The House on Mermaid Point

by Wendy Wax

  After that she stopped at the Trading Post, a local grocery and convenience store, where she bought only those things that she wanted to eat over the next few days: a small fillet and greens for a salad, a half carton of eggs, cold deli meat and a couple of hoagie rolls for sandwiches, a cantaloupe and a few other pieces of fruit. She lingered longest in front of the freezer case, both because the blast of frozen air felt delicious and because she’d decided to treat herself to the most decadent dessert she could find. She ended up with a pint of Talenti sea salt caramel gelato, after several women offered enthusiastic and unsolicited testimonials when they saw her considering it.

  At checkout she reached for a People magazine, something she typically only succumbed to at the beauty parlor. When a quick skim of its headlines assured her there was no mention of Kyra, Dustin, or Do Over, she added it to her purchases.

  She made it back to Mermaid Point without mishap, which she deemed cause for celebration. Knowing herself to be completely alone, she changed into an ancient two-piece bathing suit, yanked her hair into a high ponytail, and carried the magazine, a historical romance, and a can of Diet Coke out to the hammock. The rope molded itself to her body as she settled in the shady spot, enjoying its easy sway and the warm breeze off the ocean. She leaned the cold drink can up against her bare midriff and leafed through the magazine. An article about former Friends star Matthew Perry’s battle with addiction turned her thoughts to William yet again and served as a reminder that success and happiness rarely seemed to go hand in hand. She pored over shots of the actor’s seven-million-dollar Malibu beach house, surprised by what the estate had been converted to and marking it to show to William, who even in his absence felt woven into the very breeze that slipped over her skin and rustled the mangroves and palm fronds.

  That gentle rustling joined with traffic noise from U.S. 1 and the buzz of the island insects. All of these sounds mingled with the whine of boat engines out in the channel and the caw of gulls wheeling overhead to create a soothing symphony that had begun to sound like home.

  She fell asleep in the shade of the palm trees, one hand wrapped around the drink can, and only roused slightly at the sound of a boat slowing nearby. She’d already drifted off again when the crunch of a foot on a branch reached her. Her eyes flew open. She was the only person on Mermaid Point. She groped for her cell phone, sending the Coke can flying, before remembering that she’d left the phone on the arm of the nearby Adirondack. Until this moment it hadn’t occurred to her to worry about being here alone.

  The hammock now felt more like a rope prison. She lay very still, unsure which direction the sound had come from. She couldn’t decide if she should flip herself out of the hammock as quickly as possible, hope she landed on her feet and not her face, and race for the cell phone so that she could . . . this was the part that kept her lying there immobile.

  Another snap raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Her skin sprang up into goose bumps. She was way too close to naked in the ancient two-piece. She squeezed her eyes shut and understood the ostrich’s primal instinct; if there’d been a big enough hole in the ground she would already be burying her head in it.

  A large shadow fell over her.

  “Maddie?” William Hightower’s voice sounded inches away. When she forced her eyes open he was crouching down to retrieve her Coke can. Fear receded. Embarrassment at being caught in the skimpy bathing suit took its place.

  “I thought people with Native American blood knew how to move silently through wooded areas,” she snapped. “You almost gave me a heart attack.” She had a brief internal debate over whether to sit up, which would pouch her stomach out further, or continue to lie there looking like a fool.

  “Sorry.” He came out of his crouch and grinned down at her. “I failed stealth walking and woodcraft. I spent most of my teenage years trying to find the right mix of weed for my peace pipe.”

  When he moved to set the sandy can on the nearest chair, Maddie sat up hastily then slid off the hammock and onto her feet. She would have sold her soul for something to hide behind. If this were a sitcom she’d already be sliding behind the nearest large leafy plant. Or hightailing it back down the path to the houseboat, except that would expose an even jigglier and less attractive view of her. Note to self: never, under any circumstances, leave the houseboat again without a cover-up. She eyed the People magazine but it was nowhere near large enough to provide cover. “What are you doing back so soon?” she finally managed to ask. “I thought you all were going to be fishing and camping for two or three days.”

  He watched her fidget with an amused smile that told her he knew just how uncomfortable she was. If she sucked her stomach in any harder she was afraid she’d pass out at his feet.

  “I had the boat all ready when Hud called to tell me that he’d had a customer come into town unexpectedly for the holiday. When you guide for a living you don’t turn down manna from heaven.”

  “And Tommy? Couldn’t the two of you have gone?” Worried that he’d done something to alienate his son, her breath whooshed out. Unfortunately, her stomach went with it.

  “I hear what you’re thinking,” he said.

  “Is that right?” She forgot about her stomach, and her rear, as she put her fists to her hips.

  “You’re thinking I blew off Tommy when Hud couldn’t come.”

  She managed not to speak but simply waited for him to continue just as she’d learned to do with Kyra and Andrew.

  “I can’t say it wouldn’t have crossed my mind. But he was the one who called it off. He called even before Hudson, said he had a bad cold and I could hear how congested he was. But he sounded disappointed. And he asked if we could go some other time.”

  “Oh. That’s wonderful.” She felt the smile break over her face.

  “Yeah.” Will looked kind of pleased himself. “It doesn’t suck.” He looked her over not at all surreptitiously. “And now it’s just you and me here.” He winked at her. “That doesn’t suck, either.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m going to swim a few laps. But I caught a whole bunch of mangrove snapper out off Shell Key. And I’d be glad to make them for dinner tonight.”

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve finished your cooking chart yet”—he grinned—“but I’m willing to go first—you know, maybe break in the pavilion kitchen.”

  “Sure.” She looked down and then back at him. “I think I’ll just go take a shower and, um, clean up a bit. And I can bring a salad if you like.”

  “Great.” He stood as if expecting her to leave first, but she waited him out, only turning once she heard him dive into the pool. As far as she was concerned, she’d already exposed far more unfirm flesh than any woman should be required to.

  • • •

  Maddie spent a ridiculous amount of time in the shower exfoliating and shaving and even longer in front of the tiny steamy mirror applying foundation, eyeliner, and mascara.

  “Good grief,” she chastised herself, dropping the lipstick tube back on the counter unopened. “You’re not going to show up looking like you think this is a date!”

  Before she could succumb to more primping or chicken out altogether, she braided her hair while it was still wet and pulled on jean shorts, a fresh T-shirt, and her flip-flops.

  She arrived at the pavilion with a plastic lidded bowl of salad and a pitcher of sun tea, like some suburban soccer mom arriving at an end-of-season team party. She found William similarly attired, his hair wet from the shower, and a burner already lit on the outdoor cooktop. Two dinner plates sat on the counter.

  “Do you have any problem with butter?” he asked, holding a cast-iron pan and a large stick of butter. “Or any food allergies? ”

  “No. As you could probably tell earlier, I haven’t met a lot of foods I don’t like.” She sighed as she remembered how not dressed she’d been when he�
��d surprised her on the hammock.

  “I’m glad you’re not one of those women who agonizes over just how many carrot sticks she should eat at one sitting.” He placed the pan on the burner and dropped the whole stick of butter in it with a flourish. Then dredged the fish fillets in what he called his “secret” seasoning mixture. “Physical perfection is highly overrated.”

  “Can I quote you on that?” she asked, wondering if he could possibly mean it.

  “By all means.” He laid the fillets in the sizzling butter.

  She sniffed appreciatively. “I thought you were joking about the secret seasoning, since your ‘secret marinade’ was made by Wishbone.” She came closer and leaned forward to sniff more carefully. “Onion salt? Pepper? Paprika?”

  “I refuse to answer on the grounds that it’s a secret.”

  “I guess I need to give you credit for finding that box I packed with all three of the seasonings in your pantry,” she teased.

  “Laugh all you will.” His good mood was infectious. “The fact remains this dish will definitely knock your socks off.” He took a second to mock-ogle her legs. “Or it would if you were wearing any.”

  He’d set one of the small wooden tables for two—just a glass, fork, and napkin for each of them. A citronella candle flickered in the center. Looking for something to do with her hands, Maddie scooped ice out of the new undercounter icemaker, poured tea into each of the glasses, then set the pitcher on the table along with the covered salad bowl.

  William placed a finished fillet on each of their plates, squeezed lemon over both, then carried them to the table. Seated across from him, Maddie dished salad onto their plates as if she were back in Atlanta, serving up one of a million meals she’d fed to Steve, Kyra, and Andrew. Only this was William Hightower sitting across from her. It was hard to imagine being any further from her old reality.

  “Bon appétit.” William watched her lift a first forkful to her mouth.

  Her lips closed around the snapper. The fish dissolved in a rush of buttery sweetness. “Wow,” she said once she’d swallowed. “I would have found something good to say about the fish no matter what, just to preserve your fragile male ego. But this is really great.”

  “Gee, thanks.” His smile was crooked; his tone dry.

  “Sorry. That compliment was a little back-handed. It’s just that given those fourteen-year-old taste buds of yours, I wasn’t expecting anything quite so . . . I don’t know . . . grown-up and delicious.”

  “Hmm.” One dark eyebrow sketched upward. “I kind of like that description. Grown-up and delicious.” He looked her straight in the eye when he said this and she felt a distinct flicker of awareness that she spent the remainder of the meal attempting to banish.

  When they’d finished eating, William led her over to the Adirondack chairs, which he turned to face the western sky. Maddie set the citronella candle on her chair’s broad arm as they settled in to watch the show. This time the sun rimmed the clouds in a band of yellow gold and shone through the gaps like a message from God. Or a bold stroke from Michelangelo’s brush.

  “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to give this up or share it with strangers.” Her eyes remained on the slash of brilliant light in the sky, but the pull of the man beside her was as strong as an outgoing tide.

  “I feel better here, more whole, than I do anywhere except out on the water.” William said this quietly, his face also turned toward the sky. “It’s criminal to live in a place like this and stay too stoned to see it.”

  “Is it hard to stay sober?” The words had slipped out before she could stop them.

  He said nothing for a time and she debated whether to apologize.

  “I don’t think the struggle ever goes away,” he finally said, turning to her, his tone reflective. “But it’s gotten easier.” His lips quirked up. “I spent a lot of years trying to blot out the bad parts; but it doesn’t really make any of it go away. Turns out I kind of like seeing things the way they really are.”

  The sky darkened around them and the mosquitoes and no-see-ums came out to feast. Maddie could practically hear them scoffing at the citronella.

  “It’s your perfume,” Will said. “It attracts them.”

  She should have known better. Hud had told them that early on when they’d complained about insect bites, but she’d automatically spritzed herself with scent after her shower.

  “Personally, I think you smell great.” His voice was husky. “I understand where the mosquitoes are coming from. I might even be slightly jealous of them.”

  He stood, giving her a moment before he reached for her hand to draw her to her feet. She felt a crackle of sexual electricity arc between them. Her eyes fluttered shut as he bent to fit his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and firm. The kiss began slowly but grew hot quickly. Way too hot for her brain, which seemed unable to process the fact that William Hightower was kissing her—and she was kissing him back.

  “I don’t normally ask permission.” He kissed her again, more deeply this time. Lust—there was no other name for it—rippled through her. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Maddie?”

  She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to feel his lips on hers, lose herself in the overwhelming heat of him.

  He placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up so that their eyes met. “We’re adults. We’re obviously attracted to each other.” His eyes were darker than the night sky. There was passion in them. Passion for her. “Unless you say otherwise, I’m going to make love to you.”

  They were alone here. With no one to chaperone them. No one to know what they did or didn’t do. Her body tightened, strained toward his. But her brain couldn’t absorb the enormity of what was happening. How could she possibly do this? How could she bare her middle-aged self to a man who had slept with some of the most beautiful women in the world? She hadn’t even kissed anyone but Steve for the last thirty years.

  She took a step back, pulled her hand free, broke the connection.

  She aimed her eyes somewhere to the left of his chin.

  “I . . . I have to go. I . . . I’m sorry. I . . . thanks for dinner.” Her hands clasped in front of her. She stole a glance at his face and saw that the heat in his eyes had begun to give way to what she was afraid was surprised amusement.

  “I . . . I really appreciate the offer. It’s a . . . good offer.” She was nodding her head now for emphasis. “But I think I’d better get to sex. I mean to bed. No, no, I mean to sleep.” If she didn’t stop now she’d babble on forever. “So . . . good night.”

  “Good night, Maddie.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You be sure and sleep tight.”

  “Thank you. You’re tight, too.” She closed her eyes in abject humiliation. Then, before she could make it worse, she turned and pretty much fled toward the houseboat.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  To say that Maddie had trouble sleeping that night was kind of like saying Noah had assembled a few animals on his ark. She tossed and turned from the moment she laid her head on her pillow, unable to forget that she was alone on a deserted island with William Hightower. Who for some unknown reason—which might or might not be the fact that she was the only available female on the premises—wanted to make love to her.

  Make love. As in have sex.

  She sweated through the night and knew that this time she couldn’t blame it on menopause or the inadequate air-conditioning or anything but the two ridiculously contradictory things she felt: unbridled lust and abject humiliation at how she’d handled their encounter. Personal modifiers even more unfathomable than fifty-one and single.

  At two A.M. she moved to the main cabin and lay on the sofa staring out the rectangular window at a slice of moon and bits of the star-filled sky. At three she went up on deck, where the warm breeze riffled her hair and she heard the steady kick and splash
of laps being swum in the swimming pool.

  For a wild moment she considered simply slipping naked into the pool, which would keep him from seeing her imperfections, and silently, with no stammering or Freudian slips, offering herself to William.

  In this scenario they’d have wild monkey sex, whatever that was, and then somehow, possibly while his back was turned, she’d slip out of the pool and disappear into the night. Where she’d become some brief but treasured memory.

  Coward.

  Back in her cubicle of a room she stared up into the shadowed ceiling and debated which was worse: the fact that she’d humiliated herself so completely or the fact that she’d run away from something that she had never imagined could happen and was unlikely ever to happen to her again. The idea of starting a new life, being free to take risks and even make mistakes, sounded so wonderful. Until you actually had to do it.

  Maddie cursed, slapped at her pillow, turned on her side. She was still chastising herself and wondering how she would ever face William Hightower again when sleep finally claimed her.

  Romeo and his band of Juliets woke her a few hours later, and she forced herself out of bed, made a cup of coffee, and carried it out to the deck, shocked to discover that the cock-a-doodle-doo had occurred so close to daybreak. The sun was just on the rise, a red sphere breaking through the morning mist. She settled on the bench seat, brought her knees up to her chest, and breathed the beginnings of the new day into her lungs. Across Mermaid Point she could see fishing boats heading out for the day, the big ones headed offshore past the reefs, the smaller, backcountry skiffs headed into the bay. Dive boats were already floating beside their mooring balls out near Alligator Reef Lighthouse. Fishing was an early morning sport; perhaps the most successful anglers got their lines out while the fish were still half asleep and not yet fully caffeinated.