1. Heron’s Landing: A Fairly Typical Morning
“I have a different sort of present for you this year. Come sailing with me. A whole summer. Just the two of us. What do you think?”
I woke to the sun streaming through my curtains, a book on my pillowcase, and a purring cat on my chest: another beautiful day. “Morning, Maestro,” I said, scritching his chin with one hand and adjusting my silk bonnet with the other. “Have you been to the window yet?”
Our morning view of the bay was as picturesque as usual. I focused on the way the sunlight bounced off the sparkling blue water while I went through my morning workout routine - steadfastly refusing to look at my sister’s ship at our dock or think about what its presence meant.
“Good morning, Isabelle.” My mother raised her eyes from her tablet as I entered the kitchen, taking in my fresh braids. “Your hair looks lovely. Those aren’t too tight, are they?”
“No, Mom,” I smiled as I went to wash my hands. She always made a point to notice my hair. “Good morning.” It wasn’t even eight am, and Vivienne St. Germaine was already in full dress and makeup for the day. I took in her blonde updo, pencil skirt, and heels and wondered what ungodly hour of the day she’d been up and coifing. “What time do you have to leave? I made Quiche Lorraine last night,” I gestured at the fridge. “One for our guests, another for us.”
She beamed at me, her blue eyes dancing as she poured her coffee. “I sense another five-star review for Heron’s Landing,” she said, “featuring guest chef Isabelle St. Germaine!”
I smiled back, thinking as usual how proud her progenitors would have been to see how she had improved upon their estate over the years.
Heron's Landing for all your special occasion needs, both great and small! Step back in time and stay at our luxurious historic mansion, where you’ll experience delights unavailable anywhere else on the Eastern seaboard. Our boutique resort features unparalleled bay views from every room, culinary farm to table delights prepared by an on-site chef, and a variety of activities on our 15 acre estate.
“Mr. Indra is still raving about that herbed chicken dish from their first night, and their grandkids enjoyed the horses so much that they’re begging to come back later this year. And Mrs. Randolph emailed to specially request your pecan and apple galette for her stay this fall. Just think, Isabelle, if you came to work here, you could do whatever you like! Not just in the kitchen, either. There are the horses, the gardens - and you’d never have to deal with that horrible man at that restaurant again.”
I smiled and nodded as she continued her ‘subtle hints’. Being a St. Germaine came with certain expectations. I sat on the board of our family’s foundation, I helped with running the resort, I got dolled up for charity events and dinners.
But in the official culinary world, I went by Isabelle Deveraux, my birth name. And never the twain shall meet, as far as I was concerned. That was why I’d taken a job an hour away. Despite my adoptive family’s endless connections, I was determined to make my career climb based on merit. If word ever got out that Izzy Deveraux and Isabelle St. Germaine were the same person, I’d never be sure of why I was getting hired again.
“...Willow does a good job. Still,” Mom sighed, tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the countertop. I braced myself, already knowing where she was going with this. “It won’t be the same if I have to bring in an outside chef. Not that you should let that hold you back. I’m just speaking my thoughts out loud,” she hastened to add.
“I haven’t said yes, Mom,” I reminded her as I set the timer for the oven.
“You haven’t said no, either, Isabelle,” she said pointedly, taking her coffee into the den.
“I have a different sort of present for you this year. Come sailing with me. A whole summer. Just the two of us. What do you think?”
My sister, Anne, had sailed into Heron’s Landing back in March for my 25th birthday and dropped that bomb on me.
Usually, my sister brought me cute, random little things - silly t-shirts, a handmade lanyard, a pretty teacup. This year, her gift was extremely generous: an offer to come sailing with her for the summer. An adventure on the high seas, she’d announced grandly. My sister and I hadn’t taken a leisure trip on the ocean together in some time. Years. And for this sisterly summer at sea, she had even renovated her ship, the Try Your Luck, adding showers and a full galley with room for my plants and a top of the line stove with gimbals.
The idea of spending an entire summer hanging out with Anne was blissful. After all, we’d been best friends long before we were sisters. And yet, weeks later, I still didn’t have an answer.
My garden was doing its usual spring explosion. There were new sprouts, beds to be fertilized and weeds to pull, a fallow area I wanted to turn into a cut garden - all of which I would do myself. During an average week, I divided several dozen hours between a full time job, a part time job, and volunteering - not to mention the amount of time I gave to our family's business, foundation, and other interests. I also had three horses, a pig, and a cat to take care of. Taking an entire summer to sail with my sister seemed irresponsible, and therefore felt impossible. Even if it was an incredibly intriguing idea that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.
I finished up in the garden and headed to the front drive with a crate of greens and fresh herbs - my contribution for the week for our local food bank and shelters. Sister Judith would be by later to collect everything for dispersal, as always. Who would harvest my produce if I was gone?
Still - after a lifetime of being Isabelle, Responsible Student, Dependable Daughter, the idea of taking a summer to be more like my carefree sister had definite appeal. Maybe I should take a break. After all, between the restaurant, theatre, volunteering, and years of school plus interning, I’d been working my ass off for as long as I could remember.
Maybe that was why my mother seemed certain that I would take Anne up on her offer. I shook off my less than stellar thoughts as I quickened my pace, eager for the next part of my routine.
The horses perked up at my appearance, nickering happily as they headed my way. “Hello.” I kept my voice soft as I latched the gate behind me. Princess Jasmine was nearest to me, and she was decidedly not a morning horse. “I come bearing gifts,” I told her, proffering a piece of apple. Persephone the Great and Darcy Evangeline de Raven Court headed over too, nickering. Apples were a rarity for my girls, but I needed to buy some time for chores this morning. Miriam, my usual helper, was away at a Girl Scouts event this week, and I wasn't above the occasional bribe in order to get things done. I bribed my animals with snacks, the kids I tutored with stickers and candy, and my boss by stroking his ego. I was practically Mata Hari.
After I finished mucking out the stalls, cleaning and refilling all of the food and water - and rinsing off my boots, hands, and gloves - I took down the saddle and got Persephone ready.
By the time I reached the stream, Persephone was ready for a water break. While she quenched her thirst, I made the mistake of checking my phone. In addition to several missed calls from my assistant at Daydream, the theatre, there were also all the text messages from Felix, the executive chef at Oasis, demanding that I come in because he was hungover. Fucking Felix. “Fuck.” The mare only glanced up at me placidly before returning to her drink. “That’s an excellent point,” I said, and turned off my phone. Matthew would keep, and Felix could go fuck himself.
Summer vacation. I snorted to myself as Persephone and I trotted down the trail. Grown ups didn’t get to take summer vacations, not really. I certainly didn’t. There were barely enough hours in the day already. As we turned back towards the house, my sister’s ship loomed at the dock, tempting me like phantom treasure at the end of the rainbow.
Across the room, a pair of silk dancers performed, spinning and twirling through the air in their colorful, glittery little outfits. I wondered what Anne would think of their costumes; one of the unitards reminded me of a piece she’d made for Daydream.
I sipped my drink, taking in the ambiance of The Black Cat Lounge as I relaxed into my purple velvet club chair. I’d spent the morning in meetings for the St. Germaine Foundation, ‘lunch’ had been a Daydream board meeting; the rest of the day I’d been at Oasis. There, I had listened to Felix bitch about his (entirely deserved) relationship woes in exchange for learning how to make black pasta. Mom was right about him. He was absolutely awful.
I had smiled and nodded at his words while the main part of my brain engaged in recording his actions with the cuttlefish ink, the pasta maker, and finally the freshly made dough. Smiling and nodding was my specialty these days. I’d become so gifted at it I could put it on my resume under ‘special skills’.
Now that I was hanging out with my friends, all of my smiles were genuine. We had decided to take a trip to Fells Point this evening to check out a new place.
“So?” Adaline leaned across the table, eyes wide. “Have you given it any more thought?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. Was the whole world waiting for my answer?
“I swear, I don’t understand how your mind works,” Sunday said, finishing her mango margarita. She flagged down the waitress - who was wearing a tiny black bodysuit along with cat ears and a tail - with a wiggle of her sparkly fingertips and a smile. “If you don’t go, I’ll never forgive you,” she said dramatically, adding a toss of her extensions for good measure.
“And just what am I supposed to tell my employers?” I returned calmly, a paragon of reason and pragmatism.
“‘Employers.’” Sunday emphasized in air quotes. “You practically own Daydream. It’s not like they can fire you.”
Before I was a St. Germaine, I was a Deveraux. And my mom, Rose Deveraux, built and developed a little theater, Daydream. That theatre was full of some of my earliest and most favorite memories. I had grown up on that stage, I had met Anne in a preschool drama class there, and once I came of age I took my mother’s seat on the board of directors.
“They also can’t fire you from your family foundation or resort.” Adaline brought me back to the present, ticking segments of my life off on her fingers. “You have too many jobs,” she declared.
“And we know you haven’t taken any time off since you started at your new secret job. Not with Felix and his constant drama,” Sunday added. I rolled my eyes. I’d purposefully never told them the name of the restaurant where I worked or any other identifying info. They would come in like glittery wrecking balls and announce to one and all that a St. Germaine was basting their prime rib. It was important to me that I be known first for my skills, not my pedigree.
“It’s not like I’ve been working there that long,” I began, only to be met with knowing, amused looks. Whatever. “I have a lot going on. I can’t just up and leave to go cavort around the seven seas.”
“It’s a waste of your privilege,” Sunday said, giving me a very direct Black Girl Stare. “There are literally millions of people around the globe who would sell their own souls to walk a mile in your high heels.”
“I’d sell my step-mother’s soul in a second,” Adaline said, nodding solemnly, and I bit back my own amusement as they laughed. “Come on,” Adaline whined. “Not everyone is lucky enough to be a St. Germaine.”
Lucky enough. I’d had some good luck, it was true; but I’d been struck with just as much bad luck as good in my life. “I want to be more than a lucky St. Germaine. You know this.”
Adaline pouted, twirling a piece of her bright blonde hair.
“You have an amazing life, and it’s fun to live vicariously through your adventures.” Sunday played with her cloth napkin. “I would kill for your connections.”
“You never take advantage of who you are!” Adaline shook her head. “If I was a St. Germaine, I would never shut up about it.”
As my mother was keen on reminding me, I could do pretty much anything I wanted...if I was willing to use the St. Germaine name. Isabelle St. Germaine could literally trip into a posh job anywhere in this area, regardless of resume, gender, or skin color, and have people fawning over her. Isabelle Deveraux, on the other hand, had to earn everything. Those were my purest wins.
I shook my head. “You are both so ridiculous,” I began, then paused for the arrival of appetizers and our next round of cocktails.
“What did the great Vivienne St. Germaine say?” Sunday asked, looking over the oysters.
“Well....” I stirred my juniper-rose martini. My mom never really said anything about these kinds of choices. She was much more the sort of person to listen while thoughtfully nodding and then respond with something gauzy like, ‘well, how do you feel about it, dear?’. She was like that with me, at least. She and Anne had a very different relationship. “Not much,” I ventured finally. “But she seems to be preparing for my departure.”
“See! Exactly.” Sunday nodded sagely. “She’s hardly one to encourage slackers.”
“My family would laugh me to tears if I suggested taking a summer to sail for fun,” Adaline said glumly.
“What’s the difference?” Sunday chortled. “It’s not like you work now-”
“Hey!” Adaline sat up straight, looking insulted. “I wake up to go and sit in that office everyday!”
“And do what, exactly?” Sunday teased.
“Arrange my dad’s calendar,” Adaline replied. “Order lunch for everyone. It’s very important,” she insisted.
“Right. I’m sure they couldn’t get by without you.” Sunday smirked, raising her glass. “You should take her with you, Izzy! Maybe your sister would give you a plus one on your adventure.” We all laughed at that. My sister barely even let me on her ship.
“Anyway,” Sunday continued once we had settled, “Just think - maybe you’ll be on your yacht-”
“-Anne’s yacht,” I interjected, and she waved off that small detail. One of the bartenders smiled at me - again - and I smiled back. She was very pretty.
Adaline raised her glass. “Captain Anne’s Historical Day Sailing Tours!” She cheered loudly, quoting my sister’s business slogan.
“-and you’ll dock at a luxurious boat club - looking like you do,” Sunday motioned at my lacy cocktail dress and pencil heels with a smirk. “You’ll catch the eye of something tall, dark and handsome. Maybe a tall, dark, South American man-”
“Or a pretty South American girl,” Adaline said in an inebriated attempt at inclusivity. “Izzy has options.”
Thanks, Adaline. We were going to have to cut off her drinks soon.
“Regardless,” Sunday said, pushing a glass of water in front of our friend. “Pick a tool. You need to get some spring cleaning done.”
“Spring cleaning?” I laughed.
She nodded. “Time to clean out your cobwebs and corners.”
Oh god. I blinked at her. “I’m nowhere near cobweb level,” I retorted. “...Although I probably could use a good...spring cleaning,” I admitted, to the amusement of my friends.
“I wonder you haven’t rusted,” Sunday said, giving me a thoughtful look. “I’ve never seen you single for this long.”
“Maybe you’re keeping secrets?” Adaline hazarded, plucking a piece of pineapple off of her cocktail.
“I have no secrets,” I declared. “There’s work, volunteering, gardening, and riding. My horses,” I added before Adaline could make good on the dirty joke I had inadvertently set her up for.
I pretended not to notice the ‘lay off it’ look that Sunday shot Adaline across the table.
Afterwards, we walked out to the marina, chatting and passing a joint while we waited for our ride-share. I was full of thoughts by the time I was entering the keycode at my door.
“Here, Mom.” I handed her the colander of freshly harvested and rinsed items from the garden. “Lovely.” She smiled, running her hands carefully over the wet produce. “I do enjoy it when they’re still warm from the sun,” she added, selecting a knife and cutting board.
I took the fragrant loaves of sage and rosemary bread from the oven and transferred them to the cooling rack, then sat and watched as my mother layered ingredients into a large glass bowl; once she was satisfied, I leaned over and garnished the dinner salad with a few basil leaves.
“Isabelle,” Mom started, then paused for a long moment. “Are you content?”
I gazed at her, taken aback. My mother was not usually prone to such questions. “I have no complaints.” I mean, who didn’t have an obnoxious coworker or two? Regardless, I spent my days doing what I liked, and truly, I wanted for nothing. I was well aware of my privilege.
She gave me a Mom Look. “You spend so much time working - not that I don’t appreciate your work ethic - but I sometimes worry that you’re neglecting the social aspects of your life.”
Okay. That sounded more like Vivienne St. Germaine. “I do social things! I had coffee with the Emersons-”
“Do you mean after the board meeting?” She frowned at me. “The Emersons! That’s hardly-” My mother paused to shake her head, composing herself. “Isabelle, I am talking about fun with people your own age.”
“I had drinks with Sunday and Adaline last week,” I said defensively.
“And you ought to be doing more of that. Especially romantic nights out,” my mother added. “They have dating apps, Isabelle, and I’m sure you’d do wonderfully! I could help you set up a profile.” I braced myself as she beamed at me. “I’ve been thinking about it, and you could include those gorgeous pictures from your debutante ball and the one from your prom with the violet dress!”
Cocktails, I decided, moving to the bar. We definitely needed cocktails to go with our hearty dinner salad and bread. And I needed to make them right now. She sighed behind me, going on about my admirable qualities while I mixed our lavender martinis.
“When would I find the time to go on dates, Mom, honestly?” I asked, handing her a drink when she finally paused for air.
“Lovely African American woman who is confident in her pronouns seeks wealthy, well endowed man of impressive pedigree,” she recited.
“Oh god,” I mumbled, taking a drink.
“I don’t know what you would write for the young ladies,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose you could change it to ‘person’ instead of ‘man’?”
“Mom!” She grinned at me over her glass.
Professional chef. Equestrian. Gardener. Seeking someone open-minded, educated, and fun. Must like animals and the outdoors.
My pictures would definitely not include anything from my teenage years. I had some great ones from my various trips to Mexico, though... I pushed down those dark thoughts and smiled. “If it happens, it happens, but...” I shook my head. “I really don’t feel like my life is empty or incomplete in any way, you know?”
“Isabelle, I am not at all suggesting that you require a partner. Just that you might enjoy one.”
I wrinkled my brow. “Are you advising me to meet people to hook up with?”
She flushed. “Goodness! I only meant that companionship, in whatever form, could be beneficial.”
“Because it’s human nature to need other humans?” I asked, and she nodded. I studied her for a long moment. “Alright,” I began slowly. “I’ll make a dating profile if you do.”
My mom took a deep drink before speaking again. “It isn’t the same. Your father...losing him is not the same as what you’ve lost. You experienced a strong connection with that man in Cabo.”
Fetu, my spring break fling turned first love. I swallowed, uneasy. Neither Mom nor Anne ever brought him up, and neither did I. Even now, his loss was too painful to discuss.
“It’s tragic you lost him but there are others out there just waiting to love you.” She gave me a professional smile, and I prepared myself for her redirection. “I’ve never known you to go so long without…enjoyment.” There it was.
Now it was my turn to flush. “Mom,” I murmured.
“You have so much going for you and....oh, Isabelle.” Her features had taken on a rare wistful mien. “I love watching you live in so many ways that I never could. Or that maybe I never had the courage to. Regardless, I see so much of myself in you. But I’d hate for you to share in this ‘post amorous’ lifestyle of mine. That is one thing the two of us need not share. You’re still so young,” she smiled at me again, this time genuinely.
I smiled back at her. “Does this mean you’re not going to make a profile?”
She laughed.
12 years since we’d lost Da and Mom hadn’t had any ‘enjoyment’ I was aware of. She had almost as many secrets as Anne, but I’d never seen a date on her calendar. I could only imagine Sunday’s comments about the spring cleaning Vivienne St. Germaine might be in need of.
“We could make one for Anne,” I suggested, and her eyes lit up. “Beautiful, statuesque heiress. ” I began, and my mother laughed.
“Experienced sea captain,” she added. “Excellent dancer.”
“If you too have heard the call of the ocean and thought, ‘I never want to return to land’, we could be soul-mates.”
“If you saw Waterworld and thought, ‘that’s my kind of dystopia’, we should get drinks.”
We went on to build as much of her profile as we could - must be able to swim, enjoy seafood, and adventure upon the high seas - but it was difficult to write a serious, detailed profile for someone as enigmatic as my sister.
Anne’s sounded steps in the hall and we clamped our mouths shut.
My sister entered the room, immediately rolled her eyes at how green dinner was, then mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. “Oh good. More salad,” she added loudly enough for us to hear, plastering a fake smile on her face. And then my wonderful, darling sister grabbed a box of fucking chicken nuggets out of the freezer. Must enjoy microwaveable cuisine. Mom raised an eyebrow for my eyes only, but I didn’t bother to cloak my annoyance.
“Seriously‽” My lip curled in distaste. Anne had all the culinary leanings of a kindergartner. “Would you at least taste the salad as is before you ruin the flavor profile? Mom and I worked really hard on dinner.” In addition to the fresh vegetables - all of which I had grown and harvested myself, thank you very much - we had also included gorgonzola and egg whites. This salad was a full dinner, loaded with protein, flavor, and nutrients. I had even made dressing.
“I’m going to eat the salad too,” she said, putting her offensive chicken bits into the air fryer.
I stared at her. This was not a salad that would pair well with a chicken nugget topping. “Yes, but the nuggets aren’t going to go with it at all! Breaded chicken?!”
“The breading soaks up the dressing. It’ll be great. Want some? No?” I stared at her in horror. “Mom?”
“No,” she declined politely.
“Can’t you at least eat them on the side?” I pleaded. “I’ll make you a sauce and everything.” Anne’s response was to mumble more under her breath, and then turn off the air fryer. “What did I say?”
“Nothing. This looks great. Let’s eat.”
Suspicious. But I breathed a sigh of relief as she started setting the table.
“How was your day, Anne?” I was pleased to see that they were both eating slices of the sage-rosemary loaf and the creamy spread that went with it. Felix could suck it. I was great.
Anne swallowed before speaking. “Fine. Business as usual.” Mom and I shared a look. We had no idea what ‘business’ Anne did while she was in town and we were both afraid to ask in case the DEA or some other alphabet bureau needed a statement one day.
“Are you both ready for tomorrow night?” I frowned as they both stared back at me blankly. “Snow Globe? At Daydream? It’s opening night. I put it on the family calendar months ago.” It was a collaboration I’d set up between my old high school, St. Christopher’s Academy, and Daydream. The girls in the drama club had been working on original one acts they’d present at the theatre. “We have reservations at The Raven afterwards?”
Mom topped off both of their wine glasses generously. “We can’t wait. Sounds exciting.”
The next night as my mother and sister pretended to pay attention to the girls’ vignettes I contemplated. Could I do this? Could I really take a break from my life for an entire summer?
I studied Anne over dinner. She sailed in and out of this place and seemed to be doing fine. I envied her carefree existence, and the idea of tagging along to get a first hand view of her life was suddenly irresistible.
I tapped my water glass with my fingernail. “I have some news,” I started.
“Oh god.” Anne stared at me. “Are you pregnant?”
Seriously? “No, Anne.”
“Diane,” Mom hissed. “Decency, please.”
Anne gave me a thoughtful look. “Dare I hope to dream?” I nodded, and my sister’s face split into a wide grin.
“Isabelle? You’ve decided to go?” Mom’s face was the polar opposite of Anne’s, like someone finally hearing the drop of a long awaited shoe.
“You will not regret this. It’ll be the trip of a lifetime. I promise,” Anne said, then grabbed me into a hug around the table.
