THE NEXT MORNING, the smell of frying bacon and coffee welcomes me to my parents’ house. Each year, we have a special breakfast before the actual Blessing of the Fleet. And we’re all going to church, since it’s Father Tim’s last Mass. Jonah is slumped in a corner, pale and shaky, timidly nursing a cup of coffee. I lean over and kiss him loudly on the cheek.

“Is my wittle brother a wittle hung over?” I ask merrily, ruffling his hair. He moans and turns to the wall. “Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, Maggie, is that what you’re wearing?” she asks.

I look down at my outfit. Tan pants, red sweater, shoes that match each other. I raise an eyebrow at my mother, who sets the spatula down on the counter. “What I meant to say, honey, is why don’t you wear a skirt once in a while? You have such gorgeous legs.”

“That was better, Mom. Better.”

“There’s nothing gorgeous about Maggie,” Jonah mumbles from the corner, apparently not in enough misery to resist bothering me. “Christy’s the pretty one.” I smack him on the head, savoring his yelp of pain, and pour myself some coffee.

“I can’t wear a skirt today, Mom,” I say, giving my mother a kiss, pleased to see her back in the family domicile. “I’m going out with Jonah for the blessing.”

“Not if you don’t stop yelling,” Jonah mutters.

It’s wicked fun to be on the water for the Blessing of the Fleet. Gideon’s Cove looks like a postcard—the rocky shore, tall pines, the houses that dot the hills, the spire of St. Mary’s, the gray wood of the dock. Last year, the whole family went on the Twin Menace; this year, because of Violet, Christy and Will opted to stay ashore, and our parents will keep them company.

Christy’s face appears on the back porch. “Hello,” she calls. She has also worn tan pants and a red top, but her outfit cost more, is made with better materials and generally looks better than mine. She hefts in Violet’s car seat, a diaper bag that’s bigger than my suitcase and a vibrating bouncy seat. Will follows her with a tiny bungy-jumping contraption that’s made to dangle from a doorway and another bag.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask.

“In the bomb shelter,” Jonah answers. “Could you stop yelling, please?”

“Dad!” I yell cheerfully. “We’re all here!” Jonah whimpers.

“Serves you right, Joe,” Christy says. “Jell-O shots. For God’s sake. We were at Dewey’s last night, you know. Saw everything.”

“Did I call you the pretty one?” Jonah says, rising specterlike from his chair. “I changed my mind. You’re both hags.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re all sitting around the dining room table, passing platters of pancakes, scrambled eggs, cranberry scones (my contribution) and bacon. Jonah has swallowed some Advil and looks less green, though he shudders as the eggs pass him. I plop a spoonful on his plate and enjoy the blanching that follows.

“So, Mom, Dad,” Christy begins in what Joe and I call her social-worker voice, “how have things been since you’ve…been apart?” Her voice is carefully pleasant.

“Not bad,” Dad says. “Delicious scones, Maggie. You sure can bake, honey.”

Christy’s eyes close briefly. “Great. Any decisions about what’s next?”

“Scone, sweetie?” Will asks.

“No. Thank you. Mom? Anything to tell us?”

My mother takes a deep breath. “Well, we’ve been talking, of course.” She looks at Dad at the other end of the table. Dad is looking out the window, apparently fascinated with the flock of springtime birds enjoying his handiwork. “Mitch? Would you like to tell the children what we’re planning?”

Dad snaps to attention. “Oh. Sure. Sure. Okay. Well, we…we’re…we’re not getting divorced. For now.”

Christy’s face lights up. I take another piece of bacon and look at my mother. “But…” I prompt.

“Right, Maggie,” Mom says. “But I’m going to stay in Bar Harbor. At least for the foreseeable future.” She looks at me for assurance, and I smile. Christy’s face falls.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Mom says to her. “I know it’s not what you want, but—”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s okay.” But Christy’s eyes are spilling tears. “I’m sorry….” She starts crying in earnest, and Will puts his arm around her, pulling her face against his shoulder. “It’s what you want that matters, Mom,” she blubbers. “And you, too, Daddy.”

Jonah shoots me a classic little brother smirk, and suddenly, we’re laughing. “Poor little Christy, coming from a broken home,” Jonah murmurs, and she starts laughing, too.

“Oh, shut up, Jonah,” she says, wadding up her napkin and throwing it at him. “I can’t help it if I care about our family. Unlike you, you freakish troglodyte.”

En masse, we head for town, Jonah and me in his truck, our parents with Will, Christy and the baby in the Volvo wagon.

The waxy smell of candles mixes with the lingering scent of spaghetti as we walk into church. Since Father Tim won’t be returning to St. Mary’s after this, the place is as packed as if it’s Christmas Eve. The full choir, all ten of them, is up in the loft, and Mr. Gordon is thumping out a tortuous, wheezing piece on the old organ. My family takes up a whole pew today. We call out quiet hellos, wave to our friends and neighbors and sit on the punishing walnut pews, prepared to offer up our suffering to the Lord.

The altar servers come somberly down the aisle, washed and brushed and looking like angels despite the hightop Keds that peek out from under their robes. Tanner Stevenson holds up the crucifix and Kendra Tan carefully swings the incense burner. Father Tim comes in last, resplendent in purple and gold, handsome as a movie star. He sings along with the entrance hymn, but his eyes meet mine, and he gives a little smile around the words to “Lift High the Cross.”

For the first time in a very long time, I understand why people come to church. Not because they’re forced to be here by their parents, not because the priest is so cute. I listen to the words and don’t notice the brogue that pronounces them. For the first time in my adult life, I imagine that there might be something here for me. Sorry I haven’t been around. And sorry about lusting after one of Your guys, I say silently to God. No harm, no foul, I imagine Him saying. It’s much more comforting than That will be a year in hell, young lady.

At the sign of peace, Father Tim comes off the altar, moving slowly, a kind word for everyone, a blessing for the children. When he gets to the Beaumont clan, he leans in for a chaste hug. “I finally got you in church, Maggie,” he says, and I’m touched to see tears in his eyes. “Right when I’m leaving, but here you are.”

“We’ll miss you, Father Tim,” I whisper.

An hour later, Jonah and I are on the Twin Menace, the brisk breeze ruffling our hair. In honor of my presence, Jonah has placed a plastic chair on deck, where I now sit, sipping a cup of coffee.

“How’s Dad working out?” I ask my brother as he stands at the wheel.

“Not bad,” Joe answers. “He likes it. Loves hanging out with the guys. Better than building birdhouses, I guess.”

“I think it’s nice that you took him on,” I say. Jonah looks older at the wheel. This is a side of him that I don’t usually get to see. He looks manly, in control. Handsome, too.

“What are you smirking about?” he asks, raising his voice to be heard over the diesel engine.

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking how cute you are, Bunny-boy,” I answer, using the nickname Christy and I unfortunately bestowed on him at his birth.

“Right,” he says. He waves to Sam O’Neil, who is in front of the Twin Menace in the parade of boats.

“Best date you could get was your sistah?” Sam yells.

“At least my sister’s pretty!” Jonah calls back. His smile is forced and drops off the minute Sam turns away.

The boats space out a bit more as we head for Douglas Point. The memorial is visible even from a distance, starkly beautiful against the backdrop of pines and stone. The mood becomes somber throughout our flotilla; no one cracks any jokes now. Jonah bows his head as we motor past. His eyes are wet when he looks up.

“Jonah?” I ask. “Is everything okay, buddy?”

“Oh, sure,” he says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He adjusts course a bit, then shoots me a glance. “Not really,” he admits.

“What is it, hon?” I ask. “You’ve been sort of glum lately.”

His face crumples. “Oh, f**k it, Mags. I’m in love with Chantal and she won’t give me the time of day.”

My eyes pop. “You’re what?”

“I know, I know. She’s pregnant with some guy’s kid and…and…” It takes him a minute to get the words out. “It’s just that I thought…I’ve always had a thing for her, Maggie. And now I think I’m in love with her.”

Uh-oh. Oh, boy. Oh, shit on a shingle. “Jonah,” I say carefully, “you didn’t sleep with Chantal, did you?”

He swallows, looks at the deck of the boat, then nods. “I know you told her not to hook up with me, Mags. It was just one time. And afterward, she wouldn’t return my calls or anything. I wanted to start seeing her, make it more than a one-nighter, you know? But she wasn’t interested.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” I mutter, looking skyward.

It has to be. No wonder she wouldn’t tell me. After all those threats, she actually went ahead and did it. With my brother. My baby brother. Whose diapers I changed.

The wind blows my hair across my face and makes whitecaps on the water. We’re close enough to the town dock that I can see the crowds, catch slips of sound. There’s the podium. There’s our bear-shaped dad. Father Tim, still in his vestments, flicks holy water and makes the sign of the cross. Reverend Hollis from the Congregational church stands next to him, doing whatever Protestants do at these things.

I heave a sigh, then get up and go to stand next to my brother and rub his back. He chokes out a small sob. “Listen, sweetie,” I say. “Did you ever ask Chantal if you were the father of her baby?”

“Yeah, of course I did,” he says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “She said I wasn’t. Said she was sure about it.”

“I think she’s lying.”

Jonah’s head snaps back. “What? Why? Do you know something?”

I sigh. “No. She said it was an out-of-towner, but…well, she just might be trying to protect you.”

“Why? Why would she do that? Doesn’t she—”

“Because, honey, you’re twenty-six years old. And she’s what, thirty-nine? She said a few things….” My voice trails off. “I bet it’s you, Jonah. I think you need to ask her again.”

My brother’s face lights up in a sudden burst of joy. “Oh, my God, Maggot! Holy shit!” He claps his hands against his head. “Holy shit! Hold the wheel, will you, Mags?” He shoves me against the wheel, then goes aft.

“Jonah! Joe! Come on, you know I’m stupid around boats—”

“Chantal! Chantal!” Jonah bellows, cupping his hands around his mouth. In front of us, Sam’s head jerks around.

“Jonah!” I bark. “The boat! I don’t know what I’m doing here! We’re gonna hit Sam!”

“Chantal!” Jonah yells again, his voice breaking. Heads start turning on the dock. “Chantal!”

Sure enough, we can make her out, her red hair as noticeable as a lighthouse beacon.

“Jonah,” I warn, trying to figure out which lever will slow us down, “this is not the time—”

He ignores me. “The baby’s mine, isn’t it?” he bellows.

“Jesus, Jonah!” I yelp. “Mom’s gonna kill you!”

People are pointing and talking, then shushing each other. “I love you, Chantal!” my idiot brother shouts. We’re about thirty yards from the dock now, close enough that people definitely hear him. The crowd turns to look at Chantal, who is frozen like a moose about to be hit by a pickup truck.

“Chantal! The baby’s mine, isn’t it? I love you, I want to marry you!”

“Shut up, Jonah!” Chantal yells back.

Oh, to see my mother’s face at this moment! I can’t help it. I start laughing. I hear a splash, and sure enough, my brother has jumped overboard and is swimming to the dock. If the water is fifty degrees, I’d be surprised.

“Jonah! You fuckin’ idiot!” yells Sam.

“Sam, I think I’m gonna hit you!” I call out.

“Steer out to sea, dumb-ass!” he barks.

“Okay, okay! No need for names.” I obey, turning the wheel east. The Twin Menace cruises away from the parade. I decide to just turn the damn engine off and bob there. Safer than anything else I can think of. Besides, now I can watch.

The blessing has been put on hold as Jonah, always a good swimmer, works his way toward his lady love. He makes it to the dock and someone, Rolly, it looks like, pulls him up. I can’t hear him, but I can see my brother clear as day. He pushes his way to Chantal, streaming water, and makes his case, his hands flying. I see her shaking her head, then putting her hand over her mouth. Jonah takes her in his arms and kisses her while my parents look on in stunned horror, and in spite of my reservations about Chantal, I find that my eyes are a bit wet.

Billy Bottoms pulls out of the parade and comes alongside the Twin Menace and jumps aboard as neatly as a mountain goat. His son, Young Billy, waves to me from the wheel of their boat.