Page 92 of The All-Inclusive

Her tone reeked of judgement, but a strange little squiggle of hope twisted in me. It wasn’t that long ago Mom would have used an offensive slur.

“He doesn’t justlikeother men.” I tried hard to keep my voiceeven. “He’s been married to the same man for years. They co-own a company and they’re raising three kids.”

I heard her sharp intake of breath. “He haschildren?”

“Yes, Mom.” I swear I’ve told her that ten or twelve times. “Beck has a husband and kids and a super-successful business. His husband’s a youth pastor in their church and their three kids were fosters from a horribly abusive home.”

“I see.” Something in her voice said maybe she did. For the first time ever, I felt a sliver of hope that my mother could open her mind. “Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose that’s…it’s…” She struggled to find the right words. “Good for them.”

“Yes.” A sense of relief washed through me. “Good for them.”

Mom wasn’t done, though. “I sure don’t know what Trent’s mother sees in that horrible husband of hers. Do you think he hurt her?”

For once in my life, I felt grateful for the church gossip mill. “It’s certainly possible,” I said carefully. “Maybe having a proper, godly marriage is no guarantee you’ll be happy.”

“I suppose it’s not.” A long pause lingered on the phone line. “Maybe there’s more than one way to be married.”

Holding my breath, I bit down on the back of my knuckle. Biting back hope and tears as I wrapped up the call. I knew better than to push. Like most people do, my mom needs to find her own way. All I can be is a bright star of love to help guide her toward a new path.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, Sara.” She stayed on the line like she had more to say. “You know I just want you to be happy, right?”

“I do.” I’m not sure I did, but I’m starting to.

And now, as I draw in a deep, cleansing breath, I pull myself back to this beach. To Logan’s embrace and the steady, strong drum of his heart. Turning my head to the side, I catch sight of a big, cardboard rectangle resting at the base of a palm tree.

“What’s that?” I draw back to squint at the box. “Did somebody leave that there?”

“Me.” Logan releases me, turning to walk toward the tree. “There’s a service we offer at the resort called Bridal Ship Down.”

I watch as he picks up the box and carries it back to my side. “Bridal Ship Down?” I didn’t see that one in the app. “Is that some kind of pirate-themed sex thing?”

He laughs as he sets down the box at our feet. “Nope. It’s not a sex thing at all. It’s a ritual for helping our jilted brides let go of their fantasy weddings that didn’t happen. Given the significance of today, I thought you might like to try it.”

“Oh.” That’s…intriguing. Reaching into the box, I pull out a small wooden ship. It’s rustic and sturdy, the size of a small loaf of bread. There’s a mast made of bamboo, topped by a flag that’s been fashioned from palm fronds.

“They’re eco-friendly,” Logan says. “There’s a guy on the team who makes them with driftwood. Some of our brides choose to light them on fire before pushing them into the sea.”

“That doesn’t seem good for the fish.”

He smiles and takes out two more boats, leaving the box in the sand. “The fire snuffs out pretty quickly once you set it in the water.”

I study the two boats he’s holding. “You’re doing this, too?”

“Yeah.” He holds up the one in his left hand. “I got one for Trent. Thought it might help release him in spirit, you know?” His chuckle is sheepish as we carry the boats to the edge of the water. “He’d probably hate this, huh?”

“Maybe,” I admit. “But sometimes he needs a small nudge toward the thing that’ll give him relief.”

“Can’t hurt, I figure.” Logan kicks off his shoes and wades into the surf. Droplets of water shimmer on his muscular calves as I wade in to join him.

Clutching the hem of my dress in one hand, I bend down and balance my boat in the water. Gripping the back of it, I wait for awave, then give it a push out to sea. “So long,” I whisper. “The dream served me well for a really long time.”

Logan crouches beside me, placing the first boat in the water. “Bon voyage,” he says, pushing it out on the next wave. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

Together, we launch the third boat. Trent’s little vessel catches up to ours and the three of them teeter and bob. Then somehow in unison, all three of them surge to the top of a big, frothy wave. They’re suspended in sunlight, sparkling with seafoam and bright, golden rays. When the wave crashes down, all three of them vanish, absorbed by the swirl of the water.

Logan watches the spot for a moment. Taking my hand, he speaks with his eyes still fixed on the sea. “I gave my notice to Ms. Neville this morning.”

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