by Wendy Wax
Certain that Hightower must have abandoned the pool deck long ago, Maddie smiled down at her grandson and helped him rinse the sand off his hands and face. “Come on, let’s gather up our things and have a picnic.”
After the bright midday sun, the pavilion was dark and cool. The ocean breeze streamed through it. Her eyes were still adjusting when Dustin yelped, “Billyum!” and raced toward a nearby table. Maddie looked up and spotted William Hightower, his long legs crossed at the ankles in front of him.
“Oh, no, Dustin. We don’t want to disturb Mr. . . .”
But Dustin was already settling in the chair next to Hightower, the sandwich she’d allowed him to carry smashed in his fist. He pried the plastic wrap off it and offered a mangled half to William.
“Billyum hand-witch?” Dustin held a smooshed, drooping triangle up to Hightower.
Surprisingly, Hightower was smiling. His eyes lit with amusement. “I hate to eat your lunch,” he said to Dustin before turning to Maddie. “I don’t suppose you have another one of those hand-witches in that bag?” He motioned her to the vacant chair across from him.
She sat. Pulling the beach bag onto her lap, she rummaged through it.
“Here you go,” she said, handing the rock star the equally battered second sandwich, followed by napkins for both of them. “What kind of juice box would you like to go with it? I have apple and grape.”
“Duce,” Dustin said.
“Which one do you like best?” William asked Dustin.
Dustin gave this some thought. “Gwape.”
“I’ll take the apple, please,” he said to Maddie. “My friend here will have the gwape.”
They drank their juice boxes companionably while Maddie tried to process William Hightower’s easy warmth toward Dustin, the unfeigned interest with which he listened to her grandson’s chatter, the way he consumed the mangled peanut butter and jelly sandwich as if he’d never tasted anything better.
“So, does your husband have a problem with you being gone all summer?”
Surprised, she looked up to find William studying her, his dark eyes more intent than his tone.
“Oh, no. My husband doesn’t . . . I mean, my husband has no . . .” Good grief. She stopped talking. The man was just making conversation; there was no need to read anything into it. “What I meant to say is I’m recently divorced. So it’s not really my ex-husband’s concern where I go or for how long.”
William nodded, his expression giving no hint of anything more than idle curiosity. Bemused, Maddie drank in the extraordinary sight of William Hightower chatting easily with her grandson as they finished off their PB&Js and drained every last drop from their juice boxes. A sight she could never have imagined and would most likely never forget.
Chapter Fourteen
Bruce Springsteen’s “Pink Cadillac” boomed in the early evening air, the tune reaching them long before the Nautilimo pulled up to the Mermaid Point dock Saturday night. The floating pink stretch limo, which appeared to have been fused onto a boat hull, had the smooth lines of a vintage Cadillac complete with whitewall tires, a Caddy grille, fins, and a trunk-mounted spare tire. Its T-top, white leather seats, and mahogany dash completed the illusion. Kyra loved it on sight.
The white-bearded captain touched the brim of his straw hat in salute then deftly parallel-parked the floating limo at the dock as if it were a curb. The song continued as the captain bounded out, tied up, and effected a snap to attention. He wore navy shorts over stork legs. His barrel chest was encased in a short-sleeved white T-shirt with painted-on epaulets and skinny blue necktie. A painted gold cord dipped into a faux painted pocket.
“Ladies.” The driver tipped his hat, which was banded with nautical-style ribbon, to Nicole, Avery, Deirdre, Maddie, and Kyra, who had shot his arrival and now filmed them being helped aboard. Troy and Anthony shot from the deck of their houseboat. Hudson and William Hightower had left by boat hours before with no word of their destination.
“SS Nautilimo at your service.” His smile was large and welcoming. His wink was mischievous. “I understand we’re going to do a run up the bay side to the Lorelei, with a return drop-off whenever you’re ready.”
Bruce Springsteen sang on about crushed velvet seats and cruising down the street as the captain handed each of them aboard. Kyra stopped shooting long enough to join her mother on the back bench seat. A life-vested and very excited Dustin sat in his grandmother’s lap.
“Boag!” he said. “Kink Padiback!”
Troy and Anthony jumped off their deck. “Hey, wait up!”
“Sorry, no room,” Kyra called.
“Let’s go,” Nicole said to the driver.
“I could probably squeeze them on.” He nodded to the camera crew as they bounded down the dock, shooting as they came.
“Absolutely not,” Kyra said even as she smiled and waved at Troy and Anthony. “They’ll have to order their . . . own Cadillac . . .” They all sang along with the chorus as the driver pulled away from the dock and headed south. “Or they can follow in the Jon Boat. Or swim. Who knows, maybe the network will send a helicopter. That’s not our problem.”
The captain cut west along the overgrown causeway that no longer connected Mermaid Point to land, then headed south, paralleling U.S. 1, before cutting west under the bridge to the bay. The captain turned down the music and began to point out the highlights.
“If we’d taken the channel east out to the ocean we would have come to Alligator Reef; that’s the historic lighthouse out there that you can see from Mermaid Point. If we were to head south here you’d come to Robbie’s—there’s a marina and shops and a restaurant. And you can take the little one there to feed the tarpon.”
They headed north and began to skirt a series of mangrove-covered islands. “Some of the best flats fishing anywhere is out here. Flats boats can cut in and out since they draw so little water. They use poles to move over the flats. We can’t get quite as close in the Caddy.”
He continued north, pointing out the sights as they went. They passed a marina with docks sticking out into the bay and dry storage off to one side. Another warehouse-sized building rose on the opposite side of a large parking lot. “That’s Bass Pro Shops’ World Wide Sportsman. The sister boat to Hemingway’s Pilar sits in the middle of the floor. You can climb up into it and there’s also a fish tank and all kinds of interesting things mixed in with the fishing gear and tackle and so on. It’s become a real tourist attraction.
“If you want a nightcap on the way back to Mermaid Point we can stop off at the Zane Grey Lounge—it’s a nice watering hole.” He gestured toward the back of the immense World Wide building.
“Or there’s Morada Bay.” He pointed to brightly painted tables and chairs on the beach. Adirondacks were positioned to catch the sunset. A band played on a small stage. “Upscale, but very kid friendly and there’s a full moon party every month.
“That building next to it is Pierre’s—that’s a good bit fancier. Same owner has the Moorings Village across the road on the ocean side. Eighteen villas on eighteen acres. Lots of big-time film shoots on the beach there.”
The stream of information was steady. Kyra panned and zoomed over the bars, restaurants, and sights that their captain pointed out, but mostly she tried to just enjoy the salt-tinged breeze, the waterbirds that took flight from the mangrove-covered islands as they passed, and the sky that was beginning to grow pink above them. And the fact that for the moment, at least, they weren’t being followed.
“There’s the Lorelei over there.” The captain pointed inland to a multitiered grouping of buildings that included what looked like a bar/restaurant built on a dock. An eating area surrounded a thatched hut where some sort of entertainment was in progress. Additional tables and chairs were scattered across a small beach. “A number of well-known backcountry fishing guides go out from the docks behind the rest
aurant, and there’s a live-aboard population here, too. I keep the Nautilimo here.”
He slowed as they entered a small harbor, where ten or twelve small sailboats floated near each other. “Are these anchored here?” Avery asked.
“They’re on mooring balls. People live on them and take dinghies in and out. The mooring balls they’re tied up to belong to the Lorelei and they pay rent each month for the privilege.”
“They just live out here in the middle of the harbor?”
“Mm-hm,” the captain replied. “The Keys are full of people who come here because of the freedom to just . . . be. Others maybe can’t afford much more. You sure can’t beat the view.”
“Why aren’t the boats closer to shore?” Avery asked.
“That’s a water landing strip—you know, for seaplanes and such.” He took them around the beach, where a number of houseboats were tied to land. Old appliances and stray bits of furniture were piled on the ground around them. “Boy, those look even more rickety than ours,” Nicole said.
“And they don’t even have their own port-o-let!” Avery said.
“Who lives there?” Maddie asked.
“It varies. But it’s a cheap way to live—so some of the guys who do manual labor, or those in . . . transition might live this way.” He rounded the houseboats and the mangrove-covered end of the beach.
“Oh, over there’s the library and the playground I told you about,” Maddie said, pointing as they passed the inlet then slowed further to pass between the Lorelei’s parallel lines of docks where boats of varying sizes were tied. A couple and their dog sat on the deck of one, sipping drinks, their attention split between the crowd and the sunset.
“I’ll be up at the bar,” the captain said as he led them off the dock. Tables, all of them filled, covered a railed deck area. In the corner a magician performed on a stage built into the thatched hut. As they watched, the magician tucked a bird into a box and tapped lightly with a wand. The bird disappeared.
Dustin clapped his hands together. His eyes grew big.
“Why don’t you stay and watch with Dustin a little,” Maddie said to Kyra. “We’ll see if we can get a table down on the beach.”
“Okay.” She stayed on the small bridge that spanned a small slice of bay, bracing Dustin on one hip so that he had a clear view of the stage. “Just give me a wave when it’s time to order.”
• • •
The sunset was spectacular, a symphony of pinks and reds that played out before their eyes.
They slipped off their shoes and dug their toes into the cool sand as they wolfed down conch fritters and smoked fish dip, followed by blackened fish tacos and homemade potato chips—all of which was served by an amiable waitress who managed to be both casual and efficient. The magician had finished, much to Dustin’s dismay, and a twentysomething brunette with an hourglass figure sang in a breathy voice as smooth and light as the breeze it rode.
She sang of love and heartache and moving on, and Maddie could have taken any one of her songs as her anthem. That was how she felt—not emancipated in a Gloria Gaynor “I Will Survive” kind of way as she had when she’d first grappled with the decision to end her marriage, but free and light and breathy with possibility.
This time they toasted without prompting, relaxed by the sand beneath their toes, the water that surrounded them, and the star-filled sky that hung over them.
“My good thing is the plans for Mermaid Point,” Avery said, flushed with excitement. “I don’t think even William Hightower will find fault with them.”
“I’m going with that tonight, too,” Deirdre said. “My good thing is being allowed to contribute to those plans. And I agree that not even William Hightower will be able to find fault with them.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Kyra said. “And I’m also glad that we seem to have lost Frick and Frack for the evening.” She held Dustin tightly in her lap. “It’s nice to just be lost in the crowd.”
“I’m glad to be here with you all and in this moment,” Maddie said, a little more fervently than she’d meant to. “I feel like I could sit here forever.”
They raised their glasses and drank their frozen concoctions as the night settled around them and the warm breeze riffled their hair.
“Well, I’m grateful to our captain for springing us from captivity. And my good thing is his . . . ‘pink Cadillac . . .’” Nicole sang the last words in a poor imitation of Bruce Springsteen then pointed at Avery.
“‘Crushed velvet seats . . .’” Avery sang, handing off to Maddie, who chimed in, “‘Riding in the back of a . . .’”
Kyra squeezed Dustin tightly and all of them shouted, “Kink Padiback!”
Maddie laughed, feeling wonderfully light and buoyant. She was still smiling when she excused herself and practically floated up the walkway and over the small bridge in search of the ladies’ room.
Her eyes skimmed right out over the deck, past the bar, then left. She froze briefly at the sight of William Hightower sitting and chatting at a table with Hudson Power.
Hudson’s face lit up when he spotted her. He stood and beckoned her over. William looked up, too, but his dark face was unreadable.
Chapter Fifteen
Determined not to display the nerves she felt in William Hightower’s presence, Maddie forced a smile to her lips and headed to their table. When she greeted them she was pleased that her voice sounded normal with none of the wobble her knees were experiencing. She felt other eyes on her, assessing, wondering. Heads bent together.
“Is it always this packed?” she asked, declining an invitation to sit.
“Mostly, but it’s especially intense right now because it’s tarpon season,” Hudson replied. “Have you ever seen a tarpon?”
“Just in the water at Bud N’ Mary’s. But our Nautilimo captain says we can go to Robbie’s and feed them.”
William grunted in amusement. “It’s a lot more fun to catch them than feed them.”
“Too true,” Hudson said. “Do you like to fish?” he asked Maddie.
“I have no idea. I’ve never really done it.” She hadn’t grown up near a body of water and neither had Steve. On their few beach vacations it had never occurred to either of them. “Unless you count the goldfish I caught by throwing a Ping-Pong ball in his bowl at the fair.” As she recalled, she’d barely dropped him into his new bowl at home before he’d gone belly up and received a flushed-toilet burial.
“Down here we don’t typically fish for pets,” William said drily. “But fishing teaches you a lot about yourself. And a lot of it’s not all that pleasant.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hudson said. “You just don’t like being humbled by a fish.”
“Hey,” William said, “who does? They can be surprisingly devious.”
They laughed, and in that moment William Hightower seemed a little less rock god and a lot more human being.
“Are you sure you won’t sit down and have a drink?” Hudson asked her. His green eyes were warm, his smile easy.
“No, thanks. I’m done.” She looked at the dark liquid in William’s highball glass and wondered what it held. “I’m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”
Will caught her looking and downed the remainder of his drink without comment. She grimaced, realizing he’d probably assumed the comment was aimed at him.
Maddie was about to excuse herself and head back to the others when a man and woman who’d been watching them from a nearby table stood and walked over. The guy had a large beer belly and swayed slightly as they came to a halt. The woman was tall and leggy, but she looked a lot older close up than she had from a distance.
William tensed. His face smoothed into an impersonal mask.
“Hey, aren’t you William Hightower?” the man demanded.
“I am,” Will said, his voice quiet.
“I told you so,” he said to the woman before turning back to Will. “I’m Dan. Me and Vera here are big fans.”
Will smiled slightly, through very tight lips. “That’s nice.”
Vera ran a hand over her bleached blond hair. Her exposed skin—and it seemed to Maddie there was an awful lot of it—was leathered from age and sun. The words “rode hard and put away wet” surfaced in Maddie’s mind.
“Me and Vera are gonna buy you a drink.” Dan waved at the bartender. “Bring Wild Will here another round on me.” He swayed again. “And then we wanna take a picture with you.” His eyes went squinty. “Vera’s had a thing for you for decades, man. Even though she didn’t believe me when I said it was you over here.”
“Thanks.” Will seemed to ignore the insult. “I appreciate the gesture. But I’m all set.” Two guys who’d been drinking at the bar wandered over and aligned themselves behind Will and Hudson. Dan’s eyes, which were already bloodshot, went even squintier. “Just wanna have a fuckin’ drink with you, man.”
William sighed. “I hear you,” he tried one last time. “But I don’t need a drink and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t talk that way in front of the lady.”
“Who—her?” Vera scowled at Maddie. “What’s so special about her?”
Hudson began to stand. Will laid a hand on his arm.
“Here.” Dan shoved his phone at Maddie. “You know how to use one of these?” he asked.
Maddie was slightly better at phone photography than she was at texting, but the guy’s question was clearly rhetorical. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a glint of light. Her chest tightened when she saw that it was a camera lens; somehow Troy and Anthony had arrived and were already set up and shooting. Instinctively, she stepped forward and edged to the right in an effort to shield at least part of William, just as she would have Dustin.
“Okay, we’ll skip the frickin’ drink,” Dan said as if this were a negotiation. “But we’re not leavin’ without a picture.”