Page 2 of The Great Maple Mistake

He snorts. “Your social life is as good as mine. You want to hang out and watch more ofThe Great British Bake Off? I figure we can watch the Christmas episodes and get ideas for this winter.”

Winter is six months away, but I won’t say no to watchingGBBO. “Sounds like a plan.” Luke loves to cook and bake. He’s self-taught since neither of our parents is much into that. And he’s really good. Great, even. He doesn’t know it, but he was my inspiration for the charity festival I’m planning for August. Well, him andThe Great British Bake Off. We’re calling it The Great Maple Cook-Off, and the proceeds from ticket sales will go to local Maplewood and Greater Vermont food banks.

When we finally arrive at the dunk tank, Dad’s just climbing onto the platform, making a production of it. “Take it easy on me, Miranda. Remember we have children together. Our sons need us.”

Mom laughs and gestures for him to get on with it. “They’re grown now, Graham. And your charm will not get you out of this. So sit your butt down.”

“At least you still think I’m charming.” Dad shoots her a mock glare and winces as he sits on the soggy bench over the sloshing water tank. “Remind me why I agreed to do this again?” I raise my camera and start shooting.

“Charity.” Mid-word, Mom lets the softball fly, her dark curls bobbing from the effort. It slams into the center of the target, aringing bell signals a hit, and Dad plummets into the water. The onlookers cheer, and Mom picks up another softball.

Surging to the surface, Dad shakes the water from his salt-and-pepper, shoulder-length hair and glares at her, but there’s no heat behind it. Even during and after their divorce, they stayed friends. “Holy sh—” Dad glances around at the crowd, probably realizing there are families with small kids. “—shenanigans, this water is cold! You’re lucky thisisfor charity, Miranda, or I’d cry foul because you’re a ringer.”

Mom just grins and motions for him to take his seat again. “C’mon. No dawdling. I have two more throws.” I continue to make my way around the edge of the crowd, snapping photos of their antics and the laughing onlookers.

Dad wags his finger at her, his dark eyebrows drawn down over his warm hazel eyes. “Iwillpay you back.” She gently tosses the softball into the air while he resets the platform and climbs back onto the hot seat. With a sigh, he sits up tall. “Ready.”

Before he even finishes speaking, the softball is flying through the air and smacks dead center of the target again. The growing crowd erupts with cheers as Dad drops into the water with a huge splash. He comically presses himself against the glass tank, glaring at Mom before bursting out of the water again, waves sloshing wildly over the walls. I get several shots of that, and of her laughing at him.

Grumbling dramatically for their audience, he resets the platform and settles back into place. “Miranda, youcouldtake pity on me and miss just once.”

“I could, but I need to get my money’s worth for my donation.” Her grin is wicked.

Dad chuckles and shakes his head, making a get-on-with-it motion. So she does. For a third time, Dad splashes into the tank before breaking the surface with a gasp, and climbing out like he’s been fired from a rocket. He makes a beeline forMom, who’s too busy accepting congratulations from the crowd to notice. I keep my finger on the shutter-release as he grabs her in a bear hug. Her shriek of shock and outrage momentarily drowns out the festival noises as the back of her khaki shorts and rainbow tie-dye T-shirt absorb the water streaming down Dad’s body. “Oh my god, Graham, put me down!”

Dad leans around and kisses her cheek. “Payback’s a bitch, sweetie.”

Rob appears out of nowhere and tosses him a dry towel. “Unhand my wife, good sir!”

Without missing a beat, Dad lets go of Mom and snatches the towel out of the air. “Thank you. I was enjoying the seventy-eight degree day until I got soaked to the bone by your wife.”

Dad holds out his hand to Rob, who grins and shakes it. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Graham. Thanks for taking one for the team. If you hadn’t agreed to let Miranda dunk you, I’d’ve had to volunteer.” Rob winces and pats Dad on the shoulder. “No one wants to see this skinny body drenched in tank water. I’d look like a drowned rat.”

Dad towels off, oblivious to the appreciative glances he’s getting from the crowd of onlookers. He may be in his fifties, but he’s still pretty fit, only just starting to get a little soft around the middle. When Mom finally spots us, she opens her arms and waves us over. “Oh, look, my babies! Just in time to see me drench their father.” She looks at me sternly. “Please tell me you got pictures of that.”

Not even fighting it, Luke and I step into her embrace, though I hold my camera out of harm’s way. “Of course I did.”

She kisses my cheek. “Good boy.”

We’re an affectionate family, and hugs from Mom, Dad, and Luke are regular occurrences. And pretty much the extent of myhuman contact lately. I really need to fix that, but I’ve been busy. And dating isn’t anything I’ve had much luck with.

Mom kisses Luke’s cheek, gives us one more squeeze, and then lets go as Dad wanders over for his hug, absolutely unconcerned that we’ll get even wetter. Again, I hold my camera away from my body and give him a one-armed hug, accepting his full embrace and kiss on the cheek.

Luke, being Luke, grabs Dad in a bear hug and lifts him off the ground with a groan. Since this isn’t actually odd behavior for either of them, Dad chuckles and waits for Luke to set him down. “You wouldn’t have been able to do that if I was back in my twenties. The farm put muscles on my muscles.”

“And now you’re pushing sixty, and I’m in my prime.” Luke flexes his muscular arms, straining the sleeves of his white ‘The future is inclusive’ T-shirt. The teasing has been a running joke between them since Luke turned seventeen and started packing on the muscle to match his height. Dad and Luke are about six feet tall and broad across the shoulders and chest, unmistakably built like the MacDougall side of the family. I missed out on those genes, only making it to five feet, eight inches. And while I have muscle definition, I have more of a slim build. I guess I get that from Mom. She’s only five feet, four inches and definitely considered petite.

Dad flicks Luke on the ass with the corner of his damp towel. “Get off my lawn, you whippersnapper.” Luke laughs, rubbing his butt where the towel zinged him. Dad pulls on his hunter green ’802’ T-shirt and slings the towel over his shoulder, taking his phone, keys, wallet, and shoes from Mom. “C’mon. I’m done with my shift in the tank. I’ll buy everyone dinner.”

Luke groans and this time he rubs his belly. “Thank god, because I’m starving.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “You’re always starving. You’ve been starving since you were thirteen. I’m still waiting for you to waste away to nothing.”

He gives her the sad puppy eyes that I’ve never been able to manage. “Mom, I’m a growing boy.”

She snorts. “You’re thirty-six. Almost thirty-seven.”

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