Page 19 of Third Time's the Charm

She set the watering can aside and turned to face me, both hands on her mug as she sipped. “Of all my children, you are the one who thrives on challenge the most. For Erik it’s a motivator. A goal even. But for you...it’s life.”

Wait a minute.“Did you ‘challenge’ me on purpose?” Yes, I air-quoted.

“Of course. Your whole life you’ve blindly accepted your gift. But because you didn’t see it or how it drives you, you let it take over. Now I’m hoping you’ll see it, really see it, for what it can be.” She shrugged. “Whatever happens with Berlin, it was high time the two of you come to peace.”

This was way too much to take on before I had coffee fully in my system. “Can we have breakfast before you pick apart the rest of my life?”

I made eggs while Ma chatted away about Christmas. It was going to be a full house tomorrow night. Erik and Zoe were coming from Tampa, as well as Ana, Elena and Marcel, Roberto and Luna, Nacho, Jane, and Belle from various parts of the Miami area. It would be the kind of Christmas where kids slept on the floor, I got the couch, and it would only be quiet when everyone was asleep.

Maybe.

“I was thinking of going down to the beach to watch the kite surfers for a bit,” Ma said as she put the last dish in the dishwasher. “Care to join your mother?”

What kind of son would I be if I said no?

So fifteen minutes later, changed into swim trunks, flip flops, and a Pythons baseball cap, I slung two beach chairs over my shoulder and followed my mom on the short walk to the beach. “Pretty clean considering the boat parade was last night.”

We stopped in the shade and unfolded the chairs, letting our feet rest in the water. This alcove was a favorite for kite surfing because of the long mudflats and sharp wind. Berlin and I used to watch them from the upstairs sleeping porch.

“You know the Mistletoe Key glam squad was all over it. Besides, there’s been a hard push for personal responsibility to the environment. It’s really taking effect.”

Now that I was a little older and definitely single, it was a lot easier to see how much Ma missed Pop. At first I was surprised when she announced she was moving here. Maybe even a little put out. I didn’t understand and it felt like she was following me.

But she needed a fresh start. Somewhere away from the constant reminders and memories. Someplace she could start over and build a new life.

It was the same reason Istoppedcoming here. Too many memories.

“How are you? Really?” I watched to see how she reacted to my question. I half expected to see her flinch like she used to, but she didn’t.

Instead she smiled. “I’m good.” She glanced at me quickly. “I even have a guest joining us for dinner on Christmas Eve.”

For a split second I freaked out. I loved my pop. I never wanted to see him replaced. Ever. But this wasn’t a replacement. This was life. And I was damn happy she found someone to spend some of it with. “What’s his name?”

“Antonio. He’s an Italian chef.”

“Should we be worried he’ll critique our dinner?”

“No,” she laughed, clapping. “Oh she’s up! She’s up!” A kite surfer with a red kite and gear got up and moving, doing a flip to show off as she sailed across the water. “No, he’s not like that. He loves food, deep down in his soul. He’s enjoyed learning a bit about Cuban cuisine from me.”

Ma loved to cook, so this wasn’t a big surprise to me. “Well I look forward to meeting him.”

My eyes strayed to Berlin’s house. It was hard to miss, sitting up on that old shell midden, overlooking everything. It was built in those hopeful glory days of the railroad. Beside the front door is the National Register of Historic Places plaque marking its construction in 1907. What Berlin added underneath was my favorite.

An excellent example of architecture, but an even more excellent reminder that many more came before.

The original owner, Berlin’s Great, Great Grandparents, thought it would be smart to build on the highest point of the island. What they ignored or simply didn’t understand was that the highest point was a shell midden. A refuse pile created by Native Americans living here centuries before Flagler came south with his railroad. Berlin would talk my ear off about theories and meanings, but the gist I got was that the shell midden was important and what her relatives did was ignorant.

Regardless of history, it was a damn beautiful house. White with wide porches, two stories, gorgeous wood floors, big windows (that had to be replaced constantly), and that sleeping porch.

“How is your condo?” Ma asked with a smirk. She saw where my attention was.

I sniffed. “Any man would be jealous.” I had the big television, the gaming console, the kegerator, the bar, the two-headed shower, and a view of the ocean.

“Any man?”

I shrugged. “Maybe not all of them. But a lot.”

“A lot ofsinglemen.”

---