by Wendy Wax
Although she was ashamed of herself the moment she did it, she rolled her eyes at him. “Are you serious? The only person who doesn’t seem to be aware of your feelings for Kyra is Kyra. And that’s no one’s fault but your own.”
He shook his head sadly. “I guess it’s a little late to be asking for advice now.” He cocked his head. “Unless you happen to have some?”
“I’m really not sure what to offer unless you’re prepared to walk in there right now and tell her exactly how you feel about her.”
His face reflected his horror at the suggestion.
Men could be such emotional cowards. She thought again of Will and retracted the thought. Emotional cowardice was not only a male prerogative.
“Well, then. If honesty is out, I suggest you say a pleasant good-bye, add a compliment or two, and make sure that if your paths cross again, you avoid picking a fight right off the bat.”
“Got it.” Troy stepped over to the playhouse and crouched down to Dustin’s height. “See you later, pal.”
“Have to go, Broy?” Dustin threw his arms around Troy’s neck and hugged him tightly. Troy hugged him back. Finally, Troy stood and ruffled Dustin’s hair. “You be good, you hear?” There was a sniff and Maddie wasn’t sure which one of them it came from.
With a final nod, Troy turned to go. He did not walk into the house to say good-bye or anything else to Kyra, but headed past the garage to the driveway. Moments later his car engine revved and Troy Matthews was gone.
Maddie spent the rest of the morning watching Dustin and trying to keep Nicole entertained. She made “handwitches” for lunch, then waved good-bye to Kyra, who hadn’t so much as mentioned Troy’s name as she wheeled the jogging stroller that held the now-drowsy Dustin down the bricked drive. Maddie was tidying the kitchen when Gabriella Giraldi arrived bearing a pan of manicotti and a loaf of Italian bread that was still warm from the bakery oven. Joe Senior carried a trifle bowl of tiramisu and a disposable pan of eggplant parmesan.
“I don’t know how you create all this fabulous food in that motel kitchen,” Maddie said as she made room for the Giraldis’ offerings in the refrigerator. “But we are all extremely grateful. Would you like to come over for dinner tonight and share some of it with us?”
“No, thank you,” Gabriella said. “We’re heading over to Disney World for a couple of days. I’ve been feeling that our presence is not altogether relaxing for Nicole, and we’ll only be an hour-and-a-half away if you need our help or she should go into labor. Although I have a feeling she’s going to make it at least another two to three weeks, which is good for the babies, if not her patience.
“I think she feels Joe has deserted her, and he tells me that when he is able to call, she’s always sleeping. And that she hasn’t yet called him back.”
Maddie squirmed slightly under Gabriella’s regard. She had tried more than once to convince Nikki to speak with Joe, but Nikki had so far resisted. “I’m sure they’ll work things out when Joe gets back,” she said. “Any idea when that will be?”
Gabriella shook her head. “I know he’s frustrated by how this case has drawn out, and of course, he’s hurt that Nikki doesn’t seem to understand, but . . .” She shrugged. “It’s not really my place to instruct either of them on their relationship.” She looked to her husband. “Or so Joe here keeps telling me. We’re going to give her a little breathing room.” She turned her back on Joe Senior and lowered her voice. “But we would all appreciate it if you would encourage her to pick up and speak to him next time. In my experience, it’s better to have an argument, and get things out in the open, than not to speak.”
At Maddie’s nod, Gabriella gave Maddie a hug then took her husband by the arm. “We’ll just go in and have a quick visit with Nicole and then we’ll be off.” She mouthed a last “thank you” before heading into the salon.
Maddie whirled through the kitchen, wiping and straightening. And thinking about the advice she’d given Troy as well as her collaboration with Gabriella on Joe and Nikki’s relationship. Listening to others and offering advice was so much easier than examining your own feelings and issues, especially when they were as muddled as hers seemed to be.
She opened the refrigerator and began to toss items that had passed their expiration dates while rearranging the things that remained. Was it enough to play housemother at Bella Flora, to spend time with her grandson, fuss over Nikki, cook meals, do laundry, serve as her ex-husband’s unpaid advisor/therapist? How much had her life really changed? She yanked the now bulging trash bag out of its container and dragged it outside. And how did you go after something when you didn’t actually know what you wanted?
She and Will hadn’t spoken since the call in which he’d pointed out far too truthfully that she was not, in fact, working on her own life but still living for others. Was she going to let their relationship die because she lacked the courage to initiate a conversation with him? Wasn’t it better to argue and get things out in the open as Gabriella had suggested than to let them fester?
Her subconscious reared its ugly, negative head as she stuffed the bag into the outside trash can. She shouted it down, too worked up to listen.
Was “being there” for William any different than taking care of everyone else? And what was wrong with taking care of others, if it gave you pleasure? Did it give her pleasure? Or had she just gotten used to her role as caregiver?
She stomped out to the seawall and stared out over the pass. Was going on the road the only way she could have William? It would probably be more fun than what her life had boiled down to at the moment. But why did it have to be one or the other? Wasn’t there some middle ground? And why was she waiting to hear from him when she missed him so much?
A boat went by and then another. All of them were filled with people out having a good time. Her subconscious raised its hand, but she did not call on it. She was tired of thinking and debating. She hit speed dial and lifted the phone to her ear. She would discuss this with William. They were both adults. Adults who wanted to spend time together. They could figure it out. His voice sounded in her ear and she took a deep breath, finally prepared to tell him exactly how she felt. Which was when she realized that it was not Will, but a recording. Asking her very politely to leave a message at the sound of the tone.
Nineteen
“Thanks for coming by.” Nikki managed to push herself up against the pillows so that she was closer to sitting than lying.
“It’s good to see you.” Bitsy smiled politely, if tentatively. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. At least for someone doing such a convincing impersonation of a beached whale.”
“It must be hard lying there twenty-four/seven,” Bitsy said. But she did not come closer nor did she contradict the whale comparison.
“Yeah. I mean, there are those scintillating visits to the bathroom and the brief moments of ecstasy breathing fresh air out on the loggia.” She looked out the window with real longing, unable to believe how cavalier she’d been about being able to walk, get out of bed, leave the house, drive a car. It was a gorgeous afternoon to be out on a boat, or walking on the beach, or even sitting in the sunshine like any other inhabitant of the state of Florida. “I’ll never take being able to move or breathe fresh air for granted again.” She planted her elbows in an effort to sit up straighter. Sherlock whimpered and buried his muzzle in Bitsy’s shoulder. Bitsy shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. “You look like you’re ready to flee at any moment,” Nikki said, noting their distance. “Have I been that awful?” She swallowed. “I seem to be driving everyone away. Joe’s still in California. The Giraldis have gone to Orlando. Even Troy left, though I’m pretty sure that wasn’t my fault.”
“Not awful exactly. But you have been a little . . . volatile.”
Nikki groaned in embarrassment. “Please sit down. I promise not to lunge at you. And I’m pretty sure I’m
not going to bite.”
Bitsy smiled and sat, but she still held Sherlock protectively in her arms, the better to make a strategic retreat or a hasty exit. Nikki vowed to behave like a perfectly normal human being whether she felt like one or not. “So,” she said, appalled to realize how long it had been since she’d asked about anyone else. “How are things with you?”
“Well, let’s see.” Bitsy settled back in the chair. “I’m trying really hard to make the mental adjustment from being married to someone I loved to being abandoned by someone I’d like to hunt down and kill while adjusting from living in twenty thousand square feet to four hundred and fifty. But Avery’s working on making the most of that space, so I guess it’s no big deal, right?” Her smile was weary. “And I’ve gone from never thinking about a life plan to wishing I had a kick-ass résumé or actually any résumé that included one or two recognizable job skills.”
Nikki looked carefully at Bitsy, noting the strained smile, the hollowed cheekbones, the pinpoint of panic in her eyes. Nikki knew exactly how it felt to lose everything, including life as she’d known it, and while she had built quite a lot from the poverty in which she’d begun, Bitsy had fallen much farther. And the person who’d pushed her off the ledge had been a husband rather than a brother.
“As I recall, you do have a degree from Harvard. In finance, right? It was on the questionnaire you filled out for Heart, Inc.”
“Yes,” Bitsy said quietly. “But I never really used it. It always felt wrong to go after a job that someone else might really need. And however horrible this is going to sound, being a Fletcher was pretty much a full-time job.” She stroked Sherlock’s head absently. “Honestly, I’m glad my parents aren’t here to see how badly I’ve mucked everything up. I’m going to go down in the annals of history as the Fletcher who lost the family timber fortune.”
Nikki felt a gut kick of guilt at how focused she’d been on her own fears and issues when Bitsy was dealing with such staggering realities. Or maybe it was just Little Girl 1 and Little Girl 2 battling it out for more square footage. “I’m so sorry you’re dealing with all of this, Bitsy. And even sorrier that I haven’t been paying attention. Have you looked into hiring a private detective to find Bertie and drag his ass back?”
“Believe me, I fantasize about it on a daily basis. But I’m going to have to find a job first. I can’t believe I’m actually admitting this, but I have zero income, and what little cash I have is, well, let’s just say feeding myself and Sherlock is all I can manage right now.”
“We could put together a résumé highlighting your real-world skills,” Nikki said.
“Which are, what? Party planning? Fund-raising?” Bitsy closed her eyes, her voice signaling defeat.
“Yes! Those are marketable skills in the corporate world. There are successful party planners who make serious money,” Nikki countered. “And fund-raising? That’s what companies call development.”
“I have raised a lot of money for a variety of nonprofits,” Bitsy said. “And I do know how to handpick committee members and get the most out of a group of volunteers. Oh, and I’ve handled publicity and marketing for a number of events.”
“Those are executive skills and talents that could be invaluable to the right entities.”
“Do you really think so?” Bitsy asked, her expression hopeful but dubious.
“I do. And maybe we could tap into some of those skills on a much smaller and more personal scale.” She studied Bitsy and tried not to dwell on the fact that she and the rest of the Do Over team were currently more unprofitable than pretty much any nonprofit. “Would you be willing to help out with the upcoming Sand Castle Showdown?”
Bitsy’s bark of laughter startled Sherlock. He lifted his head, cocking it quizzically as if to identify the unfamiliar sound. “The Sand Castle Showdown?”
“All of us put up money to help fund the renovation of the Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club because we thought that would allow us to shoot our own version of Do Over and fight the network’s lawsuit. Kyra put in the most. She hasn’t come out and said so, but I think Daniel loaned her the money. The problem is the only cottage that’s sold so far is Joe’s.” She paused, realizing that although he’d bought it for them, she still thought of it as his. For the first time she wondered why she’d always resisted his urge to merge them into one. Was it a simple fear of being hurt? A lack of trust? Or an assumption that she was somehow not a person that anyone like Joe would ever really commit to?
“And while the number of beach club memberships has grown, it’s building at a turtle’s pace. We’re only a few blocks from the Don. Their club membership is considerably more expensive, but it includes way more amenities and perks.”
“I noticed all the empty cottage shells,” Bitsy said. “And I’ve barely seen anyone on the property looking at them.”
“The Sand Castle Showdown was meant to be a marketing event—to call attention to the hotel and beach club—and to bring people on the property. But Annelise isn’t feeling well and nothing much seems to be happening. We could really use your help.” Nikki’s phone rang. She glanced down at the screen and saw Joe’s face and number. She swallowed and looked away.
“Do you need to answer that?” Bitsy asked.
“No. I—”
“Yes, she does,” Maddie said as she sailed into the room carrying a glass of juice, which she set on the bedside table. She picked up the still ringing phone and held it out to Nikki.
“No. Not . . . now. Please.”
“He deserves to have his calls answered, Nikki.”
“Then you answer,” Nikki said. “And tell him I’m sleeping.”
“Sorry. You look pretty awake to me and you can’t keep avoiding him.” Maddie lifted the phone to her ear. “Hi, Joe. How are you? Good.” She smiled and nodded amiably. “Yes, she is awake. In fact, she’s sitting right here. Hold on just a second.” She extended the phone toward Nikki.
Nikki shook her head and mouthed the word “No.” She felt Bitsy’s eyes on her and flushed with embarrassment, but Nikki’s anger at Joe’s leaving had gotten all muddled with her fear and insecurity. The longer he’d been gone, the harder it had become to imagine talking on the phone and acting as if everything was fine. Admitting to herself that she bore a lot of the responsibility for the distance between them didn’t mean she was ready to open herself up to the kind of conversation it might take to fix things.
She shrank back into the pillows, at least as much as someone her size could “shrink,” but Maddie had that look on her face. That motherly I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself-now-do-what’s-expected-of-you look that she couldn’t imagine ever mastering.
“Come on, Bitsy. Why don’t you and Sherlock come out on the loggia for a bit of fresh air while Nikki speaks to Joe?” Maddie placed the phone in Nikki’s hand. “Ring the bell or text when you’re finished and we’ll come back.”
Bitsy stood. “Don’t screw this up,” she said quietly to Nikki. “I’ve started realizing that I may have ignored warning signs that Bertie was unhappy, because I was afraid to deal with them.” She turned and followed Maddie out of the salon, Sherlock in her arms.
Nikki watched them settle at the wrought iron table, their backs intentionally turned. She was definitely not ready for this conversation, but it wasn’t as if it was going to be any easier tomorrow, or the day after that. Or ever. She hesitated, mentally squared her shoulders, then lifted the phone to her ear.
“Nikki?” At the sound of his voice, her pulse pounded in her ears. “Are you there? Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her voice wobbled. He had every right to be angry that she’d been dodging his calls, but the only thing she heard in his voice was concern. For her. She was an imbecile. “How’s it going out there?”
“It’s a mess. This witness has turned all squirrelly. One minute he’s ready to testify, the next he want
s nothing to do with it. And it’s driving me crazy to be so far away right now.” He paused. “I know you’re angry and upset that I left, but I don’t have a choice. I need to—”
“I know.” She closed her eyes as the ugly truth hit her. She had been acting like a spoiled, silly child. Only thinking of herself and what she’d kept thinking of as her “predicament.” Her poor beached whale of a self had been afraid of everything and done nothing but complain when Joe had gone to so much effort to make sure she was comfortable and surrounded by people to take care of her. It was time to grow up. Or at least pretend that she had. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Of course, I did drive your parents and Nonna Sofia away. But other than that I’m okay. And given all the acrobatics going on, I have to assume the babies are going to be gymnasts.”
“That’s good.” She heard the relief in his voice and knew he’d been bracing for recriminations or tears or something equally unpleasant. Shame coursed through her. “And don’t feel bad about the Disney trip. I’m going to forward you the shot of Nonna Sofia on the Tower of Terror ride, Mickey ears and all.”
A smile hovered on her lips. Suddenly she wanted to apologize, to tell him how sorry she was for trampling all over what should have been a joyous time and which she’d treated like an ordeal. She opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. “I’ll be on the lookout for it,” was the best she could manage.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked. “Anything I can send or bring back?”
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.” And in a way she didn’t understand and hadn’t been before, she was.
“All I want is you,” she said. But she said it very quietly and long after he’d hung up.
Posted to YouTube, 12:01 A.M.
Video: No Trespassing sign. Trash-strewn pool. Sand drifts. Tarp snapping on roof. Quick cuts of overgrown trees, shrubs, vines crawling up and over boarded-up cottages.