broken hearts. He just loved hanging out with his friends, and brought them home as often as he could. Sometimes there were a dozen of his friends, and half a dozen of her students, in their kitchen, sprawled across their living room, or barbecuing in the backyard. They ran a kid-friendly house. This was the life they chose to live.

When they got back to their bedroom, Sarah looked at the empty suitcases in dismay. She had no idea what to put in them—she never did. John laughed at her and pulled her down on the bed. He slid a hand under her T-shirt and fondled her full breasts. He loved her body and everything about her, and he gently started pulling off her jeans. She stopped him immediately and leaped off the bed to close and lock the door.

“There are kids in the house,” she reminded him, and he laughed.

“When aren’t there around here?” They had only managed to have one child, but other people’s children were underfoot all the time. John never came home to an empty house. It was full of life and laughter, and young people everywhere. It was the home he wished he’d had as a boy. Friendly and informal, with parents around most of the time.

As soon as she had locked their bedroom door, Sarah came back to the bed, and they began kissing in earnest and exploring each other’s bodies. Their clothes were off in a matter of minutes, John turned off the light, and they gave in to unbridled passion. It was a long time before they lay sated and panting, and clung to each other like survivors in a storm.

“Wow!” he said in a hoarse voice.

“It’s always wow with you,” Sarah said happily in the dark. “I hope we never get too old for that.”

“I don’t think we will,” he said, rolling over on his side to look at her in the moonlight. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She had been for twenty years. He had always felt that way about her, and still did. “I think I’ll be dragging you into bed when we’re ninety. When Alex leaves for college, I’m going to chase you around the kitchen table naked every night.”

“I can hardly wait,” Sarah said, grinning, as she sat up and turned on the light. The suitcases were still there. They hadn’t been magically filled while she and John made love. “Shit, we still have to pack.” And she had to take the dog to the neighbor’s, they had promised to dog-sit for them. She had a lot to do that night. “Will you take Jeff next door?”

“Sure,” John said good-naturedly. “I’ll pack when I get back.”

“And don’t let them give you a glass of wine. You’ll be there all night,” she warned him, and he smiled as he put on a pair of jeans. He could shower when he got back. He loved knowing her body had been part of his only moments before.

“Yes, boss,” he said, teasing her as he unlocked the door. Their bed was now unmade, and anyone who walked in could have guessed what had happened. It was a common occurrence at their house. They gave in to their passion for each other frequently, and they were both hoping to spend a lot of time together in their cabin on the boat. They were famous for taking “naps.”

Half an hour later, when John got back, Sarah was frantically packing, and had filled half a suitcase with cut-offs, jeans, some faded hiking shorts, a stack of T-shirts with slogans on them or “Princeton” written across them, and a few favorite flowered cotton dresses she’d had for years and had brought on other summer trips. She had packed two pairs of flip-flops and her favorite Mexican sandals, and a pair of running shoes in case they walked on rough terrain, or climbed on rocks. She knew it wasn’t likely with his mother, but Liz liked to go running, and maybe they’d hike somewhere with the kids. Amanda, she knew, would be wearing gold sandals and stiletto heels.

It was nearly midnight when Sarah finished, and by then John had packed his bag with his summer khaki slacks, lightweight blue blazer, jeans, some blue shirts, and the loafers he would wear to dinner without socks. He had the look down pat, and the wardrobe to go with it, even if he wore it nowhere else. Sarah added a couple of shawls, and looked at John with exhaustion. He was lying on the bed, watching TV, and Alex and his friends were still outside when Sarah closed her suitcase and set it down next to his.

“Well, that’s done,” she said, looking as though she had climbed Everest. Packing for a trip with his mother was precisely that to her. “What time do you think I should send the kids home?”

“Maybe one o’clock? Is Alex packed?”

“Probably not. I’ll check.” She was still planning to do it for him, but when she went to his room, she found that he had. He was growing up. His suitcase, his gym bag, and his camera bag and computer case were sitting on the floor side by side. He was all set, so at least that was done. Now all she had to do was clean up the kitchen and do a load of towels when his friends left. She went back to their room, and watched TV with John for an hour, and by then Alex’s friends were leaving on their own. Most of the girls had curfews and the boys had to take them home. She met Alex in the kitchen, throwing out the empty pizza boxes just after one o’clock.

“Thanks, Mom. We had fun,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Do you want help with the towels?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling at him. She knew she was a lucky woman. She had a wonderful husband she adored, and a terrific son she loved just as much. Alex looked like John, but he had wild frizzy hair just like hers. And hers was always worse in the warm New Jersey summer weather. She looked like she had stuck her finger in a socket. Alex’s was slightly more tame, and it looked cute on him.

They loaded the washing machine together, and she checked for empty plates and glasses outside. There were none, just a few empty soda cans in the trash, which she brought in. Alex went to bed then, and by two o’clock, the towels were done, and all was silent in the house. They all had to get up at four, to leave for the airport at five and get there at six to check in for their eight A.M. flight. Fortunately, they could sleep on the plane. It was a six-hour flight to Nice, which would bring them in at eight P.M. local time, and they were hoping to be at the boat by ten. It was going to be a very short night.

Sarah slipped into bed next to John, and he smiled the moment he felt her, and put a hand between her legs. He was too sleepy to do anything more, and she cuddled up next to him, as he put an arm around her and went back to sleep. He was dreaming of making love to Sarah on the boat.



When her brothers were getting up in New Jersey and New York to catch their flight, it was still dark, and in the farmhouse in Connecticut, Liz was already awake. She was catching the red-eye to France that night with Sophie and Carole, and she was working on her book in the meantime. It had been the strangest thing. The idea for it had come to her in a flash, it was unlike anything she had ever done, part fantasy and part real. She had started it the day her mother’s invitation came for the summer trip. It was the story of a little girl and her imaginary friends: a lonely child and the world she creates and populates around her. It was allegorical and the child was her. As a child, Liz had had an imaginary friend, who had gotten her through some lonely and confusing times, and she felt as though she were solving some of the mysteries of her life as she wrote the book. It wasn’t a big book, but it was deep, and she wasn’t sure if it was the worst thing she had ever written, or the best. She’d been working on it night and day for six weeks. She was almost finished but wanted to do some more polishing before she left that night. No one had read a word of what she’d written, she hadn’t told anyone about it, and as usual, Liz was scared. Maybe this book was the final sign that she had no talent, and was losing her mind. It wasn’t a novel, it wasn’t a children’s book. It was a fantasy that had leaped straight out of her head onto the page. And she worked furiously as the sun came up, the day she was leaving on the trip.

Sophie and Carole had come out from the city the weekend before, packed their clothes for the boat, and left their suitcases with her. Liz had packed her own bags then too. And six suitcases were standing ready by the door. She was meeting the girls at the airport at ten that night, with all their bags, for a midnight flight. She had to leave the house in Connecticut at eight. And much to her own amazement, she had worked for fifteen hours straight when she stopped at seven. It had been like that for six weeks. She was being driven by the book. She had thought about asking Sarah to read it on the trip, but what if she hated it? Liz couldn’t stand the thought of another failure.

Sarah had been writing literary novellas and short stories for years. They were of a high intellectual caliber, and were published by an academic press. No one had ever heard of them, but Liz had read them and they were good. Her style was reminiscent of Joyce Carol Oates, who also taught at Princeton and was Sarah’s literary idol. It would be hard for Liz to show her little fantasy book to Sarah, but she didn’t know what to do with it, and she hadn’t had the guts to call her agent, and maybe never would. But when she stopped writing at seven o’clock that night, she knew that she had done all she could. She printed it out and stuck the manuscript in her hand luggage with her laptop and then went upstairs to take a shower. She had an hour to get ready and leave the house. An airport shuttle was picking her up.

As she stood in the shower, she thought about what she’d written and prayed that it was good. It probably wasn’t, but she knew that she had done her very best. That was something at least. In her dreams, she wrote a book that people cared about and understood, that was as meaningful to them as it was to her. Maybe this was it. The terrifying part would be showing it to someone else. She hadn’t even told the girls what she’d been doing. She’d had too many false starts, stories that went nowhere, outlines she never followed, half manuscripts and unfinished poems that lay in drawers. This time at least she’d finished it, and in a mere six weeks. The story had poured out of her like falling pearls, scattered everywhere and then gathered up in her hands like gems.

The girls had helped her pick her clothes for the boat, and shared some of their own with her, since all three of them wore the same size. She had two old bikinis she always wore, and her girls went topless in Europe, like everyone else their age. Liz could have too, and had the body for it, even at forty-four, but she didn’t think her mother would approve. Having two babies at a young age had left no mark on her. But at her age, she knew she was expected to be respectable, no matter how fit and trim her body was. And there would be lots of crew around. For the rest of what she’d brought, they were either old summer clothes of her own, or things she’d borrowed from her girls. She had nothing fabulous with her and didn’t really care. As usual, Amanda would be their fashion plate, which seemed like too much trouble to Liz. But she knew that her brother liked having a wife he could show off.

Liz was ready right on time, and then realized she had forgotten to leave an outfit out for the plane. She looked in her own closet and found nothing, and then headed to Sophie’s, and looked through the things she still kept at home and hadn’t packed. She found a pair of old white shorts, a white cotton shirt in her own closet, and an old pair of sandals she’d forgotten that laced up her leg. Her long blond hair was still wet from the shower, and she left it damp down her back, didn’t bother to put on makeup, for a midnight flight where all she’d do was sleep anyway, and when the shuttle came, she flew out the door, and took out all their bags. While the driver loaded them, she made sure that all the lights were turned off and set the alarm, looked in her carry-on again to make sure the manuscript was there, and then double-locked the front door.

She was in the van when her cell phone rang and it was Sophie, checking on her. She was the organizer in the family, the responsible one. Carole was less efficient, always distracted and a little vague. And Liz always forgot things, like her handbag, her keys, or setting the alarm. But this time she had everything in control.

“Did you remember to set the alarm?” Sophie asked her in a motherly tone, almost certain she hadn’t, and was surprised when Liz said yes. “Turn off the lights? Do you have your passport?”

“Of course.” Liz would have been annoyed, but she knew her questions were well intentioned, and Liz had been known to forget important things over the years.

“Did you bring our bags?”

“No, just mine,” Liz said innocently, teasing her as Sophie gasped, and then her mother laughed. “I think I got it all.” Including her precious manuscript, Liz thought, as Sophie said she would meet her at the airport. She and Carole were sharing a cab from the city to meet her there. And for once Liz felt as though she had done everything she should. For six weeks while the book rolled out of her, she had felt better than she had in years. She almost felt ready to spend two weeks with her mother, though not quite. She had spent her whole life desperate for her mother’s approval, and never felt like she had earned it, not because Olivia was critical of her, but mostly because Liz always felt as though she had been a failure. Her path had been strewn with broken dreams, failed relationships, disappointing outcomes, and promises to herself she’d never kept. The only thing she’d ever done right, or well, was be a mother to her girls. She had all the maternal instincts Olivia had never had. But Olivia had built an empire, and Liz knew she never could. So far, she couldn’t even write a successful book. Maybe this time would be different, but Liz found it hard to believe it would.

Her mother was impossible to compete with, and equally so to live up to. Liz saw her as some kind of goddess at the top of a mountain with no roads leading upward and no way to reach her. As a child, she had dreamed of pleasing her and making her happy and proud of her, and she had wanted it so badly, she had never even tried. How did you impress a goddess when you were a mere mortal? These summer trips were torture for her, they tantalized her with all the wishes of her childhood that had never come to pass and never would. She didn’t blame her mother, unlike her younger sister and oldest brother. She knew Olivia had been busy, but she had left Liz with an aching hunger in her soul that nothing could satisfy or fill, except the love of her children and hers for them. Both of them had been accidents, but had turned out to be the greatest blessings of her life, far more than their fathers had been.

The marriage to Sophie’s father would never have lasted, even if he hadn’t died, and Jasper, Carole’s father, was a handsome, narcissistic flake. He was harmless and incompetent, and had spent a lifetime having beautiful children in his image and doing nothing for them. There was no one there, and never had been. And the men Liz had been involved with since, albeit briefly, had been no better. She was the first to admit she had terrible taste in men. She always fell for their words and their looks, not their actions. All of them had been handsome, and none of them had been capable of real relationships and loving her. She always seemed to pick people who were unable to love, or people who were unavailable like her mother had been. What she needed was a man like her father, but she was never drawn to men like him, and was destined for a life of loneliness and frustration as a result. And in recent years, she had given up, and decided it was too late. At forty-four, she no longer expected to find the love of her life, and when she bothered, she settled for brief affairs. They were good enough.

The girls were waiting for her at the airport when she arrived. The three of them checked in, and were in high spirits, and then Sophie noticed her mother’s long legs. They were three beautiful women standing at the check-in counter, and were drawing appreciative stares from men.

“Mom, where did you get those shorts?” Sophie asked her with a look of suspicion.

“From your closet. I forgot to leave out something to wear on the flight. I can give them back to you on the boat.” She looked apologetic, and Sophie grinned. Carole was on her cell phone with a friend and paying no attention to them.

“I left them there because they’re too short. You look pretty sexy, Mom,” Sophie said with a mild look of disapproval. They were in fact very short to be wearing them in a public place.

“Believe me, at my age no one looks,” Liz reassured her daughter. Her hair was dry by then, and fell in gentle waves and curls, framing her face.

“That’s what you think. About ten guys just checked you out.”

“No worries. I’ll cover myself with a blanket on the plane.” Sophie had worn a short white linen dress, and Carole was wearing a flowered miniskirt with a white T-shirt and sexy gladiator sandals. As usual, she looked incredible, she was a gorgeous girl, like both her parents. Sophie was beautiful too, she looked like Liz, but with dark hair.

They boarded the plane in first class. Olivia had sent the others in first class too. She wanted their trip to start out right—comfortable, fun, and easy for them. It was a small gift to give to them, and Liz and the girls were thrilled as they settled into their seats on the plane. The girls wanted to watch a movie, and Liz said she wanted to sleep. And instead she took the manuscript out of her bag after takeoff, and started editing it again. She had been doing that for weeks. The girls didn’t even notice what she was reading. They were sitting together and chattering excitedly about the trip. They both loved their grandmother and always had fun with her. She was far more attentive to her grandchildren than she had been with her own children. Now she had more time, and they were more interested in her and what she’d done, and the business that was her world.

After takeoff, a stewardess offered them champagne. Both girls helped themselves to a glass and Liz asked for a Bloody Mary. She sipped it slowly, as she quietly worked on her book, and then set it down next to her and forgot about it, until they hit some turbulence half an hour later, and the glass toppled into her lap. The stewardess was quick to bring damp towels and help her clean up the mess. Liz managed to save her manuscript from the accident, but Sophie’s shorts and her own white shirt were a mess, and she had nothing else to change into. She looked at the girls, laughed, and shrugged. It didn’t really matter, she could change her clothes when she got to the boat.

By the time the plane headed out over the ocean two hours later, all three of them had turned their seats into beds with pillows and comforters, and they were sound asleep. In spite of Liz’s usual trepidation about spending time with her family, they all knew it was going to be a fabulous two weeks. And other than the minor mishap with the Bloody Mary, they were off to a great start.