by Wendy Wax
“Of course,” Renée said. “We used to get to go there after the movies at the Beach Theatre.” She sat forward as something hit her. “We went there the day Dad died, didn’t we?” She held her breath as images that she’d been careful not to think about for so many years rose in her mind, taking her by surprise.
Annelise nodded slowly, her eyes clouded with memory. “We saw Abbott and Costello. Do you remember? It was their version of Jack and the Beanstalk.” Her smile was sad. “And then you took me to look at the barrettes.”
For the first time in sixty-four years, Renée allowed herself to remember. She’d been in a hurry at the store and short with Annelise, wanting to get back to the hotel before John’s lifeguard shift ended.
“I went swimming that morning,” Annelise continued. “Mother made me take a nap because I tried to scare the guests again. But after that we got to go to the movies. And I got two barrettes at the dime store. They were pink and shaped like bows.” Her eyes shimmered with tears. Her lips trembled and Renée remembered how annoyed she’d been at her little sister’s chattering, all the barrettes she’d insisted on trying on, when all Renée had wanted was to go home. But something had happened at the store. Something odd. She stilled as she tried to remember what it was.
A brisk knock sounded on the door yanking her back to the present. Joe Giraldi walked into the conference room.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “No one answered the front door, so I let myself in.”
“Oh. Of course not. Come in. We’ve been sitting here buried in the past,” she said, even as the long-ago images began to recede. “We were just going through our grandparents’ papers and photos. Let me get us all some iced tea.” She went to the kitchen and returned with a tray of iced teas and spoons, then placed a sugar bowl and a small plate of cookies on the table where everyone could reach them.
“Thank you.” The FBI agent stirred sugar into his tea and eyed the photos and papers with interest. But Renée’s mind was flooded with random images of the dime store. She stumbled over the pleasantries as it tried to retrieve and hold on to . . . something.
“So, what did you find out?” Annelise asked Joe softly. “Is there any further information about Heinrich Stottermeir and whether he could have come here?”
“I don’t have anything concrete,” Joe said, settling back in his chair. “Fortunately, a lot of the files from that time have been declassified, so if we get to the right people we have a shot at getting real answers. The retired OSS agent I spoke to recognized his name. Stottermeir seems to have been working for more than one side during the war. When it became clear that Germany was losing, he began funneling information to the allies.” He took a sip of tea.
“Our father was in intelligence,” Renée said. “He was assigned to the American headquarters in Frankfurt.”
“That’s how he met my mother,” Annelise added softly. Her eyes were fixed on the FBI agent.
Joe nodded. “The contact down in Sarasota knew Stottermeir’s handler and is trying to track him down. He thinks he’s somewhere out west. He might be able to tell us whether Stottermeir was in the United States in the years after the war.”
The flood of images had slowed and were now moving in an odd herky-jerky motion like an old film running through an even older projector. Without warning, Renée was hit hard with a freeze-frame of the odd man, the same man Annelise had recalled for the sketch artist. The man she’d recognized. “He was here. I saw him at the dime store.”
“Are you sure?” Joe asked as Annelise looked at her wide-eyed.
Renée nodded. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten him. He was so . . . He looked so out of place.”
“In what way?” Joe’s gaze was fixed on her face.
She closed her eyes, straining to see. The images sped up and unfurled. “He was dressed as if he was a tourist. But something was off. His clothes were too dark for the beach and . . . I don’t know. He had a hat pulled down over his face but he just kept staring at Annelise.”
“At me?” Annelise asked.
“Yes.” Renée swallowed. “Like he was trying to figure something out.” She could feel Annelise’s and Joe’s eyes on her, but that was all she had.
“I tried to trace your mother, too, Annelise,” Joe said carefully. “I looked through what I could find to see if she might have traveled back to Germany. But there’s no indication that happened.”
“I told you.” Annelise’s voice quivered; the childish hurt and anger were back. “She would never have hurt my father. And she never would have just left like that.”
“If she was involved in the intelligence community, which isn’t out of the question, she could have been moved.” Joe said this almost gently. “Or even given another identity. She might not have had a choice.” He reached for a cookie, examined it. Renée sensed he was trying to give them a chance to absorb what he was saying. To shift mental gears. “We don’t really know how your parents met. Or whether there might have been a reason other than mutual attraction that brought them together.”
“Are you saying my mother was a spy?” Annelise asked with that breathless tone that Renée had begun to hope she’d never hear again.
“No,” Joe said. “I have no proof of anything of the kind. I’m just pointing out that there may be far more to this story than your parents would have, or could have, ever shared. Or that we’ll ever know.”
“My mother and father fell in love with each other when he helped her after she got hurt! He stayed in Germany until they let him marry her!” Annelise cried.
Renée slid an arm around her sister’s shoulders, but Joe’s words had her thinking about Ilse. How standoffish she’d been at first, how uncertain she’d seemed even around the man who was her husband. She thought about all the things her father had explained away as the result of Ilse’s losses in the war, the shock of moving to the United States, her difficulty with the English language, how unwelcoming so many people had been. Until Nana had come to her defense.
Could there have been another reason for Ilse’s behavior? Could she have been more than a disoriented young woman who’d survived the war and the loss of her family before coming to America newly married and pregnant by her American soldier husband?
“Was the former agent in Sarasota able to translate the note Renée found?” Annelise asked.
“No,” Joe said. “But Officer Jackson is planning to show it to someone at the sheriff’s office who speaks German.”
She didn’t hear the rest of what Joe Giraldi said. She was too busy examining the puzzle pieces of her family’s past and wondering if there was in fact some other way to fit them together.
Chapter Thirty-five
“God, I looked like an imbecile.” William Hightower unfolded himself from the salon sofa as Kyra raised the remote and turned off the television with an angry snap of the wrist. Do Over: Keys Edition, episode four was now mercifully over.
Her father snorted, but for the first time, wisely said nothing.
“I looked like a nervous schoolgirl,” Avery said. “If Deirdre hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have even been able to make the presentation.” All of them were uncomfortable with having to watch Deirdre brought back to life each week, but Kyra knew it was hardest for Avery. She tried to imagine having to watch her mother this way while bracing for her death. All of them had held their breath during the close-ups of Deirdre, her obvious pride in her daughter clear in her eyes.
“Did you really have to use so many close-ups of Deirdre?” Kyra snapped at Troy. “It’s sick.”
“They weren’t happy with the first edit,” Troy said. “I had to go back in and beef up her screen time.”
“Right.” Just as he’d beefed up the tense but evolving relationship between Deirdre and her daughter. Which came in second only to the close-ups of Dustin.
“And I look
ed like a monumental witch when I called Will out on his behavior,” Maddie said, trying to smooth things over, as always.
“He deserved it,” Nikki said with less than her usual sarcasm.
“I did,” Will acknowledged.
“I chased you out of your own home.” Maddie sounded quite pleased with herself though the shots of this happening during the episode had clearly shown her distress.
“You did,” Will teased. “But that was when I realized just how feisty you were.”
Maddie laughed.
“And you did get us the go-ahead we needed,” Nikki pointed out quietly. Her face had turned a chalky white.
“Only after deviously plying me with lasagna and ice cream,” Will said. “I think that was the first home-cooked meal I’d had in like twenty years.”
“The sauce was from a jar. You still have the taste buds of a teenager,” Maddie pointed out.
William shrugged, not at all offended. “I wish I had time for a little ice cream right now.” His tone and the look he gave Maddie made it clear he was talking about something that could not in fact be scooped out of a container.
Will laughed as Kyra’s mother blushed. Her father looked away.
“But I have to get back to Tampa. We’re doing morning radio and TV to promote the concert. To which I’ve been directed to arrive, and I quote, ‘bright eyed and bushy tailed.’”
“I actually feel sick to my stomach from watching what you and the network did to us.” Kyra glared at Troy, who looked far too pleased with himself.
“You’re not the only one,” Nikki said as one hand fluttered to her throat. “I can’t seem to shake this bug.”
“Well, I think we should just stop watching these episodes,” Avery said. “I mean, what’s the point?”
“It doesn’t matter whether you watch or not. What matters is that a ton of other people want to,” Troy countered.
“Why? Do you get a bonus per humiliation viewed?” Kyra’s patience had begun to evaporate shortly after the opening credits.
“Your Facebook and Twitter are flat. They pop slightly with each episode but that’s not enough. Kim Kardashian has twenty-five million Facebook fans and she doesn’t even do anything. You need to get the paparazzi back here pronto if you want to do your own thing,” Troy said.” Tell them, Will.”
Will’s nod was reluctant. “You’re looking at someone who prefers hiding out on an island”—he winked at Maddie— “though not necessarily alone. But Troy’s right. If you want to do your own thing you have to have plenty of people who want to watch you do it.”
“This is serious,” Troy said very seriously. “You need those paps back even if you have to do something humiliating to get their attention.”
“You are the last person on the planet that I’m about to take advice from,” Kyra snapped. “I still don’t think you’re being honest with us.”
“Think what you want,” Troy snapped back. “It’s your funeral. Or Do Over’s anyway.” With a curt nod he left the salon. Kyra was still staring after him when the pool house light went on.
Avery and Nikki headed upstairs. Kyra stood with her father as her mother walked William to the door. There was a lengthy silence during which she had no doubt they were kissing good night. This was followed by murmurs and quiet laughter.
Her father’s stiff posture and pained expression made it clear he was as aware as she was of the long and intimate good-bye taking place in the foyer. The door finally opened and closed. The bolt was thrown. Kyra could hear her mother humming happily as her footsteps receded up the stairs.
“Dad . . .” she began, alarmed by the sadness etched on his face.
“No. It’s . . . it’s just that I really want to hate him . . . but . . .” He swallowed. “She seems so happy.”
Kyra nodded.
Her father drew a deep breath. “He’ll never be good enough for your mother,” he finally said. “But then as you’ve already pointed out, neither was I.”
Nikki stood naked in front of the bedroom mirror trying to come to terms with what was happening to her body. Her breasts had grown larger and heavier. They’d already been far less perky than they’d once been. Now they sagged pendulously, reminding her of those long-ago National Geographic pictures of topless African women whose primitive tribes had been discovered in a distant jungle. Blue veins were visible on what had once been relatively smooth white skin. Her waist already seemed thicker, and her stomach had begun to round and swell slightly. Even her thighs, which had remained relatively tight due to decades of running, had begun to “relax” unattractively. She could no longer remember the last time she’d had the energy to run, and was afraid to turn around for the back view given how jiggly her bottom already felt.
A knock sounded on the door. She froze.
“It’s Maddie. Don’t even think about not answering.”
Nikki pulled on a robe, then opened the door.
“May I come in?” Maddie asked politely.
“I didn’t think I had a choice,” Nikki replied in a voice so sulky she knew it could not be hers. “Sorry.” She stepped back and opened her palm in invitation. Once Maddie was inside, Nikki closed the door quickly. As if there was a horde of people waiting to push their way inside. “It’s just that I’m always nauseous now. And I never know when I’m going to have to get to a bathroom to either pee or throw up.” She paused to swallow back the bile that once again rose in her throat. “How can they get away with calling it morning sickness when it goes on all day?”
“I’m not sure,” Maddie said. “But it usually disappears after the first trimester.”
“Really?” Was that her voice sounding so desperate?
“Really.” Maddie nodded. “Whatever you want to make people believe, your ‘bug’ needs attention.” She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to Nikki. “This is the address of the OB-GYN practice Kyra used. You need to make an appointment. I’ll be glad to go with you.”
Nikki shook her head. That would make things way too real.
“Or you could ask Joe.”
Nikki didn’t move.
“How did he react when you told him?”
Nikki’s tongue felt as thick as her thighs, as heavy as her breasts. “How did you know he was here?”
“Pass-a-Grille is way too small for secrets.” Maddie looked at Nikki’s frightened white face. “I know he’s got to be excited.”
Nikki remained silent, but it was a miserable and highly uncomfortable silence.
“I refuse to believe you didn’t tell him that he’s going to be a father.”
Nikki remained silent but the disappointment in her friend’s eyes hurt. “I don’t see how this pregnancy is going to end well. I have been pregnant before and there were . . . issues. I don’t have the least confidence that I’m going to carry this . . . pregnancy . . . full term.” She could not bring herself to say the word “baby.” Could hardly let herself think it.
“And I . . . I just couldn’t do it. Not yet.” Possibly not ever.
“Nikki.” Maddie’s voice softened. “You can’t spend your entire pregnancy waiting to lose your child. There are lots of women who have healthy babies in their forties and even fifties. I saw an article recently about a woman in her seventies that gave birth without difficulty.”
“Not me. I’m not cut out for motherhood anyway.” God knew Malcolm was proof of that. “And I still can’t believe this is happening. I’m just going to wait. And if everything goes all right, I’ll figure out some way to tell him.”
“Nikki, you’re not thinking clearly. You . . .”
“And whose fault is that? This . . .” Once again she choked on the word “baby.” “. . . this thing that’s taken over my body and my brain and is barely bigger than a blueberry according to that copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting that yo
u left on my bed. That’s who.” She began to cry piteously. “Everything is just so . . . such a mess.”
Maddie sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Nikki down beside her. She tilted Nikki’s head against her shoulder as Nikki blubbered incoherently. “It’s all right, Nik,” Maddie said. “It’s just the hormones kicking in. You’re going to be fine. And so is the baby. And once you tell Joe . . .”
Nikki cried harder. Maddie hadn’t seen Joe’s face when she’d practically pushed him out the door. He didn’t love her anymore. How could he? She wouldn’t blame him if he never spoke to her again. She cried even more piteously. Nothing, not Maddie’s soothing pats or her comforting words, could stop it. There was so much she had to figure out. There was the money for Do Over. Finding it was her responsibility. And then there was Malcolm. She had to end the threat that he posed to her and to Joe. Somehow she had to find a way to put things right. But she could do nothing but sob like a child.
“Shhhh.” Maddie smoothed back her hair as tears streamed down her face. She could feel her nose running, the snot mingling with the tears. She was beyond pathetic. She simply couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be pregnant. She couldn’t tell Joe. She couldn’t lift her head from Maddie’s shoulder.
“It’ll be all right,” Maddie said again, still stroking her hair. “Really, Nikki, I promise you. Everything will work out fine.”
Nikki wanted to believe her. Really she did. But Maddie always thought everything was going to get better. She insisted on believing that every glass was half full. Nikki had proof to the contrary.
“You’ll see,” Maddie said, having to raise her voice to be heard over Nikki’s sobs. “I’m going to make you a doctor’s appointment. And then you’re going to tell Joe. Joe deserves to know. And I have no doubt he’ll do the right thing.”