The House on Mermaid Point (18 page)

With no plan in mind, Will threw a dry box of camping supplies, a cooler of drinks and sandwiches, and a couple of his more utilitarian rods and a tackle box in the skiff. He took his time winding through Florida Bay, reading the water as he went, curving through teardrop-shaped mangrove islands and dark saw-grass prairies that sat next to sandy-bottomed shallow basins. He fished desultorily, without purpose, moving from spot to spot with no real intention. The fish, most likely sensing that he was not in real pursuit but only hiding out, ignored his flies and halfhearted casts.

After a stop for gas and snacks on Flamingo, he rounded the mainland and staked the skiff to the sandy beach of Cape Sable, where skeletons of buttonwood trunks curved out of the sand like decomposing dinosaur ribs and a curtain of mangroves isolated him from what lay inland. There, with water gently licking the shore, he watched the sunset; the color streaking the sky so boldly that he imagined he might breathe it in along with the salted air.

When night fell he lit a small fire to keep the mosquitoes at bay, lay on top of his sleeping bag, and stared up into the stars. The night sky twinkled above, and the warm breeze floated over him, but the comfort they usually afforded eluded him. The mangroves and the bay teemed with life. The rub and thrum of insects, the scurrying of small animals in the brush, the hoot of an owl, all teased his senses. Once he’d believed that being high out here connected him cosmically—made him one with the mud, the sea grass that swayed beneath the surface of the water, the crabs that scurried across the sand, even the star-filled sky. When the drugs and alcohol that buffered him from reality began to replace reality, he’d clung to the hope that this was where he’d hear the music again. That the words and melodies would come to him on the breeze as they had in the beginning; that they’d replace the white noise of fame that had filled his head for so long.

But that had been bullshit, just one more way in which he’d convinced himself that the universe revolved around him.

The moon was so full it made him wish he could let loose and howl. Or cry for all the things he’d lost and especially those he’d pushed away. When he finally fell asleep he dreamed of a thirst he couldn’t quench. An oasis of clear blue water sparkling across a desert that no amount of crawling allowed him to reach. A good-bye flip of a mermaid’s shimmering tail disappearing beneath a storm-tossed sea.

In the morning he watched the sun rise above a distant mangrove hammock. He barely moved or breathed as a white heron took to the air in an elegant spiral of flight and watched in awe while a magnificent frigate bird soared from its roost in a nearby buttonwood, its massive wings spread, its forked tail cleaving the powder blue sky.

When the rain began to fall out of a virtually cloudless sky, he welcomed the feel of it on his skin, allowing it to cleanse and cool him. He lost track of the days spent on his own very screwed-up vision quest, at which his Seminole ancestors would have scoffed. But he began to feel alive from the inside out and see the beauty around him with a new knife-edged clarity. Over the following days, Will poled the skiff through Snake Bight then meandered through mangrove canopies and winding waterways, allowing his mind to wander at the same slow pace. Occasionally he stopped at a spit of mangroves or a favorite backcountry flat, but he didn’t bother to make a cast or drop a line. Not even when a school of tarpon rolled right off his bow practically begging to be caught. He ignored the siren call of home as long as he could, not yet ready to face the invading army that had assembled at Mermaid Point.

•   •   •

In those first weeks of June each day became hotter, the air heavier until it was like a sack of rocks they carried around with them. Spontaneous sweating occurred; sometimes even the thought of stepping outside caused beads of water to form on their skin. There were light morning rains that arrived gently and tiptoed across U.S. 1, only to disappear across the bay. Even the darker, heavier storms that roared across the Atlantic like a dark locomotive, and hit the asphalt in a saunalike cloud of steam, didn’t linger for long.

“No landmass here. Nowhere to loiter,” Roberto had said, and he seemed to be right.

The hippy-dippy carpenter bopped through each day mellow, unhurried, and seemingly immune to the heat, the humidity, and the amount of rainfall. Best of all as far as Avery was concerned, he and the two-man crew he’d assembled wasted not a nail or a hammer blow. Roberto Dante did in fact seem able to make wood sing—or at least hum along happily.

He worked to a personal playlist dominated by southern rock bands that had emerged on the national scene in the seventies, a time Avery had been too young to remember and that she had never given much thought to. It was alternately bittersweet and hard-driving and had its roots, according to Roberto, in blues, rock, and country.

“The southern rockers themselves argue that it’s just good rock and roll and that it was only labeled southern rock because the performers were from the South.” He’d paused a moment to hum along to what she now knew was a Wet Willie song. “I agree that there is a truth to the lyrics and stories they tell that is universal. But they all came from a pretty similar background. And of course the southern groups did have the reputation for a certain level of . . . rowdiness.” He smiled at this and closed his eyes as he listened, his lips moving silently along with the lyrics.

Avery was happy to listen to Roberto’s music and his insights into the songs and the bands that performed them, but she was even happier at the progress they were now making. The kitchen was an empty shell waiting to be refilled and reconfigured. The new stair that would run up the back kitchen wall had been roughed in, as had a guest bath, laundry room, and walk-in pantry behind the kitchen. These new spaces opened off the back hall and could be accessed from the main house common area as well as the front and back porches. A large hole gaped above the new stairs and in the foyer ceiling where the original stair had been, but already Avery could feel the space taking shape. The heady scent of sawdust filled the air. And while she appreciated Roberto’s soundtrack, it was the sound of the power miter and radial saws the carpenter had set up on the front porch, and the rhythm of hammer on nail as his assistants framed in the new walls and bathrooms for the upstairs and downstairs guest suites, that were the sweetest of melodies to her.

William Hightower was still MIA, and Deirdre and Nicole were still in Miami when the second episode of
Do Over
aired. Avery, Maddie, Kyra, and Roberto watched it on William’s big-screen TV in the sawdust-scented space, sprawled on his living room couch. Troy and Anthony shot and recorded their reactions, which in Avery’s case went from mildly nauseated to ready to hurl as they once again watched themselves at their worst: struggling to nurse the Millicent back to life while adjusting to the fact that they were being turned into reality TV stars—every bit as reluctantly as William Hightower was being forced to turn his private island into a B and B.

“Mario looks pretty good for a man his age,” Roberto said.

“Yes.” Avery was grateful to have something positive to say. “And the man can cook, too.”

“All Dante men cook. It’s in our genes. And our mammas teach us. It’s also part of our mating ritual.” Roberto’s smile turned mischievous. “It looks like he had a little bit of a crush on Madeline.”

“Oh, no. He was very sweet to all of us.” Maddie said this quickly. “And I was married then.”

Roberto shrugged. “Sometimes married or not married isn’t the most important thing.”

“I can hardly believe how awful we’ve been made to look.” Kyra had her laptop on her lap. Dustin sat on the couch beside her. She spoke directly into the lens of the camera Troy held on his shoulder.

“From what I’ve seen online, people are watching and talking about the show.” Avery’s eyes were on the screen. The show was like a train wreck from which she couldn’t look away.

“It’s good that we have an audience. I mean, we need there to be a big one, right?” Maddie hesitated. “It’s just that we look so vulnerable. And inept.”

“Yes, let’s not forget inept.” Kyra’s tone was dry and angry. “Avery’s the only one who looked like she had any idea of what was going on.”

“That’s because she was.” Maddie sighed.

Kyra’s fingers moved on the keyboard of her laptop. “Great. Someone went on the
Do Over
Facebook page and offered to do our hair and makeup free of charge.” She tapped some more. “Someone else offered financial coaching to dig us out of the hole we’re in so that we won’t have to humiliate ourselves on national television.”

Avery was too appalled even to groan in embarrassment.

More keyboard tapping. “There are a lot of posts loving Max Golden and the Millicent.”

“And Dustin’s a pretty big hit, too.” Kyra sounded far less happy about this.

The program finally ended on a freeze-frame of Max and Dustin at the kitchen table. There was a promo promising “surprising revelations” to come. Troy and Anthony circled them, shooting at will.

“Max is getting all kinds of fan emails and posts. There was news coverage last August about what happened, but a lot of the people watching and falling in love with him don’t know that he’s . . . gone. I’m not sure how the scene with Parker Amherst is going to go over.” Kyra closed the laptop, set it aside, and pulled Dustin onto her lap.

“It’s so bittersweet to watch him,” Avery said.

“But you know he would have loved all the attention.” Kyra snuggled Dustin closer. “Max never met a camera or an audience he didn’t like.”

“I know.” Maddie’s tone lightened. “I’m kind of picturing him up there with his Millie, gloating that he’s got a role on a reality TV show.”

There was laughter but it was tinged with sadness.

“I hope there’s no backlash when that final episode airs. I’m not sure our viewers are looking for anything that heavy.” Kyra dropped a kiss on her son’s head. “God knows, we didn’t choose what to air.”

“That’s true,” Avery said. “But we’re the most visible targets. I don’t think Lisa Hogan has posted her email or contact information for complaints.”

“No, she hasn’t.” Kyra stood with Dustin in her arms. His head lay on her shoulder; his thumb had stolen into his mouth. Her look turned thoughtful. “Maybe someone needs to take care of that omission.”

Maddie stood on the deck of the houseboat the next morning watching the pink of sunrise fold into the pale blue morning sky. The island rooster and his harem pecked at the ground, which was still damp from the previous night’s thunderstorm, while a flock of gulls dive-bombed the now calm waters off Mermaid Point for breakfast. Long-legged wading birds stood in the tidal pool, the morning breeze teasing their feathers. She wondered how Will was faring and why he’d stayed away so long, and she looked forward to Deirdre and Nicole’s return after what they’d pronounced to be a resoundingly successful sales trip.

Roberto’s boat was still shuttered and the network crew’s boat, now also moored to the retaining wall, was equally silent. Stepping off the deck, she stood on the small crescent of beach and contemplated the swimming pool, which seemed empty without William Hightower’s strong-armed crawl slicing through it. The whole island, inside and out, felt vacant without him.

She was sitting in the Adirondack chair at the edge of the sand when Kyra joined her, a still-sleepy Dustin cradled in her arms, her video camera slung over one shoulder. Kyra deposited Dustin gently on the sand along with his pail and shovel and a sippy cup of juice then plopped down in the second Adirondack.

“It all looks so sparkly clean after the rain.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Maddie dug her bare toes into the damp sand. Dustin drank his juice in one long, thirsty gulp then began to dig. “It’s so incredibly peaceful here.”

The faint sound of traffic behind them on U.S. 1 reached their ears. At the sound of each boat motor Maddie stilled slightly, assessing it for any hint of familiarity, waiting to see if any of the boats steaming toward Alligator Reef would slow and head toward Mermaid Point instead. She was relieved that it was too early for the paparazzi, even Nigel Bracken, who’d proven to be the most persistent of the pack. But each boat that wasn’t William Hightower returning, after five days away, was a disappointment she was having a hard time keeping to herself.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” Video camera in her hands, Kyra panned slowly from the main house, across the beach, to the boats in the channel.

“What?”

Kyra gave her the look she’d used as a teenager; the one that had always warned Maddie not to underestimate her. “Wild Will. He’ll be back. And it might be better if you weren’t sitting around mooning over him when he gets here.”

“Me? Mooning?” Maddie attempted a careless laugh that she didn’t quite pull off.

“Mom. Face it. You’ve got a crush on the guy.”

“Kyra, he’s an icon. Every woman my age has a crush on him. It doesn’t mean—”

Kyra cut her off without so much as an acknowledgment of her protest. “And you’re hopelessly out of practice. Whatever skills you might have once possessed are rusted out. And frankly, if you’re going to freeze at the sound of every boat motor, well . . . I’d keep those sunglasses on. You don’t want someone who’s used to getting anyone he wants to see just how interested you are.”

A small, desperate part of Maddie wanted to ask what Kyra thought
would
work, but she remained silent. No matter how grown-up Kyra acted, she was not only Maddie’s daughter but Steve’s.

“And while we’re on the subject of crushes on male celebrities,” Kyra continued, “I’ve agreed to let Dustin spend the Fourth of July weekend with Daniel.”

“But I thought it was agreed that Dustin wouldn’t spend time anywhere near Tonja Kay.”

“He’s not. Dustin and Daniel are going to spend the holiday at Bella Flora together. I told Daniel I’d be staying nearby to be sure she doesn’t arrive ‘unexpectedly.’”

Maddie leveled a look at her daughter. Where Daniel Deranian was concerned nothing was ever as simple or direct as it sounded.

“So you’re just going to leave him there with Daniel? You’re not planning to stay?”

“I made a reservation next door.”

“Aw, honey, you know it would be better to keep your distance. And if this gets out, every paparazzo in the northern hemisphere will be hotfooting it to Bella Flora.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got our disguises all figured out.” Kyra took Dustin’s empty sippy cup and fixed Maddie with another look. “Besides,
you’re
the one I’m worried about. I get that you’re free to date and all that. And Dad does have
Kelly
.” Kyra wrinkled her nose, still unhappy that her father had a girlfriend. “I just don’t think William Hightower is a good choice to start with. It’s like riding a Harley when you’ve only ever been on a mini scooter.” Kyra nodded emphatically. “I think you need to start with someone a little less dangerous. You know, someone less likely to break your heart. Someone who comes with training wheels.”

•   •   •

Avery climbed off the houseboat onto the retaining wall and carried her mug of coffee over to the closest Adirondack, where Maddie sat scribbling on a yellow pad. Dustin dug happily in the sand near her feet. More from habit than any sense that it would make a difference, she placed herself, back to camera, between the network crew’s boat on which Troy stood filming the curly-haired toddler.

A few feet away the rooster arched his neck, stuck out his chest, and crowed in her direction before strutting off without even looking to see if his groupies followed. Avery shook her head. “Every day I think old Romeo’s going to crow at daybreak and every day I’m disappointed. I’m not giving up my digital alarm anytime soon.” She watched as the last of his harem follow him around the bend in the path. “I don’t know what they see in him.”

“As Kyra just reminded me, there is no accounting for taste.” Maddie smiled. “But I’m guessing he’s the barnyard version of a walk on the wild side.”

Although she couldn’t see it for the mangroves, Avery heard a boat motor slowing near the dock. The boat horn tapped cheerily and someone called out for Roberto.

“What are you working on?” Avery asked, taking a seat in the empty Adirondack.

“I’ve made a list of resale shops between Key West and Palm Beach. I was going to spend the morning making calls and offering the furniture and fixtures that Deirdre’s not planning to use in any of the units. We need to get them off the island and it’s possible we might be able to make something to put toward the renovation.”

“Good.” Avery took a long sip of her coffee. “We still need to ask William about memorabilia. Anything he could sign that we could sell or auction off.”

Maddie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Avery knew that asking for things was way outside Maddie’s comfort zone; but she actually seemed to have more pull with William Hightower than any of the rest of them.

“Roberto said he could get to the kitchenette in Will’s bedroom first thing tomorrow morning, but some of the space is coming out of Will’s closet. Can you empty it this afternoon?”

“Don’t you think we should wait until William’s back? I can’t just go in his closet and paw through his things without his permission.”

“No, we can’t wait.” Avery downed the rest of her coffee. “We don’t know where he is or when he’ll be back. I hope it’s soon because Deirdre promised the outdoor kitchen company that he’d do an on-camera cooking demo as soon as it’s installed and we’re already behind schedule.” She set her mug on the broad arm of the chair as Roberto left his boat to greet his crew. “And you won’t be
pawing
through anything. You’ll be culling his possessions with great care and respect and moving them out of the way so that they won’t get dirty or damaged.”

Maddie grimaced. “But his
underwear
will probably be in the dressers there. I can’t go through his
personal
things.”

“I’m sure he’d rather find you handling his unmentionables than any other member of the crew. I’d ask Roberto to do it, but I’m afraid he might turn Will’s boxers into some sort of drug paraphernalia.”

Maddie couldn’t help but laugh at that image. Avery left quickly before Maddie could figure out a way to wriggle out of the task she’d been assigned.

•   •   •

By the time she’d finished making her calls, Maddie was pleased with the response she’d gotten from the resale shops. One vintage clothing store owner in Key West had explained that although she didn’t have room on her floor for furnishings, she’d take “anything that had touched William Hightower’s body in the last four decades.” Which had Maddie thinking that while she emptied the master closet, she should keep an eye out for old tour T-shirts or anything else Will might be willing to part with. By the time she had a sandwich and headed to the main house she’d pretty much convinced herself that emptying William Hightower’s closet was no more personal than emptying his kitchen cupboards, a feat she’d accomplished quickly and efficiently and with no qualms of any kind.

But William’s bedroom didn’t feel at all like his kitchen. For one thing his kitchen had not contained his unmade king-sized bed. Which she stared at for far longer than necessary. Its black-and-gray-striped sheets were rumpled, the pillows strewn across it, the comforter half on and half off it. Maddie had no idea if this was how William always left his bed or if he’d left so early that he hadn’t had time to make it.

She stood mesmerized for a ridiculously long period of time before finally stepping closer; close enough to touch the sheets he’d slept on, trace the pillows he’d placed his head on.

Okay, she was starting to creep herself out. She was not some groupie who would live forever on the memory of a look or glance. She was not going to stand here staring at William Hightower’s bed with her head full of . . . well, it didn’t matter what it was full of.

With a nervous laugh she berated herself for her childishness. For her ridiculous desire to . . . well, she didn’t want to think about what she might desire, either. And so she did what she would have done if the bed in front of her had belonged to anyone but William Hightower.

She made it. Neatly. With hospital corners. And a knife-edged crease on the edge of each pillow sham.

Then she marched into the closet. Where she breathed in the heady scent for several long moments while she attempted to absorb where she was and what she was seeing. It took some time to figure out the categories into which she might sort William Hightower’s belongings, but once she got started she tuned out everything else.

She was, in fact, so absorbed in her task that she heard nothing but her own thoughts until late afternoon when the front door slammed and heavy footsteps stomped up the newly built stairs and into the master bedroom.

“Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell are you doing?!”

Maddie whipped around at the sound of Will’s voice behind her. The stack of boxer briefs she held went flying into the air before landing all around them.

She wasn’t sure which of them looked more shocked. But she knew who looked angriest. She flinched at the look in his eyes, her worst fears realized. She’d been caught like an errant child with her hand in the underwear, er, cookie jar.