by Wendy Wax
“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kyra protested.
“It would be better to just stay away,” Maddie said gently.
“Stay away from what?” Kyra adopted an expression of surprised confusion, but any mother worth her salt could read a daughter’s face like a road map. It would take more than feigned indignation to make Maddie believe she was headed out to run errands.
“Kyra.”
“Fine.” Kyra sighed. “It’s not like there’s any chance of keeping a secret when we’re living on top of each other like this, anyway.”
“If you’re going, we’re going with you.” She picked up the leash and attached it to Max’s collar, and then handed Dustin his sweatshirt.
“Where we going, Geema?” Dustin asked as his mother pulled open the cottage door.
“If I’m not mistaken, I think we’re going to Bella Flora, to get a look at the person who’s going to live there.”
Kyra breathed deeply as she drove south on the narrow two-lane road, but each breath carried its own little dart of panic and fear of who and what she’d find at Bella Flora. She turned on to Gulf Way, her thoughts jumbled and her gaze slightly unfocused. The familiar scenery rippled and shimmered before her eyes, giving the mom-and-pop hotels and expensive new homes on her left a fun-house vibe.
The blocks were short, and the avenues that stretched from the bay to the gulf were even shorter. At the Hurricane Restaurant, her foot eased off the gas pedal so the minivan passed Eighth Avenue, Pass-a-Grille’s “main street,” at what could only be called a crawl. The closer they got to Bella Flora, the slower she drove, and the sharper and more pointed the panic became. What if the tenant is Daniel Deranian or Tonja Kay, or one of their emissaries? What if they’re trust fund babies with no respect for other people’s property? What if they look unstable or have a herd of children who abuse Dustin’s mini Bella Flora playhouse? The number of things the new tenant would be free to do to her home bombarded her. How could she let some stranger sleep in her bed? Hang their clothes in her closet? Lie on their couch? Mix drinks in the Casbah Lounge? How on earth did I let this happen?
“We can still turn around. It’s not too late.” Maddie hesitated. “No one will ever know we even thought about doing this.”
Though she was driving as slowly as a new retiree, Bella Flora’s gravitational pull was simply too strong to resist. So was Kyra’s urge to protect her, even though it was far too late for that.
They passed a couple pushing a jogging stroller. That couple was Nikki and Joe. So much for a lack of witnesses.
And then she came face-to-face with Bella Flora, rising out of the low, walled garden. A pale pink wedding cake of a house with banks of windows framed in white icing trim and bell towers that topped a multi-angled, barrel-tiled roof and jutted up into the brilliant blue sky.
“We going home?” Dustin asked uncertainly.
God, she wished they were only coming home from a trip to the grocery store or some other mundane errand and not about to watch some stranger move in. Eyes blurred with tears, Kyra pulled into a parking space. The blue Mini Cooper in the next spot belonged to Avery Lawford.
Max gave a happy woof as they joined Avery and Chase on the sidewalk. A minute later, Nikki and Joe arrived, the twins sound asleep in the stroller. Kyra was trying to decide who looked the most embarrassed when a lone figure walked up the path from the jetty. Gatsby-style pants fluttering lightly in the breeze and a mint-green vest buttoned over an oxford shirt, Ray Flamingo, former designer to the stars, walked up to them. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Don’t even try to pretend you were just out for a stroll,” Avery said.
“Who, me?” Hands in his pockets, Ray turned to face Bella Flora. “I didn’t realize a house could send a distress signal until today.”
“You know that whoever is renting Bella Flora has spent a lot of money to live in her,” Joe said gently. “We have every reason to expect that person will treat her well.”
John Franklin’s Cadillac pulled up in front of Bella Flora at exactly eleven A.M. The car was a classic, like its octogenarian owner and driver. Kyra’s father, Steve, who now worked at Franklin Realty and had been responsible for finding Bella Flora’s mystery tenant, was with him.
With Max straining against his leash, Kyra and the others trundled over to meet them.
“You all look a little more like a lynch mob than a welcoming committee.” John Franklin had a tuft of white hair around an otherwise-bald scalp and a long face dominated by the droopy, brown eyes of a basset hound. Those eyes looked worried as his hands tightened on the handle of his cane. “Is there a problem?”
“That depends,” Kyra said.
“On what?” her father asked.
“On whether the tenants look as if they can fully appreciate their luck in getting to walk through Bella Flora’s front doors. If they don’t, I might need help stringing them up from the Reclinata Palm out back.”
Chase and Joe laughed. Maddie, Avery, and Nikki exchanged worried glances.
“We don’t necessarily have to deliver a welcome basket,” Ray said in a conciliatory tone. “But I don’t think we need to be contemplating violence, either.”
“Neither do I,” Maddie said. “In fact, I’m not altogether sure we should be here.” As usual, Kyra’s mother seemed intent on keeping the peace. And preventing Kyra from committing a stupid act. If only that had happened before Kyra took the loan out against Bella Flora. “But clearly we’re all curious to see who’s moving in. So I think we should at least act like a welcoming committee. Plus, we can let them know we’re nearby if they have any questions about the workings of the house.”
They milled relatively quietly until a car turned off Pass-a-Grille Way onto Beach Road, passed the Cottage Inn, and pulled into Bella Flora’s brick driveway. The car was low, sleek, and silver, with tinted windows that revealed little.
They inched closer, stopping just short of the garden wall as John and Kyra’s father walked up the driveway. Kyra wasn’t the only one holding her breath as the driver got out of the car. Through the palms and tall bushes, she could see only slices at a time: a lone male head of blond hair, a body that seemed tall and well formed. There was a flash of blue jean and some kind of dark jacket or blazer. He moved with a confident stride that Kyra chalked up to arrogance. Did that mean he would be careless with other people’s possessions? Or did it mean that he was used to nice things and would take care of theirs?
She moved to get a better look, but everyone was jockeying for position. Between the bushes and trees, John and Steve’s backs were the only things clearly visible. Steve froze briefly. John Franklin’s normally hunched shoulders went stiff. Murmurs of what sounded like surprise reached them.
Heart pounding, knees pressed against the concrete, she leaned over the garden wall. The tenant cocked his head, and she sensed him peering between John and her father, as if looking for something or someone. Kyra felt Dustin let go of her hand as he moved toward the driveway. A prickle of unease raised the hair on the back of her neck, but she knew from the blond head and build that it wasn’t Daniel Deranian. Was it another movie star? A famous athlete or musician?
“Lookit Mommy! Lookit who’s here!” Dustin shouted as he ran up the driveway.
Kyra detached herself from the wall and the group to race after him. The breath caught in her throat as the tenant stepped around the two realtors and reached down to pick up Dustin. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wendy Wax, a former broadcaster, is the author of numerous novels, including Sunshine Beach, A Week at the Lake, While We Were Watching Downton Abbey, The House on Mermaid Point, Ocean Beach, and Ten Beach Road. The mother of two grown sons, she lives in the Atlanta suburbs with her husba
nd and is doing her best to adjust to the quiet of her recently emptied nest.
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