T NINE A.M. ON SATURDAY, the day after his father’s seventieth birthday party, Lou Suffern sat out in his backyard and lifted his face and closed his eyes to the morning sun. He’d clambered over the fence that separated their one-acre landscaped garden—where pathways and pebbles, garden beds and giant pots were neatly organized—from the rugged and wild terrain that lay beyond human meddling. Splashes of yellow gorse were everywhere, as though somebody in Dalkey had taken a paintball gun and fired carelessly in the direction of the northside headland. Lou and Ruth’s house sat at the very top of the summit, their back garden looking out to the north with vast views of Howth village below, the harbor, and out farther again to Ireland’s Eye.

Lou sat on a rock and breathed in the fresh air. His numb nose dribbled, his cheeks were frozen stiff, and his ears ached from the nip in the wind. His fingers had turned a purplish blue, as though they were being strangled at the knuckles—not good weather for vital parts, but ideal weather for sailing. Unlike the carefully maintained gardens of his and his neighbors’ houses, the wild and rugged gorse had been even more lovingly left to grow as it wanted. It had roamed the mountainside and stamped its authority firmly around the headland. The land here was hilly and uneven; it rose and fell without warning, apologized for nothing, and offered no assistance to trekkers. It was the student in the last row in class, quiet but suggestive, sitting back to view the traps it had laid. Despite Howth’s wild streak in the mountains and the hustle and bustle of the fishing village, the town itself always had a sense of calm. It had a patient, grandparental feel about it: lighthouses that guided inhabitants of the waters safely to shore; cliffs that stood like a line of impenetrable Spartans with heaving chests, fierce against the elements. There was the pier that acted as a mediator between land and sea and dutifully ferried people out as far as humanly possible; the martello tower that stood like a lone aging soldier who refused to leave his zone long after the trouble had ended. Despite the constant gust that attacked the headland, the town was steady and stubborn.

Lou wasn’t alone this morning as he pondered his life looking out at all this. Beside him sat himself. They were dressed differently: one ready for sailing with his brother, the other for ice-skating with the family. They stared out to sea, both watching the shimmer of the sun on the horizon, looking like a giant silver dime that had been dropped in for luck and now glimmered under the waves. They’d been sitting there for a while, not saying anything, merely comfortable with their own company.

Lou on the mossy grass looked at Lou on the rock, and smiled. “You know how happy I am right now? I’m beside myself.” He chuckled.

Lou, sitting on the rock, fought his smile. “The more I hear myself joke, the more I realize I’m not funny.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Lou pulled a long strand of wild grass from the ground and rolled it around in his purple fingers. “But I also notice what a handsome bastard I am.”

They both laughed.

“You talk over people a lot, though,” Lou on the rock said, having witnessed his other self in conversation.

“I noticed that. I really should—”

“And you don’t really listen,” he added. “And your stories are always too long. People don’t seem to be as interested as you think,” he said. “You don’t ask people about what they’re doing. You should start doing that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lou on the grass said, unimpressed.

“I am.”

They sat in silence again because Lou Suffern had recently learned that a lot could come from silence and from being still. A gull swooped and squawked nearby, eyed them suspiciously, and then flew off.

“He’s off to tell his mates about us,” Lou on the rock said.

“Let’s not take whatever they say to heart; they all look the same to me,” the other Lou said.

They both laughed again.

“I can’t believe I’m laughing at my own jokes.” Lou on the grass rubbed his eyes. “Embarrassing.”

“What’s going on here, do you think?” Lou asked seriously, perched on his rock.

“If you don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Yes, but if I have theories, well, then, so do you.”

They looked at each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

Lou chose his words wisely, letting them roll around his mouth before saying, “I think we should keep those theories to ourselves, don’t you? It is what it is. Let’s keep it at that.”

“I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” Lou on the grass said.

“Did you just hear what I said?” he said angrily. “I said don’t talk about it.”

“Lou!” Ruth was calling them from the garden, and it broke the spell between them.

“Coming!” he yelled, peeping his head above the fence. He saw Bud, new to his feet, escaping to freedom through the kitchen door, racing around the grass unevenly, like a chick that had prematurely hatched from an egg, its legs alone breaking free. He shuffled along after a ball, trying to catch it but mistakenly kicking it with his running feet each time he got near. Finally learning, he stopped running before reaching down to the ball, and instead slowly sneaked up behind it, as though it was going to take off again by itself. He lifted a foot. Not used to having to balance on one leg, he fell backward onto the grass, safely landing on his padded behind. Lucy ran outside in her hat and scarf and helped to pull him up.

“She’s so like Ruth.” He heard a voice near his ear say before realizing the other Lou had joined him.

“I know. See the way she makes that face.” They watched Lucy scolding Bud for being careless. They both laughed.

Bud screeched at Lucy’s attempt to take him by the hand and lead him back into the house. He pulled away and threw his hand up in the air in a mini-tantrum, then chose to waddle to the house by himself.

“And who does he remind you of?” Lou said.

“Okay, we’d better get moving,” he said, ignoring himself. “You walk down to the harbor, and I’ll drive Ruth and the kids into town. Make sure you’re there on time, okay? I practically had to bribe Quentin into saying yes about helping him today.”

“Of course I’ll be there. Don’t you break a leg.”

“Don’t you drown.”

“We’ll enjoy the day.” Lou reached out and shook hands with himself. Their handshake turned into an embrace, and Lou stood on the mountainside giving himself the biggest and warmest hug he’d received in a very long time.

LOU ARRIVED DOWN AT THE harbor two hours before the race. He hadn’t raced for so many years, he wanted to get reaccustomed to the talk, get a feel for being on a boat again. He also needed to build up a relationship with the rest of the team: communication was key, and he didn’t want to let anybody down. Most of all, he didn’t want to let Quentin down. He found the beautiful Alexandra, the forty-foot sailboat Quentin had bought five years ago and had since spent every spare penny and every free moment on. Already on board, Quentin and five others were in a tight group, going over the course and their tactics.

Lou did the math. There were supposed to be only six on the boat; Lou joining them made seven.

“Hi, there,” he said, approaching the boat.

“Lou!” Quentin looked up in surprise, and Lou realized why there were already six people. Quentin hadn’t trusted him to show up.

“Not late, am I? You did say nine thirty.” He tried to hide his disappointment.

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Quentin said, “Absolutely, I just, eh…” He turned around to the other men waiting and watching. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the team. Guys, this is my brother, Lou.”

Surprise flitted across a few faces.

“We didn’t know you had a brother,” one of them said, stepping forward to offer his hand. “I’m Geoff, welcome. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s been a while”—Lou looked over at Quentin—“but Quentin and I were sent on enough sailing courses over the years, it’d be hard for us ever to forget. It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?”

They all laughed and welcomed him aboard.

“So where do you want me?” Lou asked.

“Are you really okay to do this?” Quentin asked him quietly, away from the others.

“Of course.” Lou tried not to be offended. “Same positions as we used to?”

“Foredeck man?” Quentin asked.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Lou said, saluting him.

Quentin laughed and turned back to the rest of the crew. “Okay, boys, I want us all working in harmony. Remember, let’s talk to each other; I want information flowing up and down the boat at all times. If you haven’t done what you should have done, then shout, we all need to know exactly what’s going on. If we win, I’ll buy the first round.”

They all cheered.

“Right, Lou”—he looked at his brother and winked—“I know you’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Lou knew better than to correct him.

“Finally you get your opportunity to see what Alexandra’s made of.”

Lou punched his brother playfully on the shoulder.

RUTH PUSHED BUD’S BUGGY THROUGH Fusilier’s Arch and they entered St. Stephen’s Green, a park right in the center of Dublin city An ice rink had been set up in the grounds, attracting shoppers and people from all around the country to join in the unique experience. Passing the duck-filled lake and walking over O’Connell Bridge, they soon entered a wonderland. A Christmas market had been set up, lavishly decorated and looking as if it had come straight out of a Christmas movie. Stalls selling hot chocolate with marshmallows, mince pies, and fruitcakes lined the paths and the smell of cinnamon, cloves, and marzipan wafted into the air. Each stall owner was dressed as an elf, and while Christmas tunes blared out of huge speakers, wind machines blew fake snow through the air.

Santa’s Igloo was the center of attention, a long line forming outside, while elves dressed in green suits and pointy shoes did their best to entertain the waiting masses. Giant red-and-white-striped candy canes formed an archway into the igloo, while bubbles blew from the chimney top and floated up into the sky. On a patch of grass off to the side a group of children—umpired by an elf—played tug-of-war with an oversized Christmas cracker. Next to all this a Christmas tree twenty feet tall had been erected and decorated with oversized baubles and tinsel. Hanging from the branches were giant balloons, at which a line of children—but more daddies—threw acorns in an attempt to burst the balloons and release the gifts inside. A red-faced elf ran around collecting gifts from the ground, while his accomplice filled more balloons and passed them to another teammate to hang on the branches. There was no whistling while they worked.

Bud’s chubby little forefinger pointed in every direction as something new caught his eye. Lucy, usually chatty, had suddenly gone very quiet, taking in the sights. She was dressed in a bright red double-breasted coat that went to her knees, with oversized black buttons and a black fur collar, and cream tights and shiny black shoes. She held on to Bud’s buggy with one hand and floated along beside them all, drifting away in a heaven of her own. Every now and then she’d see something and look up to Lou and Ruth with the biggest smile on her face. Nobody said anything. They didn’t need to. They all knew.

Farther away from the Christmas market they found the ice rink, which was swarmed by hundreds of people young and old, the line snaking alongside the rink providing an audience for all those who crashed and fell on the ice.

“Why don’t you all go and watch the show?” Lou said, pointing to the mini-pantomime that was being performed in the bandstand next to the rink. Dozens of children sat on deck chairs, entranced by the magical world before them. “I’ll get in line for us.”

It was a generous gesture and a selfish one both at the same time, for Lou Suffern couldn’t possibly change overnight. He had made the attempt to spend the day with his family, but already his BlackBerry was burning a hole in his pocket, and he needed time to check it before he quite simply exploded.

“Okay, thanks,” Ruth said, pushing Bud over to join Lou in the line. “We shouldn’t be too long.”

“What are you doing?” Lou asked.

“Going to watch the show.”

“Aren’t you taking him?”

“No. He is asleep. He’ll be fine with you.”

Then she headed off hand in hand with a skipping Lucy, while Lou looked at Bud with mild panic, full of prayer for him not to wake. He had one eye on his BlackBerry, the other on Bud, and a third eye he’d never known he had on the group of teenagers in front of them, who had suddenly started shouting and jumping around as their hormones got the better of them, each screech from their mouths and jerk of their gawky movements a threat to his sleeping child. He suddenly became aware of the level of “Jingle Bells” being blasted through the rink’s speakers, of the feedback that sounded like a five-car pileup, when a voice cut in to announce a separated family member who was waiting by the Elf Center. He was aware of every single sound, every squeal of a child on the ice, every shout as their fathers fell on their asses, everything. On high alert, as though waiting for somebody to attack at any moment, the BlackBerry and its flashing red light went back in his pocket. People ahead of him moved up, and he ever so slowly pushed the buggy up the line.

In front of him, a greasy-haired adolescent who was telling a story to his friends through the use of serious explosion sounds and the occasional epileptic-fit movements caught Lou’s eye because of his dangerous proximity. Sure enough, the boy, getting to the climax of the story, leapt back and landed against the buggy.

“Sorry,” the boy said, turning around and rubbing his arm, which he’d bumped. “Sorry, mister, is he okay?”

Lou nodded. Swallowed. He wanted to reach out and throttle the child, wanted to find the boy’s parents so that he could tell them about teaching their son the art of storytelling without grand gestures and spittle-flying explosions. He peeped in at Bud. The monster had been woken. Bud’s eyes, glassy and tired, and not yet ready to come out of hibernation, opened slowly. They looked left, they looked right, and all around, while Lou held his breath. He and Bud looked at each other for a tense second, and then, deciding he didn’t like the horrified expression on his father’s face, Bud spat out his pacifier and began screaming. Scream. Ing.

“Eh, shhhh,” Lou said awkwardly, looking down at his son.

Bud screamed louder, thick tears forming in his tired eyes.

“Em, come on, Bud.” Lou smiled at him, giving him his best porcelain-toothed smile that usually worked on everyone else.

Bud cried louder.

Lou looked around in embarrassment, apologizing to anybody whose eye he caught, particularly the smug father who had a young baby in a pouch on his front and two other children holding his hands. He turned his back on the smug man, trying to end the screech of terror by pushing the buggy back and forth quickly, deliberately clipping the heels of the greasy teen who’d put him in this predicament. He tried pushing the pacifier back in Bud’s mouth, ten times over. He tried covering Bud’s eyes with his hand, hoping that the darkness would make him want to go back to sleep. That didn’t work. Bud’s body was contorting, bending backward as he tried to break out of his straps like the Incredible Hulk breaking out of his clothes. He continued to wail. Lou fumbled with the baby bag and offered him toys, which were flung violently out of the buggy and onto the ground.

Smug Family Man with the front pouch bent over to assist Lou in his gathering of dispersed toys. Lou grabbed them while failing to make eye contact, grunting his thanks. Finally Lou decided to release the dough monster from the buggy. He struggled with the straps for some time while Bud’s screams intensified, and just as someone was close to calling social services, he finally broke his son free. Bud didn’t stop crying, though, and continued to yell, with snot bubbling from his nostrils, his face as purple as a blueberry.

Ten minutes of pointing at trees, dogs, children, planes, birds, Christmas trees, presents, elves, things that moved, things that didn’t move, anything that Lou could lay his eye on, and Bud was still crying.

At last Ruth came running over with Lucy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Woke up as soon as you left, he won’t stop crying.” Lou was sweating.

Bud took one look at Ruth and reached his arms out toward her, almost jumping out of Lou’s arms. His cries stopped instantly, he clapped his hands, and his face returned to a normal color. He looked at his mother, played with her necklace, and acted as though nothing had happened to him at all. Lou was sure that when nobody else was looking, Bud turned and smiled cheekily at him.

STARTING TO FEEL IN HIS element, Lou felt his stomach churn with anticipation as he watched the coastline move farther into the distance and they made their way to the starting area, north of Ireland’s Eye. Bundled-up family members and friends waved their support from the lighthouse at the end of the pier, binoculars in hands.

There was a magic about the sea. People were drawn to it. People wanted to live by it, swim in it, play in it, look at it. It was a living thing that was as unpredictable as a great stage actor: it could be calm and welcoming one moment, opening its arms to embrace its audience, but then it could explode with its stormy tempers, flinging people around, attacking coastlines, breaking down islands. It had its playful side, too, as it tossed children about, tipped over windsurfers, and occasionally gave sailors helping hands—all with a secret chuckle. For Lou there was nothing like the feel of the wind in his hair and the sun in his face as he glided through the water. It had been a long time since he’d last sailed—he and Ruth had had many holidays on friends’ yachts over the years, but it was a long time since Lou had been a team player in any aspect of his life. He was looking forward to the challenge, not only to be in competition with thirty other boats, but also to try to beat the sea, the wind, and all the elements.

In the starting area they sailed near the committee boat Free Enterprise for identification purposes. The starting line was between a red-and-white pole on the committee boat and a cylindrical orange buoy that was left to port. Lou got into place at the bow of the boat as they circled the area, trying to get into the best position to time it perfectly so that they’d cross the starting line at just the right time. The wind was northeast force four and the tide flooding, which added to the sea’s bad humor. They would have to watch all that to keep the boat moving fast through the choppy, lumpy sea. Just like old times, Lou and Quentin had already talked this out, so both knew what was required. Any premature passing of the starting line would mean an elimination, and it was up to Lou to count them down, position them correctly, and communicate with Quentin, the helmsman. They used to have it down to a fine art when they were in their teens; back then they’d won numerous races and could have competed with their eyes closed, merely feeling the direction of the wind. But that had been so long ago, and the communication between them had broken down rather dramatically over the past few years.

Lou blessed himself as the warning signal appeared at 11:25. They moved the boat around, trying to get into position so that they’d be one of the first to cross the starting line. At 11:26 the preparatory flag went up. At 11:29 the one-minute signal flag went down. Lou waved his arms around wildly, trying to signal to Quentin where to place the boat.

“Right starboard, starboard right, Quentin!” he yelled, waving his right arm. “Thirty seconds!” he yelled.

They came dangerously close to another yacht. Lou’s fault.

“Eh, left port! LEFT!” Lou yelled. “Twenty seconds!”

Each boat fought hard to find a good position, but with thirty boats in the race, there could be only a small number that would make it across the starting line in the favored spot close to the committee boat. The rest would have to do their best with stolen wind on the way up the beat.

Eleven thirty heralded the start signal, and at least ten boats crossed the start line before them. Not the best start, but Lou wasn’t going to let it get to him. He was rusty, he needed some practice, but he didn’t have time for that. This was the real thing.

They raced along with Ireland’s Eye on their right and the headland to their left, but there was no time to take in the view now. Lou thought fast and looked around him at all the yachts racing by, with the wind blowing in his hair, his blood pumping through his veins, feeling more alive than he’d ever felt. It was all coming back to him, what it felt like to be on the boat. He was slower, perhaps, but he hadn’t lost his instincts. They raced along, the boat crashing over the waves as they headed toward the weather mark, one mile up in the wind from the starting line.

“Tacking!” Quentin shouted, watching and steering as the team prepared. The runners trimmer, Alan, checked that the slack on the old runners had been pulled in. The genoa trimmer, Luke, made sure that the new sheet had the slack pulled in and gave a couple of turns on the winch. Lou didn’t move an inch, thinking ahead about what he needed to do and watching the other boats around them to make sure nothing was too close. He instinctively knew they were tacking onto port and would have no right of way over boats on starboard. His old racing tactics came flooding back, and he was quietly pleased with how he had positioned the boat right on the lay line to the weather mark. He could sense Quentin’s confidence in him gaining at their now favorable position when the tack was completed, powering toward the mark with a clear passage in. It was Quentin’s belief in him that Lou was fighting to win, just as much as first place.

Quentin made sure that there was room to take and started the turn. Geoff, the cockpit man, moved quickly to the old genoa, and as the genoa backwinded, he released it. The boat went through the wind, the mainsheet was eased a couple of feet, and the boom came across. Luke pulled as fast as possible, and when he couldn’t pull anymore, he put a couple more turns on the winch and the grinding began. Quentin steered the new course.

“HIGH SIDE!” Lou yelled, and they all raced to hang their legs over the windward side.

Quentin whooped, and Lou laughed into the wind.

After rounding the first mark and heading toward the second with the wind on their side, Lou jumped into action in time to hoist the spinnaker, then gave Quentin the thumbs-up. The rest of the team instantly got busy, tending to their individual duties. Lou was a little too much fingers and thumbs, but he could tell it was coming together.

Watching it rise to the top, Lou happily called, “UP!”

Alan trimmed the spinnaker while Robert grinded. They sailed fast, and Lou punched the air and roared. Behind the wheel, Quentin laughed as the spinny filled with wind like a windsock, and the wind with them, they raced to the next mark. Quentin allowed himself a quick look astern, and it was some sight: there must have been twenty-five boats with spinnakers filling, chasing them down. Not bad. He and Lou caught each other’s eyes and smiled.

AFTER THIRTY MINUTES OF QUEUING for the ice rink, Lou and his family finally reached the front.

“You guys have fun,” Lou said, clapping his hands together and stamping his feet to keep warm. “I’ll just go to the coffee place over there and watch you.”

Ruth started laughing. “Lou, I thought you were coming skating with us.”

“No.” He scrunched up his face. “I’ve just spent the last half an hour watching men my age making fools of themselves out there. What if someone sees me? I’d rather stay here, thank you. Plus, these are new and dry clean only,” he added, pointing to his trousers.

“Right,” Ruth said firmly, “then you won’t mind taking care of Bud while Lucy and I skate.”

“Come on, Lucy.” Lou had an instant change of heart at that and grabbed his daughter’s hand. “Let’s get us some skates.” He winked at Ruth, who looked amused, and made off to get their ice skates. He got to the counter ahead of Smug Family Man. Ha. He felt a sense of silent victory.

“What size?” The man behind the desk looked at him.

“Ten, please,” Lou responded, and looked down at Lucy and waited for her to speak up. Her big brown eyes stared back up at him.

“Tell the man your size, sweetheart,” he said, feeling Smug Family Man breathing down his neck as he waited.

“I don’t know, Daddy,” she said, almost in a whisper.

“Well, you’re four, aren’t you?”

“Five.” She frowned.

“She’s five,” he told the man. “So whatever size a five-year-old would take.”

“It really depends on the child.”

Lou sighed and took out his BlackBerry, refusing to have to line up again. Behind him, Smug Family Man with the baby in the pouch called over his head, “Two size fours, a size three, and an eleven, please.”

Lou rolled his eyes and mimicked him as he waited for his call to be answered.

“Hello?”

“What size is Lucy?”

Ruth laughed. “She’s a twenty-six.”

“Okay, thanks.” He hung up.

Once on the ice, he held on to the side of the rink carefully. He took Lucy’s hand and guided her along. Ruth stood nearby with Bud, who kicked his legs excitedly while bouncing up and down and pointing at nothing in particular.

“Now, sweetheart”—Lou’s voice and ankles wobbled as he stepped on the ice—“it’s very dangerous, so you have to be very careful. Hold on to the sides now, okay?”

Lucy held on to the side with one hand and slowly got used to moving along the ice while Lou’s ankles still wobbled on his thin blades.

Lucy started to skate faster. “Honey,” Lou said, his voice shaky as he looked down at the cold, hard ice, dreading what it would feel like to fall.

The distance between Lucy and Lou widened.

“Keep up with her, Lou,” Ruth called from the other side of the barrier, walking alongside him as he moved. He could swear he heard teasing in her voice.

“I bet you’re enjoying this.” He could barely look up at her, he was concentrating so much.

“Absolutely.”

He pushed with his left foot, which skidded out farther than he planned, and he almost broke into a split. Feeling like Bambi getting to his feet for the first time, he wobbled and spun, arms waving around in circles as he tried to keep his balance. But he was making progress. He looked up now and then to keep his eye on Lucy, who was clearly visible in her fire-engine-red coat, halfway around the rink ahead of him.

Smug Family Man went flying by him, arms swinging as though he was about to take part in a bobsled race, the speed of him alone almost toppling Lou. Behind him, Smug Family Man’s kids raced along, holding hands, and were they actually singing? That was it, Lou decided. Slowly letting go of the barrier at the side, he tried to balnace on wobbly legs. Then, bit by bit, he slid a foot forward, almost toppling backward, his back arching as though about to fall into a crab position, but he somehow managed to rescue himself.

“Hi, Daddy,” Lucy said, speeding by him as she completed the first round of the rink.

Lou moved out from the side of the rink, away from the beginners who were shuffling around inch by inch, determined, albeit foolishly, to beat Smug Family Man.

Halfway now between the center of the rink and the barrier, Lou was out on his own. Feeling a little more confident, he pushed himself farther, trying to swing his arms for balance as he saw the others doing. He picked up speed. Dodging children and old people, he quite unsophisticatedly darted around the rink, hunched over and swinging his arms, more like an ice-hockey player than a graceful skater. He bumped against children, knocking some over, causing others to topple. He heard one child cry. He broke through a couple holding hands. He was concentrating on not falling over so much that he could barely find the time to apologize. At one point he passed Lucy but, unable to stop, had to keep moving, his speed picking up as he went round and round. The lights that decorated the park trees above them blurred as he raced around, along with the sounds and colors of the other skaters. Feeling like he was on a merry-go-round, Lou smiled and finally relaxed a little bit, as he raced round and round and round. He passed Smug Family Guy; he passed by Lucy for a third time; he passed by Ruth, whom he heard call his name and take a photograph. He couldn’t stop, and he wouldn’t stop; he didn’t know how. He was enjoying the feel of the wind in his hair, the lights of the city around him, the crispness of the air, the sky so filled with stars as the evening began to close in at the early hour. He felt free and alive, happier than he remembered being for a long time. Round and round he went.

ALEXANDRA AND THE CREW HAD taken on the course for the third and final time. Their speed and coordination had come together better over the last hour, and Lou had fixed any previous hiccups that he’d had. They were coming up to rounding the bottom mark, and they needed to once again execute the spinnaker drop.

Lou made sure that the ropes were free to run. Geoff hoisted the genoa, Lou guided it into the luff groove, and Luke made sure that the genoa sheet was cleated off. Robert positioned himself to grab the loose sheet under the mainsail so that it could be used to pull in the spinnaker. As soon as he was in position, everyone prepared for everything to happen at once. Geoff released the halyard and helped to stuff the spinnaker down below. Joey released the guy and made sure it ran out fast so that the spinnaker could fly flaglike outside the boat. When the spinnaker was in the boat, Luke trimmed the genoa for the new course, Joey trimmed the main, Geoff lowered the pole, and Lou stowed the pole.

Spinnaker down for the last time and approaching the finishing line, they radioed the race officer on Channel 37 and waited for recognition. Not first in, but they were all happy. Lou looked at Quentin as they sailed in, and they smiled. Neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to. They both knew.

LYING ON HIS BACK WITH people flying by him, Lou held on to his sore rib cage and tried to stop laughing, but he just couldn’t. He had done what he had been dreading and achieved the most dramatic and comical fall of the day. He lay in the center of the rink; Lucy was by his side, laughing, trying to lift his arm and pull him up. They had been holding hands and skating around slowly together when, too cocky, Lou had tripped over his own feet, gone flying, and landed on his back. Nothing was broken, thankfully, other than his pride, but even that he surprisingly didn’t care about. He allowed Lucy to believe she was helping him up from the ice as she pulled on his arm. He looked over to Ruth and saw a flash as she took yet another photo. They caught each other’s eyes, and he smiled.

They didn’t say anything about that day. They didn’t need to. They all knew.

It had been the best day of their lives.