by Wendy Wax
“I can’t look at a group of gardeners without thinking about Parker Amherst.” Nicole dragged her eyes if not her thoughts back to the wall she was painting.
“You don’t have anyone pissed off at you, do you, Nikki?” Avery asked.
“Not that I’m aware of. Well, except for Joe’s grandmother, but she already had a clean shot at me over the Fourth. I’m pretty sure she’s already cast any pertinent spells or curses.”
“It’s good to know that if toads start flying out of your mouth we’ll know who to turn to for the antidote,” Maddie teased.
“Honestly, if it would get me off this scaffolding and out of the sun, I’d give her another shot.” Nicole pulled her hat tighter onto her head.
Tomorrow would be their last day of painting. After that they would report to Deirdre for furniture moving, accessory placing, and artwork hanging, but at least most of it would take place inside. In the brand-new commercial-grade air-conditioning.
A glob of sweat formed on her nose and she dipped her face down to her shoulder to try to get rid of it. “I am so ready to get back to civilization.”
“Is Joe coming for the party?” Maddie asked.
“I don’t think so. He’s out on the West Coast and may not be able to make it back.” She turned to Avery. “How about Chase?”
Avery shook her head. “He’s got his hands so ridiculously full. I’ve been sending pictures and keeping him posted, but I’m sorry he won’t get to see the finished project in person.”
“Well, there won’t be any shortage of video.” Nicole looked down. Even now, Troy and Anthony were shooting up at them—which was the least flattering angle possible. “But we’ve got less than a week until we wrap, so I’m thinking we can stop worrying about facing another hurricane or crazy person with a grudge. And I definitely don’t see us ending the shoot with another funeral.”
• • •
Four days later Maddie dropped into the tobacco-colored leather chair, part of the new grouping that surrounded the fireplace, and stared up at the stone, shell, and barnacle feature wall that rose above it. The soft pecky cypress walls, dark red cabinetry, and wrought-iron-forged hardware brought substance and order to the open design. “I almost can’t believe we’re done!”
Across the room, the kitchen was a perfect combination of sophisticated design and indestructible functionality while the eastern end of the room now easily accommodated William Hightower’s prized pool table and a large farm table big enough to seat twelve. All this in addition to the natural light and ocean view provided by the accordion glass wall. “It all turned out so great, I don’t even know which suite I’d choose if I were a guest.”
“Well, I’d go with the first-floor garage suite. That bathroom is to die for.” Nicole sighed theatrically. “All that leafy green on the wood walls and ceiling, the antique glass-topped doors, and that fabulous soaking tub?” She shook her head. “That bathroom belongs in a Calgon commercial.”
“Well, I like the boathouse suites. Hanging right out over the water like that and having a choice of sunrise or sunset views?” Kyra smiled and ruffled Dustin’s hair. “It’s fabulous. And I don’t know how you managed to create such different moods in each structure and yet make them feel part of the whole.”
“I agree,” Nicole said. “The two of you together?” She motioned to Avery and Deirdre. “That’s what I call sheer genius.”
“Agreed!” Maddie raised a glass of fresh lemonade in toast. “Here’s to Avery and Deirdre. Do Over’s dynamic duo.” They clinked their glasses and drank.
Deirdre smiled and bowed along with Avery, but her smile seemed forced.
“Another headache?” Avery asked her.
“Nothing major.” Deirdre pulled an aspirin bottle from her pocket, shook two into her palm, and downed them with a long pull from her water bottle.
“So what do you think?” Nicole asked. “Are we ready?”
“Yep.” Avery checked things off on her fingers. “Beds are made, towels are in the bathrooms, bottled waters and fruit baskets are set up in all the suites.”
“The caterers the network hired are coming in around two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Last I heard the network folks were due by four. Party guests were invited for seven. Has anybody talked to Lisa Hogan recently?” Maddie looked at Avery.
“Nope. I’m the one ducking her calls for a change. I don’t want any last-minute surprises and I guess I’m hoping our work will speak for itself.”
“You know she wants video of people checking in.” Kyra pulled Dustin up onto her lap. “But I don’t think anyone alive is going to get William Hightower to check strangers into his home tomorrow and escort them to their rooms.”
“Don’t look at me,” Maddie said when Nicole and Deirdre did just that. “I hereby relinquish the position of Hightower Handler and William Whisperer. He’s barely been on the island all week and when he is he’s not doing anything that could be considered actual communication.” Especially not with her.
“I expect he’s counting the days until we’re gone,” Nicole observed. “But does anyone know what he’s going to do with the place?”
Maddie stayed silent. If there was anyone William Hightower was not confiding in it was her.
“Beats me. And I still don’t think that’s our problem.” Avery set her empty glass on the coffee table. “I figured we’d put Lisa Hogan and her staff in the garage suites. And we can put Hud and Tommy upstairs here closest to Will and maybe Sam Holland and his wife in one of the downstairs suites. I think he and Will ran across each other while Will was living in Key West. If that fishing buddy of Will’s comes, he can take the fourth suite here in the main house.”
“That should work.” Kyra laid her chin on Dustin’s head. “We’ve got plenty of video of all the interiors. There’s no real reason to shoot people walking into each one of them.”
They left William’s house and headed off to take care of the few tasks that remained. As Maddie crossed the island that they’d soon be leaving, she chided herself for wishing that things had ended differently, or at least on better terms, with William Hightower. Now was not the time to be looking backward. Not when so many important decisions—from what she would do next to where she would live while she did it—still lay ahead.
• • •
The morning of the wrap and sponsor party William and Tommy Hightower were out on the water before dawn. It was a gorgeous morning to be alive and an even better one to have a fishing rod in your hand. The skiff’s pole was in anchor position at one of Will’s favorite flats near Shell Key. So far neither of them had caught anything large enough to keep, but it was deeply satisfying to be there on the water with his son.
All he had to do now was get through the last invasion, smile at the party tonight, and wave good-bye to the lot of them when they left.
“You know we’re going to have to find someone to help run the place, help you deal with guests, serve the breakfast.” Tommy cast, sending the fly in a perfect arc. “We can probably contract out for maid service. I found a company that can handle bookings and that end of things.”
“There’s no need for any of that.” Will watched him strip the line back then present it again.
“So you’re going to take care of reservations and guests yourself?”
“No. No one is.” Will rummaged through his tackle box but his mind wasn’t on the selection of flies he’d brought with him.
“Because?” Tommy jerked his line slightly in an attempt to entice a fish.
“Because Mermaid Point is not going to become a bed-and-breakfast.”
Tommy looked up at him in surprise. “But the network just spent a ton of money and over three months turning it into exactly that.”
“The network bought the right to expose me and my island and my life, warts and all, on national television. I didn’t sig
n anything that requires me to do more than show people checking in when it’s operational, did I?” He watched his son, who had stopped pretending to care about the fish that were ignoring his line.
“But their attorneys are working to get you an exemption. They seem sure that—”
“Those attorneys don’t have a clue how a small town like this operates. I’ve owned Mermaid Point for over thirty years. I’ve lived full-time on it for the last fifteen. I would have never agreed to this renovation if I thought anyone could actually force me to run a bed-and-breakfast on it. Hell, the mayor and the building supervisor are all going to be there tonight and I guarantee you they’re not going to give me a special waiver on television to operate something they have an ordinance against and have been in court over for a decade.” Will picked up a worm fly, put it back, and checked the next compartment. “I don’t think the network is going to waste a whole lot more time and money on those attorney fees once they’ve got the footage in the can. What would be the point?”
“Well, that’s all great. But how are you planning to satisfy the bank?” Tommy retrieved his line and took a cold drink from the cooler. “You are upside down. And I’m not sure anyone’s going to buy this property if they can’t use it for what it’s been designed for.”
“I’ve got something in mind.” Will cast his line near a mangrove branch where he could see movement in the water. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”
“You? Seriously?” Tommy looked at him dubiously.
“I’m not stupid, son.”
Both of them went kind of still at his rare use of the word “son.”
“I didn’t have the education you did and I spent a lot of years too numb to use my brain, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have one. Speaking of which, I don’t think I ever thanked you for forcing me into rehab. If I hadn’t been so pissed off at you and so determined to show you I wasn’t the loser you thought I was, I’m not sure I would have made it through any better than I did all the other times.”
The astonishment on his son’s face would have been comical if it hadn’t been such a testament to Will’s lack of fathering and communication skills. Tommy’s eyes actually teared up.
“Aw, don’t go crying on me now.”
“I can’t believe you actually thanked me.”
“Yeah, well, if Hallmark had a card for it I would’ve just slid it under your door.”
Tommy laughed, a sound Will realized he’d rarely heard. He sounded exactly like his uncle when he did it.
He poled the boat closer to the mangrove island and they fished some more. The fish they caught didn’t get any bigger, but Will didn’t think Tommy cared any more than he did.
“So, since we seem to be delving into previously off-limits topics, maybe you can tell me why you’re being so surly with the Do Over ladies.”
“Surly?” Will protested. “I’m just trying to stay out of everybody’s way.”
“Really? So it’s not because you’re afraid of big bad Madeline Singer?”
Will grunted and kept his eyes on the tarpon rolling now over near the island.
“Or is it just that you’re ashamed of yourself for leading her on?”
“I did not lead her on. I slept with her, that’s all.” Will jerked on his line. This was what happened when you reached out and opened up. People thought they could say whatever the hell popped into their head. “And when the hell did you leave investment banking for psychotherapy?”
“Don’t try to change the subject. It doesn’t take an advanced degree to figure this one out, Will. You can’t handle anyone who might expect an actual relationship. You know, someone with more than a great pair of tits going for her. I think you’re afraid of being with a real woman who might expect real interaction and something that involves actual consideration.”
Will didn’t even bother to grunt on this one. He had strayed onto unfamiliar turf and then bolted back to the familiar. And now he couldn’t stand to see the hurt look on Maddie’s face that she tried so hard to hide.
“Don’t you think you could make a little effort or apologize or something?” Tommy suggested.
“Jesus, what took you so long? Everybody else—and I mean everybody else, including Roberto, who’s been stoned since God was a boy—has already reamed me a new asshole about this.”
“That’s because you deserve one. And if you didn’t want to have anything to do with her maybe you shouldn’t have slept with her in the first place. It wasn’t like you could escort her off the island when you were finished with her like you do everybody else.” Tommy adjusted his polarized sunglasses and Will was extremely grateful that although they could help you see fish under the surface, they didn’t reveal the inner workings of a man’s mind. “For all your grunting, you don’t seem to be doing such a great job of tuning her out.”
It was true. Kicking Maddie Singer out of his head had been a lot harder than Will had expected. That’s what happened when you went dipping your wick in a whole other kettle of fish. He winced at the horribly mixed mental metaphor. “Look. She’s a really nice woman. And there’s a lot more to her than I was expecting.” Now there was an understatement. Compared to what he was used to, Madeline Singer’s layers had layers. “But I don’t want or need anyone pushing at me to do things I don’t want to do.”
“Really?” Tommy’s mouth twisted into what could only be called a smirk. “So despite your shocking thank-you a couple minutes ago, if you hadn’t been forced into rehab you would have cured your little problem yourself?”
Will did not say touché.
“And if Maddie hadn’t pushed the two of us, somehow we would have mended our fences enough to go out and fish together without wanting to throw each other overboard?”
“What makes you think I don’t want to throw you overboard?” This was the best Will could come up with.
His son looked at him like he was the child. “And then someday, oh, I don’t know, maybe ten or twelve years from now, if you’re still sober and not suffering from dementia or dying from the way you’ve abused your liver, you’re gonna just pick up your guitar and make yourself a little music. Is that how you’re seeing it?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” The tarpon he’d been angling for waved good-bye and swam off.
“Well, you opened up the lines of communication. You don’t get to just close them off whenever the conversation gets a little difficult. And you sound about five years old right now.”
Will stowed his rod and folded his arms across his chest.
“Now you look about five, too.”
Jesus.
“Look. Maddie’s a great person and I appreciate what she’s done. But in a couple days she’ll be gone—off to live her real life. Believe me when I tell you she may have enjoyed her brief walk on the wild side, and maybe I didn’t nip it off as smoothly as I could have, but I promise you, I am not the kind of man that a woman like Madeline Singer belongs with.”
Tommy looked at him like he thought Will was full of shit but he just grunted, which Will sincerely appreciated.
“Come on.” Will moved into the driver’s seat. “Unstake the pole. Let’s head out to Crab Key and see if anything’s biting.”
Chapter Forty-four
With aspirin reducing her headache to just a dull roar, Deirdre greeted Lisa Hogan and her entourage at the Mermaid Point dock and escorted them to their suites. The tall blonde changed clothes then swept down to the pavilion with an assistant on either side of her, though perhaps “swept” was more an attitude than a reality since she’d ignored the fact that she was on an unpaved island and kept losing her heels in the sand.
She wore a black linen sheath that bared long, well-toned arms and a runner’s muscled legs. Her well-kept person was comprised of sharp angles, ice-chip eyes, and thin lips; there was nothing soft or warm about her. Eve
n her hair had been pulled sharply back from her face. She was not wearing a smile. At least not until Deirdre led her over to William Hightower.
“You have quite a place here.” Hogan wasn’t looking at the spotlit palms or the candlelit pavilion or the white sand against which the Atlantic Ocean teased. Nor did she look toward the sky, which an hour before sunset was already beginning to pinken. The music, sung by the likes of Norah Jones and Alicia Keys, floated gently on the warm ocean breeze. “I’ve seen the raw footage of the renovation, of course”—she emphasized the word “raw” and stared boldly into William Hightower’s eyes—“but you’ll have to give me a private tour later.”
William nodded and smiled but promised nothing.
“We have regularly scheduled tours every fifteen minutes if you’d like to join one.” Deirdre managed a smile, which Hogan did not return.
“Maybe a tour of the hot tub, then?” The network head’s eyebrows angled upward in what Deirdre was certain was meant to be an invitation. She didn’t seem to notice that William Hightower’s eyes were on Maddie, who’d just removed Dustin from the sling on his mother’s back. “Based on what I’ve seen in the tabloids, I understand your hot tub is clothing optional.”
William’s dark eyes turned to Lisa Hogan. “It’s not as automatic a thing as you seem to think.”
“Is that right?” Lisa Hogan shot him an arch look.
“What I meant was, I’m not the indiscriminate party animal I once was. And I don’t take my clothes off for just anybody.”
Deirdre was careful not to laugh or offer the rocker a high five, but she liked him the better for his handling of this woman who seemed to delight in making their lives miserable.
“Why don’t you let me reintroduce you to some of our sponsors.” Deirdre took Lisa Hogan’s arm, ignoring the sharp downturn of her lips, and led her over to a group of men that included Thomas Hightower.
She’d introduce her to Mayor Philipson, who was here with his daughter Justine and great-granddaughter Amber. Then maybe just to annoy her she’d hand her off to Roberto, who looked almost elegant in his tuxedo T-shirt, black cargo shorts, and dress huaraches. If they were lucky there might be enough residual marijuana coming off his skin to mellow the woman out.
