by Wendy Wax
“Where are you living?” Eleanor asked.
“I’m on the west coast of Florida with some friends.” She would not tell even Eleanor that she and Sherlock were now living in a 450-square-foot “cottage.” Shame and anger clogged her throat. Her old life had been stolen from her. She was married but had no husband. Her prospects were—no, if she thought about that, she’d start blubbering. “Now that I’m settled, I plan to make it my mission to hunt him down and make him pay.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. As if she had any idea how to actually do this.
“Good for you,” Eleanor said. “I’ll keep my ears open. Stay in touch, okay?”
“Sure.” Bitsy swallowed hard and said good-bye.
She took Sherlock out to his favorite palm tree and stood thinking while he left his mark in as many places as possible. Life as she’d known it was over. Somehow she had to create a new one. She would start by doing what she could to help make the Sand Castle Showdown a success and she’d allow Avery to turn her cottage into some ode to the Tiny House. Then she’d find a way to turn her boast into reality. She didn’t have the money to hire a detective or even a good attorney.
But she knew people. Lots of them. And there had to be decent attorneys who would work in exchange for a piece of her fortune once it was found and returned.
She needed to stop licking her wounds and hiding in her tiny cave so that she could figure out how to find Bertie and drag his ass—and her money—back. So that she could divorce him and see him put behind bars, where cheating, thieving, fleeing husbands belonged.
Twenty-two
“How can she not know when I’m going to deliver? Isn’t that her job?” Nikki’s voice rose with each syllable as Maddie led her out of Dr. Payne’s office and into the elevator.
“It’s not an exact science,” Maddie said in a tone meant to soothe. “And it’s huge that you’ve made it this long.” It was the end of February, and Dr. Payne had congratulated Nikki on making it to thirty-eight weeks, a full week past the point at which fifty-seven percent of twins and most multiples were born. But Nikki had been in no mood to celebrate the milestone.
“The only thing that’s huge is me! I’m so big, I deserve my own zip code!”
Maddie tried not to smile. “This is a really good thing for the babies. You heard what the doctor said. If your blood pressure was a little more consistent she’d be taking you off bed rest. And she wants to give little girl number two a little more time to develop before scheduling a C-section.”
Nikki groaned. “I know and I swore I wouldn’t complain again, or get worked up. But at this point, that’s kind of like saying I’m not going to breathe. I have absolutely no control over anything. And as scared as I am, I just want this to be over.
“I feel like I’m in this constant state of alert,” she continued as they stepped into the elevator. “Everyone keeps telling me it could happen any minute. Only it never does. And I want Joe here when it happens. Why hasn’t Joe come back?” Tears began to spill from her eyes. Nikki pointed to them helplessly. “Oh, my God, I don’t know where all these tears come from. I’ve cried more in the last thirty-eight weeks than I have in my entire life. My whole body is soggy.”
Maddie had been relieved when Nikki began talking to Joe again on a daily basis and glad when she’d begun to pay attention to others, but the emotional roller coaster ride had not abated. Even witnessing it had proved exhausting. Nikki wasn’t the only one eager for Joe’s return.
“You told him to stay and finish up,” Maddie pointed out as she helped Nikki into the car.
“But I didn’t mean it!” Nikki wailed. “He should have known I wanted him here without me having to beg him to come.”
Maddie slid into the driver’s seat, started the minivan, then turned to the crying woman next to her. “I will tell you one thing I’ve learned about men from living with a husband and a son. Even the most tuned-in males—and they’re not in the majority—are not mind readers. Ultimately, you have to be honest if you want a chance of things happening the way you want them to. You have to tell them, sometimes very specifically, exactly what you want.”
Maddie winced at the certainty in her tone. Where did she get off giving advice that she herself couldn’t follow? She was, after all, still feeding Steve, doing his laundry, and offering encouragement in the same way she had when they were married. And how honest had she been with Will when they’d spoken a few days ago?
The call had begun with a decidedly awkward, “Hi, Maddie. If I understood Lori correctly, I think I’m supposed to let you know that I’d like to sleep with you while I’m in St. Pete next week.”
Maddie had sputtered in surprise and was still formulating a response when he’d apparently realized what he’d said. “Sorry. But it is kind of weird having a middleman, isn’t it? Or is she a middle girl? Or hell, I don’t know, there’s probably some PC version of that. Should we make her a middle person?”
Maddie had wanted to say that she didn’t really care what Lori Blair was called, but that she did care, and absolutely hated, having anyone inserted into the middle of their relationship. Wuss that she was, she’d kept that thought to herself.
“Speaking of political correctness,” Will had continued, “did I tell you we’ve finally agreed on a new name for the band?”
“No, but I’m glad to hear it,” she’d said. “No one would argue that the name ‘Wasted Indian’ belonged anywhere but in the seventies.” Especially when Will had always insisted he had about two drops of Seminole blood for every gallon of Florida Cracker in his veins.
“What did you decide on?” she’d asked, trying for a light tone. “Sober Slightly Native American?”
He snorted. “Good thing you weren’t in on that discussion. We’re going to be just Hightower. I kind of like it—it’s a testament to my family such as it was. And I feel like it includes and honors Tommy.” Thomas Hightower had been Will’s younger brother and bandmate who’d been a casualty of the excessive life they’d lived. Will had named his son after him.
“I like it,” she’d said truthfully. “It’s you, but more than you.” Just as his life was now that his days of hiding out on Mermaid Point had ended. The upcoming tour would hurl him back to megastardom. She hoped his hard-won sobriety and iron determination would see him through.
“I’ve been missing you, Maddie-fan,” he’d said in the husky murmur that had always turned her insides to mush. Even across a phone line the words had filled her with joy and reminded her of what they’d been to each other. Absence had not made her heart grow fonder; it had allowed her heart to forget just how strong their connection was.
She’d begun to relax as he shared stories about his time out on the flats with Hudson, shared his excitement, which came laced with trepidation, about the upcoming tour. “They’re sending a personal chef and a trainer out on the road with me. I guess I won’t have any excuse for falling into bad habits.”
“No, you won’t,” she’d said. Though he’d have lots of opportunity to do just that.
You should have agreed to go with him when you had the chance, her subconscious pointed out now as she parked the minivan in the driveway at Bella Flora and helped Nikki out.
Neither she nor Will had mentioned her refusal to go with him on tour. Nor had he asked her again. As she slowed her pace to Nikki’s, she tried to feel good about the fact that he’d stopped pressing her, but this was a little like trying to find a silver lining in someone punching you in the stomach.
They entered through the kitchen and she reminded herself that she and Will spent time together because they enjoyed it, not because they had to. She should make the most of his upcoming visit, make it one they’d both remember.
Just in case it’s your last? Her subconscious taunted while Maddie helped Nikki into the salon.
No, she admonished her subconscious as she tuc
ked Nikki into bed. Because we have every right to.
• • •
A few nights later, Bella Flora filled with people, all of them intent on getting ready for the event they hoped would help set them back on track, or at least in the right direction, financially and professionally. Avery, who’d taken over the formal dining room, surfed the Web for sand-sculpting instructions as she worked out “construction” of the tiny house version of the one-bedroom cottage, stopping on occasion to pace. Nikki, ensconced in her bed, alternately ate, slept, complained, and cried for no specific reasons that Maddie could determine.
Kyra wandered from room to room, a vaguer, paler version of Avery’s pacing. Worry lines creased her forehead and arrowed between her eyebrows. Her video camera rode one shoulder, but she shot little. She was hovering in the hallway when the doorbell rang.
“Kyra?” Maddie, who’d just set Dustin at his play table with a coloring book, raised her voice and waved one hand in an attempt to get her attention.
Kyra startled, looked her way.
“Are you all right?” Maddie asked.
“Hmmm?” Kyra blinked rapidly. “Sure. Of course.” She hesitated. “Did you need something?”
“It’s the doorbell. It rang. Can you answer it?”
Kyra returned with Bitsy, who set Sherlock on the floor next to Dustin, pulled up another chair near Nikki, and whipped open a binder filled with pages punctuated by colored sticky notes. Ray Flamingo arrived a short time later bearing gourmet cupcakes and his most winning smile. He placed the bakery box on Nikki’s table then pulled up a chair next to Bitsy. After offering the box around, he chose a cupcake the same pastel blue as his shirt and began to peel off the paper. Maddie placed a cupcake in front of Dustin and another in Kyra’s hand. She gently removed the video camera from Kyra’s shoulder and set it out of the way.
“So,” Bitsy said. “Are you guys up for a quick rundown?”
“Go for it,” Ray said.
“Okay. First off, we have thirty official teams entered at one hundred dollars a pop, which more than covers our expenses for the day. Randy from the restaurant group will be selling the beach club memberships at twenty-five hundred a pop, which is half the Don CeSar price. And while we have fewer amenities, I honestly think we’re a better, more casual choice for families with small children. As you know, John has invited Realtors from all over St. Pete. He and Steve will be giving tours of the property.”
“Plus the bar and grille will be open, so the bigger the audience, the more food and drink will be sold,” Ray pointed out. “I also heard from the president of the Deirdre Morgan Fan Club. They’re going to be building a sand version of Deirdre.”
Avery, who’d paced in and helped herself to a cupcake, grimaced. “You don’t think they’ll all come dressed up like her again, do you?”
“I know it freaks you out,” Bitsy said. “But the media will eat it up. Between Will agreeing to perform and a few other surprises I’m working on, I think we’re going to get a lot of coverage. We’ll do our best to sell units and memberships, but it’s also important for long-term success that we raise awareness of the property.”
“Chase has subs coming all day to work on the sand cottage,” Avery said. “And Renée Franklin and her garden club are going to create a garden made of sand around it. She said the women’s sailing group from the St. Pete Yacht Club at Pass-a-Grille are planning to build some sort of sailing vessel.”
“Remember, all these sand castle building teams will have friends and family coming to watch. I’ve already talked with Randy about making sure he has plenty of waitstaff and provisions.” Bitsy smiled with satisfaction. Sherlock walked over, stood at Bitsy’s feet, and nudged her leg with his muzzle.
“You’ve done a great job organizing things, Bitsy,” Maddie said as Bitsy bent to gather Sherlock into her arms. “We really appreciate it.”
Bitsy’s smile grew larger. Sherlock woofed happily. Beside her, Nikki began to blubber.
“What’s wrong now?” Ray asked as tears once again began to spill down Nikki’s cheeks.
She shrugged, shook her head. The tears continued unchecked. “I have no earthly idea.”
“Will a cupcake help?” Ray picked up a chocolate cupcake with bright pink icing and held it out to her.
“I don’t know,” Nikki cried. “But I don’t see how it can hurt.”
They munched to the sound of Nikki’s sobs for a few moments. Kyra reached for her video camera and resolutely hefted it to her shoulder, but she didn’t crack a smile as the rest of them teased Nikki for crying even as she ate every bite of the cupcake.
“Will you be able to shoot everything yourself?” Bitsy asked Kyra. “Because I know we’re going to want plenty of video.”
“Absolutely,” Kyra said as she zoomed in on Nikki’s tear- and icing-streaked face.
“Would you like me to reach out to Troy?” Maddie asked, uncomfortable with the troubled look still etched across her daughter’s face. “He did leave a number.”
“Thanks,” Kyra said as she moved to shoot the group from a different angle, “but I’ll be calling Troy Matthews for help right about the time that Hell finally freezes over.”
Maddie stood and began to straighten the things on Nikki’s bedside table. A week from tomorrow, Will would arrive. The day after that, they’d see just how many people showed up for the Sand Castle Showdown. She didn’t want to believe that weekend with Will could be her last, or that the event they were all counting on would be a bust. But her glass just didn’t feel anywhere near half full at the moment. She seemed to have about as much control over her thoughts as Nikki had over her moods and Kyra had over whatever was worrying her that she had not yet seen fit to share.
Posted to YouTube, 8:00 A.M.
Audio: “Can a human-size three-dimensional cottage be reproduced in sand?”
Video: Shots of Avery sketching sped up to cartoon speed. Exterior cottage renovation footage.
Audio: “We sure hope so! ’Cuz that’s what we’re going to attempt next Saturday at the Sand Castle Showdown!”
Video: Tractor pulling rake over sand. Shot of beach from rooftop.
Audio: “Come join us out behind the Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club Saturday, March fifth. We’re on Pass-a-Grille Way between Thirty-first and Thirty-second just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Don CeSar.”
Video: Pan across beach, zoom in on Don CeSar in distance. Animated sunset. Freeze sun just above Gulf. Entry link and graphics superimposed over freeze frame.
Audio: “There’s still time to enter. Click here for an entry form. The winner will receive a free beach club membership valued at twenty-five hundred dollars! Don’t want to get sandy? Come watch from the rooftop grille, where we’ll have special showdown prices on food and drink, plus free ice cream sandwiches for the kids.”
Video: Rooftop shots—all 360 degrees.
Audio: “Rumor has it there will be a few famous faces in the crowd and one of them will be performing.”
Video: Will Hightower at microphone during grand opening. Arrow pointing at him.
Audio: “Come on out and share in the Sunshine at the Sunshine. We’ve got a few surprises in store!”
Kyra hit the key and posted the video to YouTube.
Twenty-three
Bella Flora pulsed with energy and excitement the night before the Sand Castle Showdown. Nikki was aware of that excitement and the conversations that swirled around her, but she was even more aware of the life inside her. She could feel the whoosh of blood through her veins and the babies’, the rapid tattoo of her pulse that seemed to keep pace with their heartbeats. Her stomach rippled with their movements, and though her internal organs and lower back groaned each time a head or limb lodged against them, something had changed. The fear and worry were still there, but there was hope, too, a yearning as she let herself imagine her daught
ers’ safe arrival. Allowed herself to wonder whether they’d have Joe’s dark hair and eyes or her lighter coloring. What it would feel like to hold them, feed them.
In a chair beside Nikki’s bed, Bitsy consulted her notes and went over the timetable for tomorrow’s event with Maddie, like a general preparing for battle. Avery huddled with Chase and Jeff working out the steps of tomorrow’s build and how best to deploy the subs who’d be there. A bowl of Cheez Doodles sat within reach. Nikki tuned in and out of the conversations taking place around her as if she were a very large fly on the wall.
“Thanks for delivering the plywood forms to the Sunshine,” Avery said to Chase.
“No problem. All we have to do is assemble them and nail them together on-site—it’s like framing a house. Then they get filled with compacted sand—I’ve got our subs assigned to shovel and bucket brigades.”
“Yeah.” Avery reached for a Cheez Doodle. “It looks good on paper. I sure hope it actually works in the real world. Because we have to pry off the nails and lift off the forms so that Ray has time to add the decorative details and textures.”
“We have forms for these built-ins, too.” Chase pointed to one of Ray’s drawings. “There are going to be a lot of layers to this build.” He smiled. “I think putting real accessories on the shelves and flat surfaces will add a whole other dimension. I can’t wait to see the wall-hung big-screen ‘sand TV.’”
“Yeah,” Jeff said drily. “Maybe we can watch The Magic play while we’re working.”
“Ha!” Chase laughed. “We’ll have to have a sand cable box or satellite dish for that.”
They chuckled as Avery licked the cheese dust from her fingers.
“Won’t doing all that be as much work as actually building out the model would have been?” Nikki asked.
“In a way,” Avery said. “It’s not like any of us have experience in sand sculpting. But a real build-out couldn’t happen in one day and the only materials we’ll need are plywood, nails, and sand and water.”