Epilogue

“OK, girlfriend. Make up your mind.” Gussie held up a pair of fabric swatches for the camera. “Turquoise? Or navy blue?”

Lane leaned closer to the chat window on Mike’s computer screen. They were ordering curtains for the flat above the theater as part of its final transformation into a modern three-bedroom home with real stairs leading up to a rooftop deck and panoramic views of the gulf.

“I just don’t know.” Lane patted her belly. She’d forgotten how hard it was to decide anything when she was pregnant. “I think I’ve got baby brain.”

“I think,” her friend from Casa Blanca teased, “you’ve got too-much-lying-around-in-the-Caribbean-sun brain.”

“Very possibly.” After spending eight months in a nonstop whirlwind of wedding, theater, and apartment renovation, plus getting Mike’s charter boat business off the ground, Lane figured she and her family deserved a lazy belated honeymoon.

Outside on Hermia’s sleek foredeck, the sound of laughter drew her eyes. Gemma and Jemima, in swimsuits and life vests, were helping Mike sand and touch up the paint on a few weathered spots on the hull.

“How about royal blue curtains with white contrast?” Gussie held up another sample. “That’s got a bright coastal feel.”

“Perfect. Go with that.” Lane covered a yawn. The humid air made her drowsy. Or maybe it was the gentle rocking of the anchored boat. “Thanks for taking care of this, Gussie. See you next month.”

“Have fun. And whatever else, don’t fall asleep in the sun. Ari’s bet me a Norwegian banana cream bar you’re going to come home red as a beet.”

“I’ll do my best.” Lane closed the laptop, smiling. Outside, the steady background scraping came to a stop.

“Good job, me hearties,” Mike told the girls. “Now, stow the sandpaper and fetch me primer.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” Mima piped.

“As you desire, mortal subject,” pirate-queen Gemma responded with more dignity. “It’s hot,” she added. “When do we get to go swimming?”

“How about now?”

The was a tremendous squeal followed by an even more tremendous splash. A smaller splash—Mima, Lane presumed—and then a wall of water enveloped the cabin windows as Mike cannonballed after the girls.

Lane grabbed towels and went out to join them, debating the merits of a refreshing swim versus a lazy sprawl on the deck.

“C’mon, Mommy. Shake a leg.” Mima swam, eel-like, to the stern, shot up the ladder, and grabbed an inflatable ball. “We need you for volleyball.” She tossed the ball to Mike and then let out a high-pitched scream. “Sharks! Sharks! Sharks!”

“Where?” Lane dove in for Gemma, but Mike was already boosting her up the ladder. He swam to Lane, helped her out of the water, and joined them at the rail.

“Where’s the shark, Mima?” Lane asked again.

“Right there.” A school of fins was gliding toward them not more than fifty feet away.

“I think they’re dolphins.” Lane squinted. A pod of ten or fifteen dolphins, leaping, spinning, and dropping down. Two of the smaller ones swam toward the Hermia and circled the boat on their backs.

“They’re waving.” Mima ran across the deck flapping her hands. “They’re saying hello.”

“I think they’re asking for handouts.” Mike and Lane had a strict policy against feeding wild creatures. “But we’ll stick to waving back.”

“Look, that one’s got a baby sister.” Gemma pointed at a young dolphin swimming close against its mother’s side. “Just like us.”

“Or baby brother,” Lane said. She and Mike hadn’t tried to find out.

“Or two baby brothers,” Mike teased.

“Three!”

“One will be quite enough, thank you.” Lane said. “Even with Grammie’s help.” Her in-laws were fully determined to be grandparents to this child.

Lane and her family watched, awe-struck, while dolphins jumped and splashed near the boat. And then, as quickly as they’d come, the pod turned and swam away.

“Well, that was magic.” Lane’s stomach gurgled and the baby kicked in protest. “But I think it’s time for lunch. What shall we fix?”

“Not you, milady.” Mike led Lane back into the salon and set the girls to work fluffing pillows. “Your loyal crew has got this covered.”

Lane reclined on the wraparound banquette in luxury while her husband—husband, the word still made her ridiculously happy—marched the girls down to the galley and returned with toasted breadfruit and a stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“So,” Mike asked, shifting books off the table, “have you picked your plays for MCT’s second season?”

“Julius Caesar,” Gemma informed him. “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your—”

“Rears!” Mima flopped onto the banquette giggling.

Lane suspected they’d hear that a lot. “We’ve got South Pacific for our musical.” She had secret plans to cast Willow and Nick. “And my board of directors” —in other words, Janet— “wants Little Women for Christmas.”

“Good choice,” Gemma said. “Pencil me in for young Jo.”

“You’ll have to audition like anyone else.” The gidgets were growing up fast. “I thought the fourth play might be You Can’t Take it With You.” Lane thought of Alex and Essie. “It’s a famous old comedy about an eccentric family that has everything they need as long as they can love and take care of each other.”

“Works for me.” Mike stacked dishes and leaned over to kiss her.

“And me.” Gemma demanded a hug.

“And me.” Mima squirmed her way into the mix. “Me times infinity.”

“Love works for me, too.” Lane kissed her family, knowing it always would.

The End

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