by Wendy Wax
“You?” he asked, and the shock on his face would have been comical if it hadn’t confirmed what she’d suspected. He’d barely given her a thought since he’d left her. It had never occurred to him that she might come after him.
“Afraid so,” she said. “Poor, stupid, little old trusting me.” She stared into the eyes that she’d once thought beautiful and intelligent and now just looked shifty. He glanced down at his watch, the antique Rolex that had been her grandfather’s and that she’d given him as a wedding gift. When she had been so stupidly in love.
“I was willing to share it all, but it wasn’t enough for you. You stole everything, Bertie. Everything. You made me a pariah and a laughingstock. Not to mention homeless.”
“I’m sorry.” He threw out the apology with all the panicked sincerity of a child caught with his hand in a candy jar. But she heard not even a tinge of remorse. “Is that what you came to hear?” He shrugged. “Things went south and I couldn’t recover.”
“And so you ran and took what was left with you.”
He checked his watch again.
“Where’s Delilah? Or are you running out on her, too?”
“She’s not in the picture anymore.”
“Did she leave before or after you lost all your, I mean, my money?”
“Does it matter?” He glanced around as if looking for a way out. But the only way was through Joe.
“And your child?” She’d tortured herself all this time with images of him doting on Delilah and their baby. Lavishing them with attention and everything her money could buy.
“There was no child. It turned out she was never pregnant.” He said this as if it hardly mattered, and she knew once and for all that there had been no extenuating circumstances. No compelling reason for his betrayal. There’d been only greed and self-interest. If he’d ever loved her at all, it had been far too weak an emotion to weather the smallest storm.
“But of course she could have been.” Just as Susan White could have been and maybe a whole host of others.
“Is there something you want?” he asked. “A point of some kind? Apparently you and your friend here got almost everything back. But I’ve got a plane to catch, so I don’t really have time to play twenty questions.”
“I’m entitled to answers, Bertie. And a divorce.” She motioned to the waiting process server June Steding had sent and whom Joe had brought in with them.
The server took advantage of Bertie’s surprise to step up and put the divorce papers in his hand. “You have been served.” He held up a clipboard and a pen. “Please sign here.”
“Seriously?” Bertie smirked as he signed the papers. “You staged all this to get a divorce?”
“Not exactly. But you have cured me of marriage.” She drew a deep breath. Beside her, Joe turned his head and nodded.
“Right then. So, if you’re finished with me, I’ve got a flight to catch.” Bertie took a step forward. Before he could take a second, a Department of Homeland Security agent and a uniformed deputy from the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office stepped into position next to Joe. “Bertrand Baynard?”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Baynard,” the DHS agent said. “You are under arrest for multiple counts of fraud and grand theft. And will now be escorted back to Palm Beach to await trial.”
Bertie’s smirk disappeared. His face flushed with shock and disbelief. “What the hell? What are you talking about?”
The deputy stepped forward. Joe looked on silently, but Bitsy saw the smile of satisfaction on his lips.
“This is bullshit!” Bertie protested as the deputy handcuffed him. “You can’t do this! I want an attorney!”
“Good luck with that,” Bitsy said. “They’re not so responsive when you don’t have money to pay them. But I’m sure the court will appoint one for you.”
“This is total bullshit!” Bertie hissed.
Bitsy watched him struggle against the handcuffs as reality began to set in.
“You ready?” Joe asked quietly.
“Almost.” She squared her shoulders and looked at her soon-to-be ex-husband. “For the record, you really shouldn’t use women and discard them the way you do. It really pisses us off. Hell hath no fury and all that.”
Bertie’s eyes narrowed.
“Take Susan White, for instance. This might not even be happening if you’d taken her with you like you’d promised. She’s agreed to testify against you in exchange for immunity.”
“God,” Bertie said. “You’ve turned into a real bitch.”
Beside her, Joe took a menacing step forward. Bitsy put a hand out to stop him.
“But I didn’t start out that way. You, on the other hand, have apparently always been a cheat, a thief, and a liar.”
She stood watching as the deputy led him away, only slumping when he’d disappeared from view. She’d gotten revenge and struck a small blow for womankind. It was time to make the triumphant exit she’d imagined.
Only the gate and the waiting passengers blurred in a kaleidoscope of color. There was a sucking silence in her ears. And she seemed to be having trouble catching her breath and moving her feet. Her hand shook as she lifted it to her cheek. It was wet.
She turned toward the blur that was Joe. “Am I crying?”
“You are. And you have good reason.” He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in his chest.
“But I’m supposed to be happy,” she cried into his jacket. “I thought I’d be . . . so happy.”
He simply stood and let her cry what felt like a flood of tears. Telling her it would be all right, that she’d done what she had to do, in the same voice she’d heard him use to calm the twins.
Finally, the flood began to recede. She lifted her head, swiped at her cheeks. “This is what I wanted. But I feel like shit. I’m completely pathetic.”
“No,” he said with complete assurance. “You are strong and smart. And you didn’t roll over and let him get away with what he did. You can be proud of that. You will be once the adrenaline is out of your system.”
She looked at the sodden mess she’d made of his clothes. “I think I owe you a new shirt.”
“Not necessary. I kind of enjoyed myself.” His lips quirked upward. “In fact, while he was spouting all that shit and I was reminding myself that even though I was here in an unofficial capacity, I really couldn’t punch his lights out, I started thinking maybe you should ask Nikki for a refund on this match.”
She snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna want you to be there when I ask her and she finds out it was your idea.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Listen, Bitsy. Bottom line, you got a good chunk of your money back and you handled yourself beautifully today. Plus, we caught the bad guy. In my line of work that calls for a celebration.”
“It does?” she asked skeptically. She’d begun to breathe more normally, but she wasn’t entirely certain the waterworks were over.
“It does. How long do you have until your flight back?”
She pulled out her phone, roused it. Her first normal act in a completely abnormal day. “About an hour and a half.”
“Perfect.” He slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. “Come on. There’s a bar right over there. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Thanks, Joe. For everything.” She sniffed, swiped at her cheeks, then reached over to pat his tear-soaked shirt. “All things considered, the drinks are on me. If we drink them fast, I should have time for at least two.”
* * *
• • •
It seemed to Avery that everyone but her had somehow managed to get their shit together. Kyra and Troy were clearly “a thing,” and Kyra and Dustin might even move back into Bella Flora. Maddie and Will had found a way to continue their relationship without having to move
or get married. Nikki had tamed Mary Poppins and she was already starting to kick ass with the vintage and retro beachwear. Even Bitsy had stopped being a victim and not only gotten a lot of her money back, but had the satisfaction of being there to watch Bertie carted off to jail.
They were all moving forward with their lives. Only she seemed stuck in a limbo of her own making, unable to step all the way back or move all the way in. And seriously unable to concentrate.
“Good grief!” Ray Flamingo waved both hands in front of her face to get her attention, which should have been focused on the floor plan in front of them. “Please. I beg you. Call him. Work something out. Even a booty call might improve things.”
“Not funny,” she snapped.
“Not joking.”
She repositioned the floor plan and huffed at him in irritation, but it was more of a sigh than a huff.
Ray grimaced. “Boy, that was weak.”
Normally she would have huffed back at him with both barrels, but she just didn’t have the strength. Her jaw was tight from gritting her teeth and holding back tears. Her body was exhausted from the dead weight of unhappiness that had wrapped itself around her. And her chest . . . yesterday the dull ache she’d grown used to had become so sharp that she thought she might be having a heart attack. And wasn’t sure she cared.
“Come with me.” Ray took her by the shoulders and gently, for him, propelled her out of Hannah Friedan’s cottage and down the walkway to Maddie’s.
He knocked lightly. “It’s Ray. Is the doctor in? I brought a patient.”
Maddie pulled open the door.
“This woman needs fixing. Or possibly a cattle prod.”
“How about grilled cheese?” Maddie asked.
A warm melted cheese smell wafted out. And it might as well have been broccoli.
“I told you it was bad,” Ray said when Avery didn’t react. He pushed her through the door then closed it behind him.
“Come sit down.” Maddie wiped off Dustin’s face and hands then sent him and Max into the bedroom to play. Moments later she set a plate that contained a grilled cheese sandwich and a mound of Cheez Doodles in front of Avery. A glass of milk followed.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. There’s more if you want it.”
She picked up a Cheez Doodle because she might be grossly unhappy, but she was still breathing. She bit into it, but its normal cheesy wonderfulness was missing. She set it back on the plate.
Maddie’s eyes brimmed with sympathy. “Tell me where it hurts.”
“It’s my chest. I feel like someone punched a hole in it and everything’s leaking out.” She looked up into Maddie’s eyes. “And all these great things are happening work-wise and Chase is the only person who would really understand. He would love the Y even more than I do and I can’t even show it to him.”
“Why not?”
“Because basically he told me not to bother him unless I’m ready to get married.”
“He actually said that?” Maddie asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Avery, honey, all relationships require compromise—by both parties. You two are going to have to talk this through.”
“But how?”
“I’m not sure. But you’re going to have to be in the same place.” She thought for a moment. “Why don’t you ask him to come see the Y—I’m sure Bitsy can arrange it. Then just show him around and talk about the building. See how it feels. Maybe it will propel you forward. Or maybe it’ll confirm that he’s not someone you want to spend your life with. Or maybe you two will find something in the middle that will work. All I know is that you can’t keep torturing yourself like this. Sometimes it’s better to make a decision, even if it’s not a perfect one, than to do nothing at all.”
Now here she stood three days later on the sidewalk in front of the Y watching Chase walk toward her. She was dry mouthed and sweaty palmed while he moved as if he didn’t have a care in the world and might start whistling at any moment.
Dark stubble covered his face, his bright blue eyes were clear and direct, his smile was . . . friendly-ish. More appropriate for discussing a renovation than coming to grips with a joint future.
“So Bitsy’s thinking of buying the building?” he asked, turning to take in the facade.
“Yes.” She tried to gather her thoughts, but she was so aware of him it was hard to think. “The plan is to restore it as closely as possible to original while turning it multiuse. A lot of interior demo has already been completed.”
She removed the padlock and he helped shove the temporary fencing that stretched across the front stairs out of the way. As they walked up to the front door, she watched him take in the chipped plaster and cracked stonework. Neither of them spoke until they’d stepped inside and closed the heavy arched wooden door behind them.
Chase did a 360 in the center of the tiled lobby, emitting a low whistle as he turned, taking in the ten-light windows, the stair’s decorative iron railing. “Even all beat up she’s a beauty.” He ran a hand over a pockmarked wall and it was a caress. “I swear I can hear her crying out for help.”
And there it was. “I know. It’s the weirdest thing. But from the first I felt like she’d been waiting. There’ve been multiple owners, all kinds of people promising her things and pulling at her and taking her apart piece by piece. Only to let her down. Somehow she’s been hanging on and waiting for the right person. For me.” She swallowed, gathered her courage. She’d vowed that whatever happened today, she would at least be honest. “Or maybe for us.”
He looked at her closely, and she looked back, careful to mask her neediness even as she felt the pull of him, true north on her internal compass. She showed him through the space, but while his eyes moved from detail to detail, her eyes remained on him. She saw the way he held himself. Saw him run a hand gently over an expanse of hand-painted tile, saw him fall in love just like she had.
“The original barrel tiles are in here.” She took him to one of the rooms in which row after row of roof tiles had been laid out on the floor. They crouched down together as she pointed out the doves that had been stamped on the ends of the terra-cotta tiles. “Enrico would go crazy over this building. He’s the only person I’d trust to do this roof.”
“I wouldn’t mind having the whole Dante family here,” Chase agreed.
It was Chase who had first introduced her to the family of artisans whose ancestors had first been brought over from Italy by Addison Mizner to work on the Mediterranean Revival–style homes and estates he’d built all over Palm Beach. Members of the family had spread throughout Florida and had worked on Bella Flora and the Millicent in South Beach as well as Mermaid Point and even the Sunshine.
“Why don’t we send them some shots of the building? I don’t think it would take much more than that to get them to sign on.”
She heard the “we” and knew that she had him. Like her, he was already imagining the restoration, thinking about what could be taken back to original, what would have to change. But could they manage a professional partnership if their personal relationship fell apart? Would she even want to?
“Do you have sketches?” he asked.
“A few. Nothing formal. But Bitsy asked me to draw the plans.”
He leaned back against a wall. “How long until construction might start?”
“Well, first Bitsy has to actually buy it. I’m sure that’s not going to happen overnight. And I do have other work. Martha Wyatt loves her tiny home. Before it was even finished she referred me to a friend who bought a cottage at the Sunshine; quite a few sold as a result of the fashion show. I have the opportunity to finish them out. And I will but . . .”
“This would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” He completed her sentence. And all she wanted was to throw her arms around him and never let go.
She managed to resist by turning and leading him up the stairs. On the third floor they stepped out onto a sawdust-strewn patio and leaned over the concrete balustrade to take in the view of Tropicana Field and a slice of downtown. She knew the time had come to get to the heart of the matter but instead heard herself asking, “How’s your dad?”
Then she asked about Josh and about Jason, all of whom seemed to be doing great. She watched his face as he talked, but what she was listening to was her own internal debate. Her litany of fears. Her candy-assed worries that it wouldn’t work out. As if she hadn’t survived her mother’s desertion, her father’s death, a divorce, the loss of two television shows, and Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme.
What was the point of being careful? She’d known Chase since childhood and loved him long before she’d even realized it. She was completely miserable without him. What exactly was she waiting for? And what was the use of being safe if you were only living half a life?
“Avery?”
“Hmmm?”
“Are you all right?”
“Of course.” She attempted a reassuring smile but it felt kind of quivery. Before she could dissemble or chicken out she said, “I was just thinking how much I’d like for us to work on this project together.”
He cocked his head and looked at her in a way that made her fear he could see all the way inside. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
“Even if we’re, you know, just . . . together professionally.” She hesitated then forced herself on. “Would it bother Riley if we worked together?”
“Riley who?”
“You’re not seeing her anymore?” She tried not to sound too hopeful.
“I barely saw her in the first place.”
“But you brought her to Bella Flora. She answered your phone.”
His shrug was sheepish.
“You just pretended to date her?”
“Well, no. I took her out a few times. But mostly because I hoped it would finally make you see the light.”
