by Wendy Wax
“How much time would you say you spend in these rooms?” Avery asked Hightower, which just went to show that however much Avery might want to deny it, their minds were similarly wired.
Hightower shrugged. “Not much. They came this way. I never saw any reason to bother with them.”
Avery nodded carefully, giving nothing away, and Deirdre had to hide her smile. Depending on what lay on the other side of these rooms, both could potentially be turned into guest suites. Even better, Hightower had already been forced to acknowledge that he wouldn’t miss this outdated, unused room. Deirdre gave her daughter a mental high five.
They moved past the narrow stair and into a huge light-filled great room. A small L-shaped galley kitchen filled with dated cabinetry and stained Corian countertops seemed inadequate for the space. Once again Deirdre held back an approving smile when she saw Avery home in on the Wolf stove with its signature red knobs, and a massive stainless-steel hood, the only items worth salvaging.
A tackle box sat on an oak trestle table, its contents spilled out around it. Battered and flattened leather furniture surrounded a wood-burning fireplace and the massive flat-screen TV—possibly the only addition made this decade—that hung above it.
Beyond a row of cypress columns that supported another vaulted wood-beamed ceiling a pool table the size of a small country ate up a large piece of the wide plank floor. In a corner a club chair and ottoman, with fabric so faded that Deirdre couldn’t tell what color or texture it might have once been, sat next to a telescope whose barrel lens pointed out to sea. Fishing magazines littered a small lamp table and stood in teetering stacks around it. Pieces of disassembled fishing rods lay across the top of a rustic-looking bookcase fashioned from wooden crab traps.
William Hightower had turned his private tropical island home into a fishing-gear-filled bachelor pad.
It was impossible to focus on the pitiful condition of the once-fabulous space when confronted with the eastern wall of the great room, which was actually a bank of sliding glass doors that, despite their cloudy spots and pitted aluminum frames, provided a stunning and uninterrupted view of the Atlantic Ocean.
“Wow.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Incredible.”
Their comments were hushed, reverent as they took in the jewel-toned blues and greens of the ocean stretching to the horizon. Birds swooped and dove from a pale blue cloud-flecked sky to pierce the sparkling water on which beams of morning sunlight seemed to dance. In the distance a boat headed out to sea, its wake spreading a plume of white behind it like a jet leaving a vapor trail as it cut through the sky.
“Boag.” Dustin pointed at the boat, breaking the awed silence. Hightower continued to study the view with an intensity that made it clear he had not yet grown tired of, or complacent about, his surroundings.
Thomas Hightower turned away first, breaking the spell, giving them no time to step out onto the vast covered porch. “Shall we move on?”
The wrought-iron banister beneath their hands was chipped and the gouges in the pecky cypress walls impossible to miss as they ascended to the second floor. But even as they toured the laundry room and two small bedrooms and baths at the front of the house, the part of Deirdre’s brain not busy calculating space, opportunity, paint colors, furniture, lighting, window treatments, and the million other details that would be a part of the final design—even as she watched Avery sketch and scribble, undoubtedly mentally moving walls and evaluating the physical structure—returned to the stunning view.
In the master suite, which spanned the entire eastern end of the house, she noted William Hightower’s simple, almost spartan taste and the way in which every slider and window drew in the view. As they leaned out over the railing of his private deck, once again struck silent by what nature had wrought, Deirdre reminded herself that this was why William Hightower lived here. And that this, not just its reluctant celebrity host, was why guests would pay big bucks to stay here. Whatever they did inside this structure could never, should never, compete with what lay outside it.
Thomas Hightower showed them out. The others headed back to the houseboat, leaving Deirdre and Avery standing in the clearing contemplating William the Wild’s once-glorious island home.
This house was not as chopped up and neglected as Max Golden’s Millicent or as filthy and forlorn as Bella Flora, but it was not exactly an easy fix—or even a string of easy fixes. This house and the other structures on Mermaid Point were going to have to be skillfully carved up, completely updated, and turned into a retreat that multiple unrelated people could inhabit comfortably and with privacy.
The challenges were considerable, the working conditions less than stellar. But Deirdre had no doubt that Mermaid Point could be turned into a high-end destination if only Avery could let go of her hurt and anger long enough to allow a true collaboration.
Chapter Ten
Early that afternoon Avery stood on the upper deck of the houseboat watching Thomas Hightower, who was leaving Mermaid Point for home, stow his carry-on on the skiff that idled at the dock, when Chase’s call came in. She could hear the whine of power tools and male voices in the background and knew Chase had called from a construction site, but his voice in her ear was crisp and clear as they greeted each other.
“So, what’s the story?” he asked. “Who does the house belong to? And what’s it going to take to convert it?”
“We’re actually on a private—” she began.
“Oh, wait, just a sec.” The mouthpiece was covered and she heard Chase’s muffled voice talking to someone. “Sorry. There’s a problem with the foundation here and . . .”
She watched Thomas step down into the boat then turn to help Maddie on while Hudson settled a baseball cap on his bald head, untied the lines, and pushed them off. She’d tried to get her mother to go onshore with Maddie, which would just happen to leave Avery on her own to study all the structures on the island, but a trip to the grocery store had not been inducement enough for Deirdre or the camera crew.
The boat putted away from the dock, then rounded Mermaid Point and slipped from view. Chase was back on the line. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This place is just crazy today.”
“No problem,” she said, gathering her thoughts. “But it’s a bit complicated. Because this house is on a private island and—”
“Damn. Sorry.” Chase cut her off again. “I’ve got to take this. It’s Dad.”
This time she was put on hold.
The whine of the skiff’s motor faded into the distance. It was hot and humid. Twin trickles of sweat slid down her back and between her breasts. If it weren’t for Troy and Anthony, who seemed to be shooting everything that moved, she would have already stripped down to her bathing suit.
“Oh, man.” Chase’s voice pulled her back from her musings. “His appointment with the specialist has been moved up to three o’clock this afternoon. And Hamden made the playoffs.” Hamden was Josh and Jason’s high school, where they both played for their baseball team. “The first game is at five. And I need to hit two more sites before I go pick up Dad.” There was a blip of silence on the line, indicating another incoming call. “Nope, not gonna take it. Go ahead and tell me. How big is the island and who’s the high-profile owner?”
Avery filled him in at top speed, unsure how long he’d be able to ignore the incoming beeps and sound effects of calls going to voice mail.
“Wow, William Hightower,” Chase said. “Wasted Indian was huge. I remember ‘Mermaid in You’ coming out when I was just a kid. I always loved that song.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t know what kind of money that level of success throws off, but he hasn’t spent any of it on this place in a long time.” Her eyes ran up a piling to the second floor of the boathouse, taking in the warped boards and chipped paint.
“I wouldn’t mind a gig on a private island,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said, wishing he were here now. “If we weren’t trapped and stuffed into a houseboat, I think we’d all be a little more excited about it. It’s gorgeous and there’s a huge amount of potential. But Hightower’s not particularly on board for any of this—his son set up the whole thing. It’s pretty clear he’d be happy to see us sail off into the sunset. Which is pretty spectacular here, by the way. Almost as spectacular as the sunrise.”
“You were up at sunrise?”
“Well, no, not exactly. I might have been, though, if the island rooster’s internal clock wasn’t so screwed up.”
Chase laughed. She pictured him with his head thrown back, the humor glinting in his blue eyes.
“So, listen,” he said, “I found the name of the head of the planning board down there. I’ll text it to you. And I put a call in to Mario”—Mario Dante was a member of a family of fine artisans who had helped them return Bella Flora and the Millicent to their former glory. “You know, just to see if he has any family that far south or knows any of the construction people down there.” He paused, his hand going over the mouthpiece briefly, then continued. “And I—”
“Thanks, Chase. But I’m fine.” Or she would be once she figured out what and who they needed. “I have Mario’s and Enrico’s numbers in my phone if I need them. And I’m fairly certain I remember how to place a call.”
“You’re rolling your eyes at me, aren’t you?” he asked. “I can practically hear it.”
Avery gritted her teeth.
“And now you’re probably gritting your teeth.”
“Good God,” she said. “I’d think you had a webcam stashed somewhere if we weren’t in the frickin’ middle of nowhere.”
“I know you, Avery. And I love you. But you have a stubborn streak you could drive a semi through. The network won’t know or care where you get your crew from or who refers them to you. You don’t have to go out and recruit every single one of them yourself.”
She remained silent. But she could feel her jaw set. She wondered idly if he could “hear” that, too.
“And don’t ignore Deirdre. She can be a big help if you let her. I know you don’t want to hear it, but the woman is at the top of her game in interior design.”
“Are you finished reading my mind, listening to me think, and telling me how to deal with Deirdre?”
She let the silence spool out.
“Possibly.”
“Good. Then why don’t you tell me how the spec houses are doing,” she said. “Do you still have someone interested in the Jamerson Street bungalow?”
“No, I guess I’m not done, because I’m definitely not going to let you change the subject,” Chase said. “Every time you want to disagree with Deirdre or shut her out, think about the fact that she took that bullet for you.”
Avery stared out over the ocean, which was layered in blues and greens, the intensity of color downright hypnotic.
“She gave birth to you, too,” Chase continued. “She just went on . . . hiatus for a while.”
“Right, just a mini breather from parenting for, what was it, twenty-plus years?” Avery hated the whiny note in her voice. But every time she thought she’d come to terms with Deirdre’s abandonment, felt ready to move on, the hurt resurfaced. Like an infection that had developed a resistance to antibiotics.
“I know,” Chase said gently. “She screwed up big time. But she’s back and she seems determined to stay. You don’t have to get all mushy—none of us would recognize you if you did. But you can be civil. And you definitely need to consult with her on the plans.”
“Right,” she said agreeably, very glad he couldn’t see her face right now. Or actually read her mind, which was still bent on finding a way to evade Deirdre so that she could go back through the structures on her own. “You may be right. I’ll take that into consideration.”
“Avery . . . I can tell by that tone in your voice that—” Another call sounded on the line. “Aw, hell, it’s the bank. I’m going to have to pick up.”
“Take care,” she said as he hung up, relieved not to have to lie outright to him. But no matter what Chase or certain other people expected, she had learned to fend for herself as a kid after Deirdre left. She sure as hell didn’t need her now.
• • •
Bud N’ Mary’s was relatively quiet when Maddie pulled back into the parking lot late that afternoon. She’d taken her time, first driving north on U.S. 1, pulling over occasionally to let impatient drivers pass, as she attempted to take in her surroundings. She turned around in the Whale Harbor Marina parking lot to head south toward the Publix grocery store in Marathon, which would take her over bridges and causeways with great water views and allow her time to get acclimated.
A sign caught her eye and she read it aloud. “Mat-e-cum-be.” She sounded it out with relish, chopping the word into four distinct and heavily accented syllables. The feel of the Indian name on her lips made her smile.
She slowed as much as she could as she passed the Lorelei, which Troy had mentioned, on her right, and the Hurricane Monument about a half mile farther on her left, enjoying how small and accessible everything felt.
On a whim she turned right at the sign for the Helen Wadley library, continuing past the white concrete structure. Behind the library a beautiful park with picnic tables, swings, and climbing equipment that Dustin would absolutely love was situated on a mangrove-lined inlet with a small dock and beach. If she could find an easy way on and off Mermaid Point, they could bring Dustin to the library to check out books and then let him burn off some steam in the park.
Hudson was waiting for her when she got back to the marina. He wore his baseball cap pulled low on his head. A pair of sandy eyebrows rose above his mirrored sunglasses. His arms were wiry, his large hands capable.
“Can I help you with the groceries?” His smile was laid-back.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll grab the rest out of the van.”
He loaded the bags into the boat then reached up to give her a hand. When she was settled, he pulled on something on the motor and it sprang to life, churning the water and throwing off froth behind them.
“How did you do that?” Maddie asked.
“Do what?”
“How do you start this boat?”
“You just pull the, uh, choke.” He looked at her as if she’d asked what the first letter of the alphabet was but made no further comment.
She watched his movements closely as he untied the boat. Other than the time spent renovating Bella Flora, she’d never lived on or even near the water and had never given any thought to operating a boat. But it occurred to her now, as he pushed off the dock and maneuvered slowly out of the marina, that if she could learn how to operate this boat, or even the smaller rubber one with the even smaller motor, they’d have a way on and off the island.
“So you keep the ropes with you?” she asked as they moved toward open water. “They don’t belong to the marina or anything?”
“They’re actually called ‘lines,’” he said. “And they belong with the boat. So you can tie up when you get back to your own dock, or to the next place you’re going.” She could tell he was trying not to smile.
He twisted something on the handle of the motor and the boat sped up. She raised an eyebrow in question.
“The throttle controls the speed,” he said.
She nodded again, not sure what to ask next.
“If you turn this clockwise it speeds up. Counterclockwise we slow down.” He demonstrated increasing and slowing the speed smoothly so she could see and feel the change.
When they were away from the marina he slowed so that the boat idled in place. She could see Mermaid Point in front of them, Bud N’ Mary’s behind. All around them was the Atlantic.
“Do you want to try it?” he asked quietly.
Maddie con
sidered the channel markers that she didn’t understand, the shallows where she could clearly see the bottom, and the vastness of the ocean that made the boat look and feel like a bit of flotsam. She thought about all of the marine life, not all of it friendly, that undoubtedly teemed beneath the surface; but none of it mattered. She didn’t need to become the next Jacques Cousteau; she just needed to be able to come and go from Mermaid Point without waiting for someone to take her. Especially in case of emergency. “Yes.” She could see her smiling face reflected in his sunglasses. “Absolutely.”
Hudson turned off the motor and slid over so that she could sit to the right of the motor.
“Okay. Everything you’ll need once you get her started up is on this tiller.” He demonstrated the position for neutral, which she apparently needed to go into before changing direction, then forward and reverse. “You use it to steer as well,” he said. “You push it away from you to go right and toward you to go left; basically the opposite of the way you want to go.” He waited for her to nod her understanding. Then he turned off the motor. The only sound was the subtle slap of water against the hull.
“Okay, you see that knob right there?” He waited for her to find the rectangular knob protruding from the front of the motor. “You want to make sure you’re in neutral, hold onto the knob, and pull it hard to you.”
She pulled. Nothing happened.
“That’s all right. Brace your other hand on the top of the motor and pull quickly. If it doesn’t start pull it quickly again.”
She pulled two more times. On the third try the engine caught. “I did it!” She laughed.
“That you did,” he said. “Now, take us over that way.” He pointed toward the highway and the deep blue water between the markers. “That’s it,” he said approvingly. “Give it some gas and then move in between the red and green channel markers.”
