by Wendy Wax
“Come. Let’s sit.” Using the cane to support them both, he led her to the table with the best view of the flower beds. “Tell me what you’re worrying about.”
She studied her garden, which seemed to be surviving at the moment despite her rather than because of her. Like John, it had helped keep her sane through the rough patches. “We had a huge fight in the car on the way back from the sheriff’s office. She shrieked at me. And I shrieked right back. I told her that she wouldn’t have been treated like a child if she hadn’t acted like one. I said all kinds of pompous, condescending things. But the truth is she’s right. We all ignored what she said. We all refused to believe her. But I’m her sister. I should have done better. I should have listened. I should have done something.” The tears were hot on her cheeks, her throat clogged with regret.
John placed his hand on hers. It was curled and arthritic but still warm and strong. “You’ve always been there for her, Renée. You’ve done everything you could. None of us ever believed she saw someone that night. It just, well, it was all so far-fetched.”
“I know.” She still couldn’t believe how clearly her sister had described the man’s face. How shocked Renée had been when she’d realized where she’d seen it. “I feel so confused. So many things I’ve always thought are . . . wrong. I want to help figure this out and at the same time I still wish we could just tear the place down.”
“I know.” John’s voice was tender. It was the sweetness in him that had first drawn her, the calm core that helped to center her. “You might have been older, but you lost your father that night, too. Along with your life as you knew it.”
Slowly Renée reached in her pocket and pulled out the black-and-white photo that she’d removed from the album. “This is the man Annelise saw. This isn’t the only picture of him in Ilse’s album. He seems to have been a friend of Ilse’s brother. And there are a couple of photos of him with Ilse. They looked as if they might have been more than friends.”
She studied the face that Annelise had remembered all these years. The “light” eyes that were most likely blue. The short straight hair cut with military precision that was so light it was most certainly blond. His lips were thin and humorless. If he’d been warm or affectionate in real life, there was no sign of it in his features or his bearing. “This note fell out when I removed the photo.” It had been folded up into a tiny square, the creases worn into it over the decades. “It’s addressed to Ilse, but that’s all I could make out. It’s in German.
“I know that emblem on his collar indicates he was in the SS,” Renée said. She wasn’t sure what the single S tattoo in the shape of a lightning bolt stood for, but she could see the faint jagged shadow of it on his skin. “I’m not sure what to do next.”
John’s face wavered in the sheen of tears that remained now that the flood that had scalded her cheeks had finally slowed. “Why don’t you just talk with her?” he said. “We’ve both spent all these years trying to protect her from what we assumed her mother did. I think we need to stop trying to protect her and include her. Ask her what she thinks should happen next.” He reached out to wipe a tear from her face. “I think she’ll agree that you should show these pictures and the note to Officer Jackson and Joe Giraldi. One of them might be able to find out who he was and whether the note has anything to do with what happened.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Maybe it will be.” His smile crinkled the corners of his basset hound eyes. His face had never looked more beautiful to her than it did now.
“You’re a good man, John Franklin,” she said.
“And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” He leaned over and kissed her.
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him as love and warmth and gratitude flooded through her. “I’m pretty sure my garden thanks you, too.”
Nikki collapsed into the chair that night for sunset, already yawning while Maddie set out cheese and crackers. Avery arrived a few minutes later clutching her ever-present bag of Cheez Doodles and a pitcher of margaritas, which she offered to Nikki.
“No thanks.” Nikki tried to smile but she had the feeling that even a whiff of alcohol could put her to sleep. She felt bloated and uncomfortable. All she wanted was to climb into bed and sleep for a week or so. Was that too much to ask?
“You don’t look so good,” Avery said as she poured a drink for Maddie and then herself.
“Gee, thanks,” Nikki replied drily.
“I think what Avery meant to say was you look under the weather,” Maddie corrected.
“Yeah.” Avery took a long sip of her margarita. “Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” Nikki said, wishing it were true. She hadn’t felt like herself since she’d fainted four days ago at Butner. Her head throbbed, seeming to bulge and contract with each remembered moment of the visit with her brother and his pleasure at having so neatly set her up.
“I think you should see a doctor.” Maddie speared her with a motherly look of concern.
“No. Visiting Malcolm just, I don’t know, it threw me,” Nikki said. This, of course, was an understatement of gigantic proportions. “All I need is a good night’s sleep and maybe a tranquilizer. Do either of you have one?”
“Just this.” Avery raised the pitcher.
“You really aren’t yourself,” Maddie said. “Don’t you think we should make sure it’s not something more threatening than Malcolmitis?”
“Definitely not.” Today she’d Googled exhaustion, bloating, nausea, and dizziness, and ovarian cancer had sprung up. The disease that had killed her mother when she was even younger than Nikki was now. “I appreciate your concern, Maddie. Really I do. But I am not going to a doctor.” She was careful not to look Maddie in the eye as she changed the subject. “Where’s Kyra?”
“She was getting the guys organized,” Maddie said. “I believe they’re headed to Chuck E. Cheese.”
They were lost in their own thoughts when Kyra came out and plopped into the chair beside Avery. “I just want to warn you that coming up with a ‘good’ thing today is going to be a real stretch,” she said, reaching for the pitcher. “Unless not having to go to Chuck E. Cheese again counts.”
“I’m with you on that one,” Avery agreed.
“Works for me,” Nikki added.
Maddie looked at the three of them. “I’ve always promised not to be the ‘good enough’ police but I can’t believe no one here can find anything positive to say.”
“Believe it,” Kyra said, downing half of her drink. “Hey, these margaritas are good.”
“Damn straight,” Avery said.
“How many have you had?” Maddie asked as Avery poured herself another.
“I’m not sure. I did a lot of tasting while I was making them,” Avery replied. “But I think the answer is ‘not enough.’”
Nikki eyed the pitcher wishing that the idea of feeling fuzzier than she did now didn’t make her want to retch. “Not enough for what?”
“Not enough to tell you what I have to tell you.” Avery raised her glass to her lips.
The silence that fell now was absolute. All of their eyes turned to Avery. All of them braced. Nikki knew she didn’t want to hear whatever Avery had to tell them, but at least it had momentarily shoved the worry over whether she had inherited something deadly from her mother out of her head.
“Which is?” Kyra prompted.
“Our roofing situation is not good,” Avery said in an alcohol-primed rush. “Enrico was practically in tears today. And I’m pretty close to bawling myself.”
Avery’s mantra had always been “there’s no crying in construction.” But apparently even a lifetime of repeating something didn’t make it true.
“What happened?” Maddie asked in the too-careful voice people used at deathbeds and funerals.
“Enrico opened up the ceiling in
the main building and one of the cottages to see how much additional support we’d need to add to shore up the new roofs and decks.” She paused, and the expression that flitted across her face made Nikki’s stomach clench. “The existing beams are so damaged from age and leaks that it’s basically a miracle that none of the roofs have caved in yet.”
They sat stunned and silent as Avery explained the finer points of roofs and the beams that reinforced them. Nikki blanked out at the specifics, but the desolation on Avery’s face sent tremors of apprehension vibrating up Nikki’s spine.
“Even if we didn’t add the decks or raise the ceilings—and I really think we need to do both—we’d have to install all new support beams. And given the new codes and the threat of hurricanes, they’re going to have to be steel.”
“So, we’re just talking finding more money?” Maddie asked in that same careful voice. As if the word “just” belonged in that sentence.
“I wish it was that simple, not that money is exactly flowing in.” Avery scrubbed at her face, then ran the hand through her hair, leaving it wild and Einstein-ish. “It also puts us way behind schedule before we even really start. There’s no point in doing interior work until the interiors have protection from the elements.” She drew a deep breath and swiped at her hair again. “Plus we don’t have enough money to pay for the rest of the work anyway.”
Once again there was silence. Nikki wrapped her arms around herself. Despite the warm breeze coming off the water, she shivered.
“Wow,” Kyra said. “I hate to jump all over the negative here, but I don’t see how we can afford to produce and air the series when we can’t even afford the renovation. And it’s not like Renée and Annelise are going to let us just sort of piddle around with their property for the next year while we try to figure it out.”
“No one’s talking about piddling around,” Maddie said, though Nikki thought this was exactly what they were talking about.
“No, but we are looking at having to stop work in order to look for money and then starting again when, and if, we find some. That doesn’t sound very workable,” Kyra said.
“It’s not. And you can’t schedule good crews that way,” Avery said. “They have other jobs and projects. We don’t want to be in the position of finally having the money to do the floors for example and then having to wait for weeks for the floor guys to finish somewhere else.”
“We have just about five hundred thousand dollars right now. What can we afford to do with that?” Nikki asked, pretty certain she didn’t really want to hear the answer.
“Well,” Avery said. “Enrico has offered to be a sponsor, but his workmen will have to be paid, and even at cost the materials are expensive. But basically I think we can replace all the support beams, raise the ceilings, and finish the roofs on all the structures and complete the rooftop deck on the main building.”
“That’s it?” Kyra asked.
“Well, if we can get Hardin Morgan’s pool people on board, we can probably afford to resurface the pool. And I’m pretty sure we can redo the pool deck and all the walkways, which could include the new patios for the cottages if Chase will loan us his crew.”
“But that’s such a small part of what has to be done,” Maddie said. “I mean, there’s still windows and doors and plumbing and electrical and . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Avery nodded glumly as she turned to Nikki. “Do you think Bitsy would put up some more money?”
The “no” stuck in Nikki’s throat. She cleared it. “I can ask. She really enjoyed the concert and meeting Will, but I don’t see it. Pathetic as we feel, I don’t think Do Over qualifies as a charitable contribution. Which is much more Bitsy’s thing.”
“What have you found out about the crowdfunding options?” Avery asked.
Nikki sat up carefully. Her head throbbed and her throat was as dry as the Sahara. “I’ve done some cursory searches on the Internet. Kickstarter looks like the best match for us, but we still need two million dollars. Since you have to wait until all the money is raised before you receive the funds, that leaves us in a really precarious position.”
Once again they stared at each other. No one ate or drank. Even Maddie, their resident “glass is half full” representative, had nothing positive or pithy to offer. The Sunshine Hotel and Do Over seemed to be trickling through their fingers like the sand in an hourglass.
“Let me take another look and follow up with the companies Ray and I have already reached out to.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Maddie asked quietly.
“Of course I’m up to it,” Nikki lied, even though all she really wanted was to climb into bed, curl up like a baby, and sleep for the next decade or so. Which would be just about how long it would take to forget about her brother’s threats, the unlikelihood of raising enough money to save Do Over, and the fact that she’d pushed away the one person in the world she wanted to curl up next to.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Bella Flora was big but not, as far as Maddie could see, big enough to absorb the number of egos and emotions currently living inside her. With even the roofing, which was almost all they could afford, on hold until Enrico and his crew completed another job, there was nothing for them to do until they could raise more money. Which meant there were way too many people with far too much time—and stress—on their hands for comfort. Tempers had grown short and squabbles were more frequent.
Avery had taken to alternately pacing and scribbling with occasional indecipherable muttering. Nikki spent her days dialing for dollars and flinching whenever Joe Giraldi’s name came up. It was clear she was operating on far fewer cylinders than usual. Like a high-performance vehicle running on regular gas rather than premium, she appeared in desperate need of a tune-up. Kyra and Troy recorded their collective misery, the largely abandoned hotel, and each other. As their sparring and jabbing grew nastier, even Maddie began to question just how full their collective glass really was.
The only occupants of Bella Flora who seemed oblivious to the seriousness of the problems they faced were Dustin and Steve. Who’d eaten every morsel of food on his plate, drunk half the bottle of wine she’d opened, and devoured his dessert even more eagerly than his grandson.
“Is there more ice cream?” He looked at her expectantly.
“Yes.” She turned to the sink and actually stuck her hands in the soapy dishwater so that she would not be tempted to get it for him, serve it to him, or dump it in his lap. He is not my responsibility. He’s a grown man able to take care of himself.
“It’s in the freezer, Dad,” Kyra said through what Maddie could tell were gritted teeth. “And maybe you could bring the carton to the table in case anyone else wants more.”
“Oh. Right.” She heard a chair scrape back and busied herself loading the dishwasher, but heat rose to her cheeks as she thought of how completely she’d catered to him in the long years of their marriage. How even now her first reflex was to jump before he had a chance to say how high.
Small arms wrapped around her thighs and Dustin’s small head rested against her hip. She shut off the water and turned to lift him up. “Go night night, Geema?”
“Absolutely.” She buried her face in his curls and breathed him in, the most soothing scent in the world.
“I can take him up, Mom,” Kyra offered.
“I’ll do it. Tonight we’re going to read Penguin on Vacation.”
“Ackasun,” Dustin echoed, but his eyes were already getting sleepy.
She took her time reading and then tucking Dustin in. Rituals were important and not just for Dustin. She could use all the soothing she could get before she had to join the others to watch the third episode of Do Over: Keys Edition. Another half hour of public humiliation packed with unflattering shots, her stammering fascination with William Hightower, and Deirdre once again in the flesh, so alive and determined to win back
Avery. When all of them knew just how the season, and Deirdre’s life, would end.
“Is he asleep?” Kyra asked, tapping the open seat on the sofa beside her.
“Before I even got him into bed.”
Kyra smiled. “Thank God he’s such a great sleeper.”
“He’s a great everything. You’re doing a fabulous job with him.”
“I don’t feel like I’m doing anything. I think it’s living in the middle of all these people who care about him. I guess this is our village.” She made a face at Troy’s back. “Although there are a few residents I wouldn’t mind asking to move. I’d even pack his bag for him.”
Maddie was careful not to add “me, too” or look pointedly at Steve. “So.”
“So. I made you this.” Kyra handed her a piña colada. “I think we could all use some form of fortification for tonight’s episode. It’s mostly that first night at the Lorelei.”
Maddie did her best to hold back a groan. Last week’s episode had spotlighted the tension between Avery and Deirdre, the discomfort—at least on Avery’s part—with which they collaborated. It had also shown Maddie at her stammering worst intercut with far too many close-ups that revealed the adoration in her eyes as Will had so memorably shared a PB&J “handwitch” with Dustin, a moment that had begun to let her see Will in a more human, less rock god, light.
“This may only be a one- or two-drink episode,” Kyra said. “But there’s a lot of Deirdre. And the, um, altercation at the Lorelei with those nasty fans.”
Maddie drew in a deep breath, settled on the sofa next to Kyra, and raised the glass to her lips. After a brief and still-embarrassing recap of the previous week’s episode that included her openmouthed gaping/stammering/beached-fish impression, the opening credits rolled. The episode began with shots of them climbing into the Nautilimo, which resembled a floating pink Cadillac, leaving Troy and his audio guy in a spray of water. Somehow the Lifetime crew had gotten to the Lorelei ahead of them and captured everything from their arrival in the Nautilimo to the nasty fan couple who’d tried to force a drink on Will. The last shot was a freeze-frame of Maddie as the couple yanked their camera out of her hands. Steve’s bark of laughter was loud and automatic.
