Ten Beach Road (50 page)

“You’ve always been good at a lot more than you realized,” he said simply. “I can live with change. As long as we’re together.”

He lifted his hands to bracket her face and stared into her eyes long and hard before he kissed her. As they headed back to Ten Beach Road, she felt the pull of new beginnings and possibility. She only wished the same could be true for Bella Flora.

 

 

Admitting defeat hurt. Which was, Avery thought, sort of like saying a bullet to the heart was kind of painful. Regardless of how it felt, they just couldn’t seem to find any way around it: Bella Flora was going to have to be sold “as is,” assuming anyone was going to be interested in a derelict teardown on a stretch of beach that had just been pounded by a hormonal hurricane. Or they were going to have to find the money to tear her down themselves. They’d come full circle.

Avery, Deirdre, Maddie and her husband, Steve, Nikki, and Chase sat around John Franklin’s conference table hashing it out, trying once again to add two and two and come up with something other than four.

“We already owe Chase everything he’s put out to his subs and to purchase materials. We don’t have the money,” Avery said. “There’s just no way.” It was hard to push the words out past her disappointment, but pretending was equally painful.

“But Dyer’s in custody; you’re bound to get at least some portion of what your father left you,” Deirdre argued. “And so will Maddie and Nikki. You could rebuild.” She turned to the others looking for agreement. No one met her eye.

“That could take years, and we have no way of knowing how much anyone will be awarded,” Avery said for what seemed like the millionth time. She didn’t understand how this had happened, but somewhere along the way she had surrendered to the harsh realities while Deirdre seemed to have purchased her very own ticket to never-never land.

“Insurance will have to cover some of the expense, won’t it?” Steve Singer asked.

Avery watched the way he took Maddie’s hand and looked at her with love and relief and appreciation all sort of rolled up together. At least something seemed to be ending happily.

“But not enough and probably not anytime soon given the amount of damage Charlene did up and down the Florida coast,” Maddie said. “We only had flood insurance because it was transferable. We couldn’t afford wind or homeowner’s policies. We’re just lucky the things the designers put in for the show house were underwritten separately.”

“And Bella Flora hadn’t been reappraised yet,” Nikki pointed out. “That was supposed to happen next week. The maximum we could collect is two hundred fifty thousand dollars.” She stole a glance at her cell phone, which she’d placed on the table.

Avery drew in a deep breath; she could barely stand to think about Bella Flora’s condition and their situation. Talking about it was even worse.

Nicole’s phone rang.

“Sorry.” She reached for the phone and looked down at the screen. “I’m sorry,” she said again, standing and moving toward the door. “But I need to take this.”

Nikki hurried from the conference room and went outside.

Avery could see her through the office picture window the phone to her ear, pacing back and forth out on the sidewalk. She and Maddie exchanged glances. Deirdre raised her eyebrow.

“Maybe we could try to raise the money somehow,” Deirdre said. “Do a telethon, look for a wealthy backer of some kind. We know exactly what we’re doing now. We could renovate much faster and more efficiently this time.”

Avery felt Chase’s gaze on her and looked up to meet his eyes. She knew he felt the loss of Bella Flora almost as keenly as she did. It was all so ridiculously pathetic. They had knocked one out of the park when they’d finished Bella Flora. Hurricane Charlene had thrown the baseball back at them and the umpire had called it foul.

“It’s over,” Avery said. “Let’s just accept reality and get on with it.”

Nicole came back in and took her seat. “Sorry.” Her shoulders were slumped and her voice subdued.

“What’s wrong?” Maddie asked. “What happened?”

“I thought I might have good news. I’d almost convinced myself I’d be charging back in here like the financial cavalry.” Nicole shook her head sadly.

“What are you talking about?” Deirdre asked.

“I’ve been clinging to the hope that at least some portion of those accounts Malcolm kept in our mother’s name—the ones I turned over to the FBI—would somehow be deemed mine and that we could use it on Bella Flora.” Her smile was rueful. “But it’s all going into the pot that will be divided among Malcolm’s victims.”

Avery didn’t think she could stand it. “If you hadn’t turned the accounts over, would the FBI have found them?”

“I’m not sure,” Nicole said. “According to Giraldi they can’t just go looking at family member’s bank accounts. Not without a direct link to Malcolm.”

“Jesus,” Avery said. “So we might have had enough to re-renovate.”

Nicole nodded, her expression glum. Avery felt even worse now, if that were possible. Like a condemned prisoner who’d been told about a possible reprieve from the governor after it had been denied.

“You did the right thing, Nikki,” Maddie said. “You did.”

“I know. He left so many people in such dire straits. I’m glad they’ll at least get something back.” Nikki looked up at them. “But I couldn’t help hoping.”

“So you all may see some of that money at some point,” John Franklin said.

“Yes,” Nikki agreed. “But not soon enough to save Bella Flora.”

Avery drew yet another deep breath, though the whole breathing thing didn’t seem to be particularly effective. She felt far from calm and could actually feel the hot scald of tears forming. She wanted out of here before she humiliated herself completely. “Seeing as we have a whole lot of bills and no money, I move that we authorize John to sell Bella Flora ‘as is,’ ” Avery said, hating the tremor in her voice. She paused, trying to get herself and her voice under control. “If we receive any insurance or other monies before she sells, we’ll use it to pay back Chase and tear her the rest of the way down.”

As soon as she’d said the words Avery wanted to haul them back. She sat very still and concentrated on holding back her tears. The room went horribly silent.

“I second the motion,” Maddie finally said.

Looking up, Avery saw Steve squeeze his wife’s hand on top of the table.

“All in favor . . .” Chase said.

Avery sighed, but there was no cavalry coming and no point in prolonging the agony.

“All in favor of authorizing John to sell ‘as is’ and tear down if possible, say ‘aye,’ ” Maddie managed.

Nobody was actually in favor and everybody knew it. Nobody actually said “aye,” either. But the motion carried anyway.

On the morning of their last day on Pass-a-Grille, Nicole woke early. Like she had so many other mornings, she pulled on her running clothes, which now sported dabs of pink paint and blobs of polyurethane, and walked outside to stretch.

The sky was once again a soft powder blue, the sun pale and gentle in its initial ascent, as she stepped out onto Beach Road and headed resolutely past Bella Flora and toward the beach. Chiding her inner wussiness, she barely glanced at the battered façade, then took the path to the jetty with its pierless pilings, picking her way around the newly formed dunes and mountains of still-damp sand.

Drawing in a breath that carried scents decidedly less attractive than the normal tang of salt, she began a slow jog, careful to keep her gaze on the pink castle-like walls of the Don CeSar, already debating whether she would turn around before she got close enough to see any indignities it might have suffered.

Her focus was so inward that it took her a few moments to notice the shadow coming up from behind to obliterate her own. At the sound of footsteps coming up beside her, she glanced over to see Joe Giraldi. He looked much as he had the first time he’d joined her on this beach: T-shirt tucked into the waistband of his running shorts, bare chest sunkissed but not yet glistening with sweat. They ran for a time without speaking, sidestepping drifts of seaweed and dead fish, sticking to the hardest-packed sand, their shoes crunching on broken bits of shell.

“Did you come to gloat?” she finally asked, her focus still locked on the Don in the distance.

“No,” he said, turning his head. Even behind the sunglasses she could feel the intensity of his gaze. “I came to thank you. I know it couldn’t have been easy. But you did a good thing.”

Nicole snorted. She’d given up all the second-guessing. Malcolm had left her no choice and she couldn’t, in good conscience, have kept the money from the Florida accounts. She knew that ultimately she’d done the right thing. But the fact that it was right didn’t make it feel good.

She turned to study Giraldi, the beak of a nose, the strong jaw and even stronger shoulders. “So, this is good-bye then?”

“Oh, I may not disappear completely,” he said. “The accountants and the prosecutors take over now, but I won’t be completely out of the loop.” He paused for a moment though there was no hesitation in his stride. “The report I filed indicates that you were working with us when you went into the park. It’s not everyone who would have turned over that money.”

They ran for a time in silence, reaching the Don, where workers were still clearing away debris and setting things to rights. From here it appeared the hotel had fared better than Bella Flora. It was bound to be better insured.

Without discussion they turned back, Giraldi matching his pace to hers. Questions flitted through her mind as they ran, but the answers no longer mattered. They neared the shuttered Paradise Grille, many of its tables buried under mounds of sand. The marauding seagulls would be forced to maraud elsewhere.

“Off to play Peeping Tom again?” she asked after they’d neared the jetty and slowed to a walk. Her gaze was on his face now, but the sunglasses hid his eyes along with his thoughts.

“I always have my trench coat in the car, just in case,” he said, flashing her a white-toothed smile. “But I doubt I’m going to get a shot at anything anywhere near as enjoyable as keeping tabs on you.”

 

 

It was maudlin and showed her age, but “Leaving on a Jet Plane” played in Maddie’s head that afternoon as she set her suitcases next to the cottage door and cleaned out the van for the drive back to Atlanta in the morning. Over and over she told herself that everything would be all right. That Steve was back, the kids were okay, their family was intact.

Still, she had to force a smile as she waved Steve and Andrew off for their guys’ cookout at the Hardins’, then dragged herself to Bella Flora to meet Avery and Nicole and Deirdre and Kyra for their very last sunset.

She didn’t walk through Bella Flora; she simply couldn’t face her gouged walls and gaping wounds, the pungent wet salt smell that didn’t complement the smell of plastic tarp, the dark injured rooms with their sodden floors and plywood Band-Aids. Instead she followed the brick drive around to the back where she set out their neon-strapped aluminum beach chairs, which had been unearthed in the garage closet. Their “cocktail table” was an electrical cable spindle delivered by Hurricane Charlene and turned on its end.

From a grocery bag Maddie pulled the family-sized bag of Cheez Doodles and a foil-covered plate of the tiny hotdogs in blankets that had been a sunset staple and which Kyra now craved. Nikki arrived carrying a blender of margaritas. Kyra, her assistant, followed with her camera bag over one shoulder and a second pitcher in her hands. Avery and Deirdre brought the plastic margarita glasses, which they passed around. Bella Flora hunkered beside them dark and abandoned. After all the rain she’d absorbed she was probably not thirsty.

“Ah,” Avery said when she spotted the beach chairs. “I never really felt comfortable with all that fancy wrought iron.” She cast a glance at the cushionless furniture that had been dragged out of the pool much the worse for the experience.

“No, aluminum and corrugated cardboard is definitely more your style,” Nikki said automatically, but without heat.

They fell silent as they sipped their drinks and nibbled on the snacks. Their gazes were focused on the sky like strangers in an elevator watching the floor numbers go by. They’d been just those kind of strangers when they’d arrived back in May, Maddie thought. Since then they’d slept, sweated, laughed, and cried together, and of course, they’d fought with each other. They’d survived some of the worst things life could throw at them. Together.

The sun glowed golden red as it inched toward its resting place beneath the now-calm water. The concrete pilings of the fishing pier stood as silent testament to all that had been ripped away. Just as Bella Flora did.

“I can’t believe it’s ending like this,” Avery said. “I can’t believe we’re leaving Bella Flora worse off than we found her.”

Kyra had begun shooting after just a few sips of her nonalcoholic margarita. No one thought to ask her to stop; she’d captured and shared much worse than this final good-bye, though Maddie didn’t think she’d shot anything sadder.

No one talked about where they would go in the morning or what they would do next. Maddie could feel all of them straining to stay in the moment, but it was impossible not to think about the fact that she might never see these women, who knew her in ways no one ever had, again.

“I hope to hell you’re not expecting anyone to come up with anything good tonight, Maddie,” Avery said, her gaze fixed on the sun, which now hovered above the Gulf, its reflected brilliance shimmering beneath it.

Deirdre drank silently, but Maddie noticed the way the designer kept studying her daughter as if recording each feature and expression for playback at a later time.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Maddie acknowledged. “But we’re all going to have to come up with . . . something.” She smiled and felt her heart twist. “We wouldn’t be ‘us’ without our ‘one good thing.’ ”