Despite Chaos, the first installment of the Falling Castles Series, is a re-envisioning of the first novel-length story I ever wrote. That original fanfiction story, dating back to 2016, titled Delayed Connection, was set loosely in the world of Showtime’s The L Word. Readers at LesFan.com received it well, inspiring me to continue writing. Two novel-length stories later, I’d written my first series.

 Fast forward to 2019, a month after I signed my first contract with Bella Books, I sat down with the publisher, Linda Hill, over drinks at the Golden Crown Literary Society (GCLS) Conference in Pittsburgh. I was nervous as hell and felt intimidated by the talent I’d met in the preceding days, but once I’d cornered Linda for a private discussion, I took full advantage and pitched not just my next book but my next five. I went full-on bold and told her that I had two series in mind, intending to produce six books in three years—three from each series. Despite Chaos represents my fourth book in two years and kicks off that long-awaited second series.

 After cracking open the original manuscript, I cringed at my pre-academy writing style. I barely got through the first chapter before realizing that too many subplots complicated the story. Drawing on my academy teachings, I stripped out an entire subplot, which had a dramatic, cascading effect for the better. While I’d removed a layer of my main character, the choices I had her making were now more logical. Much of the original story remained intact, and I even left in a reference to the original title’s inspiration—a cocktail I once enjoyed at a hotel bar near an airport called Delayed Connection.

Blind Suspicion, the second installment of the Falling Castles Series, nearly didn’t happen. If not for my friend Barbara Gould, my plotting partner in crime, who had planted her flag and declared herself firmly in the camp of Team Ethan, this world of characters would’ve ended at book one.

In the original draft of this book’s predecessor, Despite Chaos, I had Ethan Falling being killed. Barb convinced me that Ethan was too central to the world I’d created to knock him off in the first round. I’m glad she did because once I changed the plotline in book one—Ethan now surviving the attack—a storyline for book two popped into my head.

Like Chaos, this book started as an alternative universe fanfiction story based loosely on Showtime’s The L Word. Readers of my original fanfiction work will be happy to learn most of that version remains intact. Blind Suspicion picks up at the end of Despite Chaos and continues the drama plaguing Alex and Tyler. I introduce two new characters—Jesse Simmons, Abby Spencer’s lawyer who defends Alex, and Destiny Scott, a bright, ambitious exotic dancer who is full of surprises.

The first two Falling Castle books left many of my characters with deeply held secrets, some for sinister reasons and some for the sake of love. So, the third installment, Amid Secrets, was inevitable. Those skeletons, ranging from uncomfortable to life-shattering, had to come out. The tricky part was intertwining them and then revealing each one in a logical order.

Like Despite Chaos and Blind Suspicion, this book started as an alternative universe fanfiction story based loosely on Showtime’s The L Word. Bette and Tina became Alex and Tyler. Kit became Syd. Peggy and Helena Peabody became Abby and Harley Spencer. And in this story, Lara Perkins becomes Lara Prescott. Abby and Lara are the only characters that resemble their inspiration from the original television series. The others took on different jobs, personalities, and family circumstances.

When I finished drafting this story in its original fanfiction form in 2017, I cried and cried and cried. This was the third book in my first series, and I had no intention of writing anything more. I’d lived in the world I’d created for a year, and it was like saying a final goodbye to old friends. Then, in 2020, when I cracked open those original stories to revise them, I got to reminisce for an entire year. The new world I’ve created for my old friends is so much better and more emotional than I’d originally envisioned. And when I typed the last words in Amid Secrets, I didn’t cry this time. I decided right then not to let go of this world. I plan to revisit it again.

In Chapter Thirty-Seven of Blind Suspicion, with a murder charge hanging over Alex Castle’s head, the cast boards Indra’s yacht in Sag Harbor for a day on the water—a brief escape from the storm closing in around them. During the outing, Woodstock comes up in conversation: Abby and Indra attended the original festival, while Alex and Harley made it to Woodstock ’94.

Here, you’ll find both the original published scene and an extended version featuring deleted material that didn’t make the final cut of the novel.

Original Scene:

Abby juggled her plate on her lap, patting Indra on a leg. “Indra and I were in Silliman. The courtyard, with its large grassy area and beech trees, was a big attraction back then. The boys would start up games of Frisbee or cricket.” She turned her attention to her partner. “Indra, remember the beatniks with their hammocks?”

“That’s right.” Indra tapped her smiling lips as if recalling a fond memory. “What was his name? The poet who always said, ‘It’s a drag, man’?”

“You mean Billy? The one who left us at Woodstock, only to hitchhike back to White Plains,” Abby said.

“You were at Woodstock?” Jesse asked.

“Oh yes. That’s where our relationship first sparked,” Indra said, giving Abby’s hand a loving squeeze.

“It’s somewhat of a family tradition, isn’t it, Harley?” Oh boy. Abby’s accusatory tone and arched eyebrow meant that she still wasn’t pleased with the epic road trip Harley and Alex had taken.

Alex snickered, vividly recalling Harley’s way of memorializing the adventure. “Harley’s the only one of us who came back with a tattoo, though.”

 “You’re as much to blame as I am,” Harley retorted.

“Oh, that one was literally on you, my fine-feathered friend.”

Bree pointed to Harley’s crossed legs and the clamdiggers that exposed the now faded yellow ink drawing on her right ankle. “Is that the tattoo? Woodstock?”

Alex giggled.

“Yes,” Harley said, recrossing her legs to better hide one of her less stellar life decisions.

“It sounds like there’s a story behind that tattoo,” Erin said.

Alex recalled vividly the wild and crazy fun day she and Harley had spent in Saugerties, New York, in August of 1994. It was filled with lots of music, Melissa Ethridge, a beautiful woman, and plentiful amounts of marijuana. It had cemented her and Harley’s relationship as that of sisters as well as friends. The details, however, might not be something Tyler and Ethan would want their children to hear.

“There is, but that’s a story best left for another day,” Alex said. “Suffice it to say, that there was a failure to communicate. Harley wanted Woodstock the word, not the bird.” She shot a glance at her friend, freezing her before Harley could finish giving her the bird. Bree didn’t catch it, but a stifled snort from Erin indicated she had noted the aborted gesture. A quick glance at her parents revealed a wry grin on Ethan’s face and a grateful look on Tyler’s.

Expanded Scene:

Abby juggled her plate on her lap, patting Indra on a leg. “Indra and I were in Silliman. The courtyard, with its large grassy area and beech trees, was a big attraction back then. The boys would start up games of Frisbee or cricket.” She turned her attention to her partner. “Indra, remember the beatniks with their hammocks?”

“That’s right.” Indra tapped her smiling lips as if recalling a fond memory. “What was his name? The poet who always said, ‘It’s a drag, man’?”

“You mean Billy? The one who left us at Woodstock, only to hitchhike back to White Plains,” Abby said.

“You were at Woodstock?” Jesse asked.

“Oh yes. That’s where our relationship first sparked,” Indra said, giving Abby’s hand a loving squeeze.

“It’s somewhat of a family tradition, isn’t it, Harley?” Oh boy. Abby’s accusatory tone and arched eyebrow meant that she still wasn’t pleased with Harley and Alex’s unauthorized adventure back in the day.

“You two established an impressive legacy for Alex and me to live up to.” Oh boy, oh boy. Harley’s rationale for their ill-fated trip hadn’t changed in the twelve years since.

“I sense a story or two here,” Jesse said.

Abby started, “Oh, there is. It was the summer before our sophomore year at Yale. Indra, Billy, and I all met at dorm orientation, and we hatched this idea to go to the seminal event of our generation without our parents knowing…”

 ***

August 16, 1969

Abby seconded Billy’s crazy Woodstock idea not because of the music, though word of an up-and-coming star from that summer’s Monterey Pop Festival had captured her interest. She wasn’t even interested in the possibility of drugs or the once-in-a-lifetime experience. Abby was interested in Indra. The moment they said hello at orientation, she knew they’d become best friends. What better way to test that theory than thirty-six hours together in a place where the rules didn’t matter?

Hundreds of cars and vans loaded with long-haired hippies and flower children throwing up peace signs sprinkled the ninety-five-mile trip in Billy’s 1967 Volkswagen Beetle. Ten miles from White Lake, the traffic slowed to a crawl. Amazingly, all the drivers were friendly and patient, sharing water, and when cars ran out of gas, pushed them to the side of the road and offered rides to the stranded occupants.

Five hours later, Abby, Indra, and Billy had parked in a field behind the stage and staked out a small campsite with their freshly pitched tent as its centerpiece. After securing their supplies in Billy’s car, they ventured to the main field and the sea of drunken humanity. Passing rain clouds drenched them twice while they chatted up some very colorful festival-goers, most of which were high on weed or LSD. At some point, an announcement came over the loudspeakers, “Don’t try the brown acid,” a warning that came a little too late for several neighbors, who were freaking out over ghastly hallucinations.

Someone said it was nearly two a.m., and that sent Abby into a rush. Wet with muddy clothes and armed with the flashlight, she dragged Indra by the hand through the crowd until they reached a prime spot near the front of the stage. When organizers announced the next performer, Abby yelled in Indra’s ear to be heard over the blaring music and cheering crowd. “Janis Joplin is the reason I came.” Well, half the reason, anyway.

“Janis who?” Indra yelled back.

“A whole new sound. She made a big splash in Monterey this summer.”

“Oh.” Indra nodded.

The crowd roared when Joplin took the stage. Throughout her set, joints and bongs filled with weed made the rounds. When a joint came Abby’s way, she shrugged and thought, ‘Why not?’ She inhaled sharply, and surprisingly, didn’t cough. She offered it to Indra, her voice coming out croaky. “Here. Try it.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Abby. I’ve never tried marijuana before.”

Abby held it out, refusing to take no for an answer.

“Fine.” Indra mimicked Abby but coughed wildly. When the fit stopped, she croaked, “Wow.” Cute, Abby thought. So damn cute.

By the end of Joplin’s set, and after several more imbibes of the pass-alongs, Abby was high as a kite and based on the nonstop giggling and impromptu hugs, Indra was too. At one point, both had mounted the shoulders of two strapping young men. When the men lowered them to the ground, they stumbled, falling on top of each other in the mud. Their tops rode up, and their torsos touched skin to skin, sparking an unexpected pang of desire. Abby took in a sharp breath as thoughts of kissing Indra swirled in her head. She paused and stared into Indra’s dark, beautiful pools, reflecting the same desire screaming for release. But the men pulled them up, and the spell was broken.

They roamed the crowd until sunrise, never mentioning their fleeting intimate moment. Once The Who finished their last song, Abby and Indra traipsed through mud, trash, and sleeping bodies, until they reached their campsite. They discovered one slight problem: The tent, Billy, and his VW were gone. The only things left: her and Indra’s sleeping bags and a backpack with their change of clothing.

“Well, fuck!” Abby flapped her hands in the air. Billy had literally left them high and not so dry.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Indra paced in the mud, fists held to her side. “What are we supposed to do?”

Abby put her arm around her now dear friend. “We walk.”

***

Back to 2006

Abby ended her story with, “We hitchhiked back to our cars, and our parents were never the wiser.”

“Mother, I never knew your and Indra’s romance had its roots at Woodstock,” Harley said.

Abby rubbed Indra’s thigh and gave her a smile that confirmed their love for one another existed much longer than anyone suspected. “It did.”

Jesse asked, “So you two became an item in college?”

“Heavens no,” Indra said. “In those days, only the edges of society openly engaged in same-sex relationships. The Upper East Side would have been in an uproar.”

Jesse asked, “When did you two finally get together?”

Indra glanced at Abby, gesturing for her to continue telling their story.

“We remained close friends during college. Following graduation, Indra invited me to spend the summer at her family’s Greenwich estate before our respective weddings. After a day of horseback riding, we tiptoed out to a small tree grove past the stables once the moon was out. It was something about the moonlight, and I could no longer ignore how I felt when I was around her. But before I worked up the nerve to kiss her, Indra leaned in and kissed me. We were lovers for the rest of the summer and agreed to end the affair and marry our respective fiancés.”

“That’s so sad,” Bree said.

“That’s the way things were done in those days, dear,” Abby replied. “We were both happy in our own ways. Then a few months ago, Indra and I reconnected, and the rest is, as you say, history.”

“How romantic. You two set the bar high,” Jesse said. She looked at Harley and asked, “You mentioned something about living up to Abby and Indra’s legacy. Does that mean you have a similar adventure story?”

Alex snickered, vividly recalling Harley’s badge of adventure. Harley barked, “You’re as much to blame as I am.”

Tyler placed her plate on the cushion next to her and leaned in with interest. “Oh, I gotta hear this.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to finally give me a proper explanation,” Abby said.

“Yes, mother, I am. It all started when Alex showed me a flyer for the Woodstock 1994 music festival…”

***

August 1994

“Oh, come on, Harley. This is perfect. Your mother went to Woodstock when she was at Yale. We have to go. It’s symmetry.”

“I would love to see Melissa Etheridge. Ever since she came out last year at Clinton’s inauguration, she and K.D. Lang have been my heroes. Let’s just go on Saturday, but not all three days.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll drive so I can break in my new GTO. But we can’t tell Father. He’ll never let me go.”

“Mother’s none too happy with me either after my last party at the beach house.” Harley recalled, with roguish satisfaction, the resulting havoc from her unavoidable lack of supervision. The three broken lamps and detergent-filled swimming pool were so worth the threesome of a lifetime. “We better keep this to ourselves.”

“Deal.”

On Saturday morning, Alex picked up Harley in her new Mitsubishi GTO. When she hopped in the car, Harley asked, “Do we have enough gas?

Alex looked at the gauge. “We have plenty to get there and back.” She then drove a hundred miles to Saugerties, the site of the music festival. Like the story her mother had passed along about her experience at the original Woodstock, the last ten miles were bumper to bumper. Unlike the chaotic parking of yesteryear, organizers had designated parking lots miles away with buses to shuttle festival-goers back and forth.

Once inside, Harley and Alex’s experience mirrored that of her mother’s. The heavy rains created acres of mud, the crowd was amazingly peaceful, and marijuana was flowing freely. Alex took a few hits early on, electing herself as the designated driver. Harley was a different story. This was her chance to have that once-in-a-lifetime experience that her mother had, and she wasn’t about to waste it. She spent the day high, flirting with one particular sexy young redhead.

When Melissa Etheridge hit the stage with her sleeveless top and guitar strapped over her shoulder, Harley nearly fainted—sex in cargo pants. When she opened up, slowly singing “Come to my window…”, Harley went wild, pounding her fists in the air. Four songs in, Harley convinced two strong men to hoist her and Alex onto their shoulders for an incredible view of Melissa and the sea of humanity.

When Melissa closed out with “I’m the Only One,” and the men lowered them to the ground, Alex yelled in Harley’s ear, “Wanna get going?”

“Are you crazy? We can’t leave now.” Harley had made significant inroads with the sexy redhead, and she wasn’t about to let Alex make her lose ground now. She pointed toward the young woman. “Sabrina is a huge Aerosmith fan. Maybe after.” She gave Alex a knowing wink.

“Okay, Romeo. Let me know when you want to go.”

Following three distinctly different bands—folk, industrial, and heavy metal—Aerosmith came on stage and put on a fantastic two-hour performance in the rain with lively antics. Fireworks marked the end of the second day, which was Harley’s cue to ask Sabrina for her number, or better yet, to join them for the drive back to the city.

“So, Sabrina…” Harley went into full ‘pick up’ mode, laying it on thick. To her surprise, it worked. Sabrina waited an hour with Harley and Alex for the shuttle bus to the parking lot and then another two hours stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic to get onto the highway.

Halfway home, Alex pointed to the gas gauge that was nearing empty. She hadn’t accounted for several hours of idling in traffic. “I hate to say this, but we’re running out of gas. We’re going to have to stop.”

It was late, or was it early? Harley held little hope of finding a place open at the wee hours of Sunday morning and promptly gave Alex the stinkeye. Alex pulled off the highway in New Platz in search of an all-night gas station. By some luck, she stumbled across one at the end of a strip mall and pulled in.

When Alex began filling up her gas tank, Harley and Sabrina piled out of the cramped sports car, both still riding high on the joint they shared in the parking lot. Next to the gas station were several businesses, only one of which was open.

Sabrina giggled and nudged Harley on the shoulder. “Check it out. Let’s go.”

“A tattoo shop?” Harley shrugged and thought, “Why not?” She then turned her attention to Alex. “We’ll be right back.”

“Don’t be long,” Alex yelled back as Sabrina pulled Harley toward the store.

Inside, the little shop’s walls were littered with framed tattoo samples. Other than needing a fresh coat of paint, the place appeared clean but cluttered. A burly, bearded biker-type, dressed in jeans and a leather vest, had his feet up on a desk, watching a small black and white television. He came to attention when the door closed behind Harley.

“Out rather late, ladies. What can I do for you?”

“My friend here wants a tattoo.” Sabrina then leaned her body against Harley and whispered into her ear, “An ankle tattoo would look sexy on you.”

Sabrina’s warm breath tickled Harley’s ear, evaporating every ounce of common sense in her. She desperately wanted to learn if Sabrina was a natural redhead, and if it took a quarter-size ink marking on her body to find out, so be it. Harley turned her attention to ZZ-Top. “Like the woman said, I want a tattoo.”

He gestured toward his wall and asked, “What will it be?”

“Woodstock,” Sabrina said.

“You heard the woman.” Harley plopped down in the shop chair, letting the man get to work on her ankle. She flinched at the first prickling sensation.

“Be still,” the man said. He tried again, but Harley twitched a second time. He turned to Sabrina. “Can you distract her?”

“Sure.” Sabrina approached and gave Harley the longest, most luscious, tongue-dancing kiss she’d ever experienced. The kiss lasted until the tattoo artist turned off his gun, and she heard Alex laugh.

“All done,” he said.

After Harley and Sabrina broke their lip lock. Harley turned to Alex. “There you are. Sabrina talked me into a tattoo to commemorate our seminal experience.”

Alex’s chuckle turned into a rollicking belly laugh. Between gasps of air, she pointed to Harley’s ankle. “I get it. Woodstock.”

“What?” Harley inspected her ankle, discovering in horror what the artist had done. “Oh, my God. I said Woodstock, as in the festival, not the cartoon character.”

***

Back to 2006

Alex laughed as hard as she did twelve years ago in the tattoo shop. Everyone echoed her, except Harley, whose well-practiced glare confirmed she still held a good-natured grudge.

“Well, that certainly explains the mystery of the Charles Shultz-inspired body art,” Abby laughed.

Bree asked, “I don’t get how Alex is to blame for your tattoo.”

“If she’d filled up the tank before we left as I asked, we wouldn’t have stopped in that awful town, and my body wouldn’t have been defaced.” Harley swatted Alex on the leg.

Alex deflected Harley’s playful attack. “Oh, this one is literally on you, my fine-feathered friend.” 

What if the truth behind William Castle’s murder was never fully revealed?

 This alternative epilogue to Blind Suspicion takes the story in a darker, more ambiguous direction—one that leaves lingering doubts about who really killed William Castle and how far certain characters may have gone to protect their secrets. Presented here is the deleted ending that almost changed everything.

After falling asleep in Alex’s arms, Tyler woke to the sound of Callie whimpering. She carefully wiggled her way loose without waking Alex and padded to the dog bed near the foot of the bed. “Potty, girl?”

A playful tail wag confirmed the midnight call of nature. Tyler rubbed her arms, the cool spring night air raising goosebumps on them. She went to the walk-in closet to retrieve slippers and a sweater. Above where her sweater hung, a white shoebox was askew on the top shelf. She reached up to push it back but, in the darkness, tipped it forward. When it tumbled to the floor, the lid popped open and its contents, a collection of photographs, spread on the plush carpet.

The dark made it impossible to decipher the pictures, so Tyler flipped on the light switch. She gasped at one stomach-churning picture after another of Alex and Kelly pleasuring each other. Knowing that those two were once lovers was one thing, but seeing it in black and white was another. It was a heartbreaking sight she couldn’t unsee.

But how did Alex have these photos? She’d said she destroyed her set and the one Kelly had used to blackmail her. Were these the ones Ethan had said he was curious about, the ones Kelly had left behind in William’s office?

“You weren’t supposed to see those.” Alex’s voice was icy and sent a chill up Tyler’s spine.

“What have you done?” Tyler yelled. Had Alex returned to her father’s office and let him die?

Alex grabbed her by the arms, shaking her. “Wake up, T. Wake up.”

Something startled Tyler awake in a cold sweat, her heart thumping hard in her chest. “What? What’s happening?”

Alex gently wiped Tyler’s brow in the near darkness, the room lit by the moon and stars. “You had a bad dream.”

Tyler’s heart finally slowed, and she propped her upper torso against the headboard. “It was horrible, babe. I dreamed I’d found the missing photos of you and Kelly in the closet—the ones Ethan told us about.”

“Why would you think I had them? I destroyed both sets.”

“That’s just it. I don’t. But Ethan said he was sure whoever had them was up to no good. I guess I’m just afraid that this isn’t over.” 

“Let’s get back to sleep.” Alex held up the covers until Tyler snuggled against her. “It’s over.”

Brooklyn, New York,

In the south end of Brooklyn, a two-story prewar house had been home to the same occupant since 1970. The owner and tenant had a month-to-month agreement—pay the quarterly tax bill and utilities and live there rent-free in exchange for silence. The home was reasonably sized for a single occupant, and with a low price tag, there was no better deal. Death would be the only reason to leave.

Just like every Sunday afternoon for the last thirty-eight years, snow or sunshine, the occupant braved the block and a half walk to and from the community church for service. This particular Sunday, the pastor quoted from Romans 12:19-21, “Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: It is mine to avenge; I will repay, says the Lord.” Every step of the way home, the pastor’s words, “Do not be overcome with evil,” echoed but had the opposite effect. Passersby were treated to a repeated rant, “She’ll get what’s coming,” as if it were on a recorded loop.

Once inside the house, what started as simmering anger heated to the boiling point. Thoughts of how vengeance would be played out took shape. The beginnings of a complicated plot took root, and the key to it was in a shoebox on the top shelf of the bedroom closet.

The starting point had to be confirmed. After fetching the kitchen stepladder and retrieving the shoebox atop the stack of other cherished belongings, its contents were carefully laid out on the bed. One by one, each sickening, depraved picture of Alex Castle with Kelly Thatcher was carefully examined. Some showed the women in various stages of undress, while others showed them with no clothing. All depicted them engaged in sickening acts of intimacy, most of which authorities in any part of the country would consider pornographic.

“Yes, these will do.”

One by one, the pictures were carefully picked up, placed in the box, and the box returned to the top shelf of the closet where they would remain until the plan could be set into motion.

Just as the kitchen ladder was put snugly back in its place, there was a knock at the door. When the door was opened, an elderly woman in her sixties smiled from the entryway. “Hi, Georgia. Are you ready for our cribbage game?”

In Chapter Thirteen of Despite Chaos, Ethan Falling and his cousin John Barnette hint at the trouble they used to get into back in the day, but the mention of a certain girl from those years quickly keeps them from saying too much in front of their wives.

While writing Amid Secrets, I originally drafted a scene set during Tyler and Alex’s wedding reception in which the story behind the mysterious Francis Boyle is finally revealed. That scene didn’t make the final cut of the novel—but here it is.

Despite Chaos, Chapter Thirteen excerpt:

“So, John,” Tyler said. “Ethan tells me you two used to get into a lot of trouble.”

“Oh gosh, there was this one time when Ethan found this foot-long lizard and—”

Ethan cleared his throat loudly. “I have two words for you, John—Francis Boyle.”

His cousin’s eyes shot wide open, and his face took on a “you wouldn’t dare” expression. Ethan nodded. John sprang from his chair and began clearing the table. “My, my, look at the time. We better get these dishes cleared if we’re gonna catch the end of the Warriors game.”

Man code, my ass. More like mutually assured destruction by means of embarrassing childhood tales. Tyler silently vowed to pry stories out of them someday. If Syd’s exaggeratedly narrowed eyes were any indication, she intended to do so too.

Amid Secrets, Chapter Thirty-Nine deleted scene:

“Why don’t I get this party started?” Tyler said to Alex before shifting her attention to the redhead who had joined the group. “Francis, I’m so glad you accepted our invitation to the wedding.”

“Your invitation came out of the blue, but when you offered airfare and a room at Castle Resorts, I couldn’t refuse,” said Francis Boyle.

Syd casually sipped her wine. “Jesse, Tyler, and I all agree it was high time we learned why Ethan and John clam up every time your name comes up.”

Francis threw Ethan and John each a satisfied grin. “They never told you?”

Syd, Jesse, and Tyler each shook their heads in unison. “No.”

Francis laughed. “It all started when these two,” she pointed back and forth between Ethan and John, “were competing for my affection one summer.”

Ethan interrupted, “Well, if the story is finally going to be told, it might as well be told in its full glory. Like Francis said, it all started when John and I were competing for her affection…”

***

Lake Berryessa, California, Summer, 1982

Ethan and John had filled the summer following their respective high school graduations with foolishness and copious amounts of illegally purchased beer. College was a month away, and the boys had been making the best of their freedom before classes started.

John’s high school baseball team had planned one last overnight bash at Lake Berryessa, located less than an hour from his family’s winery. John had invited Ethan to tag along. The group of boys loaded a rented pontoon boat with food, drinks, a boombox, and of course, lots of beer and motored to the middle of the lake to party.

By mid-day, the temperature had risen to the mid-eighties, and the boys had put a healthy dent in their beer supply. Someone had tuned the radio to the local rock-and-roll station early on, and the boys passed the day listening to rock bands like Kiss, Van Halen, Journey, and Led Zeppelin.

Hot and thirsty, Ethan yelled from the port side of the boat, “Hey, John. Throw me a beer.”

John tossed a beer can a fraction off target, forcing Ethan to lean hard and fast to catch the errant throw. Ethan hit the boombox, inadvertently changing radio stations. Bad Company’s “Rock ‘N’ Roll Fantasy” was replaced by Rickie Lee Jones’s “Chuck E’s in Love.”

The others groaned, simultaneously pelting Ethan with their half-empty beer cans, giving him a Budweiser shower. “Party foul!” several yelled. A few complained. “Not that. Anything but that.”

“What the hell?” Ethan had been the butt of this team’s antics before, but never to this extent.

John laughed. “Sorry, cuz. We banned that song months ago.”

Ethan smelled his beer-soaked t-shirt. “Great, I smell like a brewery. Mom would kill me if she knew I was drinking.”

“That’s what the lake is for,” John said.

Ethan shrugged, deciding that Lake Berryessa’s murky water was a much better option than his mother’s tongue lashing when he got home. “Why not?”

He surveyed the other boats in the area and located the speedboat he’d seen in the marina earlier in the day. Francis Boyle and three other high school kids had boarded then, giving him hope that he’d have one more shot at her before the summer ended. The boat had drifted within swimming distance, so he removed his flip-flops and jumped in, thinking this was his chance.

For two summers now, he and John had their eye on Francis. She was a gorgeous petite redhead known for her fiery, mischievous antics. Every boy and probably a few girls in John’s high school wanted to date her, but scuttlebutt had it that they quickly discovered she was a handful once they did. A well-worth handful, at least for the short-term, he thought.

Ethan kicked and stroked through the sporadic choppy water toward the neighboring boat. Francis was easy to spot with her long wavy red hair, emerald green bikini top, and sexy as hell Daisy Dukes. Ethan inched his way aft, where Francis was chatting with another girl. When he treaded a few feet away, he shouted toward the deck, “Hey, Fran.”

Francis turned toward his voice. She squinted, shading her eyes from the sun with a hand. “Oh. Hey, Ethan. Are you here with John?”

Ethan tilted his head over his left shoulder. “Yeah. Party boat.”

“Would you like to join us?” Francis asked.

“Sure.” Ethan didn’t hesitate and paddled the final yards to the speedboat.

Francis asked, “Do you always swim with a shirt on?”

“Only after a beer shower.” Ethan pulled himself up the aft ladder and boarded.

Moments later, John yelled from the water as he neared the speedboat, “Hey guys.”

Francis turned and laughed, earning an eye roll from Ethan. “Dammit,” he whispered.

Over the next hour, Ethan and John pulled out all the stops, endlessly flirting with Francis. Ethan even removed his shirt to show off his ripped muscles that far surpassed those of his cousin’s. Francis clearly relished the attention and mercilessly pitted one young man against the other.

The day was ticking away, which meant time was running short. Ethan decided on a bold move. “Fran, I’m heading home in a couple of days. Then I’m off to college. Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?”

Before she could answer, John interrupted, “I don’t think McDonald’s is really your speed, Fran. I’d be honored to take you to a real restaurant.”

Francis tapped a finger on her lips, clearly considering her options. “You know what, boys? I like you both. How about a friendly competition? The winner gets to take me out tonight.”

With Francis’ fiery reputation, Ethan was skeptical, but he wasn’t about to bow out this late in the game. “What do you have in mind?”

“A tube off,” she said.

“A what?” Ethan and John asked simultaneously.

Francis pointed to the giant inner tube tethered to the end of the speedboat. “A tube off. Both of you hop on the tube. We’ll tow you around the lake, and the first one to fall off loses.”

Ethan was up for the challenge. He was athletic, in peak shape, and stronger than his cousin. Without a doubt, he could outlast John’s scrawny arms. “I’m in.”

On the other hand, John looked at the inner tube floating in the water, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

Ethan baited, “Bawk, bawk, bawk.” The girls giggled.

John gave Ethan a defiant stare. “I’m going to regret this,” John mumbled under his breath. “All right. You’re on.”

Minutes later, John and Ethan, sans t-shirts, were in the water, mounting the extra-large truck inner tube and receiving last-minute instructions from the two boys on the speedboat.

“I’ll start you off slow until you get the hang of it,” one boy said. “When you give me the thumbs up, I’ll speed up and start making some course changes.”

“Remember to hold your breath when you let go, or you’ll get a mouth full of lake water,” the other boy said.

Ethan gleefully replied, “Got it.” John meekly said the same.

Ethan and John each hooked an arm around a section of the tether line and held on tightly as the boat gradually pulled forward. The line went taut, and they were in motion. The boat and their tube leisurely paralleled the shoreline.

Ethan and John each signaled the driver a thumb’s up, and the boat instantly increased speed. The driver began alternating between left and right turns as if running through a slalom course. The turns were slow and gentle at first, with Ethan and John holding on, Ethan more easily than his cousin.

“Come on, Davie. Give it some gas,” Francis yelled.

“All right, you asked for it.” Davie throttled the boat to what felt like full speed.

John visibly struggled to keep a tight grip on the tether when the tube skipped harder atop the water, and droplets sprayed his face. He coughed and spit to keep his airway clear, as Ethan was doing. The pained look on John’s face made Ethan think he was minutes away from winning a date with Francis.

Francis yelled, “Faster.”

Faster? Ethan was barely holding on as is. Davie waved his arm, signaling he was about to increase speed. Ethan and John clung to the tube, each refusing to accept defeat.

Francis moved forward to the pilot’s chair, grabbed the wheel, and gave it a hard jerk to the right. The boat turned sharply, cutting against the waves. The tether slacked, slowing the tube. When the boat completed its turn, the rope stretched to its limits, causing the tube to bounce off the choppy section of the boat’s wake. The tube went airborne along with the boys.

Ethan and John yelled, “Whoaaaaa!” A quick glimpse of John flying through the air confirmed Ethan’s embarrassing, sinking feeling. Their bathing trunks were now floating somewhere in Lake Berryessa. Both boys landed in the water with a thud.

The four kids on the boat burst into laughter, then Davie turned the boat around to double back.

“Holy shit. My trunks!” Ethan tried his best to tread water and cover his junk.

John followed, “Mine too.”

When the boat neared the cousins, Francis yelled, “Looks like you’re both losers. Let’s go, Davie.”

The boat took off toward the other end of the cove, leaving Ethan and John to fend for themselves, treading naked in the water.

John yelled toward the speeding boat, “Hey!” but the boat continued to speed away. He slapped the water and turned to Ethan, “What the fuck?” Ethan laughed. “What are you laughing at?” John snapped.

“Us. You have to admit, this is pretty funny.”

John finally cracked a smile, joining in the laughter.

Ethan continued to tread, spinning in the water to locate the party boat, but it wasn’t in sight. “It looks like we’re going ashore.”

John and Ethan swam to an isolated section of the shoreline. They cupped their private parts and carefully walked through the rocks, onto the beach, and continued to a nearby walking path. After a few stumbles, they reached an access road and began an embarrassing trek to search for some clothing.

Minutes later, when they heard a vehicle approaching on the gravel road from behind, they stopped, cupped their private areas again, and turned around, discovering flashing red and blue lights on top of a police car. Ethan nervously gulped.

Moments later, a deputy stepped out of his car. “Hello, boys. Lose something?”

***

Back to Manhattan, New York, 2011

The room broke into uncontrollable laughter when Ethan finished telling the long-hidden story of Francis Boyle. Tyler had been married to that man for twenty years, and not once did she pry this story out of him, similar to her failure to pry from Alex the story of Lexi’s graduation night escapades. Once the laughter died down, she asked, “Did you two get arrested?”

“Nah.” John waved off the absurd question. “Ethan sweet-talked his way out of it, and the deputy just tossed us in the back of his cruiser and took us to my car.”

“So, all this secrecy has been over a pair of flying naked butts?” Tyler asked.

Ethan laughed. “That and a bad case of poison oak John had after tripping on the trail leading to the road.”

“You mean—,” Syd started to ask.

“Yep, he was scratching his crotch for weeks.” Ethan broke out into a full belly laugh.

John playfully hit Ethan on the arm. “Thanks, cuz.”

“The best part was when his mom walked into his bedroom when he couldn’t stop scratching.” Laughing harder, Ethan turned and asked John, “What did she say? Oh, yeah. She said, ‘You need to find yourself a girlfriend.’”

John’s face flushed redder than the police lights that had flashed the boys down and marked the beginning of a twenty-nine-year-old secret. “You didn’t have to tell them that part.”

Ethan slung his arm over John’s shoulder. “It was high time we exposed our little secret.”

“It seems that every part was eloquently exposed,” Abby jested.