Avery quickly caught up to him. “I’m sorry, Mark. Please forgive me. I was insensitive back there. I’d hate to think I’ve been buried under my own troubles for so long that I’ve become deaf to someone else’s concerns. It sounds like your life has been hard.”
“No worries. I had a rough start, but I dug my way out.” He looked at the floor, then up to Avery and smiled. “That’s not altogether true. I’m still digging. I’m just having a bad day.”
Avery suddenly felt a protective bent over her new young friend. She smiled and said, “Totally understandable.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me. I thought I’d left my crazy childhood behind. Guess not.”
“Rough home life?”
“Only once I made it safely past the transients and drug dealers holed up in the halls and stairwells. I hated that place, except for one apartment. It was where the Rodriguez family lived. They didn’t have much more than my father and me, but when my father was on a binge, they were my sanctuary. Every time I crossed their doorway I felt safe and happy and welcome.”
Avery saw a change come over his countenance, filling his face with peace.
“Either Latin music was playing on a little radio or Mrs. Rodriguez was singing some hymn. And she was always cooking something. Enough to share with anyone in need, but a special portion was always set aside for her hungry adopted boy.” A sheen glistened in his eyes.
“She was your angel.”
He nodded. “Yes, she was. My mom died when I was little. Mrs. Rodriguez tried to fill the hole. She rang my doorbell every Sunday and took me to mass with her family.”
Avery’s heart ached for Mark. She wanted to wrap her motherly arms around him and hug away his pain. Instead, she asked, “Do you still keep in touch?”
“No.” Mark sighed deeply and returned to the present with a shake of his head. He squared his shoulders and resumed his professional persona. “A gang jumped Mr. Rodriguez one night. He might have been killed if a patrol car hadn’t come around when it did. The family was packed up and gone by morning without a word. I think the police moved them quickly. Mr. Rodriguez must have been providing information to them to help clean up the block.”
“Losing them must have been devastating for you.”
“I was going to be separated from them anyway. My father lost his job again and we moved to Holmes Beach soon after that.”
“You lost the Rodriguez family and your church family?”
“I couldn’t get there anymore. Father Alexi stayed in touch for a while. I figured the Rodriguez family asked him to check in on me. He made me feel important . . . loved.”
“But you didn’t find a new church?”
“I didn’t want to be that kid. The poor boy sitting alone, that everyone feels sorry for.”
Avery linked her arm in Mark’s. “I’m not Catholic, Mark, but you’ve got a standing invitation to come to church with me and my son anytime. He’s about your age.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. It’s all good now. I actually feel my hardships have blessed me. I sure knew what I didn’t want, for me or my family if I ever had one, so I learned to be a hard worker, to make my own dreams come true.”
Avery squeezed his arm. “Well, my offer still stands, anytime.”
They walked out to the splendid, eight-thousand-square-foot marble terrace that sprawled behind the ornate house, bordered by terra-cotta balustrades that overhung the lapping waves of the bay. Thirteen steps led down to a private boat dock where the Ringlings’ yacht, the Zalophus, once moored. For a moment, Avery set aside all the noble and generous principles she’d expressed to Mark. She also wondered how some people came to live in such inexpressible beauty and splendor.
“Unbelievable, isn’t it?”
All Avery could do was nod.
“You should see it at night, lit up in all its glory. And if you stand over there, on Longboat Key”—he pointed to a spot on a strip of land across the bay—“it glows like a giant golden lantern against the night sky. It’s absolutely fabulous. I can’t imagine what their lives must have been like.”
“I’m trying really hard not to,” Avery joked. “I can feel the green-eyed monster stalking me.” She was surprised how good she felt to be standing there. She wondered if she had channeled into some sympathetic mode with the man, John Ringling, who had built a dream house with his one true love, whom he quickly lost to illness. Avery’s mountain chalet in Logan was obviously no comparison to the Cà d’Zan, but the motivation and passion behind its construction surely was, and, interestingly enough, being here felt like home to her.
Mark looked at his watch. “Are you ready to go?
“I am, but I’d like to ask the curator a question. Would you mind?”
“No, not at all. I’ll just get the car and meet you at the front gate.”
Ten minutes later Avery emerged with a smile and a volunteer application in her hand.
“So, the Venetian bug has bitten you,” Mark teased.
She threw her hands up in guilt. “I can’t spend all day sunbathing. Besides, this place inspires me. I’m stuck in chapter four, and I need a creative nudge.”
“So what duty are you applying for? Don’t get your hopes up. With all the retirees around here, the good jobs fill up fast.”
“I feel a little guilty. I played the author card. The curator is a big fan of my work and she put me right on the training schedule. The application is just a formality.”
“Wow!” Mark gave her an appreciative thumbs-up. “Gabriel told me you were a famous writer. I might have to buy one of your books to see who I’m rubbing elbows with!”
They chatted during the half-hour ride to Bradenton and then down Route 64 toward Anna Maria. When Avery started to quiver with nervous anxiety, Mark apologized for the chill and turned up the thermostat. They drove down Manatee Drive and picked up Gulf, passing familiar sights. Feeling like a racehorse in the gates, Avery sniffed the air, simultaneously giddy with anticipation and apprehension. Mark pulled the Escort into a lot bearing a sign that read Island Motors, parked the car, and handed the keys to Avery.
“Let me make sure I haven’t missed anything,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Here are the keys, we signed the lease agreement back at the airport, and”—he reached into the glove compartment—“here are local maps with the route to Gabriel’s house marked in red. I stapled my business card to the bottom of the map. Feel free to call me if you need anything. And I don’t just mean about the car. If you have questions about the town or where to find things, or if you just get lonely and want somebody to grab a pizza with, call. If I’m not here I’m probably at home microwaving something, so company for supper would be a nice diversion.”
Avery smiled and nodded at his generosity, realizing he could tell she was nervous.
“Would you like me to come to the house with you and introduce you to the realtor?”
Avery shook her head rapidly while fidgeting with her hands. “I’ve already imposed—”
Mark raised his hand and smiled. “You’re Gabriel’s friend, Avery, not an imposition.”
“But I need to stop somewhere and pick up a few groceries to get through tonight and tomorrow morning.”
“Not a problem.” He restarted the car and pulled onto the street, stopping a block away where a small convenience store sat. After that quick shopping stop, they headed back along Gulf Drive. Avery knew they were approaching the Olympus Condominiums, where she and her family had always stayed. Her eyes stung as they passed the pristine complex, stuccoed pale beige and trimmed in white to blend in with the white gulf sand. Her gaze fell on the berm that she had hefted children over dozens of times to reach the beach, hefting them back again to cross the street to the ice cream parlor or the fudge shop. She saw young mothers and fathers doing the same with their children, and she smiled at them as the sadness began to ebb.
Mark turned left at a street guarded by huge palm trees on each corne
r. The fronds of other giant tropicals created a canopy over the road, further impeding the street view of houses that sat privately behind foliage fences, affording sightseers only Spartan views. Avery could hear the surf breaking straight ahead, and as the Escort slowly wound through the greenery she saw the first glimpse of the house.
It was three stories of gray, clapboard beauty, the color of the ocean sky before a storm. A wide, white wraparound porch with coral-colored wicker furniture surrounded the entire Cape Cod-style home. White gingerbread trim, shutters and multiple gables gave the house the feel of New England, setting it dramatically apart from the Spanish-themed construction of so many other homes on the island. Its foundation was a raised concrete slab that stood on multiple supports. Some sort of wood decking material overlaid the concrete to blend in with the cozy architecture, while crisscrossed sheets of white lattice hung from the porch to the ground, where decorative landscaping added to the pristine effect. Small ornamental patches of lawn were placed between immaculately manicured gravel-mulched beds, with ferns and brightly colored blossoms nestled in shade. Sun-worshipping annuals polka-dotted the lush greenery and tropical grasses of other beds. Small camouflaging anoles, colored from brown to tan to brightest green, darted along the ground, blending in with their surroundings, and beyond lay the white gulf sand and the sea.
Avery stood spellbound as she stared out at the surf, where a few sandpipers and gulls scurried along in the foam. She turned to Mark, who was as still as stone, and saw the most profound emptiness in his face. “This place has meaning for you too, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“I spent so many hours here growing up.” His voice was flat and sullen. “Practically lived here if I wasn’t at school, washing cars, or mowing lawns.”
“Were you a friend of his daughters?”
“Yeah . . . like their brother, actually. Gabriel’s oldest daughter, Gina, and I met at school when we were in the fifth grade. She noticed I always seemed to forget my lunch, so she had her father pack enough for two, and she tried to share it with me. I declined at first—I was too proud to accept her charity. But Gina convinced me it wasn’t charity—it was a picnic—so I started having lunch with her and Emilia every day.”
Avery’s mouth fell open in sadness.
“About halfway through the year, Gabriel thought he ought to meet his third dependent,” Mark explained with a laugh, “so Gina brought me home one day. Gabriel took one look at me and knew I was most likely fending for myself, so he offered me a job mowing lawns for him through his landscaping company, and he took me to the department store to buy new clothes. I tried refusing him, but he convinced me it was business, what bosses called an ‘advance’ on my salary.”
Avery could easily see Gabriel Carson doing such things.
“My father and I passed through the same doorway each day, but Gabriel became my father figure. I can’t prove it, but I feel sure he helped pay the rent on our apartment until my father died of cirrhosis. Luckily, I was eighteen by then, so I just continued doing what I’d been doing. I was washing cars at the dealership, and once I finished high school I worked there full time. I moved into the sales team and got myself an apartment in a better neighborhood so I’d have a decent place to call my own, but this house—this family—was always home.”
“Was?” Avery asked, emphasizing the word.
Mark leaned back against the car and kicked at a seed pod in the driveway. “Heck, it’s no secret. In fact, it’s really the reason you’re here, so I might as well just tell you. Gina and I got married around a year ago, but she left me three months ago and ran back to her father. He felt he was at the root of the problems between us so he decided to cut the apron strings. He thought if he went away for a while and rented the place out, it would force the girls to stand on their own two feet. He hoped Gina would decide to come back to me.”
Avery could see how the pieces all fit—Gabriel’s helicopter reference, his miserable arrival in Baltimore and willingness to let his home be rented for a mere pittance with the provision that the details of the rental agreement never be disclosed to his daughters. “And?”
Mark shrugged as a car drove up to the house. “I think your realtor is here.”
An overly cheerful fellow in golf garb strutted toward her with his hand outstretched. “Hey, Mark!” he called out. “And you must be Mrs. Thompson. Welcome to our little island!”
“She’s been here before, Bob,” Mark tossed out as if talking to a child.
“Oh. Well then, let’s just get to the details. I’ll walk you through the place.”
Mark smiled at Avery. “I should be getting back to the dealership now.”
“But you don’t have a car.”
“It’s less than a mile. I’m in the mood for a good walk.”
Avery watched him start down the street at a brisk pace. She regretted accepting his offer to drive her to the house, a place where so many painful memories still lingered for him.
The overly cheery realtor helped her lug her suitcases and groceries inside before launching on a tour that detailed every iota about the house. She was relieved when he finally placed the keys in her hand and left.
She strolled through the house again, enjoying the beauty and peacefulness of the home and location. All the walls were white, but each room radiated a different color scheme that emanated from the colors in the rugs and fabrics. Avery analyzed the home as if it were being seen as an archaeological dig, noting three distinct periods or decorating motifs that likely indicated three major transitions in the family.
First she noticed the abundance of antique furnishings, family photos, and Italian curios, most likely remnants of Lucia’s things. There were manly recliners accented by whimsical, nautical items like lighthouse lanterns and driftwood tables. These treasures were mixed in with sporting regalia from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers—items that Avery concluded were most likely introduced by Gabriel after Lucia’s death but before the next era, which she deemed “the dawn of the daughters.”
All the newer items, like the draperies and throws, had a distinctively airy, feminine feel, and Gabriel’s expert touch was evident in the abundance of plants and flowers. She would have been completely unnerved by the responsibility to care for his exotic houseplants, but luckily, the rental agreement contained provisions for people from Gabriel’s company to come twice a week to tend the flora and do the yard work.
Avery strolled to the back of the house and found the object of her immediate curiosity, the old bell, but there had been a few changes to the house or simply additional features the view from the beach had not afforded her. A hot tub and its accoutrements—attached seating and planters— occupied a large section of the rear deck, and just beyond it stretched a long, narrow lap pool that Avery vowed to enjoy.
She collapsed on the sofa in the sunroom before choosing a bedroom and settling in. She warmed a can of soup for dinner and ate it while sitting on the veranda, staring off at the water. Intrigued, she decided to climb up to the loft and see the view that had kept Gabriel so haunted and spellbound years before. It was a magnificent perch, not only because of what she could see but because of how standing there made her feel, as if floating, like a gull, free and uninhibited in the wind, seemingly invisible to the crowd on the ground below. Yet she knew they could see her. She had, after all, seen Gabriel, but only as a blur whose emotions and musings remained private and mysterious.
She thought about what he’d said—how he rarely went to the loft anymore. Perhaps because, as she was beginning to discover, he didn’t need distance to physically separate himself from the crowds. He was already a most singularly private and contradictory man, one who, by brawn and force, could tame acres of wild Maryland land, and yet one whose gentle fingers pruned and coaxed a bonsai or a tender sprig of ivy. She felt the paradox in his relationships as well—tearing himself from his home and daughters to compel them to grow, yet equally able to deftly guide a young, floundering boy to manhood.
Chapter Thirteen
Baltimore, Maryland, May 4
Gabriel had been feeling blue the previous week. His emotional slump was surprising, particularly given the fact that he’d had such a pleasant initial adjustment to the move. He chalked his melancholy up to the fact that Baltimore was enjoying an unseasonably warm spring, which naturally made him think of Anna Maria and home. The harbor and condos were becoming more crowded each day as the warmer weather and sunshine drew crowds like moths to a lamp. He was glad he’d decided to launch early to reach Avery’s little island first.
As he sailed by the harbor buoys and into the river, he thought back to the email he received from Avery that morning. Her first week was quite eventful. She met Mark, whom she instantly loved. That didn’t surprise Gabriel, though the news still brought him immeasurable pride. He was also delighted to hear that Avery loved his home, especially the view from the loft, which he suddenly yearned to see for himself.
He looked across the water and saw buoy 7 on the port side, and he slowly brought the TIME OUT around to head her in the direction of the island. Island. The little land bulge breaking the water’s surface was barely an islet, but it was, as he hoped, barren and therefore more private than the beaches or the city, making it highly desirable. He smiled, remembering Avery’s stories about family adventures shared there, and that thought took him back to the email again.
He was amazed to read that Avery already spent a day at the Ringling Museum writing a press release about the annual Fourth of July gala and fireworks display. Adding to that excitement was confirmation of her son Wes’s arrival the next afternoon. She wrote that she regretted not having met Gabriel’s daughters yet, but she vowed to call them on Monday if they didn’t call on her first. Having just seen Avery and knowing she would soon see the girls somehow made Gabriel feel more connected to them, and his melancholy began to subside.
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