9. Eddie

E ddie had no idea how long they stayed in what might have been the most uncomfortable position a seventy-six-year-old man ever held, but it was just the right amount of time.

Long enough for them to both let the emotion out, long enough for the cider to go flat, and long enough for Lovely to let go of the urge to cut out and end a moment she clearly hadn’t been expecting.

And, thank God, long enough for them to decide they could take the next step and talk this out.

That, Eddie decided, was a big fat win.

“I’ll take the real bubbly stuff now,” she said on a wry laugh as he got up on stiff legs and returned to his seat, satisfied that she wouldn’t bolt.

“I’ll get it for you.” He sat down and pulled out the champagne, tearing the foil as he met her gaze. “Are you okay?”

She sighed. “You’re a kind and tender man,” she said softly. “Thank you for—oh, my goodness!” She put her hand to her lips. “The song! It was…about me!”

He popped the cork, the celebratory sound somehow the perfect punctuation to her realization.

“It certainly was,” he said. “After you left my tent, the sun hadn’t even come up, and I tried to find you.”

“I had to get back to Coquina House, climb the old trellis, and get back into my room before my mother woke up. She had refused to let me go to an outdoor concert but I couldn’t bear to miss it.”

“While you were sneaking back in?” He emptied one of the cider glasses onto the sand, then refilled it with champagne. “I was marching around Mallory Square, climbing over sleeping bodies, asking everyone if they’d seen a girl with golden hair and bangs, and big green eyes. ‘Her name was Lovely,’ I kept telling them. ‘Her name was Lovely,’ I said over and over. And then I went back to my tent, defeated, and wrote the lyrics to Her Name Was Lovely , a song that didn’t get recorded for years.”

Her jaw loosened and she rubbed her arms as if the story had given her chills. “I…I don’t know what to say. I was shocked by my own behavior, terrified I would get caught, and deeply ashamed of my complete lack of control. I still am, if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “We were kids, smoked a joint, had an incredible connection, and…acted human. Really, really human. Don’t be ashamed, Lovely. Don’t punish yourself for a mistake you made.”

He saw her shoulders sink and hoped that was because they were letting go of a weight she’d carried far too long.

He handed her the glass with a wistful smile. “You gave me a number one song.”

“And you…” She took the glass, but this time it was her hand that seemed a little unsteady. “Gave me Beck.”

“Then you won,” he said, picking up the flat cider for a silent toast, the connection as they gazed over the table as strong as anything he could remember.

She took a sip, set the glass down, and studied him. “Why don’t you drink?”

The question surprised him—so far removed from the real topic on the table—but he respected it.

“You want the truth?”

“Tonight, that’s all I want.”

He tipped his head in concession. “Of course. For the three years after our, uh, first meeting, I tried to be a recording star. I hitchhiked—wish I was kidding—from Tampa, where I’d grown up, to Los Angeles, and gave it everything I had. I hit every brick wall imaginable and…I used alcohol and weed to dull the pain of my failure.”

“You’re clearly not a failure.”

“And I have you to thank,” he said, getting a surprised look.

“It was spring of 1968, and I had about fourteen bucks to my name. I’d formed Electric Breeze with some buddies, but we were all lost, miserable, broke, angry, frustrated, jealous, and mostly drunk or high. We played some gigs in bars with six people ignoring us. I wrote a few decent songs, but the other guys didn’t share my love of pop music. The drummer wanted to sound like Pink Floyd, and I wanted to sound like The Mamas and The Papas.”

“What happened?”

“We got a shot to make an audition tape and somehow I convinced the band to record Lovely . A producer heard that tape and offered to release Lovely as a single, with another one of our songs on the flip side.”

“ Voices in the Void ,” she said without a second’s hesitation and the perfect eye-roll. “Very Pink Floyd. Of course, I had the forty-five, but I lost it along the way.”

He chuckled at that. “Well, my side won because a couple of radio jocks loved the song, and we got our big break when it got played on American Bandstand .”

She clapped once, letting out a squeal. “I saw that episode! I was so excited to have my name in a song!”

Laughing, they toasted again, the tension of his confession fading like the evening light and a connection sparking with the first few stars in the sky.

“That song hit number one on August sixth and that was the last time I took a sip of alcohol—I decided that reality was too good to alter in any way, shape, or form. And we stayed at the top of the list for a few weeks.” He grinned. “Until those hacks from Liverpool put out Hey, Jude at the end of August.”

She laughed. “How dare they?”

“Right? Nice to know we were knocked off our pedestal by one of the most popular songs of all time.” He finally took a drink of the cider. “With my act clean, I could see where the real money could be made in music. Not pennies on plays, and I knew I didn’t have the charisma or, frankly, the voice, to go solo. I loved the production side and found I was quite good at spotting talent and trends.” He shrugged. “But I would never have survived—literally and financially—if you hadn’t inspired that song.”

“Oh.” She breathed out the word. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

“And, as you said, not the only thing to come from our, uh, ill-advised liaison. There is Beck, your— our —beautiful daughter. I still can’t wrap my head around that.”

“Beck is…everything,” she said on a sigh. “Even though I didn’t raise her, she hit the world and never stopped making it a better place from the day she was born until today.”

“That was clear from the moment I met her,” he said, then leaned in, dreading this last bit of news, too, but it had to be said. “She knows.”

“What?” She sputtered the question and the champagne she’d just sipped.

“She figured it out?—”

“ What ?” she repeated, incredulous.

“Actually, I think you have a granddaughter named Savannah? She was the one who figured?—”

“They all know? How?”

“I think my daughters asked one too many probing questions when we checked in and alerted Beck that something was up,” he told her. “Beck and I talked last night, and it came out fairly quickly. That’s when she told me her daughter had guessed it.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“Because I asked if I could have this time with you privately,” he said. “I felt strongly that I owed you an apology for my bad, bad behavior, and to be the one who told you who I am.”

“Ned.” She looked toward the sky again, letting out a long sigh. “I never liked that name.”

“You and me both,” he said on a dry laugh. “I left that name in Florida and have been Eddie ever since.”

He watched the wheels turn in her head as she processed all this information. “Now I understand why Beck was scarce all day,” she said. “Wait. Did you send Beck to Miami? I’m confused and don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“No, she really had to go there, and it all fell into place.” Gesturing to the covered dishes, he asked, “Do you still want dinner, Lovely?”

“I do,” she said. “And I would like you to tell me just how you figured this out and found me.”

“Happily.”

Over slow bites of tender salmon and sips of their drinks, he told her the whole story, from the moment his granddaughter had discovered the genetic connection to Rebecca Foster right up to last night, when he and Beck opened the floodgates.

When he was done, and their plates were nearly empty, she dropped back on a long exhale, seemingly satisfied with dinner and his explanation.

“I suppose it was inevitable,” she finally said. “With all the DNA business these days, a secret like this is impossible to keep.”

“I’m glad we didn’t keep it,” he said simply. “I’m so happy to know you, and Beck. I should warn you that Beck invited us—all three of us—to your family gathering tomorrow. Are you okay with that? Does everyone know the truth about Beck?”

“Oh, everyone knows she’s the result of a younger, wilder Lovely. Not exactly the details…” She flushed and gave an embarrassed smile. “Or that I didn’t really know your name.”

“Well, you know it now.” He reached over the table and took her hand, glancing at the sparkles in the sky behind her. “And it looks like some fireworks are starting.”

“They’ll go all night up and down the beaches,” she told him.

“Then why don’t we continue this date with a walk in the moonlight? Or would you like to call it and go home and…process?”

“A walk in the moonlight,” she said with a smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “It sounds like a song you might write.”

He tipped his head. “That’s two great song titles since I got here,” he said. “A first.”

“Will you write them?”

“I wish I could,” he said. “But I don’t write much music anymore.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Writer’s block, I guess. Old age. Lack of inspiration. And, of course, I’m retired.” He drew her a little closer. “But if I spend more time in Coconut Key, who knows? I may be inspired and unblocked.”

She laughed, but he wasn’t kidding.

“Okay, I think I’ve got all of Beck’s kids and their kids worked out,” Eddie said as they strolled the cool sand, pausing when a particularly nice firework lit up the sky. “Kenny is the oldest—was adopted but now is part of this family—and he has a daughter, Ava. Kenny is marrying…” He dug for the name. “Hailey?”

“Heather,” she corrected. “At the end of the month. I hope.”

He shot her a look. “Kind of getting late to be hoping.”

“Long story and I’ve told you so many of those.”

“I love them all,” he assured her. “But let me finish the daughters before I forget. Callie is the youngest, in law school in New York. A go-getter.”

“Of the highest order, if you know the type.”

“Oh, I know the type,” he said. “Peyton is early thirties, an aspiring chef, married to Val Sanchez, living here in Coconut Key and expecting a baby girl, right?”

“Any day now.”

“I hope I’m still here for the birth of a great-grandchild, because that is so cool.”

“Well, she’s not due for about three weeks, but I suppose she could be early.”

Smiling, he draped a casual arm around her shoulders, determined to learn all about the family he’d meet tomorrow. “And Savannah, Beck’s middle daughter, is really married to that heartthrob Nick Frye? That’s wild. I heard he fell off the face of the earth.”

“Just off the face of Hollywood. He was happy to leave the life,” Lovely told him. “He was disillusioned with that world and very satisfied living here, and madly in love with Savannah. And they’re having their second child in late April. Little Dylan is their son, who’s a year and a half.”

“Ah, yes, the one you call French Frye.”

She trilled that melodic laugh. “You are a great listener,” she observed.

“Still have my hearing.” He tugged on an earlobe. “My knees feel like they belong to Methuselah, but the hearing’s good.”

“Aging isn’t for the faint of heart,” she agreed. “Everyone who says it’s just a mindset hasn’t crossed sixty-five.”

“The kids keep you young,” he said. “Lark and Kai do that for me.”

“Melody’s children, right? Now tell me about them, please.”

He beamed with pride. “Don’t get me started, ’cause I’ll never stop. Lark is twenty-six going on forty, another high achiever who never met a deadline she couldn’t crush or a task she couldn’t dominate.”

“She and Callie could rule the world,” Lovely said.

“And probably will someday. Now, Kai? He can barely rule his life. He’s a twenty-three-year-old surfer who is supposed to be working at the label, but doesn’t always show up if the waves are good at Half Moon Bay. But in some ways, he’s a carbon copy of his grandmother, my late, great first wife, Kailani Kahue.”

“She was Hawaiian, I take it?”

“Born and raised. I met her when one of my recording artists was doing a live album in Honolulu and she was hired as the photographer for the cover art. She wanted to take the photos from the top of a volcano, and dragged me up there.” He chuckled at the memory. “It was, if you will allow me a cliché—and you should, because there’s nothing a songwriter loves more—love at first sight.”

“Ahh. That’s sweet.” She leaned into him ever so slightly, smiling up. “She was your fated mate.”

Oh, was she ever, he thought. “Fated, all right.” He sighed, knowing he was smiling, as always when he talked about Lani. “Gone far too young.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice soft and reverent. “Was she sick?”

“Lani was a thrill-seeker who never met a risk she wouldn’t take.” He felt a familiar and sad weight in his chest, as he did anytime he told the story. “She died in an accident, hang-gliding to get the perfect shot over in Ka’ena Point in Oahu. The place is known for its unpredictable wind gusts and wretched terrain. She was hired to get a photo of someone else gliding with her, and they were, sadly, both killed.”

Lovely let out a soft groan. “You must have been devastated.”

“Beyond. Also furious. I hated her obsession with living life on the very hairy edge. Her fearlessness and incredible eye made her a sought after ‘extreme adventure’ photographer.” He added air quotes for the job that hadn’t existed back then, but there was no other way to describe what Lani did. “In the end, she took one risk too many. Mel was only three, which was the real travesty.”

“Oh, so sad.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze, hating the subject and not wanting to bring down their magical reunion. “Enough about me.”

“But you remarried,” she said, clearly not having heard enough about him. “Jazz’s mother?”

“Victoria,” he said. “She’s still a close friend and business partner. She was an early investor in Sly Records, and a genius chemist, and we were always friends. After Lani died, she was the one who picked up my shattered pieces and helped me with Mel.” He shrugged. “I thought I was in love again, but I was just in need. Victoria was part therapist, part friend, part nanny. A great friend and vintner—we own a small winery together in Napa—but not a life partner. We divorced on amicable terms and are still quite close.”

“That’s the way to do it.”

He looked down at her, studying her face in the moonlight, curious about the nearly invisible scars he saw but, again, wanting to keep the conversation a little lighter. He suspected they were related to the accident Beck had told him about, so he took a different direction.

“What about you? Love? Marriage?” He already knew Beck was her only child, but hadn’t she had a partner in her life?

She shook her head and, for some reason, his heart dropped.

“Never married,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re such an amazing woman, I can’t help but think someone made a big mistake along the way not snatching you up.”

“I’m the one who made a mistake,” she said, turning toward the water so he couldn’t see her face.

He didn’t respond, waiting for more, wondering if she’d let one get away or…or… Oh .

He was her mistake. “Lovely. I feel like I…like that might be my fault.”

“Any decisions I made in my life were fully my own,” she told him turning back, but he could see the shadow of pain in her eyes. “But it was a dark secret to carry, and I always believed if I found my…my fated mate , if you will, then…” She shrugged. “It couldn’t be very fated if I wasn’t completely honest. And with Beck not knowing for all those years, and my promise to Olivia that I wouldn’t tell her? I just couldn’t. And I didn’t want to lie to someone, so it was easier not to fall in love.”

He let out a soft grunt and shook his head at the weight of what she’d carried all by herself for so many years.

“I’m so sorry. You deserved to be loved, Lovely. You deserved more children and a husband and that forever love.” He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. “Wow. It’s just not fair that one night in Key West—one stupid, crazy, immature decision—would change your life that way.”

“I told you, Eddie, my decision, not yours.”

He pulled her in closer to him, knowing that to any of the people along the beach, they probably looked like an old married couple slipping out for a New Year’s Eve date.

And that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“I’m in awe of you, Lovely,” he said, leaning his head on hers. “You know, I’m here for two weeks and all I want to do is somehow make it up to you. I want to spend time with you, take walks with you, listen to music, dance, laugh, share stories, and…and…and somehow make up for what I took from you.”

She smiled up at him. “You didn’t take anything. But I’ll accept that offer and spend the next two weeks doing all that with you.”

Stopping in the sand, he turned her to face him, both of them holding each other in the most natural way.

Under any other circumstances, he might kiss this woman, but these were not normal circumstances. Instead, he looked into her eyes and made a silent vow to somehow repair the damage done by the sins of their past.

A loud, bright blue firework filled the sky, and they both looked up and laughed, filling his heart with hope that he could do just that.