by Wendy Wax
“It could be,” he said. “In fact, if your texting skills were a little more advanced, we could be sexting right now.”
She smiled. “My hands are wet and way too slippery for that,” she said, going for a sultry tone. “Because I’m . . . soaping my body.” Her thoughts went back to the first time she’d been naked with him in the hot tub on Mermaid Point over the Fourth of July weekend when they’d had the entire island to themselves. “I wish you were here to wash my back for me.”
“I’m not sure that’s exactly where I’d choose to start,” he teased, his voice low in his throat.
“No?” She slipped farther under the water and rested her neck against the rim of the tub.
“No.” His voice was almost a growl.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she let herself remember the feel of his lips and hands skimming over her naked skin, the way his eyes darkened when he made love to her.
“God, Maddie. It’s been way too long since I’ve had you in my arms.”
“Ummm-hmmm.” Her eyes grew heavier as Will’s voice grew softer, his words blending together in an intimate yet soothing stream. The water lapped and caressed her as he talked. And then somehow she was just floating in its warmth, buoyed by Will’s voice, adrift in darkness scattered with stars.
“Maddie? Are you there?” Will listened closely, but heard only silence on the other end of the line. “If I just put you to sleep, I’m definitely going to have to work on my technique.” Torn between laughter and frustration, he sighed. “I promise to do better in person.”
• • •
Loud cries jolted Nikki awake. She lay in bed listening to the sharp, angry shrieks, willing them to stop. She reached out, but knew before she did that Joe’s side of the bed was empty. She felt a flash of guilt for lying here, eyes closed against reality, when he was no doubt already in the nursery. When the crying didn’t stop, she opened her eyes and focused them on the bedside clock. It was three A.M. The last thing she remembered was feeding one of the babies at what she thought was midnight.
She levered herself to a sitting position, moving carefully so as not to feel the pain that seemed lodged beneath her rib cage. Her head throbbed in time to the cries, a metronome of pain that occasionally receded, but never seemed to go away completely. Not yet ready to face the screams, she went first to the living room, where she found Joe sound asleep on the couch, an empty bottle lying on the floor nearby, Sofia sprawled across his chest. A burping diaper clutched in her tiny fist covered the lower half of his face. His dark hair stood on end. She’d never seen him quite so unkempt as he’d been in the weeks since they’d brought the babies home from the hospital or the living room and kitchen so trashed.
She lifted Sofia off his chest, drew the throw over him, then carried the sleeping baby into the nursery and laid her in her crib.
“Shhh,” she whispered to her auburn-haired daughter, who lay kicking, crying, and waving her arms as if to emphasize her displeasure. Undoubtedly at Nikki for being so inept and for leaving her nameless. “Shhhhh.” She bent to pick her up. “I’m sorry. If you’d just stop crying, I know I could think more clearly.” But who was she kidding? Before the girls had been born, naming the babies had seemed like tempting fate. When she’d finally agreed to name Sofia Gabriella after Joe’s mother and grandmother, she’d promised herself that she’d come up with the perfect name for their other daughter. But between Nikki’s fear and exhaustion and her daughter’s near constant crying, nothing seemed to fit. When Joe brought it up, she’d told him it was her choice and not to rush her even though she’d all but given up trying. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, remorse forming a pit in her stomach. “How could I leave you without a name for two whole weeks? Will you forgive me?” The baby’s eyes blinked open, and one small hand reached upward. Her cries didn’t cease, but they became less frantic. Nikki drew a deep breath, exhaled, and laid her gently, if tentatively, on the changing table.
“That’s a good girl,” she cooed. “That’s my quiet girl.” Commanding her hands to stop shaking, she undid the fastenings on the diaper, remembering Joe’s chagrin when she’d noticed him putting Sofia’s diaper on backward just that morning. “You don’t seem wet.” She dropped the used diaper in the pail and fastened on a new one with surprisingly little fumbling. Not totally sure what should happen next, she debated whether to feed her or attempt to put her back to sleep. “I wish you could tell me what you want. You know, instead of crying.”
The baby’s cries hiccupped to a stop. Nikki drew a deep, sweet breath of relief. “Okay,” she said, her voice shaky. “This is good. We can do this.”
The fog of exhaustion and fear began to dissipate as she stared down into her daughter’s face, which was miraculously not red or scrunched up and which, she noticed, was dominated by eyes that were shaped just like the eyes of Nikki’s mother, Grace. “Okay.” She swallowed. “Let’s feed you and then get you back to sleep.” Nikki yawned and the baby did the same. The tears on her daughter’s cheeks glittered like tiny jewels. Gently, she wiped those jewels away with the pad of her thumb. “Yes, you are a gem.” She smiled down at her daughter. A smile flickered on her daughter’s lips and Nikki’s heart swelled with love. “I don’t care if the books say that’s just a reflex smile,” she whispered, bringing her nose down to brush against her daughter’s. “Are you Mommy’s little gem?”
Nikki reached down and lifted the baby gently, not out of fear that she’d cry if she wasn’t held “just right,” but because she wanted to feel the weight of her in her arms. “Yes,” she soothed, “you are my gem, my little . . .” She cradled her daughter in one arm, looked down into her face, and knew. “Gemma,” she breathed. The eyes that were shaped like her mother’s fluttered briefly as if in acknowledgment of the name. Nikki smiled and traced one finger lightly over her daughter’s eyebrow. “What do you say, Gemma Grace? Are you hungry, Gemma Grace?” The more she said the name, the more she loved it. It tripped off her tongue as if it was always meant to be. She was grinning as she slid into bed, rearranged the pillows, and propped herself against them. With her free hand, she undid the cup of her nursing bra and guided Gemma’s mouth toward her nipple. It took more than a few tries to get that mouth to open. In fact, she was about to give up and go warm a bottle—something Joe would have normally already done by now—when Gemma latched on and began to suck. Nikki felt her milk release and held her breath as Gemma began to nurse more and more greedily, her tiny fist pressing gently against the heavily veined skin of Nikki’s breast.
For possibly the first time since the babies’ birth, she did not dwell on the fact that her breasts resembled udders or feel alarmed by her role as a brood mare, but marveled at how perfectly her body had been designed to provide sustenance.
Gemma drank hungrily—and quietly—until she went limp and the tiny fist fell away. An almost overwhelming geyser of love welled up inside Nikki. “Let’s give you a good burp, shall we?” she said as she laid a cloth diaper on her shoulder then gently positioned the baby on it. She’d barely begun rubbing the tiny back when the belch came. “Well done,” she said. “Not exactly graceful, but very efficient.”
Gemma slept quietly on Nikki’s shoulder. She didn’t open her eyes, or cry. Nikki yawned and so did Gemma, expelling a warm, milky sigh.
“Sleep tight, you little jewel, you,” Nikki murmured softly as she repositioned herself on her back. “In the morning I’ll introduce you to your father and your sister.”
Then she laid the baby on her chest, skin to skin, one tiny perfectly formed ear pressed close to Nikki’s heart.
Thirty-three
Kyra lifted Dustin out of the jogging stroller and parked it near the front steps of the bungalow that housed Franklin Realty.
Dustin’s face broke into a smile when he saw Renée Franklin at the front desk. Without hesitation, he ran into her open arms and looked up into her face. “Cut-cakes, Neh Nay?�
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“I may have one or two here somewhere,” she teased. “Your dad’s in the conference room, Kyra. We’ll be back in the kitchen having a late morning snack if you need us.”
Her father rose and gave her a hug. A collection of photos Kyra had taken of Bella Flora, her grounds, and her incomparable view were laid out on the table. “I know you shot the photos and video yourself to save money, but you did a great job,” he said. “I bet you could make a living doing beauty shots of properties if you wanted.”
“I actually kind of enjoyed it,” she said. “And it was really great to shoot and edit without a smart-ass looking over my shoulder.” She did not mention Troy Matthews by name, but her father had shared the pool house with the network cameraman long enough that she didn’t need to.
“I was thinking we’d use these photos for a printed and downloadable trifold brochure.” He handed her a mock-up he’d done. “But I just want to be sure that you want to do this. I mean, letting a stranger live in Bella Flora? That’s a big thing. And, of course, we’ll all have to find somewhere else to live.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is that your biggest concern, Dad? That if I rent Bella Flora, you’ll have to move out?”
He flushed with guilt and, she thought, shame. “I guess I deserve that. I have been living off your good graces for far longer than I should have. But no, I’ve booked a few rentals and I have a closing this week on a small condo at Isla del Sol. I just want to make sure you really want to do this. Because you do have another option. Even your mother thinks that Dustin acting in Daniel’s movie would be okay.”
“I don’t like being forced,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. “Or feeling like I’m using Dustin to make up for my mistake.” And then there was the question of whether she had the strength to spend six weeks on Daniel and Tonja’s set.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go ahead and get the listing posted. But you can always change your mind. And you don’t have to accept the first potential tenant that expresses interest.” He placed a hand on her arm as she rose. “I’ve rented a small two-bedroom house in Belle Vista so that Andrew can come stay with me anytime he wants. And there’ll always be room for you and Dustin.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I hate seeing you in this position. I can’t tell you how much I wish I’d never suggested that loan.”
“It’s not your fault, Dad. And I’m glad you’re ready to be on your own.” She only wished her own future were as clear.
She found Renée and Dustin in the kitchen, where Renée was wiping the last smears of chocolate icing off Dustin’s smiling face.
“Come on, little man.” She lifted her son into her arms. “Are you ready to rock and roll?”
“Rock and roll!” He did the fist pound that William Hightower had taught him then reached out to fist bump Renée.
At the beach access, she pushed the stroller through the soft sand. When she reached the harder-packed sand at the water’s edge, she turned south and broke into a slow jog. She ran easily for a time, enjoying the warm salt breeze that slid over her. The cries of swooping gulls, the hum of boat engines offshore, and the wash of the tide blended into the perfect soundtrack. When her cell phone rang, she reluctantly pulled it from the stroller pocket. When she saw the name “Deranian,” she declined the call and stuffed the phone back in the canvas pocket. Her breathing had just begun to even out when it rang again. “Jeez.” With one hand on the stroller, she swiped the screen open with her thumb. “What?”
“No need to bite my head off.” It was Tonja Kay. The voice was instantly recognizable even with the lack of four-letter words.
Kyra didn’t speak. She could count the number of phone calls she’d received from Daniel’s wife on one hand, and none of them had been pleasant.
“Are you still there?”
She had a somewhat childish urge to simply hang up and pretend she’d never answered. Or maybe she could use an accent that would convince Tonja Kay that she’d gotten a wrong number. She slowed to a walk, her thumb hovering over the “disconnect” button.
“If you hang up, I’ll just call back, you know.” She sounded almost like a normal person and not the crazy psycho witch she had generally proven herself to be.
“Fine. What do you want?”
“I want Dustin in The Exchange.”
“Or?” Kyra waited for the tirade couched in obscenities that were in stark contrast to Tonja’s angelic face.
“Or you’ll be hurting Daniel and pretty much cutting off your nose to spite your face.”
Kyra slowed to a stop then walked around the stroller. One-handed, she fumbled with the clasp on Dustin’s seat belt, then helped him out of his seat. “So you’re worried about me, my son, and my son’s father?” Kyra asked, almost, but not quite, ashamed of rubbing Tonja’s nose in Dustin’s parentage. She’d been wrong to sleep with someone else’s husband, not that she had been Daniel’s first or final extramarital fling. She’d compounded that bad behavior by falling in love with him and somehow convincing herself that he loved her.
“No. I’m worried about Daniel. And the movie we’re making.” There was a silence and then a grudging, “There are people who want to sabotage the film and criticize his directing no matter how good a job he does. This film can’t just be a credible first effort. It needs to be huge. And that means we need every scrap of prerelease publicity we can get. If you allow Dustin to do the film, rather than forcing Daniel to win that right in court, I promise he’ll be treated as if he’s one of our own.”
She watched Dustin pull the string bag of sand toys from the stroller and empty them onto the sand. When he picked up his favorite shovel and started digging, Kyra walked a few steps away so that she could keep an eye on him without him overhearing.
“You already tried to make him one of your own, Tonja,” Kyra said. She’d also gone ape shit crazy in front of the then-six-month-old Dustin. Which had ended any possibility of Dustin being with his father if his wife was around.
“We’ll get him his own nanny,” Tonja continued. “I’ll personally make sure he’s comfortable on set. Whatever you want him to have, he’ll have.”
“He won’t be within a hundred miles of you without me there to protect him.”
“Yes.” The word was tight as if pushed through clenched teeth. “That’s why you’ve been offered two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to be on location with Dustin. In addition to the million Dustin receives.”
Not coincidentally, the amount was almost exactly what she needed to pay off the loan she’d taken out on Bella Flora.
“I’ll make certain you’re well treated on set.”
She imagined she heard the gnashing of Tonja’s perfectly capped teeth at the concession. “And the press and paparazzi?” Kyra prompted.
“We need them. That’s the whole point.”
“I won’t allow a feeding frenzy,” Kyra said firmly. “That would be a deal breaker.”
“Are you actually negotiating?” Tonja asked incredulously.
Kyra watched Dustin fill his favorite pail with water and sand.
“We can control their access and keep security tight,” Tonja finally said. “In fact, that could work in our favor. The harder it is to get to someone, the more interesting their story becomes.”
“Are you going to be able to live with our story being rehashed in the tabloids another thousand times?” Kyra asked. She herself was sick to death of reading about how she’d been nothing but a lowly production assistant who’d been thrown off her first—and as a result last—feature film for engaging in an affair with its star. The press—legitimate and tabloid—had had a field day when it became known that she was pregnant. The furor had only grown louder when she’d given birth to the star’s first, and so far only, biological son.
“I’ve lived with it for the last four years,” Tonja said. “I can certainly hand
le it long enough to get this film made.”
Kyra stared out over the Gulf, where a windsurfer skimmed over the surface.
“I am an actress,” Tonja said. “A good one. If I had to, I could convince my own parents that I don’t think you’re a star stalker who chased after my husband until you caught him.”
The last line was delivered in the frighteningly sweet tone of a patient, if injured, wife. “The press and the public will believe whatever I want them to believe. Only you and I will know just how much I loathe you.”
Kyra closed her eyes against the sugarcoated venom. “Tell me again why I should put my son or myself anywhere near you?”
Tonja laughed so sweetly that Kyra almost missed the startling truth that followed. “Because while Daniel may not be a perfect or faithful husband, he is a great father. And I can only imagine how Dustin will feel when he’s old enough to understand that he might have done something important for his father only his mother wouldn’t allow it.”
• • •
Nikki sat across from Joe at the cottage dinette in a rare moment of quiet. Gemma and Sofia were sleeping in their car seats on the floor. All four of them were still wearing pajamas even though it was going on two P.M. The living area was a shambles. Fresh stacks of Pampers teetered on the coffee table within easy reach. Discarded baby clothing littered the couch. A section of the area rug had been turned into the designated changing area and was dribbled with stains that Nikki did not want to identify. Despite the Giraldi women’s best efforts, the sink once again overflowed with dirty dishes and baby bottles.
Ray Flamingo had been close to tears when he saw what had become of the space he created. Even Sherlock had whimpered in dismay thirty minutes ago when Bitsy had stopped by to deliver pressed Cuban sandwiches. Maddie came and went with a cheerful smile and words of encouragement, but there was no question who was running things and it wasn’t anyone over the age of three weeks.