by Wendy Wax
She was too excited to ask where he’d been traveling. Maybe he had hitched a ride on a Soyuz spacecraft. And just returned from another galaxy. One that was far, far away.
“Yes, I’m in Miami Beach, South Beach actually, for the next few months,” she said, keeping the time frame intentionally vague. “How about you?”
“I have a house on Star Island.” He named the exclusive nearby island, off the MacArthur Causeway, that was known for multimillion-dollar homes and water views. “I’m usually only here in the winter, but I had to come down to see to some renovations.” He didn’t say where he’d come down from or how many other homes he might own, but Nicole didn’t care about the details. All she cared about was that she had a potential client on the line—a client who could put her back in business and her bank balance back into the black.
“Well then,” she said, careful to put a smile into her voice. “It seems fortuitous that we’re both here at the same time.” She pulled up her empty calendar and spent a good deal of time trying to fit him into it. She might be a bit out of practice, but she still remembered how to close a deal. If she were smart, she would close this one as quickly as possible and deposit a retainer before Parker Amherst IV found out that she was no longer the A-list matchmaker she used to be. Or much of a matchmaker anymore at all.
The Millicent was quiet. Every window that could be budged had been thrown or cranked open. The warm breeze that stirred the palms outside reached inside and wrapped its arms around the edgier smell of chemically induced cleanliness. The temperature had peaked in the mid-eighties and the humidity was noticeable but not oppressive, but then this was only early June. The full heat of summer still lay ahead.
For the last couple of hours Madeline had had the house to herself and had spent most of that time puttering happily in the kitchen, wiping the surfaces once again and putting things to rights. Now she sat at the kitchen table nursing a glass of iced tea and staring out at the jungle of yard. A pen, her ever-present yellow pad, and her phone sat on the table in front of her. Tentatively she added the words lawn mower to the to-do list. Then she took a sip of iced tea. Her gaze moved to her phone, but no matter how intently she studied it, the instrument refused to ring.
Her last communication from Steve had been a brief but upbeat acknowledgment of her voice mail letting him know that they’d arrived safely. But that had been a week ago. She didn’t see how they could right things between them if they didn’t actually speak.
Madeline’s hand hovered over the phone even as she chided herself for hesitating. She and Steve had been married for more than a quarter of a century. Who called whom when wasn’t important. They didn’t need to stand on ceremony or jockey for position.
Before she could change her mind, Maddie picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for Steve’s office, then stared out the window while she waited for his secretary to put her through.
“Hi, Maddie.” His greeting was neutral, not overjoyed to hear from her, but not overtly angry, either.
“Hi.” Her own voice sounded tight and small. She couldn’t quite let go of the fact that she had had to call him. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he said. “How’s everything down there?”
“Pretty good,” Maddie replied. And then because there was no point in being on the phone if they weren’t going to communicate, she said, “Well, except for the state of the electrical system. And the lack of air-conditioning. And the film crew that none of us were expecting.” She laughed but he didn’t join in or ask for details.
There was a brief but awkward silence before he asked, “How are Kyra and the baby?”
“Good,” Madeline said. “Dustin is almost always happy. And the owner of the house, Max, has taken a definite shine to him. Kyra’s handling herself really well considering what’s going on. I’m really proud of her.” Maddie could feel herself beginning to babble, throwing out words like Spider-Man flung webs in an attempt to snare her husband’s attention and connect with him completely—something that used to happen automatically. “I think there are going to be a lot of hard lessons on this job. For all of us.”
There was another awkward silence and then: “Are you sure you want to do this?” It was the same question he’d asked at their anniversary dinner and again when he’d kissed Maddie, Kyra, and the baby good-bye. “You don’t have to.”
“There’s real opportunity here,” she said. “If we can make this work and a series comes out of it…” Her voice trailed off. She’d promised herself that she’d never again leave Steve to carry the entire load, and she was not about to break that promise. It was far better to have her own income from Lifetime, tiny though it was at the moment, while they waited to see if Do Over would find an audience and whether Bella Flora would sell. Whatever she accomplished here would benefit all of them; surely he understood that.
“You’re afraid I can’t handle the pressure,” he said as if it were just now sinking in. “You think I’m going to snap again if something goes wrong.”
“No,” she said quickly. This was not the time to admit that she wanted to be here. That no matter how hard the work might be, having a job of her own and being with the others were easier than sitting at home surreptitiously watching Steve for signs of cracks like a worried homeowner who’d discovered that her house had a faulty foundation.
The truth was that while she wanted to believe that Steve was once again the strong, almost invincible man she’d thought she’d married, he was right; she was afraid to put him to the test. Because if he broke again there’d be nothing left to put together.
“When do you think you’ll be able to get down for a visit?” she asked. “The Millicent is right in the middle of South Beach and the house is, well, it’s a big mess right now, but it’s really, really beautiful. And Max Golden, the owner is…” She paused for breath hoping he’d go along with the topic change, but Steve cut in so smoothly that she could tell he’d been waiting for the opportunity.
“I’m sorry, Mad,” he said, his voice tight with disappointment. “I have a client waiting on the other line. I’m going to have to go.”
“But—” Maddie began.
“I’m too new in my position to take time off,” he said. “But maybe when Andrew gets home from school for the summer, we can work out a time to come down.”
“Okay,” Maddie said, knowing that she’d only managed to make things worse. “Sure.” Tears gathered behind her eyelids. “We’ll talk later.”
“Give Kyra and Dustin hugs from me,” he said.
“I will,” Madeline said.
But Steve had already hung up.
Deirdre found Maddie sitting on a neon-striped beach chair next to the cracked and empty pool. A copy of Easy Gardens for South Florida sat unopened in her lap, but Deirdre could see no evidence that any mowing, digging, or planting had taken place.
“There’s an actual beach for that chair just a few blocks from here. And it has a way better view.” She’d been hoping to catch Maddie alone. She looked around, relieved to see no sign of the Lifetime crew.
“Too lazy,” Maddie replied. She nodded to the pitcher that sat on a small table beside her. “There’s iced tea if you want some.”
Deirdre looked more closely at Madeline Singer. Maddie’s face was smudged with dirt and her clothes were sweat-stained. Her smile seemed strained.
“How about a glass of wine instead?” Deirdre asked. “You know, to start the mellowing process? I’m not sure I can wait until sunset.”
Madeline glanced down at her watch and seemed surprised at the time she saw there.
“It’s almost five,” Deirdre said. “That’s late enough to drink pretty much everywhere.”
“Okay,” Madeline said, moving as if to rise.
“Stay where you are,” Deirdre said even as she tried to figure out how to broach the subject she’d been hoping to discuss. “There’s a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator. I’ll bring it out. It’s just as cool out
here as it is inside and the breeze is stronger.”
In the kitchen, Deirdre found a tray and assembled the bottle and two wineglasses along with a small bowl of mixed nuts as quickly as she could. Given the sheer number of them living together, any time alone with Madeline was bound to be short. It would be hard enough to ask Maddie for what she wanted; there wasn’t time for a slow build.
Back outside, they clinked glasses but neither offered a toast.
“How did things go at the Design District?” Maddie asked politely.
“Good,” Deirdre said. “I have an old friend who has a showroom there. We worked together on a project down here a number of years ago. She mentioned a real estate firm that specializes in historic homes on the beach. They might be helpful as we work and could be the right firm for Max to list the house with when we’re done.”
“Assuming he wants to put the house up for sale,” Madeline said.
“It couldn’t hurt to have them come over and give Max an idea of the house’s value,” Deirdre said, noting Maddie’s protective tone and the glint of suspicion in her eyes. She and Madeline Singer had come to terms with each other by the end of their stint at Bella Flora, but they weren’t exactly BFFs.
“I really don’t have an agenda here,” Deirdre said. She took a long sip of her wine, gathering her courage. “Well, except for one thing.”
The suspicion in Madeline’s eyes sharpened; there was an almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw. “And what one thing is that?”
Deirdre looked down at her already empty glass, embarrassed. But there was no time to dissemble. “I want to mend my relationship with Avery,” she said. “No matter how many times I’ve apologized, she just can’t seem to forgive me for leaving. We’re sleeping in the same bed, for God’s sake, and she’s clinging to the edge of her side as if rolling anywhere near me would be some sort of punishment.” She looked away, her gaze settling on the citrus trees in the corner of the yard.
Madeline didn’t speak, but Deirdre could feel her assessing her. When she turned back Madeline was appraising her frankly. For someone who was always anticipating the needs of others, the woman sure wasn’t rushing to ease the way.
“I want to be a real mother to her.” Deirdre set the wineglass aside and leaned toward Maddie. “But I don’t really know how.” She folded her arms across her chest, feeling chilled despite the balmy weather. “You’re really great at being a mother—and grandmother. And I know Avery likes and admires you for it.” She glanced down at her empty wineglass. “She barely tolerates me.”
Deirdre poured herself another glass and topped off Maddie’s without asking, then set the bottle back on the table between them, watching the other woman’s face carefully.
“It’s not like there’s some list of do’s and don’ts,” Madeline finally said, some decision reached. “At least not outside of the occasional Good Housekeeping or Working Mother article.” She gestured with her wineglass. “I mean basically you just put your children first. Everything else sorts itself out from there.”
She made it sound so simple.
“But how do you do that?” Deirdre pressed. “How do you make sure that you’re really always putting them first?” She looked around, checking once again to make sure that no one was watching them. That Troy and Anthony were not hidden behind some tree recording their conversation.
“I guess it’s just maternal instinct,” Madeline said. “Usually we mother like our own mothers did. Or in some circumstances, we do the exact opposite.” She looked up over the deck, her voice thoughtful, and Deirdre could tell that she’d probably never put any of this into words before. “You love unconditionally and you let them know it.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t have any instruction,” Deirdre said. “My mother didn’t leave, but she was even less of a mother than I was. When I had Avery I felt that kind of love, but it was no match for the fear I felt. I was so afraid I’d screw everything up.”
“I think she turned out pretty well,” Madeline said with a small smile. “A little ornery at times, but very strong and resourceful.”
“That was Peter’s doing. He was born to be a father; Avery’s father,” Deirdre admitted. “You should have seen her following him around his construction sites in that little pink hard hat he gave her.” Her smile turned lopsided. “I couldn’t compete with that. And in the end I bungled everything. But I’m determined to get it right this time.” One eyebrow went up. “I guess it’s too late for a pony?”
Madeline laughed. “Just a little.”
They sipped their wine for a few moments as the shadows lengthened and the day drew to a close. “Showing love and being a mother is a highly individual thing,” Maddie said. “It’s not like there’s a course with a syllabus and homework assignments.”
The bottle was almost gone. Deirdre poured the last of it into their glasses and raised hers to her lips.
A car pulled into the driveway. A door slammed somewhere in the house and Deirdre knew that the time had come to ask for what she wanted. She sincerely hoped Madeline wasn’t going to laugh in her face.
“But there could be, couldn’t there?” Deirdre asked, setting down her glass. “Some sort of informal syllabus or list of suggestions?”
“I’m sorry?” Madeline said, her brow furrowing.
The garage door rumbled up and Dustin’s cry sounded from upstairs.
“I have a feeling that I’m missing something,” Maddie said. “What is it that you want?”
Deirdre fingered the stem of her wineglass and looked Maddie square in the eye. “I want to learn to be a real mother.” She heard a humiliating note of desperation in her voice, but was powerless to disguise it. “And I want you to teach me how.”
Chapter Nine
Their first officially observed sunset in Miami took place a few nights later on The Millicent’s stern-shaped deck. Although Avery had already explained that this would be more of a business meeting than their traditional “toasting” whatever good thing they could dredge from their day, she was careful not to mess with the eating-and-drinking portion of the ritual.
Nicole led the way up the gangplank carrying a blender of frozen strawberry daiquiris and was followed by Kyra with a second pitcher of the icy pink concoction. Madeline brought napkins and paper plates, one of which was piled high with the little hot dogs in blankets that had been a sunset staple at Bella Flora, while Avery balanced a tray of glasses and a bag of Cheez Doodles. The women barely nodded to Troy and Anthony, who had planted themselves at the base of the stairs to record their parade up the gangplank.
Nicole poured drinks as they settled into the neon-colored beach chairs that Maddie had salvaged from the previous summer. Deirdre, who was already dressed for dinner with a former client, set a large foil-covered tray on a battered plastic table and dragged it toward Avery.
When she was certain she had Avery’s attention, Deirdre unwrapped an artfully displayed assortment of Cheez Doodles, cheese puffs, and Cheez-Its. There wasn’t a toast point, a caviar jar, or any foie gras—Deirdre’s usual contribution—anywhere in sight.
There was laughter.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” Avery asked, not seeing the humor.
“No, it’s my idea of indigestion,” Deirdre said, handing Avery a paper plate of Cheez Doodles and a neatly folded napkin. “But I know how much you like artificially colored cheese-food products.”
Pinkie up, Deirdre took a small bite of a Cheez Doodle and chewed tentatively. She grimaced as if in pain as she swallowed, then contemplated her orange-stained fingers.
“Thanks,” Avery said as Deirdre passed the hors d’oeuvres. And then because she couldn’t help herself: “They really taste better out of the bag.”
“I think it was very nice of your mother to serve something she knew you’d like,” Madeline said.
All of them looked up at Maddie’s use of the word mother. Deirdre flinched and braced, as if waiting for Avery to object to the term, but Avery w
asn’t about to debate Deirdre’s lack of qualifications or claim to the title. There were things that needed to be accomplished tonight. Slapping down Deirdre wasn’t one of them.
“Right,” Nicole said, raising her glass. “But I’m voting for something a little more elegant and a lot less orange next time.”
“They did have a gourmet, no-artificial-coloring version,” Deirdre said.
“Good God, no,” Avery replied. “That would suck the pleasure right out of them.”
They sipped their drinks for a time with only the low buzz of insects and the sharp slap at the occasional blood-seeking mosquito to break the silence. Maddie had arranged the chairs facing west, and for a few long moments they watched the golden ball of sun shimmer in the sky and reflect off the glass of the condo buildings that lay between them and Biscayne Bay. They were farther removed from the display than they had been at Bella Flora, but the show was well worth watching just the same.
Licking a cheesy finger, Kyra stood and walked to the opposite corner of the deck, where she leaned over the railing and scanned the backyard. The baby monitor was clipped to the waistband of her shorts.
“What are you looking for?” Maddie asked.
“I want to make sure the dastardly duo isn’t hiding behind some bush or up a palm tree aiming a parabolic microphone our way,” Kyra said. “I wouldn’t put anything past Troy Matthews.”
When she was satisfied that they were not under covert surveillance, Kyra plopped back into her chair. “I can’t believe what a mess everything is,” she said. “I was so excited about the opportunity to shoot and produce a series. Karen Crandall seemed to be so on board with our vision for Do Over that we didn’t spell enough of it out in the contract.”
Avery sighed. She had been there, done that, and already owned the T-shirt. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Even if we had covered everything, there wouldn’t have been much we could do if they changed their minds. The only power we ever really have is to walk away. And none of us are in any position to do that.”
