Sunshine Beach (29 page)

“God, I looked like an imbecile.” William Hightower unfolded himself from the salon sofa as Kyra raised the remote and turned off the television with an angry snap of the wrist.
Do Over: Keys Edition
, episode four was now mercifully over.

Her father snorted, but for the first time, wisely said nothing.

“I looked like a nervous schoolgirl,” Avery said. “If Deirdre hadn't been there, I wouldn't have even been able to make the presentation.” All of them were uncomfortable with having to watch Deirdre brought back to life each week, but Kyra knew it was hardest for Avery. She tried to imagine having to watch her mother this way while bracing for her death. All of them had held their breath during the close-ups of Deirdre, her obvious pride in her daughter clear in her eyes.

“Did you really have to use so many close-ups of Deirdre?” Kyra snapped at Troy. “It's sick.”

“They weren't happy with the first edit,” Troy said. “I had to go back in and beef up her screen time.”

“Right.” Just as he'd beefed up the tense but evolving
relationship between Deirdre and her daughter. Which came in second only to the close-ups of Dustin.

“And I looked like a monumental witch when I called Will out on his behavior,” Maddie said, trying to smooth things over, as always.

“He deserved it,” Nikki said with less than her usual sarcasm.

“I did,” Will acknowledged.

“I chased you out of your own home.” Maddie sounded quite pleased with herself though the shots of this happening during the episode had clearly shown her distress.

“You did,” Will teased. “But that was when I realized just how feisty you were.”

Maddie laughed.

“And you did get us the go-ahead we needed,” Nikki pointed out quietly. Her face had turned a chalky white.

“Only after deviously plying me with lasagna and ice cream,” Will said. “I think that was the first home-cooked meal I'd had in like twenty years.”

“The sauce was from a jar. You still have the taste buds of a teenager,” Maddie pointed out.

William shrugged, not at all offended. “I wish I had time for a little ice cream right now.” His tone and the look he gave Maddie made it clear he was talking about something that could not in fact be scooped out of a container.

Will laughed as Kyra's mother blushed. Her father looked away.

“But I have to get back to Tampa. We're doing morning radio and TV to promote the concert. To which I've been directed to arrive, and I quote, ‘bright eyed and bushy tailed.'”

“I actually feel sick to my stomach from watching what you and the network did to us.” Kyra glared at Troy, who looked far too pleased with himself.

“You're not the only one,” Nikki said as one hand fluttered to her throat. “I can't seem to shake this bug.”

“Well, I think we should just stop watching these episodes,” Avery said. “I mean, what's the point?”

“It doesn't matter whether
you
watch or not. What matters is that a ton of other people want to,” Troy countered.

“Why? Do you get a bonus per humiliation viewed?” Kyra's patience had begun to evaporate shortly after the opening credits.

“Your Facebook and Twitter are flat. They pop slightly with each episode but that's not enough. Kim Kardashian has twenty-five million Facebook fans and she doesn't even
do
anything. You need to get the paparazzi back here pronto if you want to do your own thing,” Troy said.” Tell them, Will.”

Will's nod was reluctant. “You're looking at someone who prefers hiding out on an island”—he winked at Maddie— “though not necessarily alone. But Troy's right. If you want to do your own thing you have to have plenty of people who want to watch you do it.”

“This is serious,” Troy said very seriously. “You need those paps back even if you have to do something humiliating to get their attention.”

“You are the last person on the planet that I'm about to take advice from,” Kyra snapped. “I still don't think you're being honest with us.”

“Think what you want,” Troy snapped back. “It's your funeral. Or
Do Over
's anyway.” With a curt nod he left the salon. Kyra was still staring after him when the pool house light went on.

Avery and Nikki headed upstairs. Kyra stood with her father as her mother walked William to the door. There was a lengthy silence during which she had no doubt they were kissing good night. This was followed by murmurs and quiet laughter.

Her father's stiff posture and pained expression made it clear he was as aware as she was of the long and intimate good-bye taking place in the foyer. The door finally opened
and closed. The bolt was thrown. Kyra could hear her mother humming happily as her footsteps receded up the stairs.

“Dad . . .” she began, alarmed by the sadness etched on his face.

“No. It's . . . it's just that I really want to hate him . . . but . . .” He swallowed. “She seems so happy.”

Kyra nodded.

Her father drew a deep breath. “He'll never be good enough for your mother,” he finally said. “But then as you've already pointed out, neither was I.”

Nikki stood naked in front of the bedroom mirror trying to come to terms with what was happening to her body. Her breasts had grown larger and heavier. They'd already been far less perky than they'd once been. Now they sagged pendulously, reminding her of those long-ago
National Geographic
pictures of topless African women whose primitive tribes had been discovered in a distant jungle. Blue veins were visible on what had once been relatively smooth white skin. Her waist already seemed thicker, and her stomach had begun to round and swell slightly. Even her thighs, which had remained relatively tight due to decades of running, had begun to “relax” unattractively. She could no longer remember the last time she'd had the energy to run, and was afraid to turn around for the back view given how jiggly her bottom already felt.

A knock sounded on the door. She froze.

“It's Maddie. Don't even think about not answering.”

Nikki pulled on a robe, then opened the door.

“May I come in?” Maddie asked politely.

“I didn't think I had a choice,” Nikki replied in a voice so sulky she knew it could not be hers. “Sorry.” She stepped back and opened her palm in invitation. Once Maddie was inside, Nikki closed the door quickly. As if there was a horde of
people waiting to push their way inside. “It's just that I'm always nauseous now. And I never know when I'm going to have to get to a bathroom to either pee or throw up.” She paused to swallow back the bile that once again rose in her throat. “How can they get away with calling it morning sickness when it goes on all day?”

“I'm not sure,” Maddie said. “But it usually disappears after the first trimester.”

“Really?” Was that her voice sounding so desperate?

“Really.” Maddie nodded. “Whatever you want to make people believe, your ‘bug' needs attention.” She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to Nikki. “This is the address of the OB-GYN practice Kyra used. You need to make an appointment. I'll be glad to go with you.”

Nikki shook her head. That would make things way too real.

“Or you could ask Joe.”

Nikki didn't move.

“How did he react when you told him?”

Nikki's tongue felt as thick as her thighs, as heavy as her breasts. “How did you know he was here?”

“Pass-a-Grille is way too small for secrets.” Maddie looked at Nikki's frightened white face. “I know he's got to be excited.”

Nikki remained silent, but it was a miserable and highly uncomfortable silence.

“I refuse to believe you didn't tell him that he's going to be a father.”

Nikki remained silent but the disappointment in her friend's eyes hurt. “I don't see how this pregnancy is going to end well. I have been pregnant before and there were . . . issues. I don't have the least confidence that I'm going to carry this . . . pregnancy . . . full term.” She could not bring herself to say the word “baby.” Could hardly let herself think it.

“And I . . . I just couldn't do it. Not yet.” Possibly not ever.

“Nikki.” Maddie's voice softened. “You can't spend your
entire pregnancy waiting to lose your child. There are lots of women who have healthy babies in their forties and even fifties. I saw an article recently about a woman in her seventies that gave birth without difficulty.”

“Not me. I'm not cut out for motherhood anyway.” God knew Malcolm was proof of that. “And I still can't believe this is happening. I'm just going to wait. And if everything goes all right, I'll figure out some way to tell him.”

“Nikki, you're not thinking clearly. You . . .”

“And whose fault is that? This . . .” Once again she choked on the word “baby.” “. . . this thing that's taken over my body and my brain and is barely bigger than a blueberry according to that copy of
What to Expect When You're Expecting
that you left on my bed. That's who.” She began to cry piteously. “Everything is just so . . . such a mess.”

Maddie sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Nikki down beside her. She tilted Nikki's head against her shoulder as Nikki blubbered incoherently. “It's all right, Nik,” Maddie said. “It's just the hormones kicking in. You're going to be fine. And so is the baby. And once you tell Joe . . .”

Nikki cried harder. Maddie hadn't seen Joe's face when she'd practically pushed him out the door. He didn't love her anymore. How could he? She wouldn't blame him if he never spoke to her again. She cried even more piteously. Nothing, not Maddie's soothing pats or her comforting words, could stop it. There was so much she had to figure out. There was the money for
Do Over
. Finding it was her responsibility. And then there was Malcolm. She had to end the threat that he posed to her and to Joe. Somehow she had to find a way to put things right. But she could do nothing but sob like a child.

“Shhhh.” Maddie smoothed back her hair as tears streamed down her face. She could feel her nose running, the snot mingling with the tears. She was beyond pathetic. She simply couldn't do this. She couldn't be pregnant. She couldn't tell Joe. She couldn't lift her head from Maddie's shoulder.

“It'll be all right,” Maddie said again, still stroking her hair. “Really, Nikki, I promise you. Everything will work out fine.”

Nikki wanted to believe her. Really she did. But Maddie always thought everything was going to get better. She insisted on believing that every glass was half full. Nikki had proof to the contrary.

“You'll see,” Maddie said, having to raise her voice to be heard over Nikki's sobs. “I'm going to make you a doctor's appointment. And then you're going to tell Joe. Joe deserves to know. And I have no doubt he'll do the right thing.”

Nikki sobbed harder. She cried an ocean of wet, salty tears. She did not want Joe to “do the right thing.” She did not want Joe to marry her. All she wanted was for him to love her.

But he does
. The voice was soft but insistent.
He does love you
.
He told you so. Repeatedly.
But that was before she'd been so nasty to him. Before she'd pushed him away. The soft voice was no match for the fear and anxiety that coursed through her. Or the foggy mushy place that used to be her brain. Words were easy. A baby was real and forever.

“Here, let's get you under the covers.” Maddie's voice was soft and soothing. “A good night's sleep will make you feel better.”

Nikki allowed herself to be tucked in. She fell asleep while Maddie was still clucking comfortingly beside her. Just as a real mother should. Nikki didn't have a clucking bone in her body.

But her dreams were harsh and torturous. Reminding her in their unrelenting intensity that she was not Madeline Singer and never would be. Any more than she could be Joe Giraldi's wife. Or the mother of his child.

Roberto Dante arrived at the hotel on foot a few days later. The sleeves of his tie-dyed T-shirt had been hacked off long ago. A tattoo of a crossed handsaw and hammer ran down one bare sinewy arm, and his gray hair and soul patch were braided. With his tool belt slung over one shoulder he might have been an aging bandito. If banditos smiled dreamily and bobbed their heads to the seventies rock playlist reverberating in their heads.

“How are things going at the yacht club?” Avery had been worried that the sailing set would find Roberto a little earthy for their tastes.

“Couldn't be better,” he said. “The women sailors are very friendly. One of the Broad Reachers, that's the name of the women's sailing group, brought me a whole tin of homemade chocolate chip cookies.” He smiled. “Perfect for munchies. Even had a couple for breakfast.”

“Hey, man!” Enrico called down from the rooftop. “What took you so long?”

It was 7:59
A.M
., but Enrico and his crew had arrived just after sunrise to erect the scaffolding, which now encased the
main building, and were scrambling all over it like ants at a picnic. The new steel support beams were stacked nearby. A Dumpster sat within dropping distance. A crane stood ready to hoist the beams into place.

“Let's see where we are.” Roberto led them inside the main building. They stood in the center of the emptied room and stared up into the ceiling, which had been ripped the rest of the way open. Temporary support poles bore the weight of what remained of the old roof.

“Love this beach and this neighborhood,” Roberto said as he eyed the center point of the room and buckled the tool belt low on his hips like a holster. Matching hammers hung from each side like pistols.

“Haven't I been telling you that for years?” Enrico came to stand beside his taller, funkier cousin.

“Not abandoning the Keys, man, not ever. But this is nice.” He double-checked the measurements, walked back outside, and eyed the beams. He and Enrico directed the crew members into position. “You ready, old man?”

“Ha! We'll see who has to keep up with who!” Enrico waved one of his guys over another foot, then signaled the crane operator into position. “Let's rock and roll!”

Avery spotted Ray Flamingo making his way toward the building in sherbet-hued clothing that billowed in the slight breeze. While all about him were sweating in the mid-July heat and humidity, he looked cool, calm, and collected. He carried a large portfolio and an easel.

“What have you got for me?”

“These are exterior views of the cottages with their new façades, roofs, and walled patios based on your ideas.” He set the first board on the easel.

“Oh, they're wonderful. And I love these colors. What are they called?”

“We have Flamingo Pink, Blue Mambo, and Banana Leaf.
I thought we'd do an assortment of each.” He gave her a few minutes to study the wide planking that would cover the concrete and the burnished steel trim on what would be new windows and doors. “I've also done a one- and two-bedroom-unit floor plan that incorporates the remodeled baths and kitchens as well as a sample courtyard garden.” He placed these in front of the other drawings and waited for her to absorb them. “I figured we could flesh them out and do finishing boards when we're ready to move into that phase of construction.” He said this as if there was no doubt in his mind that there would be one.

“Looks good,” she said, sincerely wishing she had as few doubts as Ray.

“Here's how I'm seeing the main building roof deck. We're still going for the wow factor but we don't know what we'll be able to afford in the way of finishes and furnishings. I'd still like to see us go high end, but in the meantime I think we focus on maximizing the space and making it as flexible as possible.” He pulled out several boards that showed the space divided in a variety of ways. “If we buy modular pieces and go with planters with lock-down wheels, we have almost endless ways of utilizing the space, which would make it ideal for events. We could even handle a wedding ceremony up there.” He smiled mysteriously. “And the pièce de résistance—we do a Plexiglas railing so that there's uninterrupted views from every position whether you're sitting or standing.”

“It's perfect,” she said, meaning it. “And if we manage to raise the money this place deserves, we'll go with the best outdoor furnishings and décor money can buy. And if we don't . . .”

“It'll still be damn fine.” Ray gave her a rare grin. “I promise you that. We are not going to let a little thing like lack of funds stop us.”

Ray took his confident
GQ
self off to check and remeasure
the locker rooms, then left to call on a potential sponsor. Avery stood in the center of the property and drank in the site. The main building and the scaffolding around it hummed with activity. The sound of shouting and hammering and drilling mingled with the caw of seagulls and the wash of incoming waves. Money was a huge problem, the construction schedule far from ideal, but at the moment the Sunshine Hotel looked, sounded, and smelled like an active construction site. Avery breathed it all in and focused on enjoying it. Because she had no idea how long it would last.

Nikki had fled upstairs to her room after her first whiff of the meal that Steve had unaccountably prepared. Troy had taken one look at the soggy beige casserole, swallowed uncomfortably, and announced that he had plans to eat out. That left Kyra, Maddie, and Avery staring uncertainly down at their plates in a kitchen that looked as if a world war had been fought within it.

“What is this, Dad?” Kyra asked after her first tentative bite of the main course. “I, uh, can't quite identify the main ingredient.”

“It's tuna noodle casserole,” he said, seeming surprised she had to ask. “I found the recipe on a rack in the store with a list of all the ingredients. I didn't know they did that. And I remembered that your mother used to make it when you and Andrew were little.” He smiled almost shyly. “Would you like some more?”

“Um, no. Thanks. I kind of filled up on the salad.” Which had been made of wilted lettuce, an undercooked egg, a half-rotten tomato, and a salad dressing that was made of mayonnaise mixed with other ingredients she couldn't identify. Kyra was unable to make eye contact with her mother, whose shocked gaze roamed the kitchen. Avery's eyes were fixed on
the bag of Cheez Doodles that sat on the counter. Which said something for Avery's vision, given the number of things the bag was buried under.

“What made you decide to cook today?” Maddie asked, pulling her gaze from the war zone.

“Well, there wasn't much for me to do at the site today since Dustin's not here. So I wanted to try to be useful.”

Kyra stifled her groan and picked up her fork. Her father had apparently listened when she'd read him the riot act. There was no way she could refuse to eat the meal he'd prepared. Slowly, she raised a forkful of casserole to her mouth. This time she swallowed it whole so that she wouldn't have to chew and therefore taste it. When she opened her eyes, her mother was watching her. Avery's eyes were back on the Cheez Doodles; those eyes were filled with longing.

“That's so nice of you, Steve,” her mother said. “You know what would really top this meal off?”

“What?” His expression indicated he couldn't imagine anything improving on what he'd already served. But then he'd been so busy serving and watching them eat, he hadn't had so much as a forkful yet.

“I think there's a bottle of Chardonnay in the wine refrigerator in the bar. If you wouldn't mind getting it and opening it—I'm pretty sure there's a corkscrew in one of the drawers—it would really round things off.”

“Okay.” He stood and turned.

As soon as he left the kitchen, her mother stood and picked up their plates.

“What are you doing?” Avery whispered.

“Shh!” Quickly and expertly Maddie scraped their plates into the trashcan. Several huge spoonfuls of the casserole followed. She hid the evidence under large wads of paper towel. “Not that I think he's likely to ever look in the garbage can.” Then she freed the bag of Cheez Doodles and ripped the bag
open as she carried it to the table. “Here.” She took a large handful before handing the bag to Avery. “Go ahead and put some on your plates. You've got to eat something.” She crumbled Cheez Doodles on top of the casserole.

Maddie managed to wash her hands despite the dishes and pans overflowing in the sink. She'd just slid back into her chair when Steve returned with the bottle of wine. “Do you need help getting the goblets?”

“No, be right back.”

As soon as he left, Maddie scooped another large spoonful and buried it in the garbage can. Then she scooped most of what remained in the casserole dish onto Steve's plate. “Parenting 101,” she instructed. “Good intentions, like good behavior, should be praised and encouraged.”

“I don't know,” Avery said, munching on a Cheez Doodle. “I don't think we should encourage him to keep cooking.”

“It's the effort we want to encourage,” Maddie replied. “We'll just have to try to get out in front of those efforts a little better in the future.”

“You mean like when Andrew got on that juicing kick and started making us those green smoothies all the time?” Kyra asked.

“Exactly,” Maddie said.

“I don't know,” Avery said again. “It sounds kind of like faking an orgasm. You could just end up eating a whole lot of crappy food from a chef who has no idea he needs to do better.”

Kyra put a hand to her mouth to cover the resulting snort of laughter as her father returned. He poured them each a glass of wine, then noticed the almost empty casserole dish. The little that remained was now covered in a fine layer of crumbled Cheez Doodle.

“I hope you don't mind that I added a topping and that we ate so much while you were gone.” Maddie raised her glass in toast. “We couldn't quite help ourselves.”

He smiled at the compliment and took a bite from his plate. He chewed carefully, considering. “The Cheez Doodles do add a certain . . . something.”

That something was flavor, Kyra thought. And the cheese did sort of mask the smell.

“Everything's better with Cheez Doodles on it.” Avery smiled and downed her wine. Her mouth and fingers bore evidence of her statement.

Steve took another bite and then another.

“How was William's concert?” Avery asked.

“It was great,” Maddie said. “They're really sounding good and the Tampa Theatre was packed.”

Her father took another bite. He winced slightly as he chewed. Kyra wasn't certain if it was the topic that had been introduced or if he had finally tasted the tuna casserole beneath the cheesy topping. He reached for his glass of water and drank most of it down in one long gulp. “Anyone for dessert?” he asked finally. “I made, well, the recipe said they're a cross between banana bread and peanut butter brownies.”

“I'm really full,” the three of them said in unison.

Maddie set her napkin on her plate. “I'm going to check on Nikki. Why don't I take one up to her?”

“Sure.” Without clearing anything out of the way, her father went to the counter and retrieved a brownie pan. After hacking unsuccessfully at it, he plopped a lopsided rectangle onto a small plate.

“What's wrong with her?” Avery asked.

“Hmmm?”

“Nikki's been sick for a while now,” Avery said. “What do you think it is?”

“I'm not sure but I'm going to make sure she sees a doctor. In fact, I've scheduled an appointment for her.” Maddie stood. “Thank you for . . . dinner,” she said to Steve. “I know we all appreciate . . . the effort you went to.” She scanned the
trashed kitchen, the dirty bowls and containers on the counter, the crumb trail across the floor.

“You're welcome,” he said, blushing slightly. “I'm glad everything turned out so well. I'm kind of an old dog trying to learn new tricks, but I intend to keep at it.”

“Great. That's really great.” Her mother fled and practically ran up the back stairs. As if the ghosts of meals past were pursuing her.