One Good Thing

by Wendy Wax

  • • •

  Kyra inhaled the sharp salt air blowing off the water as she and Maddie pushed Dustin’s jogging stroller north over the sidewalk that rimmed Tampa Bay. The day was sunny, the temperature in the low seventies, the sky an exquisite shade of blue. They were on their way to Franklin Realty to pick up the minivan that her father had borrowed for a showing.

  Dustin clapped his hands in delight each time a boat sped across the glassy water and called friendly greetings to the fishermen they passed. It was one of those gorgeous winter days when you knew just how lucky you were to be in Florida and felt duty bound to make the most of it.

  “If Dad’s going to be showing real estate regularly, he’s going to need a car.” Steve’s car had died in Bella Flora’s driveway and finally been towed away for scrap. At the moment all three of them were sharing the minivan and occasionally borrowing Nikki and Joe’s SUV, when the Giraldis weren’t using it.

  They lingered at the historic Merry Pier at the eastern end of Eighth Avenue so that Dustin could watch the Miss Pass-a-Grille come into port and the Shell Key Shuttle depart. Water slapped lightly against the seawall. Pelicans perched on pilings, keeping a sharp eye out for an afternoon snack.

  They passed the small Vina del Mar Bridge, the Pass-a-Grille Women’s Club, and next to it, the St. Petersburg Yacht Club at Pass-a-Grille, where Roberto Dante had tied up his houseboat while they worked on the Sunshine Hotel. After that came the mostly large, mostly renovated homes that lined the bay on their right. Across the narrow, two-lane Pass-a-Grille Way, a network of tiny streets and alleys led to the beach.

  At Twenty-fifth Street they walked the short block to Franklin Realty, which was housed in a white clapboard bungalow. The trusty beige-gold minivan sat outside.

  “John! Neh Nay!” Dustin broke into a smile as Kyra parked the stroller near the front steps then unbuckled her son. He clambered up the steps and across the wooden porch and reached for the doorknob.

  “Anees!” Renée Franklin’s younger sister, Annelise Handleman, sat at the front desk. Dustin offered her one of his endless supply of sunny smiles and she smiled back, something that never would have happened before their renovation of the Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club brought closure to the childhood tragedy that had derailed her life.

  “Dustin!” she replied with an enthusiasm that matched Dustin’s. “I’m willing to bet Renée’s already headed back to the kitchen to look for a cupcake for you.”

  “Cutcake!” His smile grew larger.

  “Can I take him into the kitchen for a snack?” she asked. “John and Steve are in the conference room, but it’s fine to go on in. Oh, and I hope you all will sign up for the Sand Castle Showdown. You can enter as a family or on your own.”

  Annelise and Dustin headed to the kitchen while Kyra followed Maddie into the next room. It was here that they’d signed the papers to sell Bella Flora to a then-unknown buyer, only finding out later that Daniel had purchased it for her and Dustin. Even thinking about how she’d put their safe haven at risk caused an all too familiar ache of dread.

  “Welcome.” The ruff of white hair that circled John Franklin’s otherwise bald scalp resembled a crown of cotton balls. His bassett hound face lifted in a smile. Her father sat beside him. He, too, was smiling.

  “How’d it go?” her mother asked.

  “Good,” Steve said. “Better than good actually. They want to put in an offer on the house in Belle Vista.” His smile carried a hint of confidence that had been missing since he’d lost everything, including his position as a financial advisor, to Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme.

  “That’s so great, Dad. Congratulations!”

  “It is, isn’t it?” John beamed. “I think Steve here’s going to do well in real estate. And I’m glad to have new blood in the office.” John had lived in Pass-a-Grille since God was a boy and had sold and resold much of the real estate in its two-and-a-half-square miles. But he was somewhere in his late eighties and moved more slowly than he had when they’d first met him a little over three years ago. “But we are going to have to put a much more concerted effort into selling the Sunshine cottages and beach club memberships. I know we all counted on recouping our money far more quickly than looks likely. And I can’t help worrying about what could happen if Kyra’s unable to service her loan.”

  Kyra stiffened in her seat. Her father, who was the only other person aware of what she’d done, winced. Her mother looked understandably confused. Kyra tried to catch the Realtor’s eye. He rightfully assumed that she’d told everyone about the loan she’d taken out against Bella Flora and that he had guaranteed. Because, of course, she should have.

  “Daniel’s been very generous,” Maddie said. “I can’t imagine he would ever want to take Bella Flora away from Dustin or Kyra.”

  John looked at Maddie in surprise.

  Kyra shook her head as subtly as she could. Not certain that he’d noticed or understood, she jumped up. “Of course Daniel wouldn’t take the house. That wouldn’t make any sense at all.” This was true, but not an actual admission that the money hadn’t come from Daniel as she’d let everyone believe. Unsure how to prevent John from spilling her secret, she blathered on. “I know you’re the real estate person, John, but are there ways we could all help? I could amplify whatever you’re doing online and through social media. And, I don’t know, what if we helped give tours during Annelise’s Sand Castle Showdown? Or raffled off a beach club membership or a weekend stay in one of the furnished models?”

  Kyra felt her mother’s gaze on her and knew she’d telegraphed more of her panic than she’d meant to. She almost wept with relief when John nodded then grasped his cane to steady himself as he stood.

  “Yes, Steve and I will have to sit down and come up with a comprehensive marketing plan now that he’s available on a full-time basis.” John speared Kyra with a look. “There’s no question we need to focus our energies on selling the cottages and memberships. And it’s even more important to make sure everyone understands exactly what’s at risk if we don’t.”

  “Yes. Absolutely,” Kyra said though she had no idea where she was going to find the courage to confess what she’d done at this late date. Her smile felt forced as she gathered up Dustin, who was now happily smeared with icing, said good-bye, then loaded the stroller and Dustin into the minivan. As they headed north to pick up groceries and work their way through her mother’s carefully laid out list of errands, Kyra ran through possible explanations and best-case/worst-case scenarios in her mind. But no matter how many times she thought it through, she couldn’t figure out how she could possibly explain the reality of the situation without sending everyone into an irreversible state of shock.

  • • •

  Cradling Sherlock in her arms, Bitsy opened the door of the one-bedroom model to Avery and Ray Flamingo at exactly three P.M. Avery wore jeans, a white button-down, and a pair of sneakers. A curly blond bang fell across her forehead and over one bright blue eye, cementing her resemblance to a Kewpie doll. Ray nodded a head of spiky blond hair and was immaculate in billowy winter white pants, a loose pale blue cotton sweater, and a smart pair of oxfords. He looked as if he could have walked the catwalk for Ralph Lauren or posed for a Florida winter vacation campaign.

  “Come on in.” Sherlock propped his muzzle on Bitsy’s arm as she stepped back so they could enter. In this one-bedroom unit, three was definitely a crowd.

  “So,” Ray Flamingo said.

  “So,” Avery said uncomfortably.

  Bitsy watched their faces as she braced for the coming conversation. But she was remembering the architects and designers that Bertie had retained during the three-year renovation of their Palm Beach estate. How he had loved the entire experience down to the tiniest decisions about finishes and fixtures while she, who had always lived opulently, had simply been happy to see him so happily engaged. When the house was finished, he’d s
pent another year redoing the grounds and then another six months on the pool house. He’d seemed so attached. And yet he’d had no difficulty leaving their home or her behind.

  “So I don’t see how Sherlock and I can possibly live comfortably in a space this small.”

  Bitsy motioned to the corner in which a pile of luggage reached halfway to the ceiling, the small dinette in front of the window, the extremely compact kitchen. A love seat, a chair, and a television on a wheeled stand were the only other furnishings.

  “What do you feel is missing?” Avery asked.

  “Seriously?” Bitsy looked to see if she was joking. “You mean other than space?”

  “Right,” Ray said. “Other than that?”

  “Well, I’d say storage, but that’s really the same thing, isn’t it? I have only half of what I brought and even that doesn’t fit in here. And realistically how many people could be in here at one time?” She looked at Ray and Avery then into Sherlock’s big brown eyes. “There are three of us and one dog and I’d say we’re at capacity.”

  “So you’re concerned about entertaining?” Avery asked.

  “Well, no, not really. But being able to breathe if someone stopped by would be nice.”

  “Do you anticipate overnight guests?” Ray asked.

  “Well, no. Not really.” One would have to have friends for that. The few she had left lived here. If Bertie showed up, she’d carve him into pieces and let him go sleep with the fishes. “There’s just not enough room.” Certainly not for someone who’d always considered a twenty-thousand-square-foot home cozy and a hotel suite under five thousand square feet not worth bothering with.

  “You know it can be incredibly freeing to live in a really tiny space,” Avery said with feeling.

  “For who?” Bitsy asked. “Squirrels? Hummingbirds?”

  “For people,” Ray said quite earnestly. “There’s a whole tiny house movement going on in this country right now.”

  She looked at the two of them, but they didn’t seem to be joking.

  “If it swept through Palm Beach, I missed it,” Bitsy said drily. “But perhaps it cut a very tiny swath.”

  “Yes, well, there are books and television programs about it,” Avery said, undeterred. “I watched one show where a family downsized so that they’d be forced to spend more time together.”

  “I saw that one,” Ray said. “It was a couple with three children and they were looking for five hundred square feet—one hundred square feet per person.”

  “You’re joking.” It was not a question.

  “Honest.” Avery raised one hand as if to make a pledge. “The one-bedroom cottages are about four hundred and fifty square feet. That gives you and Sherlock two hundred square feet each. Plus you could have another small dog or two.”

  “Or half a person,” Bitsy said. Neither of them laughed.

  Avery looked at Ray, then back at Bitsy. “I’m sorry, but this is our only real option. The unit’s small, but we could maximize the space so that you could use it as a full-time residence.”

  Ray nodded enthusiastically. “We’ve talked it over and we have a two-pronged approach.”

  “I’m not sure two prongs will fit in here,” she said.

  They smiled, but continued with determined smiles. Ray handed her a pamphlet-size paperback. It was titled The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. “It’s a bestseller. It’s all about the emotional advantages as well as techniques for freeing yourself of unnecessary objects.”

  She’d already been forced to give up the Palm Beach estate, several vacation homes, and thousands of undeveloped acres, not to mention her whole life. She’d pared and packed her possessions into a pile of suitcases. She was a bag lady whose bags carried designer logos. Surely that was freeing enough? “And prong two?” she asked dully.

  “I design the space so that every single inch does double or triple duty,” Avery said. “I’ve already started sketching. When you approve the plan, we start building it out. You, Maddie, Kyra, and me—and maybe Chase if he has time—should be able to handle it. I’m sure I can get Robby to update the plumbing and Chase’s electrician to sign off on the electrical. It could be fun.”

  Clearly their perceptions of what qualified as enjoyment differed greatly. But Bitsy only nodded numbly as she tried to process her shocking new reality.

  “Then I come in and make it absolutely gorgeous,” Ray said with a smile.

  Sherlock raised his head and looked at them in disbelief as they looked at Bitsy, waiting for her answer. She wanted to tell them they were out of their minds. That she couldn’t possibly live in what sounded like an excruciatingly small, completely stationary mobile home. But what choice did she have?

  Bitsy reached deep into the hollow place inside her for what she hoped was a smile and some modicum of gratitude for what they were attempting to do for her. But there were no words in there. At least none that wouldn’t be accompanied by tears. So she remained silent and let Sherlock do the whimpering for her.

  Seventeen

  Maddie stood in front of the bathroom mirror and tried to make peace with the woman who stared back. She’d never had Nikki’s strikingly elegant bone structure or the blond, blue-eyed pertness that Avery claimed caused people to talk down to her. She had once looked like Kyra—long limbed and fresh faced with even features and a mass of dark hair. She still felt that way deep inside, but even a quick, unintentional glimpse in a shiny surface proved that her interior and exterior were no longer in sync.

  She raised her chin and forced herself to look. No matter how carefully she tilted her head or narrowed her gaze, a slightly overweight, fifty-two-year-old woman whose roots needed coloring and whose face cried out for Botox and an industrial-strength moisturizer stared back.

  She closed her eyes then opened them quickly hoping to see herself as Will professed to. But her wattle neck and blurred jaw were still there. And were those gray hairs in her eyebrows? It was a relief when a knock sounded on the bathroom door.

  “Mom?” Kyra called out. “I’m taking Dustin down to the beach. Nikki’s in the foyer bathroom. She’s . . . she’s been in there a really long time.”

  “Is she all right?” Maddie whipped open the door. “I didn’t hear her ring the bell.”

  Kyra shrugged apologetically as she pulled the bell from behind her back. “Sorry. I just couldn’t take listening to it anymore.” She handed the bell to Maddie. “Joe is coming back, isn’t he?”

  “Of course he is. He’s been checking in every day, but there’s been some problem with the witness he was supposed to escort back.” His return had, in fact, been pushed back twice now. Each time, Nikki, who had always been so independent, became that much more fearful and needy. “Just give me a minute to finish dressing then I’ll go down and check on her.”

  Five minutes later she stood outside the guest bathroom. “Nikki?” she called through the door. “Are you all right?”

  A loud sob floated back in answer.

  “Nikki?” Worried, she twisted the knob. Finding it unlocked, she pushed the door open. “Nikki are you . . .” She halted. Clad in a full-length robe, her feet in sport socks, Nikki sat on the closed toilet lid sobbing into a tissue. “Oh, God, I thought your water had broken. I thought you’d gone into labor.” All the things she’d been expecting to happen when she was least expecting it poured from Maddie’s mouth. She’d been acting calm for Nikki’s sake, but she held her breath every time Nikki’s blood pressure was measured and was constantly worried that something would go wrong. Nikki wasn’t the only one desperate for Joe’s return. “I thought you’d—”

  “I’m never going into labor,” Nikki said. “It’s just a cruel hoax to make me feel better about getting so huge, isn’t it?”

  “No, of course not. We’ve all seen the sonogram. You’re having these babies, Nikki. And it’s going to happen when it ha
ppens whether Joe’s back or whether you think you are or aren’t ready. When it’s time for them to come out, they’ll come. There’s no stopping Mother Nature.”

  Gently, she led Nikki down the central hallway to the salon. There she smoothed the sheets and plumped the pillows then helped Nikki back into bed.

  “He’s never coming back, I know it. I’ve scared him away. And, oh God, who could blame him? I look like a beached whale. I can’t carry on a conversation. I know the longer they’re inside, the better, but I’m scared to death that something’s going to go wrong. I want them to come out so I can be sure they’re okay.” She sobbed as Maddie pulled a sheet up over her. “I just want it all to be over.”

  “Shhh.” She smoothed Nikki’s hair. “It’s all right. It’s normal to feel all those things. But feeling them doesn’t make them so. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Nikki looked up through her tears like a child desperate to believe there was no bogeyman under her bed.

  “And you know Joe hasn’t run away. He’s on assignment, but he’s poised to fly back at a moment’s notice if he’s not already on his way when you go into labor.”

  Nikki’s tears slowed as she sniffled and dabbed at her eyes.

  “Really, Nikki. It’s okay. We’re here for you and Joe will be back soon.” Unlike William, whom she hadn’t heard from since he’d pointed out that she was not, in fact, living her own life but taking care of and living through others’.

  Nikki snuffled. Maddie resisted the urge to join in.