by Wendy Wax
“Oh, man,” Avery said. “Don’t go getting all weepy on me. It’s not like I’m offering you a kidney or anything.”
Maddie smiled at both of them, looking kind of weepy herself. “I’m proud of you two,” she said.
Deirdre swiped at the tears and smiled. “If I’d known how effective a crazy guy with a grudge could be at the beginning of the summer, I might not have needed the classes.”
They laughed as they left the table, but the laughter was uneasy and short-lived. They were still too close to the nightmare they’d shared. All of them were aware of just how much damage that crazy guy had done. And they had no idea how far the Deranian-Kays would go to make Dustin their own.
Later that morning Maddie sat next to the hospital bed watching Max’s chest go up and down, trying not to look at the tubes, monitors and machines, but deep down inside the man who lay there. The ICU nurse came in to replace a bag of fluids, her manner professional but kind. Her name tag read NANCY. “His vitals are up a bit,” she said. “He opened his eyes again this morning when the doctor came through.”
“Thanks,” Maddie replied. She would have liked to cling to this little bit of positive, but the doctors had been frank. They were doing everything they could to ward off infection and keep Max comfortable, but they didn’t hold out much hope.
“Max,” she said when the nurse had gone. “We wanted to make sure you know that Dustin is okay because of you. You saved his life.” She waited for him to respond, holding her breath so that she could hear even the faintest sound. But if she’d convinced herself that this news would wake him up like the prince kissing Sleeping Beauty, she’d been mistaken. Max didn’t move or blink. His chest continued to rise and fall only because a machine had taken over the chore.
Madeline stared down at the photos that she’d put in frames and brought for him. There was a favorite shot of Millie, several of Aaron as a baby and toddler, and one of the three of them. She studied the age progression Giraldi had had done and traced a finger over the face that was so like Max’s. She arranged the photographs on the nightstand next to his bed so he wouldn’t feel alone if he finally woke up and none of them were there.
Sensing movement, she stopped arranging the photos and looked up to see Max watching her. His eyes fluttered shut then opened again.
“Hi, Max,” she said, sinking back down into the chair. “Did you hear what I said?” She spoke quietly and clearly, trying not to rush in her excitement to communicate before he disappeared again. She had been fantasizing that this news would wake him up completely. Heal him. Send him home to The Millicent. “Dustin is okay because of you. He keeps asking for his ‘Gax.’ You saved his life. You did. Everyone else is okay. The Millicent is ready.” She was rushing now, trying to cram in every positive thing she could think of while he was still present.
“We’re all just waiting for you to come home,” she finished as his eyes fluttered shut.
She waited for some time, sitting on the edge of the chair, preparing what she’d say at her next opportunity, but his eyes remained shut. She texted everyone the good news and tried to do what Deirdre had suggested. But locating the faith underneath all the dire things that loomed proved even harder than she’d expected.
Back in the waiting room, Madeline woke to a hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Kyra peering down at her.
“Did he wake up again?” Kyra asked.
“No.” Maddie rubbed the sleep out of her eyes then looked at the clock on the wall, unsure how long ago she’d nodded off. “I kept hoping he would, but that was it.”
“It took us a while to figure out what ‘Mix geys pipen’ meant.” Kyra smiled. “But we were all pretty excited once we understood your text.”
Maddie groaned. “Seriously. They need to make keyboards for the clumsy like they make touch-tone phones for the elderly—great big backlit squares with glowing letters would be really helpful.”
“Or you could just take a quick look before you hit send.”
“Yeah,” Maddie said, “but where’s the fun in that?”
Kyra sat down next to her. Their smiles faltered.
“I don’t know, Mom,” Kyra said. “Do you think he’s going to get better? Everything’s such a mess. And I feel like there’s no good end in sight.”
“I know,” Maddie said.
Kyra hesitated a moment before continuing. “All I could think about when Dustin was in danger was how I would never be able to live without him. I don’t know how Max and Millie did that for all those years.” She worried a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “I just can’t put Dustin in Tonja’s hands. I don’t think she’s said anything to Lisa Hogan yet, do you?”
“No,” Maddie said. “I suspect she’s hoping that the threat of losing the show will be enough to get you to go along with whatever they want.” She brushed a stray bit of bang off Kyra’s forehead. “Despite the number of children in their household, I’m not sure Tonja Kay really understands the strength of the maternal bond.”
“Frankly, I’d just tell her to go ahead and give it her best shot. Dustin and I could live without the show if we had to, but I don’t feel like I have the right to play around with everybody else’s future.”
Madeline looked around her at all the people sitting in the hospital waiting room hoping and praying for the ones they loved. Some things—the trajectory of a bullet, the ferocity of a disease, the skill of a surgeon—were beyond your control. All the more reason to act when you could.
“Last year when your dad lost everything to Malcolm Dyer and our life fell apart, I learned that it’s almost always better to take action than be acted upon. Even if the outcome of that action is less than perfect.”
She smiled and reached a finger under her daughter’s chin, tilting it up, like she had when Kyra was small and Madeline wanted to see the understanding dawn in her eyes. “We’re all a lot stronger than you think,” Maddie said. “And that includes you.”
Kyra looked away, her gaze drawn to a television set airing what looked like a re-run of Biography. Scratchy black-and-white film of a young William Randolph Hearst filled the screen. The audio was low, but the voice-over seemed to be describing the visuals as recently unearthed footage shot without the mogul’s knowledge.
Maddie saw the gleam that lit Kyra’s eyes. It was followed by a pensive look. “You know,” Kyra said, straightening, “I think I’m going to talk to Troy.” She smiled. “He’s not quite as big a pain in the ass as I thought—and I have an idea that I think might help convince Daniel and Tonja to back off.”
Now Kyra was searching Maddie’s eyes. “But I have to ask you a favor. For once, you have to try not to be my mother. You have to just trust me. Even if what I’m doing seems weird, I need you to have faith and follow my lead.”
Chapter Thirty-five
The paparazzi who once again littered the sidewalk in front of The Millicent buzzed with happiness when Daniel Deranian arrived. When they saw who was with him, they went berserk with joy.
Maddie heard the shouts from outside and drew what was intended to be a calming breath. “I guess he didn’t come in disguise,” she said as camera flashes went off outside, turning the Miami sky even brighter.
“No,” Kyra said as they walked to the door. “And he didn’t come alone.”
Maddie glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Nicole, Avery, and Deirdre couldn’t be seen from the foyer and ran sweaty palms down the sides of her best capris.
With her hand on the knob, Kyra said, “Remember, I have a plan. No matter what happens, no matter what gets said, just follow my lead. Okay?”
Maddie nodded warily. But she was grateful for the warning when Kyra pulled open the door and Maddie saw Daniel Deranian and Tonja Kay standing side by side on the welcome mat. Two bodyguards stood directly behind them, blocking out the sun.
If she’d been Catholic, Maddie might have crossed herself. Or perhaps held up a crucifix to ward off the almost otherworldly beau
ty that stood in front of them. Daniel Deranian was dark-haired and golden-skinned, while Tonja Kay was shades of blond and alabaster. Together they were the yin and yang of gorgeousness, the male and female embodiments of physical perfection.
Daniel Deranian wore expensive jeans and a plain white T-shirt that clung to his well-defined chest and abs. His dark hair looked intentionally unruly and his angled cheekbones carried a hint of five o’clock shadow. He carried a gaily wrapped box for Dustin, and when he treated them to a flash of his famous smile, it carried a warmth that didn’t quite stand up to Tonja Kay’s icy perfection.
The actor nodded his hellos, but there were no hugs or air kisses as the power couple posted the bodyguards on the front stoop and stepped inside.
Kyra gritted her teeth but didn’t speak as Tonja Kay looked right through her.
“I’m Maddie, Dustin’s grandmother,” Maddie said to the actress. “We’ve spoken on the phone.”
A raised eyebrow and a sniff served as Tonja Kay’s reply. The only real reaction from either of the celebrities took place in the living room when Daniel swept Dustin off the floor and up into his arms.
The child chortled happily as the movie star swung him around and then presented him with the gift.
Tonja watched them cavort with a tight little smile that in a less attractive person might have been attributed to gas. Then she took in her surroundings. Madeline followed her gaze and saw her surprise before she schooled her features. A flicker of movement behind Max’s partially opened bedroom door drew Maddie’s attention, but she shrugged it off to nerves.
The only truly comfortable person in the room seemed to be Dustin, who was tugging on the ribbon of his gift. Kyra took a seat on the sofa closest to the fireplace and motioned the two celebrities to the sofa opposite. Daniel sat Dustin beside him and helped him unwrap the gift.
The room practically pulsed with tension and Maddie hoped Kyra actually had a plan of some kind and was not merely hoping to persuade these two, who were used to getting whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it, to see reason.
“Mom,” Kyra said, “would you mind making a pot of coffee for all of us?”
“Um, sure.” Maddie looked at Kyra, but her daughter was watching Tonja Kay watch Dustin and Daniel.
“Their faces are almost identical, aren’t they?” Kyra observed. “I’m sure girls will be crazy about him when he’s older just like they are for his dad.” She paused briefly. “Of course, as his mother, I plan to make sure he has a little more sensitivity and a lot more restraint than his father does.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. Maddie wasn’t sure if it was hers or Tonja’s or possibly the room itself gasping in surprise. She shot her daughter a look of warning, but Kyra’s attention was fixed on Tonja Kay.
“Honestly,” Kyra said. “I don’t know how you put up with Daniel’s…indiscretions. I know I never could.”
Madeline hotfooted it to the kitchen. Nicole, Avery, and Deirdre sat around the banquette, where Deirdre had spread out the contents of the “House” envelopes. Photos, sketches, and drawings were strewn across the table.
“Come sit down,” Nicole said. “We’re dying to hear what’s going on out there.”
“We tried the glass against the dining-room-wall thing, but the walls are too thick,” Avery said.
“And Deirdre threatened to maim us if we messed up the paint,” Nikki added. “Did you know Tonja was coming?”
“No! I don’t really understand what Kyra’s up to. When I left she was baiting the woman, which seems like a really poor idea.”
Maddie went to the coffeemaker and attempted to still her shaking hands with the familiar tasks of fitting a filter into the basket, scooping coffee into it, and pouring water into the reservoir. She looked at the others. “I hope she knows what she’s doing.”
“Everything will be okay,” Deirdre said. “And if it’s not, we’re here to help.”
“What’s Tonja Kay like?” Nikki asked.
“Cold,” Maddie said automatically. “Almost angelic-looking, which is really weird given the phone conversations I’ve had with her.” She flipped the brew button and took an empty seat at the kitchen table. “I need to think about something else right now. Tell me what’s going on here.”
“I’m cataloging The Millicent’s art and furnishings,” Deirdre said. “I thought I’d use it for the basis of an article about Hohauser’s design from the perspective of someone living in one of his homes today. I also want to write about Millie and Pamela Gentry’s additions to the house. Pamela was extremely talented and she and Millie created an incredible space together. The article would draw attention to the house and could be a very positive promotional tool for Do Over.”
Maddie glanced at Avery, who would normally have already pointed out that it would be a promotional tool for Deirdre too. Even Deirdre paused, eyebrow raised, but Avery just stirred more milk into her coffee.
“And of course, the Realtors could use the catalog to help market the property,” Deirdre concluded.
“You were the one who told us we should have some faith that Max would recover and that there’d be someone he could leave the house to,” Madeline said, trying to focus on the conversation here rather than straining to hear the one taking place in the living room.
“I know and I meant it,” Deirdre replied. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be as prepared as possible. Just in case.”
They fell silent as they all contemplated what “just in case” was a euphemism for. Madeline couldn’t bear thinking about this house—and them—without Max. Once again she caught herself straining to hear what might be happening in the living room. All she could hear was the low murmur of voices and the occasional exclamation from Dustin.
Maddie looked down at the closest pile of photos and papers and picked up a photo of Pamela’s chandelier. Which had hung in her home in Chicago, where she would see it every day. As a reminder of…what? A friendship she still treasured? A house she’d put so much into but had never, in fifty years, mentioned to her family? Or a double rejection?
Why would a designer of her caliber cling to a piece that would be so out of place in her own home?
“Doesn’t it seem odd that Pamela Gentry had an identical chandelier made for herself? Have you ever done that, Deirdre? Copied something you had made for a client?” Maddie asked.
Deirdre shrugged. “The more custom and personalized the item, the less likely a designer would be to do that. But it’s certainly not unheard of. All things considered, I’m glad she did.”
Madeline slid the sheet to the back and studied the shot of Pamela Gentry receiving her design award, which shared a page with her obituary. On another sheet of paper was a printout of the Madsen Interiors home page, which included a grainy black-and-white publicity photo of Pamela Gentry Madsen and her son, Ethan, when he was named managing partner of the firm. She peered more closely at the mother and son. From what she could see, Ethan must have resembled his father; his features didn’t run to the gamine like Pamela’s did and he had none of her lean ranginess.
“Mom?” Kyra’s voice was easily heard from the living room. “I think we’re ready for that coffee now!”
“Yikes.” Madeline set the photos aside. With nervous fingers, she set mugs of coffee on a tray, added a small pitcher of cream, a bowl of sugar, napkins, and a couple of spoons, then picked up the tray and carried it as far as the dining room. Nicole, Avery, and Deirdre gave up all pretense of working on the catalog and followed her. She drew a deep breath of air and expelled it slowly. The spoons stopped rattling.
“We’ll be right here if you need us,” Avery said.
Nicole gave her a smile. “Everything will work out.”
“It’ll be fine,” Deirdre said.
Madeline left them huddled in the dining room, their ears, rather than water glasses, pressed to the wall. “Here we go,” she said far too gaily as she sailed into the living room and put the tray on the coc
ktail table just out of Dustin’s reach.
Kyra and the Deranian-Kays sat right where she’d left them, beautiful bookends with irritated looks on their faces. Dustin played with a new car on the carpet near his father’s feet.
Out of the corner of her eye, Maddie thought she saw a flash of something in Max’s bedroom. When she looked more closely, it was gone.
“Coffee?” Kyra asked.
Tonja and Daniel declined. Kyra shrugged and poured herself a cup. “Mom?”
“Um, sure,” Maddie replied, though she couldn’t imagine drinking a drop.
She watched her daughter pour and stir in cream and sugar. Kyra handed one of the mugs to Maddie then took a long sip of her own. Maddie had the impression that Kyra was playacting, trying to set some sort of scene or mood. She hoped her daughter remembered that the people she was facing were professionals.
“Daniel and Tonja have been laying out all of the things they can do for Dustin,” Kyra said. “You know, like A-list birthday parties with other celebrity children, world travel, mind-broadening experiences, his own room in each of their five homes, and his own personal nanny. Each of their kids has one.”
“Yes,” Daniel said, eager to capitalize on this selling point. “Tonja interviews and hires them all personally. Each of them has to speak the language of the individual child’s country of origin.”
Kyra shot him a look.
“Of course, in Dustin’s case that would be English,” he added hastily.
Kyra said brightly, “That should broaden the pool of applicants. And keep at least one job from going ‘offshore.’”
“Yes,” Daniel said. “Most importantly, we want what’s best for our children and for Dustin.”
Maddie bristled at the implication that Kyra and her family did not. Kyra did the same.
“And that includes keeping him safe.” He looked and sounded impressively sincere.
“Which is something you have failed to do,” Tonja said with a certain amount of heat beneath the icy exterior. The two had a certain “good movie star, bad movie star” thing going. “Our bodyguards would have never allowed that weirdo to get within a mile of any of our children.”
