Dockside by Susan Wiggs Page B

Max didn’t like the plan. He didn’t like the idea that he had to travel thirty-five hundred miles to be with his mother, but he had no choice. And that, Greg suspected, was the reason for his bottled-up feelings.
    “Hey, Max—”
    “I’m done, okay? I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
    “Which is why we should probably talk about it.”
    “ Dad. Starving here.”
    Greg decided to let it go for now. When sitting on a bench, a boy could conjure up a lot of things in his mind, but sometimes it was better just to back off. “Now that,” he said, “I can do something about.”
    “What, you figured out how to cook?”
    “Smart-ass. I can cook.” Greg was trying. At first, only grilling felt right. He’d figured out a way to grill every meal, not even balking at things like peaches, which he served over ice cream. As time went on, he progressed to boxed meals that came with clear instructions. “I’m not doing the cooking tonight, though.”
    “Are we going out with Brooke?” A look that was both comical and disturbing animated Max’s face. The kid had a thing for Brooke Harlow, that was for sure.
    “No, we’re not going out with Brooke. We’re going up to Camp Kioga.”
    “Yes.” The word hissed from him like air from a balloon.
    “I figured you’d like that.” Greg relaxed during the ten-mile drive through the Catskills wilderness. The camp was on the opposite end of the lake, far from town. Greg’s niece Olivia’s massive project of transforming the property from a defunct summer camp into an all-inclusive family resort that would be open year-round had been going on for nearly a year, but they were yet another year away from completion. Still, Olivia’s dedication to it was inspiring, and the way she’d embraced the project had played no small part in Greg’s decision to take over the Inn at Willow Lake. Building something tangible, making it work—that was the way to launch a new life and watch it grow.
    Although the camp was under construction, its bunkhouses, cabins and main pavilion were still habitable. Two more of Greg’s grown nieces had arrived to help with the wedding preparations, and the barbecue was in their honor. Greg’s parents and his older brother Philip were there as well. When he and Max arrived, everyone was gathered on the deck of the pavilion, laughing and talking while music drifted from the outdoor speakers. Daisy was there already, having driven herself earlier. The sight of her, seated at a table so her pregnancy wasn’t visible, laughing and drinking lemonade with her older cousins, caused Greg to feel a clutch of regret.
    Knock it off, he told himself. Not being okay with her pregnancy was simply not an option. He’d had months to get used to the idea, and he needed to put these twinges behind him.
    Max took the stairs two at a time, in a hurry to see everyone. Carrying a bottle of wine and a six-pack—his contribution to the barbecue—Greg watched everyone surround Max, enfolding him in a cocoon of relatives. In the Bellamy family, Max was the youngest son of the youngest son. He would be the last of his generation to come of age. His aunts, uncles and cousins seemed to cherish his youth, wanting to keep him young for as long as possible. Greg had no trouble with this. He already had one kid who had grown up too fast. Max’s favorite member of the Bellamy family was Olivia’s dog, a little mutt called Barkis. Within minutes, the two of them were on the floor, playing tug-of-war with an old stuffed toy.
    The gathering included Olivia and Connor, the bride and groom-to-be, and an assortment of cousins and friends. Olivia was just ten years younger than Greg, but he hadn’t spared much attention for his niece when she was growing up; he’d been too busy for that. He vaguely remembered some awkward years for Olivia—braces, frizzy hair, glasses, a weight problem. At some point she’d morphed into this lovely woman, filled with confidence and glowing