by Wendy Wax
Troy set his jaw and followed Steve into the next cottage. Avery turned to Maddie, Nikki, and Kyra. “Why don’t we divide up, start on opposite ends, and work toward each other?” She pulled an extra screwdriver from her tool belt and handed it to Maddie. She handed Dustin a pail. “Will you put all the screws and hardware in this for me?”
Unlike the other males in the group, Dustin grinned happily.
“Last one to the middle makes dinner,” Maddie called over her shoulder as she hurried into the nearest cottage with Dustin right behind her.
Renée sat in her car next to the hotel property that afternoon working up the courage to get out. When she’d finally dragged herself out of the vehicle, she walked slowly through the opening in the hedge, then took her time on the concrete path, following it past the guest cottages, which hummed with activity. She smiled and nodded to everyone who greeted her, but couldn’t quite find the voice to speak or the will to make small talk, as the apartment drew her with the force of a tractor beam.
She paused briefly beside the overgrown hibiscus that had been planted by her grandmother to commemorate the hotel’s opening. It was wild, unkempt, and thick with deep red blooms. If their apartment were going to become part of the “new” Sunshine Hotel, the hibiscus would have to be trimmed. Or perhaps she could take cuttings from it and plant them strategically around the other cottages. Or in the private courtyards that Avery was planning. She might even . . .
Stop stalling. It’s just an empty apartment.
The front door was propped open. The window screens had been removed and the casement and jalousie windows left gaping. There was nothing there that could hurt her. Nothing to be afraid of.
She inched forward. She hadn’t told John she was coming. Hadn’t actually known whether she would or not. She didn’t want to go inside but couldn’t turn away from it, either.
She took another step. Then another. Drawing a last deep breath of air, she stepped inside. Once again the memories washed over her.
She’d stood here just inside the doorway the day that her father had finally come home from the war. It was June 1946; he’d stayed on more than a year working at the American headquarters in Frankfurt and waiting to get permission to marry Ilse so that he could bring her home with him. A choice that her seven-year-old self had bitterly resented. Renée had been wearing her best dress, a bright pink one with polka dots and matching white patent Mary Janes that pinched her toes.
“Look how grown-up you are!” Her father had knelt down and enveloped her in his arms, rocking her back and forth and kissing the top of her head. She’d been okay living with her Nana and Pop Pop, but she’d been so afraid that her daddy wouldn’t come back. Like her mother, who had never come home from the hospital. She’d worried about it even after he wrote her her own letter saying that he was fine and asking what she wanted him to bring her when he came home.
She’d only wanted him. But she’d asked for a doll just to be polite. She had not asked for a new mother who looked like a doll herself with porcelain white skin and china blue eyes and a halo of soft blond hair. So unlike Renée’s own mother who had been tall and dark-haired like Renée. She’d vowed in that moment that she’d do everything right, be the perfect daughter. So that her father would never leave her again.
When Ilse was introduced, she reached a small white hand down to cup Renée’s cheek. “I am so . . . pleased . . . to finally, to meet you,” she said in broken English. “Your father . . . he has talked about you so . . . a lot.” Her blue eyes were gentle and bright. And even though she was only seven, Renée could feel that it was Ilse who was the most frightened. “I thought that I would luff you.”
Renée closed her eyes remembering. People had not liked that her father had brought home someone so patently not like them. To her grandparents’ Jewish friends and hotel guests she was too German, too much a part of all that they’d gone to war to stop. Some of them had thought Ilse stuck up and standoffish. They’d gossiped about the fact that Ilse was already pregnant, but Renée had seen how confusing Ilse found her new life. How hard she’d clung to Renée’s father. The way she’d tremble or cry out when someone or something took her by surprise.
Once again Renée found herself in her parents’ bedroom. Saw her father lying there, his arms and legs akimbo. Saw the blood pooled around his head. The dresser lamp overturned. The sheets strewn across the floor. Had she heard something that night? Had she been up? Had she blocked the memory? Or was she only now wishing that there was one?
She thought about Ilse so quiet and meek, so eager to please. Only fierce if someone she cared about was threatened. She’d been protective of Annelise and of Renée. Determined to find the bridge between the Yiddish words Nana and Pop Pop knew and the German they had been derived from. She’d vowed to speak only English in honor of her new family and country.
Renée closed her eyes and tried to go back. Tried to remember if Ilse had been upset about anything, if her father had seemed worried. If the two had argued. But even now from an adult’s perspective, she could recall nothing that would have caused her stepmother to do her father harm and then run away leaving her five-year-old daughter behind. She would have never left Annelise.
Out on the path she heard Dustin’s squeal of laughter. The sound of metal objects clattering on the concrete.
Something teased at the back of her mind. Something that hung in the air of the apartment, stirred in the dust. Something that she had seen or heard. Something that if she could only remember might allow all of them to finally put the past to rest.
Unsurprisingly, Nikki and Maddie were the last to reach the middle. Due no doubt to Nikki’s lack of energy and skill with tools and the fact that Maddie had Dustin helping her.
“God, that Ray is a fiend,” Kyra said as they exited the van late that afternoon and dragged themselves into Bella Flora. She made an attempt at the designer’s whip snap but her movements were nowhere near as crisp as their slave driver’s.
“Yeah. He’s just lucky we didn’t have the energy for mutiny.” In fact, Nikki felt short of breath and had no energy at all. She used the last bit of it climbing the stairs, pulling off her sweat-soaked clothes and stepping into the shower. Where she stayed until her skin shriveled and the water began to run cold.
Wrapped in her towel she yawned and groaned simultaneously, a sound that was becoming far too familiar and which she might have to trademark. In her bedroom she eyed the bed with real longing before forcing herself to dress and go downstairs.
“I ordered pizza,” Maddie said as Nikki entered the kitchen. “Because the only place I have an ounce of strength left is here.” She held up her index finger.
“Works for me.” Nikki yawn-groaned as she joined Maddie, Kyra, and Avery, who were sitting at the kitchen table in a stupor. Outside, Steve appeared to be asleep on a pool chaise. Troy was tossing Dustin around in the pool.
“I know we should have something green to go with the pizza,” Maddie said. “But I . . . can you guys live with green olives?”
There were nods, but the kind that didn’t require much movement. Nikki looked at the pitcher of iced tea on the table but didn’t have the strength to reach for it.
“I’ve been thinking about Do Over airing. And whether it’s going to help us or hurt us with potential sponsors.” Avery picked up the tea, poured herself a glass, and set the pitcher in front of Kyra. “It’s not too bad, right? I mean, we decided there was no point in torturing ourselves watching it before it aired since there was nothing we could do about it, but . . .”
“I’m not going to lie. You aren’t gonna like it,” Kyra said. “But watching it’s not that much worse than living it.”
Maddie groaned. “Oh, God. I’m not looking forward to seeing myself stutter over Will.”
“Yeah. Well, while you’re watching you can focus on the fact that your days of stuttering around William a
re over and that his record company is sending a private jet to take you to his first comeback concert,” Avery said.
“That’s right,” Nikki said, rousing herself to intercept the iced tea as it made its way to Maddie. “He who laughs last and all that.”
An incoming text dinged on Nikki’s phone. Hoping it was Joe she glanced down, her nerves skittering. But the message was from Malcolm. It read, I have something important to tell you. Come soon. The “or else” was omitted, but Nikki knew it was there. Her mind raced. The skittering became a prickle of fear.
The pizza arrived and Kyra placed the box in the center of the table. “I got an extra-extra large so we’d have leftovers. Half veggie, half meat lover.”
The others helped themselves. Nikki couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from the screen.
“Are you okay?” Maddie asked.
“Hmmm?” Nikki looked up.
“Are you all right?” Maddie repeated.
“I was just thinking,” Nikki replied, sliding her phone into her pocket.
“It did look kind of painful,” Avery said.
“Very funny.” Nikki reached for a slice of pizza more for something to do with her hands than hunger. “No, I . . . I was just thinking I might take Maddie up on her invitation to fly up for Will’s concert. It’s the day after the first episode, isn’t it?” The Butner federal prison was located just outside of Durham, North Carolina, where Will’s group was playing.
“Really?” She felt a stab of guilt at Maddie’s immediate excitement.
“Yes. I have some business I need to take care of near there. And it might be good to have some face time with Bitsy.” This was not exactly a lie.
Maddie shot her a questioning look but said simply, “Sounds great. I’m looking forward to the concert and seeing Will perform and all, but I wouldn’t mind having one of my peeps with me.”
“I wish I could come,” Avery said. “But Enrico’s going to open up the ceiling in the main building to see what’s what and I need to be here.”
Steve came in, a towel tied around his waist, pool water dripping, his movements careful. He helped himself to a piece of pizza, then looked around. “Is this it?” he asked, as if someone might have hidden the rest of the meal.
Nikki kept her mouth firmly shut. Avery reached for her drink. Maddie contemplated her plate.
“It is unless you want to make something to go with it,” Kyra said. “Will you take a piece out for Dustin?”
“Um, sure. Should I take one out for Troy, too?” He said this as if it were a completely novel idea that he was trying on for size.
“That’s a great idea,” Kyra said. “In fact, why don’t you take the rest out with you? Dustin will love the idea of a guys-only picnic.” Not waiting for an answer, she removed the remaining veggie slices onto a plate and placed the pizza box in his hands, piled paper plates and napkins on top of it. “I think there are a few juice boxes in the pool house refrigerator if Dustin gets thirsty.” She escorted her father to the back door and held it open for him.
“Well done,” Nikki said when Kyra returned to the table.
“Masterful,” Avery added.
“You’re definitely getting the hang of it,” Maddie agreed.
“But that’s how I handle Dustin,” Kyra protested.
“Yes, exactly.” Maddie smiled.
“I wish someone had told me that when I was married to Trent,” Avery said. “He didn’t act much older than Dustin, either.”
Nikki tried to imagine managing Joe Giraldi like one might a toddler and failed. Then she wished she hadn’t thought of him at all. Because it hurt like hell—way more than her body did after the day they’d spent at the Sunshine Hotel.
A silence fell as they finished their dinner, lost in their own thoughts.
Nikki yawned and didn’t care in the least if it sounded more like a groan. “I don’t think I’m going to have the strength to come up with a good thing tonight.”
“Me, neither,” Avery said on a yawn of her own.
“Doesn’t matter,” Maddie said, yawning in turn. “Sunset’s after eight P.M. tonight. Nobody at this table looks like they’re still going to be awake then.”
“You’ve got that right,” Nikki said, trying but not succeeding to hold back a gigantic and noisy yawn. “I just hope I can find the strength to make it back up the stairs.”
Chapter Twenty-four
As if yet another long, hot day of manual labor wasn’t enough, the time had come to watch the first episode of Do Over: Keys Edition. Avery had tried to lose herself in the work, but had not been able to dispel the dread that had dogged her. The butterflies that had fluttered madly in her stomach all day were still at it when Bella Flora’s doorbell pealed. She made it to the foyer before it stopped ringing, threw her arms around Chase and Jeff, and led them back to the salon. With Dustin in bed, Kyra and Maddie were setting out snacks that Avery could not imagine eating. Steve was ensconced in the recliner, and Nikki had carved out a section of the sofa. Troy was there looking far too eager for Avery’s liking.
The men helped themselves to food and waited expectantly. Maddie, Nikki, and even Kyra wore the same wary expression she could feel stretching across her own face, the sort a passenger in a speeding car might wear while trying to come up with the position that might allow them to survive the crash.
“How much alcohol are we going to need for this?” Avery asked, wondering if alcohol would slow the butterflies or maybe even put them to sleep.
“I’m not sure,” Kyra said. “Are we talking hard liquor or wine and beer?”
“Great.” Avery closed her eyes and took what she hoped would be a calming breath. “I was thinking wine. How many glasses do we need?”
Hands shot up, some more desperately than others. Maddie stood. “Let me help you.”
“Thanks.” Avery took three bottles of wine from the bar fridge, clutched them to her chest, then managed to tuck a liter of tequila beneath one arm while Maddie loaded a tray with wineglasses and a stack of shot glasses.
Chase relieved Avery of her load. “I didn’t realize we were going to need quite so much fortification.”
“The tequila is just in case of emergency,” she said in as flip a tone as she could manage. “I’m thinking it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Troy snorted, then attempted to camouflage it with a cough. He raised his video camera to his shoulder but Kyra moved in quickly. “Here.” She swapped her camera for his. “You can shoot with mine tonight. So you don’t accidentally forget whose side you’re on.”
“As if you’d let me,” Troy said.
“This way there’s no question who the video belongs to.” She held his gaze. “Because I’ll be deciding what we use and what needs to be deleted.”
The set of his jaw telegraphed his displeasure. It took him several long moments to rein in his irritation.
Good, Avery thought. Now it was his turn to think before he acted. Just as they’d been forced to do ever since the network had turned the cameras on them.
The wine was poured. The tequila and shot glasses were placed within easy reach, kind of like a fire extinguisher behind glass hung next to the axe required to access it. Chase retrieved the beers he’d brought and offered them to Steve and Troy.
Too soon a brief teaser for Do Over played on-screen.
“I just want to go on record as saying that I was only following orders. And there wasn’t much in the way of wiggle room,” Troy said during the opening commercials.
“It’s a little late for excuses now,” Kyra said. “And I think the word ‘slither’ sounds way more appropriate than wiggle.”
“I’m just saying I shot what I was told to shoot. And I edited what I was told to edit. This was not my baby.”
Oh, God. Even as she told herself not to panic, Avery picked up the tequil
a, poured herself a healthy shot, and downed it.
Then the Do Over theme music was playing. There was an establishing shot of Bella Flora, which dissolved into a shot of them sitting in this very room on Christmas Day. A lit tree stood in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Crumpled wrapping paper and opened presents were strewn all around it as a narrator’s voice set up the scene and the situation.
A shot of Kyra with Dustin in her lap filled the frame. Her hands were clasped around his stomach as he twirled the propeller of a wooden toy helicopter. The camera panned over to Avery. Her face looked huge as she licked her lips and then tore open the flap of an envelope. As they all looked on expectantly her eyes skimmed the card she’d extracted from the envelope. She could still remember how her hand had trembled as her screen image read, “Your next Do Over will start in May. When you turn the home of an extremely high-profile individual into a bed-and-breakfast.” There was a cutaway to the rest of them trying to figure out just how high profile that person might be. And then Avery was full frame again as she continued. “That home . . .” Her screen self flipped the card over and hesitated as if waiting for a drumroll. “. . . is located somewhere in the Florida Keys.”
The tequila she’d downed did nothing to prevent Avery’s gasp as the shot of Deirdre filled the screen. Her mother’s voice was wry, her expression challenging as she said, “Has anyone else noticed that we’re going to be on another barrier island in the middle of hurricane season?”
Before Avery could blink, let alone pour and drink another shot, the video cut to their arrival at Bud N’ Mary’s Marina in Islamorada. Shots of fishing boats coming in and disgorging their anglers were followed by shots of deckhands skinning and fileting the catch while other anglers posed in front of really big fish that had clearly not gotten away.
All of them were standing on the docks when Hudson Power, a longtime fishing guide and friend of the homeowner they’d be working for, arrived by boat to pick them up. Which was when they discovered that their renovation was going to take place on an island, as in only reachable by water.