by Wendy Wax
At the moment, Bella Flora’s formal dining room was doing double duty as a video-editing suite. Her crystal chandelier, each glass drop of which her mother had painstakingly cleaned by hand, spread shards of light over the piles of notes, the dual monitors, and the keyboards. Troy Matthews, former network cameraman and ongoing pain in the ass, sat beside her, his fingers nimble on the keys, as he attempted to cue up an edit point.
“Kyra?”
“Hmm?”
“I said I think we should insert the purple cow shot here. Or maybe the one with the polka-dotted palm tree if you like that better.”
“No, I don’t like either of those. They’re too . . .” Disagreement was quick and automatic. Registering what had been said took longer. “What did you just say?”
“Just checking. I thought you might be sleeping with your eyes open.”
She opened her mouth to argue again, but Troy was right. She hadn’t been listening. Or watching. Or thinking. Her brain had been fully occupied playing out potential worst-case scenarios, of which there were many.
The most troubling was the network’s lawsuit, designed to force them back to work on the insulting and unflattering reality TV version of what they’d intended as a remodeling show. And the hard money loan she’d taken out against Bella Flora to finance their attempt to produce their own series.
At the moment their only real hope of income was finishing and selling the documentary of their renovation of the midcentury Sunshine Hotel featuring the reopened investigation into a mysterious death and disappearance that had taken place there. Or having every single cottage at the Sunshine sold at top dollar. But being under this much pressure didn’t make for a whole lot of clear or creative thinking. How her mother had kept them all afloat when their father had lost everything including his job to Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme, she did not know.
“Personally, I don’t know if we should include this bit.” The scene was of Daniel and Dustin playing catch on the beach in front of the Sunshine Hotel.
“You’re the one who’s been preaching that we need the money shots to build and hold on to an audience. Feel free to cut it out.” At three, her son was a carbon copy of his famous father. But while Daniel Deranian had built an audience intentionally, their son had had no choice and was as familiar with paparazzi as most three-year-olds were with Sesame Street.
“Yeah, well, I’m getting kind of tired of looking at his face.” Troy paused on a close-up of Daniel and began to examine it. Daniel’s dark curly hair, golden skin, and whiskey-colored bedroom eyes were instantly recognizable and more than a mere mortal woman could resist, as she had reason to know. If Troy was looking for a bad side, he was out of luck.
“I think perfection is overrated,” Troy said. “The guy’s in his forties and he doesn’t even have a frickin’ wrinkle?” His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Where’s the reality in that?”
“He’s got good genes,” she snapped, stung. Genes he’d passed on to Dustin, who was his only biological son.
“Now, his wife, well, you expect female movie stars to stay beautiful.” He pulled up a barrage of photos of Tonja Kay. Vindictive, foul-mouthed, and angelically beautiful Tonja Kay. “But you want to see guys look like real guys.”
“Are you saying Daniel isn’t masculine enough?”
“Well, he is kind of a pretty boy.” Troy smirked.
“I think we’d be a lot better off getting this video put together than discussing Daniel’s face. Or his masculinity.” Her voice rose. “Which FYI—is not in question.”
“Whatever you say.”
She watched his hands move over the controls, watched the frames of video go by. Watched him find the edit point and add just the right beat of transition before the next shot. Even his competence grated. He’d appeared last summer claiming he’d been fired from the network for giving her an advance copy of Do Over season two, which Nikki had used to hook Palm Beach matron Bitsy Baynard as a sponsor. He’d said that he’d been accused of aiding and abetting the “enemy” after they’d quit the network. He was currently sharing the pool house with her father and seemed in no hurry to leave.
Troy stopped shuttling between shots. Slowly, he turned to face her. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “The attorneys will figure it out.” His features had gone strangely soft. She barely recognized his voice without its usual mocking sarcasm. “And if we get this special where it needs to be, I’m sure we can sell it.”
She blinked, but the trademark smirk and sarcasm were absent. It was like seeing Jim Carrey without the stretched-out face. Or the night sky devoid of stars. She wasn’t buying it. “Wow. What was that? Are you searching for your feminine side? Or doing an impression of Pollyanna?”
He shrugged and looked away. “I just don’t want you caving under the pressure, that’s all. There are a lot of moving parts right now. Producing and selling a series isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
“Thanks for the advice,” she managed through gritted teeth. “I’ll be sure and let you know when I need you to spout some more clichés.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a careless shrug. His eyes were once again taunting. And his normal shit-eating grin was back in place.
• • •
Maddie drove over the final span of the Sunshine Skyway, which soared high above Tampa Bay, and took the Pinellas Bayway west to St. Petersburg Beach, where she was deposited directly in front of the massive Don CeSar Hotel. There she headed south into the Historic District of Pass-a-Grille, passing the hedges that hid the Sunshine Hotel from view and ultimately turning onto the aptly named Gulf Way. Drawing in a deep breath of salt-tinged air, she watched a formation of seagulls sweep out of a puffy white cloud, saw the sea oats sway lightly in the breeze. Islamorada was beautiful and her time on Mermaid Point with Will was exciting, but this stretch led to home. The blocks were short and the avenues, which stretched from the bay to the Gulf, were barely longer. She took her time passing the crossovers and dunes on her right and the hodgepodge of mom-and-pop hotels and newly renovated homes on her left.
At the southernmost tip stood Bella Flora. Built at the same time as the Don CeSar, it had the same fresh-from-a-bakery-box look with pale pink walls and white icing trim framing banks of arched windows. Bell towers topped a multi-angled barrel tile roof and jutted up into the bright blue sky. She’d barely pulled into the brick driveway when the front door flew open and Dustin came bounding across the loggia, down the front steps, and through the garden to reach her.
“Geema!” he shouted happily as he threw himself in her arms and buried his face in her neck. She held his sturdy body tight and spun him around.
“I see the mutual admiration society is in session,” Kyra said, coming to join the group hug. “We missed you. Bella Flora’s pretty fabulous, but even she’s not the same without you.”
“And I missed both of you!” Maddie said, giving them each a last heartfelt squeeze. “You’ll have to fill me in.”
“What I can carry, Geema?” Dustin asked.
Maddie opened the rear sliding door of the minivan, retrieved an overnight and makeup bag, and placed them carefully in his arms. “These are very important,” she said solemnly as Dustin puffed up with pride. “And there may even be a present in there for you.”
Together they carried her things inside. Her ex-husband stood in the high-ceilinged foyer, his expression far too eager. “Why don’t you let Dustin and I carry your bags upstairs?” Steve asked.
“Thank you,” Maddie said, keeping her voice and expression friendly but neutral. When she’d vowed to “get her own life,” she’d vowed to stop trying to “get one” for Steve, too. But after two children and more than a quarter century of marriage, this was easier said than done.
She linked her arm through Kyra’s as they headed for the kitchen. Late afternoon sun slanted in through the windows that overlo
oked the pool and the pass, where the Gulf of Mexico bled into the bay. The Spanish tile floor, reclaimed wood countertops, and soft green glass-fronted cabinets that Deirdre Morgan had chosen welcomed and comforted. “I heard from Nikki while I was on the road. She and Joe should be here before sunset and Avery’s on her way from Tampa. Is there anything here for dinner or should we run to the store?”
“Let’s leave the store for tomorrow,” Kyra said. “I’ve got plenty of snacks and I’m pretty sure there’s red and white wine. And maybe we can send the guys out for pizza while we catch up.”
“Sounds good. Sunset’s not far off. It’s not quite as warm as the Keys, but if we bundle up a bit, it should be perfect.”
“I’m in,” Kyra said. “It’ll be nice to have everybody together. It’s been kind of quiet here.”
“How’s your dad been doing?” Maddie asked as she helped herself to a glass of water.
“Well, he did pass the real estate exam. And John Franklin suggested that he hang his license with him.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. He said he’d consider it, but he still seems kind of stuck.” Steve had fallen apart when he’d lost everything, including his job, to Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme. Their marriage hadn’t ended because he’d lost everything, but because he’d never forgiven her for carrying on when he couldn’t.
“Well, maybe we need to push a little harder to get him unstuck,” Maddie said before she could stop herself. “No, strike that. This is his life. He needs to figure it out for himself.”
“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t think he’s all that motivated. And I don’t think he knows how to live on his own.”
Maddie kept her mouth carefully closed. Steve Singer was no longer her husband. What he did with his life was not her responsibility or even her business.
A tap of the horn announced Avery’s arrival and there were hugs all around. Avery had opened both bottles of wine and filled a large bowl with Cheez Doodles by the time Joe and Nikki arrived. Joe looked calm and collected as always. Nikki not so much.
“Wow, look at you!” Avery said, taking in Nikki’s huge stomach.
“Please don’t. I try not to,” Nikki replied.
“I think you look beautiful,” Maddie said, slipping an arm around Nikki’s shoulders as Joe sent her a grateful smile. “And so do those babies. May I?” She reached a hand out toward Nikki’s stomach.
“Have at it. I think they’re as tired of sitting in that car as I am.” She stretched and yawned.
“I’ll grab our things,” Joe said. “Do you want to lie down?”
“No, thanks.” Nikki yawned again.
“We’ll get her a seat outside for sunset. Are you up for going out with the guys for pizza?” Maddie asked Joe.
“Sounds like a plan,” Joe said easily, but he looked closely at Nikki as if to assure himself she was really okay.
Nikki yawned again and rotated her head on her neck, clearly trying to work out some kinks.
“I can’t believe you drove,” Avery said. “Doesn’t your stomach get in the way?”
“Yeah, well, I wish you all had been there to talk her out of it,” Joe said. “I have hostage negotiation training, and I’m powerless to convince her of anything.” His tone was light but Maddie could see the concern in his eyes.
“Well, fortunately, you both made it. And no one looks the worse for wear,” Maddie said.
“So you never practiced on a woman pumped full of pregnancy hormones?” Avery asked.
Nikki snorted and helped herself to a handful of Cheez Doodles.
“Nope,” Joe said. “But I think I’m going to suggest they add it to the curriculum at Quantico.” He smiled and pinched a Cheez Doodle. “I’ve faced a lot of challenges on the job, but I’d sleep a little better at night if I knew the FBI had the ability to talk a pregnant woman into laying down her weapon. You know, just in case the need ever arose.”
Four
It was just past six P.M. and the winter sun hung low over the Gulf of Mexico. The beach was quiet, the swish of the tide soft as a whisper. A lone fisherman stood on the jetty.
Avery sat on the rear loggia with Maddie, Nikki, and Kyra, watching the sky pinken. Bella Flora hunkered protectively behind them, her thick walls swathed in shadow.
“So?” Maddie said.
“So what?” Kyra asked.
“So, anyone have a good thing they want to share?” It had been Maddie, whose picture belonged in the dictionary next to the definition of “mother,” who’d come up with sharing “one good thing” at sunset back when all of their lives had been decimated by Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme and they were first trying to nurse Bella Flora back to life. Then, coming up with one good thing had been almost as challenging as rebuilding the house that was their lone remaining asset along with their lives.
The mother who had abandoned Avery to become an interior designer to the stars had been a part of that rebuilding. Deirdre Morgan’s touch could be felt in every inch of Bella Flora. She’d returned determined to repair her relationship with her daughter and had begged Maddie to teach her how to be a mother. Deirdre had died on Mermaid Point, just when Avery had finally begun to accept her.
She thought about the strain between Chase and his son and wished she’d taken mothering lessons herself. Her eyes moved to Nikki’s stomach as the woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“I gorged on stone crab claws last night at the Keys Fisheries,” Maddie offered when no one spoke. “And Will and the band are being sent on a major tour to support their album.” Maddie’s smile remained bright, but there was far more enthusiasm behind the first statement than the second. She turned to her daughter. “Kyra?”
“Okay,” Kyra began tentatively. “The special on the Sunshine Hotel is looking pretty good.” From Kyra this was high praise. “And Troy seems to think we can sell it even with the lawsuit going on.” Her smile did not dim but her tone said she doubted it.
Maddie’s gaze turned to Avery.
“Chase and I finished adapting the kitchen for his dad’s wheelchair. Jeff’s always been so active, he’s having a hard time adjusting. We’re hoping that helping him become more self-sufficient at home will help.”
Nikki shifted in her seat again. She grasped the arms of the chair and attempted to pull her body into another position. “Okay, so I can’t help noticing that everybody’s ‘one good thing’ is sounding a lot more like good news/bad news.”
“So now you’re the ‘good enough’ police?” Avery asked.
“No, I’m just saying it would be nice to hear one good thing that doesn’t require a qualifier.”
“Well, why don’t you give it a go,” Avery said.
Clutching her protruding stomach so that it moved with her, Nikki made another attempt to reposition herself in the chair. “That is not gonna happen. I can’t sleep, I can barely walk or hold on to a thought for more than ten seconds. And sitting totally sucks. I can’t imagine ever being comfortable again.” Nikki’s sigh was closer to a groan. “And as you’ve probably noticed, I can’t seem to stop whining about it.”
“But soon you’ll have two daughters to show for it,” Maddie, their resident glass-is-half-full proponent, pointed out.
“Right,” Nikki said without an ounce of conviction. Beads of perspiration dotted her upper lip despite the dropping temperatures. Her eyes fixed on Avery’s wineglass. “And at the moment I’d kill for even a sip of alcohol.”
Avery stopped chewing her Cheez Doodle. She would have washed it down with wine but decided it would be better—and probably safer—not to wave her glass in front of Nikki.
“Joe seems wonderfully patient and very loving,” Maddie added, still focused on the bright side. “I understand his family is coming for the birth.”
Nikki nodded miserably. Even in the dark, Avery could see the tears
glistening in her eyes. “They’re taking rooms next door.” She nodded vaguely toward the Cottage Inn, which sat to the east of Bella Flora. Her lips twisted in a rictus of a smile as a lone tear slid down her cheek.
Nikki’s phone rang.
“Do you need to take that?” Maddie asked quietly.
Nikki sniffed and squinted at her screen. “It’s Bitsy Baynard. I’ll call her back tomorrow.”
“Well, be nice to her,” Avery said. “She put money into the Sunshine Hotel renovation and Do Over and at the moment she has nothing to show for it.”
Car doors slammed. Male voices sounded in the kitchen. There was the scrape of a chair and Dustin’s piping voice. The back door opened and Joe stuck out his head. “There’s pizza for anyone who wants it.” His unerring gaze located Nikki in the gathering darkness. “I brought you a thick-crust meat lovers topped with sardines and anchovies.”
Nikki swiped the last of the tears away. “Thanks. I’ll be in in a minute.” She began to lever her bulk into position. “Or as soon as I can get out of this chair,” she muttered.
“Anchovies and sardines?” Avery made a gagging sound.
“Ha! Just wait until you get pregnant,” Nikki said, pausing and planting her feet for final liftoff. “I can’t wait to see your face when you have to go cold turkey on the Cheez Doodles.”
“A—I’m not getting pregnant,” Avery shot back. Not after witnessing the kind of havoc a teenager could wreak. “And B—I think I’ve mentioned this before—a life without Cheez Doodles is simply not worth living. That won’t be happening.”
“I’m going to make sure they’re not overfeeding Dustin,” Kyra said, getting up and extending a hand to pull Nikki to her feet. “And I sincerely hope there’s something a little less gag inducing available. Though I do remember chowing down on more than a few peanut butter and pickle sandwiches when I was pregnant with Dustin.”
