Chapter 1

There were Maggie and Sean, at the head, and the twins, Julie and Toni, were huddled at one side, their arms tightly around one another. The sun played lightly, around the golden down, at the nape of their necks, and on their arms. At sixteen, the twins were lithe and coltish, with that innate grace of all young animals, in the midst of adolescence. Maggie, at thirty-seven, looked hardly older than her daughters. Her hair had only that added darkness that came with her years, and the hint of Auburn picked up by the sun, added immeasurably. In Sean, his father's hair had triumphed, and his pure Auburn mane flowed down over his collar and ears. The lavender cotton sun-dresses and hats of the girls, stood in stark contrast to the dead black suits worn by their brother and mother, and most of the other mourners.

At the foot of the casket, the priest was finishing the service, with a well deserved eulogy of their father and husband. Jake O'Brian had long been a pillar of the southern Florida area. His death, at the hands of a drunk driver, three days before had made headlines in all the local papers, while the Herald devoted a full half page to his obituary. The Funeral Mass at St. Mary's had been attended by several thousand friends and business associates.

The ride home in the limousine was subdued, silent, except for the soft sobbing of the twins, locked together on the bench seat, while their mother and older brother held hands on the rear seat. When they arrived home they went to their rooms, the twins to theirs and Sean to his. Maggie went to the solarium and poured a large whiskey.

Julie and Toni's room was not your typical little girl's room, but rather that of adult room-mates. Two double beds stood against one wall, a large bed-side table between them, with twin reading lamps. The opposite wall was composed entirely of mirrored doors, to bath and closets. The far wall held French doors leading to a private patio-sun deck. The balance of the space held an eclectic collection of comfortable, well used, chairs and tables. Jake's influence was everywhere in the room, from his picture on the wall to his helping the girls select the furnishings. Not that the room was masculine, but that it was coordinated with the eye of an adult. The back of an easy chair held two lavender sundresses, and on the seat were a matching pair of lavender hats. On one of the beds, a light throw covered what was the obvious form of two bodies, in close embrace. Only easy breathing disturbed the quiet afternoon.

Sean, relaxed in a burgundy wing chair, his shoes off and feet up on an ottoman, was reviewing the afternoon and the preceding three days. He was obviously his father's son. He could have been the man in the picture on the dresser, somehow regressed in age by twenty years. The dresser top was stacked with trophies and ribbons, some a dozen or more years old, and some from only months ago. A geometric patterned futon and chair formed an angle in one corner, and a desk with computer held sway in another. A king-size bed with padded headboard dominated the room, like an ocean liner in a marina. The white spread, like an ice floe on the blue carpet, was rumpled and heaped from the previous night's use, and both pillows showed indentations. Speakers, in the ceiling corners, spread the calm of The Four Seasons through the room, and the breeze from the open windows, rippled the FSU pennant hanging above the computer.

Maggie's hat and the remains of her drink were on a coffee table, in front of the leather sofa, on which she lay sprawled. Her hair is down now, and her suit jacket undone. Traces of tears still mar her cheeks with dark smudges of mascara. She clings tightly to another copy of the picture, standing on the girls' bed-side table. In the photo, Jake is seen at the helm of the family's forty-five foot ketch. His wind-blown hair shades his eyes, his tanned torso is sheened with sweat, and the horizon tilts at a sharp angle. A smile stretches his lips, and can be seen in his half obscured eyes.