I couldn’t even catch her after school because she went straight to a friend’s house and then jettisoned home before we all went out for our dad’s birthday dinner.

My dad is a fellow Scorpio like myself, bringing up the end of the spectrum, which still leaves him full of scorpion sting but with none of the passion. At least, none of the passion that I understand. I’m pretty sure the only thing my father feels passionate about is convincing his wavering theology students of the “truth.” That and really good Chianti.

Naturally, his birthday dinner was held at a really old, authentic Italian restaurant just outside Portland, a place he and his brother Al had been coming to since they were young boys. It was no Olive Garden, I can tell you that much.

I half-expected that Ada would have brought Layton with her, but I guess when you were in the tenth grade, bringing your boyfriend to your dad’s birthday bash wasn’t something you took lightly.

It was for the best. I know nothing would ruin my dad’s birthday more than having his teenage daughter’s older boyfriend there but from the glances I stole of Ada on the drive over there, I could tell she was a million miles away and already pining for him, her bright blue eyes swimming in the early darkness. I felt pity for her and her young love for exactly three seconds before reality slammed into me and I realized I was no better than she was.

With family being such an important factor to Italians like my father, I knew that my Uncle Al was going to be there, as well as my nephews Matt and Tony. I hadn’t seen those three since the whole lighthouse incident in late summer and I had been itching to see them ever since. It felt like years ago when I had first met Dex in that fateful tower, when my life had twisted around on itself and changed its course.

What I didn’t expect was that Uncle Al had brought a special guest with him to the dinner party.

“Her name is Marda,” my mom told Ada and me as we got out of the car and walked towards the restaurant. Mom looked elegant as always and not the slightest bit cold in her lacey caplet that barely covered her toned arms.

I struggled to keep up in my heels, not used to dressing up for any occasion, plus I was dealing with overused leg muscles.

“Al has a girlfriend!?” I cried out. I was happy for him, of course, Al seemed like such a lonely bachelor since his ex-wife left him, but it was still surprising. He didn’t go out much, except to play the occasional poker game, so I wouldn’t even know where he could meet any women. It’s not like he’d be at the grocery store, pushing his cart around with the bananas facing a certain way (I had read this is what some singles in grocery stores did. A certain type of fruit in one direction meant you were single. I think melons and bananas were probably all you needed).

My mom gave me a funny look, probably because of the very unladylike way I was walking. “Yes, Marda is his new girlfriend. You should ask him how they met; it’s mostly your fault.”

My fault? I hadn’t played matchmaker since my high school days and that was only because I was the fat, helpful girl who had attractive friends, but before I could ponder that any further, we entered the restaurant to cheers and applause from the waiters and kitchen staff (no one does birthdays like an Italian restaurant) and the sight of Al, Matt, Tony, and a petite blonde woman (Marda, I’m guessing) standing around a Chianti-strewn table.

And then my eardrums were blown out. Drunken exaltations (noting at least one bottle of wine was empty), hugs, cries, slaps on the back and loud hellos were exchanged among the Palominos at deafening levels.

I gave Matt and Tony one big hug at once, happier to see them than I originally thought. There was something about those twins, their goofy demeanor with an underlying wholesomeness, that made me miss the person I was when I last saw them. Everything seemed so simple then.

I pulled back and peered at them. They looked different somehow. Cleaned up (I’d say fresh-faced if Matt didn’t appear to be suffering from some bad acne) and maybe the slightest bit older.

“You guys are starting to look like men,” I said, and grabbed both their biceps for show. There still wasn’t much there.

“So are you!” Tony exclaimed with a smile that made him look momentarily younger. He then grabbed my arm, which was now bare after the hostess took our coats away.

I looked down at it and blushed. I know I had lost some weight but it had only been two weeks since I started the sessions, and though my arms were stronger, they certainly didn’t look much different. It would be a long time before I looked like Sheryl Crow.

“Thanks, I think,” I said to them just as Uncle Al came over and picked me up in a bear hug.

“Perry!” Al exclaimed joyously, his voice muffled into my shoulder.

“Hi Uncle Al!”

He put me down and gave me the once over. A wash of concern came across his wrinkled brow.

“You’re looking beautiful, you’re as tiny as ever,” he said, but I didn’t quite believe him.

“But?” I prodded him.

“But nothing.” He smiled and put his arm out for Marda, who came slinking under it with a shy expression.

“Perry, meet Marda,” he said, squeezing Marda’s slight shoulders. She was a very lovely, sweet-looking lady with small, sparkplug eyes and a long porcelain face, roughly my uncle’s age (late forties). A good match for Al, who wasn’t quite as robust and hard-faced as my father.

We shook hands quickly, her grasp warm.

“Quite the grip you’ve got there,” she commented, taking her fair hand back and looking at it.

I blushed. I was always the person assigned to open any tough pickle jars. My small but durable hands were probably freakishly strong now thanks to the boot camp. Push-ups really did work every part of your body.

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“She’s my lady friend,” Al boasted, squeezing Marda closer into him and kissing the top of her head. The relationship couldn’t have been more than a month old, so it was extra endearing to see Uncle Al acting like this with someone.

But before I could ask them how they met (after all, I apparently had something to do with it), my father demanded everyone sit down. The birthday boy was starving and thirsty. A deadly combination.

I took my place next to Ada and the twins, with the “adults” on the other side of the table. I gave Ada a quick smile but she was staring dreamily into her glass of water. My sister was still the top of the pops when it came to her fashion blog and an occasion like this was a prime excuse for her to dress like someone who had just fallen ass backwards off the catwalk. My black knee-length dress (the only dress I really had) looked fine on me, I guess, but it wasn’t a backless cashmere dress with embroidered details like Ada was wearing. I was actually surprised she hadn’t asked me to take a picture of her like she did every other day when she was wearing an outfit “for the blog.” But Ada wasn’t herself these days, anyway.

While I pondered that over, the conversation around the table turned to pleasantries and news stories. The twins told me about this ATV they bought and I pretended to listen while I picked at my pseudo-healthy chicken Marsala. I was watching Marda and Al with interest. They were sharing bites of their food between each other, pouring each other wine. A bottle of red. A bottle of white. And I was instantly reminded of Billy Joel’s “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant.” The memory poked at my insides a little bit until I winced it away.

There was no denying it though; there was a lot of love at this table tonight. It didn’t take long for my mother to pick up on it and say, “Would you look at this! You won’t find dopier, more love struck people than my two daughters and their uncle.”

“Me?!” Ada and I both protested at the same time, then consequently glared at each other in that, “yeah, you” look that we did so well.

“Caught red-handed,” Al said, squeezing Marda’s hand. “And it’s all thanks to Perry.”

“Yeah, what’s the deal with that?” I asked, happy to have the conversation turn over to him.

“Well Marda here works in property insurance. I had to file a claim after you blew up the lighthouse.”

I loved how, even though I barely had anything to do with the lighthouse blowing up (what, it’s not like I set it on fire or anything), everyone still referred to me as the person responsible for its demise. OK, so it would probably be standing today had I not gone poking my nose into its business but then Al wouldn’t have met Marda.

“See, something good has come out of it,” I pointed out, directing most of that toward my father, who just shook his head to himself and poured himself another large glass of wine from a reedy Chianti bottle.

“Of course,” Uncle Al said. “It’s not just the good fortune of meeting my lovely Marda here either, the boys have been happier too, haven’t you?”

Matt and Tony shrugged but even I could now see they looked a bit…relieved. Maybe it wasn’t that they looked older, it was that the ominous, overseeing lighthouse was no longer on the edge of the property, taunting and teasing them with its evil secrets. They looked, well, happier. Al was right.

“And you wouldn’t have your little ghost show either,” he added. “A lot of good has come out of it.”

“You must tell me about this show, Perry,” Marda piped up in her soft voice, leaning against Al and fixing her attention on me. “I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet. Al says it would keep me up at night.”

Matt looked at me. “We’ve been telling all our friends about it. That shit is fucked up.”

“Matthew!” Al admonished.

He shrugged unapologetically and looked back at me.

“That last episode was f…sick. What was the deal with the deer? That scared the shit out of us!”

“Matthew!” Al again.

With the attention now turned to me, my cheeks flared a beet red. I still have trouble coming to terms with having myself on the internet and I was suddenly grateful that Brock hadn’t told me about knowing who I was until the very end.

“I honestly don’t know,” I told him, trying not to look at the rest of my family, who I knew were looking at me with their usual disbelieving eyes (except for Ada but I could tell she wasn’t even paying attention to me). “We woke up in the middle of the night and like a whole herd of deer were gathered around our tent. We never even saw them after that.”

“Weird,” Matt said. “You said on the blog that a lot more happened but that footage was all lost at the bottom of the sea.”

“Oh, how convenient,” boomed my dad, sounding more drunk by the moment. My eyes flew to him, enraged. It’s his birthday, let him have this, I thought, trying to bury the urge to yell at him.

“It’s true,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to keep focused on Matt’s curious face.

“Well, what happened?”

Too much for me to tell. After Dex and I returned back home, after I got my wrists patched up because of my altercation with the rose garden, and Dex had his raccoon wound stitched up, we decided to show everything we shot (that still remained with us and not on the Super 8 at the bottom of Haro Straight) and leave the rest up to the viewer’s imagination. Normally, I would have written a lengthy blog entry telling the entire story, elaborating on the stuff that the cameras couldn’t pick up on. But this time…I just couldn’t do it.