by Wendy Wax
Maddie rotated her hand so tentatively that at first nothing happened. She tried again and the boat leapt forward.
“Easy now,” he said in the tone a cowboy might use to gentle a horse. “Ease off the throttle just a little bit.” When she managed to loosen her grip enough to accomplish this, he smiled. “Good. Very good.”
They moved forward at a turtle-like pace. When she managed to aim it between the markers she felt a smile spread across her face. She was driving a boat.
“Very good,” he said approvingly. “Let’s head a bit to the right.”
Her teeth worried at her lip in concentration, but she pushed the handle away from her body and the front of the boat aimed to the right.
“I got the front to go right!”
He laughed appreciatively. “You did. And the front of the boat is called the bow. You’re sitting in the stern.” He gave her a moment to absorb this. “Why don’t you try the other direction? Just a slight correction.”
Carefully, she did as instructed. The front—the bow—aimed to her left.
“Good,” Hudson said. “You want to work on keeping your movements as smooth as possible.”
There were no other boats in the channel so she pushed the tiller away, then pulled it to her, unaccountably thrilled each time the boat responded. When he made no move to take over, she did it some more. Feeling bolder she rotated her wrist to give it gas and the boat jerked forward. “Whoa!” she said. Hudson didn’t look at all alarmed and she eased back slightly.
She knew it was silly to feel so satisfied because the boat was so small and the motor not particularly powerful. Nonetheless she felt a surprising sense of accomplishment.
“We’re at midtide right now,” he explained, “and this skiff doesn’t need more than a foot of depth or so, but you’re best off staying in the channel. At low tide it can be a matter of inches.”
Maddie nodded happily as her hair whipped wildly around her face and the sun beat down on her bare arms and shoulders. She couldn’t have held back her smile if she wanted to.
Hudson settled back and crossed lightly muscled arms. “We’re going to go under the bridge, cut south on the bay side, and come back through the next bridge to the ocean side. I’ll dock her this first time out.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, giving it more gas, tempted to pinch herself in case this was some sort of dream in which she, Madeline Singer, former full-time homemaker, was piloting a boat through the Florida Keys on her way to William Hightower’s private island.
Chapter Eleven
Deirdre sat at the banquette, a glass of freshly brewed sun tea in front of her, watching Maddie put away groceries and rearrange the minimal dishes and silverware. Maddie had been whistling and puttering around the small space since she’d gotten back with the groceries. Acting as if the cramped galley were a real kitchen, and the floating sardine can around it, a real home.
Maddie was hanging the brightly colored dish towel—one that Deirdre doubted had come with the rented houseboat any more than the large jar she’d brewed the sun tea in had—on the small oven door handle when Dustin, apparently just up from his afternoon nap, toddled into the living area of the cabin, his mother behind him.
“Would you like some juice?” Maddie asked.
“Duce,” Dustin said, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his fists.
“Coming right up,” Maddie said, smiling down at her grandson. “What’s the magic word?”
“Peees?” He clambered up onto the banquette across from Deirdre, his sturdy brown legs splayed out in front of him. Maddie placed a sippy cup and a plastic cup of Goldfish crackers in front of him then dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “And?”
“Tank too.” He lifted the cup and drank in big gulps like a sailor bellying up to a bar after a long stint at sea.
Kyra slid in beside him, munching on a handful of the fish-shaped crackers. Her mother brought her a glass of tea. “Thanks.” She smiled and yawned as Avery and Nicole came into the cabin. Nicole’s skin glistened. Avery had already sweated through her T-shirt.
“I can’t believe it’s this hot and it’s not even June yet.” Nicole accepted a glass of tea from Maddie and pressed it to her forehead. “Can you turn down the air-conditioning?”
Avery went to the thermostat. “It’s set as low as it goes.”
“That is not a good sign,” Nicole said. “I mean, it feels like it’s a hundred degrees. I don’t want to think about how hot it’s going to get here.”
Avery held her glass of tea to her neck, which was slick with sweat.
Deirdre began to slide over to make room.
“Thanks, but I feel so sweaty I’m afraid I’ll stick to the vinyl and never get out again,” Avery said.
“I could definitely use a dip in the pool,” Nicole said.
Dustin looked up from his snack, excited. “Twim in poo!”
“Dustin’s on board,” Nicole said. “Is there anything on the schedule?”
“Gosh, I don’t know,” Maddie said, swiping at the countertop. She was no longer whistling. “I think we should ask permission first. Maybe . . .”
“It’s bad enough being stuck on the island. I refuse to be stuck on this houseboat,” Nicole said. “Besides, Thomas told us to make ourselves at home on the property.”
“Thomas and his father aren’t necessarily on the same page with that,” Maddie said. “Or much of anything.”
“He’d probably never even notice we were there,” Nicole said.
Deirdre thought this unlikely, but she was more interested in the gleam that had stolen into Avery’s eyes.
“Why don’t you all go ahead and swim,” Avery said. “There’s really nothing much to do until I have a final plan.”
“How long do you expect that to take?” Nicole asked.
“Depends.” Avery shrugged, but Deirdre could see how hard she was working at sounding casual.
“On what?” Maddie asked.
“On when I get to look over everything again uninterrupted,” Avery said. “It takes time and thought for a plan to come together.”
“And sometimes another opinion,” Deirdre said, matching Avery’s casual tone.
Avery didn’t reply.
“Well, I’ve shot interior and exterior footage of all the buildings,” Kyra said. “I wouldn’t mind a swim. Except if we take Dustin to the pool Troy and Anthony will be all over him.”
“All the more reason for you all to go and give them other potential targets,” Avery said, still trying—and failing—to hide her eagerness to be rid of them. The girl had almost no subtlety to her at all. Well, at least you knew where you stood with her. Even if it was forever unforgiven.
“Well, I’m not going to swim,” Deirdre said. “So I’m available to help you.”
“Thanks,” Avery said. She placed her glass in the sink. “But I don’t need your help.”
Deirdre sighed. Her hand automatically rose to rub the arm that still unexpectedly pained her, but she managed to stop herself.
“Oh, I don’t think we should intrude on William’s privacy.” Maddie looked down at herself. “And I’m not sure I want to wear a bathing suit in front of a man who’s dated Cher and at least two Sports Illustrated swimsuit models.”
“Oh, what do you care what he thinks?” Kyra asked in surprise. “I doubt he’s going to give you a second look any—”
Nicole cut Kyra off. “I doubt he’ll be at the pool,” she said. “I saw him swimming laps when I was out running this morning. But if he happened to be there, I’m sure he’d survive a glimpse of what real women look like.”
Maddie looked unconvinced.
“Pees, Geema?” Dustin looked up at his grandmother through pleading brown eyes.
Deirdre smiled as Maddie’s protests died on her lips. The woman would walk through f
ire for that child. Surely she would brave an aging, ill-tempered rock star.
“I’m with Dustin,” Nicole said. “I’m going to swim and then I’m going to find a shady spot for a little snooze. I don’t think I slept more than an hour at a time last night.”
“All right,” Kyra agreed. “Let’s go cool off. Dustin, let’s find your pail and shovel. Come on, Mom.”
“All right,” Maddie finally conceded. “I think the boat and trailer Dustin got for Christmas are in the beach bag.”
Everyone but Avery and Deirdre left to put on their swimsuits.
“Don’t you want to go cool off?” Avery asked Deirdre.
“No, this would be a good time for us to take another look at the outbuildings together and come up with a comprehensive plan.”
“I can handle that on my own,” Avery said.
They stood in the cramped living area and contemplated each other. Deirdre had vowed not to try to argue her way into Avery’s good graces, but then, she’d had a lot of good intentions that never quite panned out. “I know you’re not going to jeopardize this project simply to keep me at arm’s length,” she said in frustration.
“It’s not about that,” Avery said, but her eyes sidled away when she said it. “I just want to get a feel of the space on my own, breathe it in . . . on my own. I seem to remember an interior designer who explained this concept to me when I was a child.” She looked at Deirdre, her blue eyes clouded with her own brand of frustration. “We can collaborate . . . afterward.”
Deirdre studied her daughter’s face. The sweat and dirt that stained her T-shirt had also left marks on her cheeks. As a child she’d been such a tomboy that huge mounds of dirt and grime had layered the bathtub each night. But she’d navigated the antiques shops and fabric stores and model homes Deirdre had exposed her to with an ease that had taken Deirdre years to acquire.
“Why don’t you go ahead and take a look at the pavilion and the boathouse,” Avery suggested. “I’ll go out to the garage. Then we’ll swap. We can compare thoughts and sketches tomorrow. After we’ve both . . . processed.”
It was an evasion tied to a very thin olive branch. “All right.” Deirdre looked unwaveringly into Avery’s eyes. “But tomorrow morning we go back into the main house together. William Hightower isn’t happy about our being here. He’s not going to be okay with both of us tromping in and out of there at will.”
With that, she picked up her phone and her yellow pad, and together they followed the ecstatic Dustin and his entourage off the boat. Just beyond the boathouse the paths split. She and Avery went their separate ways.
• • •
One minute Will was lying by the side of the pool with his eyes closed, focusing on being one with the . . . universe. Or at least the nearby coconut palm. The next minute his universe, and all the palm trees in it, had been invaded by a small army that included the boy, the group of women who surrounded him, and the film crew who followed them.
He kept his eyes closed, hoping that they’d get the message and take themselves elsewhere. Or at least keep the invasion short and quiet.
Something blocked the sun. A shadow fell on his face. He could feel a tentative female presence—his money was on the one called Maddie. He considered just ignoring her or pretending to be asleep, but both of those actions would require effort. And even the thought was ridiculous. This was his pool, his home, his frickin’ island. “What is it?”
He opened his eyes and stared up into her face, which was blessed with a pair of really beautiful brown eyes and a generous mouth that tipped up at the corners.
“We’re sorry to disturb you.” She looked back over her shoulder to where the rest of the army waited, jostling each other. The scent of coconut oil reached his nostrils and he knew someone was putting on sunscreen.
“Poo!” the little boy’s excited voice exclaimed. “Want sim!”
Someone shushed him, but Will could feel everyone’s attention on him. Madeline was still standing over him, her dark hair fluttering in the breeze.
“Did you need something?” he asked.
“Yes. Would you mind if we use your pool?”
A small, mean-spirited part of him wanted to say, “Hell yeah, I mind. And while we’re at it, I really hate that you’re here,” but he couldn’t ignore all the hopeful faces turned his way—especially the little boy’s.
“I know it’s an intrusion having us here,” she said. “And the constant camera—well, we’re still getting used to that ourselves. I don’t know how people live their lives under that kind of scrutiny.” Her mouth tilted all the way up into a smile. “Listen to me telling you about being under scrutiny. I mean, after all those years of . . . I mean, you are William Hightower.”
Was he? She sounded a lot more certain than he was. Because there were way too many times when he barely recognized himself. “Go ahead.”
“What?” She startled slightly.
“Go ahead and swim, darlin’,” he said in his most dismissive drawl. “It’s not a problem. I was getting ready to move into the shade anyway.”
He stood. Her eyes followed his body as it unfolded. Her gaze got kind of tangled up on his chest, then began to slide downward. Will realized that she was checking him out. He almost laughed when he saw her tug on the hem of the T-shirt that skimmed across her thighs.
She swallowed and dragged her eyes up to his. She turned pink when she realized that he’d been watching.
“I’ll just be over in the pavilion if, uh, you need anything.” He gave her a wink just to see if he could make her blush again. Somewhere along the way he’d forgotten that women like Madeline Singer even existed.
Chapter Twelve
They sat on the upper deck of the houseboat that night as the sun went down. Dustin was tucked into his berth, pleasantly worn out by the hours he’d spent swimming and digging in the sand. Maddie had put together a collection of snacks to carry up, including a bowl of Cheez Doodles for Avery, the Bagel Bites Kyra favored, and hummus and veggies to round things out. Despite the makeshift nature of their living quarters, she felt oddly content.
“There must be some sort of gourmet shop somewhere,” Deirdre said.
“Definitely. Probably right next to the bait shop,” Nicole said, filling each of their cups with the strawberry daiquiris she’d blended. “No, wait—down here it’s probably in the bait shop.”
There was laughter.
“Eat up,” Maddie said after taking a long, lovely sip of her drink. “I’ve just made a salad for dinner. I tried to stock up today but there’s not really enough storage space to keep the ingredients for serious meals and it gets kind of hot down there with the oven on for any length of time.”
“Yeah, the air-conditioning isn’t exactly powerful,” Nicole said.
“Maybe it just needs a shot of Freon,” Maddie suggested.
“I think it lacks the will to live,” Avery said drily.
“So do I,” Nicole said. “I felt like a lump of clay baking in a kiln at the pool today.” She waved away a kamikaze mosquito.
Avery slapped at her thigh. There was a rustling in the mangroves that none of them wanted to acknowledge.
“We’ve only been here twenty-four hours and I feel like I’ve sweated through half of my clothes,” Avery said.
“That’s what happens when you pack too light,” Deirdre said. “I can lend you a few things if you’d like.”
Avery popped a Cheez Doodle in her mouth, wiped her orange hands on her shorts. “I don’t need more clothes; I just need access to a washing machine.”
“Maybe we can get them to set one up next to the port-o-let.” Deirdre grimaced.
“There must be a Laundromat in Islamorada. It is a major tourist destination,” Maddie reasoned.
“There’s a perfectly good laundry room in William Hightower’s house.” Avery wait
ed until Deirdre was looking and licked one orange finger.
“Sure, why don’t we just ask him if he’d like to run a few loads for us?” Kyra’s comment was accompanied by an eye roll.
“Obviously we’re not going to ask him to do our wash. But we could ask if he’d let us use the washer and dryer. I mean, why would he object? Maybe we could offer to do his while we’re at it—as a sort of trade-off,” Avery suggested.
“You wouldn’t mind doing William the Wild’s wash, would you?” Nicole teased Maddie. “Just think: you could have William Hightower’s boxers in your hands.”
“I can’t see him in boxers. Maybe briefs,” Deirdre said. “Actually, now that I think about it he looks like the kind of man who might prefer to go commando.”
“It frightens me that you’ve thought about his potential lack of underwear,” Avery said.
“I may be the oldest woman here,” Deirdre said, “but I promise you I’m not dead.”
“What do you think, Maddie? You had a pretty fair close-up,” Nicole said.
“No clue,” Maddie said. “And I’m not going to ask to use his laundry room.” And she was most definitely not going to imagine him in his underwear. Or out of it.
“Why not?” Avery asked.
“For the same reason she swam in her T-shirt instead of ever taking it off,” Kyra said. “Just because William Hightower was watching.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Maddie said. “It’s not like he’d be looking at me even if I stood on my head naked.”
“Well, that would be one way to compensate for gravity,” Nicole said. “But honestly, I’m pretty sure he was looking.”
“I’d like to propose a toast to Islamorada and Mermaid Point,” Maddie said, deciding it was time to take control of the conversation. “Both of them are beautiful. And while our living situation may be a bit . . . rustic . . . we are living on a private island. So that’s my good thing tonight.”
“Well, as hostile as he is to the renovation, William Hightower’s name should pull a lot of new viewers to Do Over,” Nicole said. “So that’s a good thing.”
