Ten Beach Road (11 page)

Nicole needed the money from the sale of their house as soon as possible. The fastest way to get it was to tear the house down and list the land with the most aggressive high-end Realtors they could find, maybe the Yes Girls whose signs she’d seen on the way into town. Except of course that she didn’t even have her share of the fifteen thousand it would take to demolish and had no idea whether her partners did, either. Nor did she know how long it might take to sell the land; the arguments against a summer listing sounded valid, but, of course, there was no actual guarantee that Bella Flora would sell quickly once it was renovated. It was all a great big crap shoot. But when it came to gambling, Nicole had always believed in shooting for the biggest prize.

“There are a lot of places I’d rather spend the summer,” Nicole said. “But I could probably swing a couple of months here if it’s going to add another couple of million to the asking price.”

Avery shifted in her seat again as Nicole and Madeline turned her way and waited expectantly.

“Well?” Nicole asked the blonde. “You’re probably in a better position to assess the house’s potential than we are. What do you think?”

“I think I’m completely pissed off at Chase’s attitude,” Avery said, brushing a blonde bang out of her eye, her tone rising in indignation. “I mean, who is he to talk to me that way?” She drew a deep breath and let it out before continuing. “But I’m not really comfortable with pulling that house down, especially not just as a knee-jerk to his condescension.” She looked out over the beach, which was barely visible beneath the sliver of moon that hung in the dark sky above it. “It is a great specimen,” she continued, “and five million is better than two million any day. I also think he’s right that it’s the wrong time of year to put it on the market.”

This time she looked down at the pie crumbs on her plate before raising her gaze to meet theirs. Her gray eyes were clouded. “And the show is on hiatus over the summer anyway.” Her jaw tightened. “So I could make myself available if we decided to accept Chase’s offer.”

They paid their bill and ambled back toward Beach Road. It was a Thursday night, not even nine P.M., and there was hardly a car on the road. Nicole looked at the empty streets as they passed under streetlights and listened to the dead quiet. She’d never be able to troll for wealthy clients here or make the society column—assuming there was one. On the other hand she wouldn’t be tempted to shop or spend money. Nor would she need to put on her usual dog-and-pony show. If they lived in the house while they worked on it, she’d hardly have any expenses at all.

Out of the corner of her eye she studied her partners once again. Could she spend an entire summer living and working with women with whom she had so little in common? Did she really have a choice?

“I noticed a vacancy sign earlier at those rental cottages next door,” Madeline said as they stopped in front of Bella Flora. Its pale pink walls were shadowed, its windows dark. “Why don’t we sleep on it and meet up for breakfast tomorrow morning to vote?”

They agreed, leaving their cars in the drive and walking to the Paradise Inn’s tiny office. Tomorrow morning the fate of their beachfront mansion and their summer would be sealed.

 

 

Somewhere around three A.M. Madeline gave up trying to sleep and simply lay in bed waiting for daylight. She watched the sunrise over Boca Ciega Bay through the parted curtains of the cottage window. With hours left before they were to meet, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and dressed. Tucking her cell phone into her pocket, Madeline headed toward the beach.

Lingering in front of Ten Beach Road, Madeline watched the house emerge from shadow as the morning sun began its ascent and deepened the pale gray sky to a robin’s egg blue. The house was battered and bruised. It had been buffeted by sand and wind and time. Worn down. Neglected. But did that mean it should be torn down and carted away?

In a perfect world, this house should be showered with love, carefully restored, and sold to someone who would appreciate it. But she had reason to know this was not a perfect world. And rather than fretting over Bella Flora’s fall from glory, she should be calculating its monetary value. Could they really finish the house under Chase Hardin’s direction? And if they did somehow manage this by Labor Day, how long would it take to find a buyer?

It was a gamble all around, filled with uncertainties; one she’d be taking with two total strangers who had their own goals and agendas she knew nothing about. And who were not, by all appearances, anywhere near as desperate as she was. She thought about Avery Lawford’s television series and her career as an architect, Nicole Grant’s classic car and vintage clothes, not to mention her high-profile matchmaking business.

Would it be better to simply tear the house down and hope the land would sell quickly? But where would she come up with the five thousand dollars for her share of the demolition? She didn’t even know how they were going to hang on financially without having to dig into what little they had left.

Madeline followed the sandy path that led to the jetty and forked to the beach. At the end of the concrete pier a handful of fishermen were already baiting hooks and casting their lines. The seabird population loitered with intent—the more patient pelicans hunkered on boulders and pilings waiting to see what might be caught and tossed their way while their less patient relatives skimmed low over the water and dive-bombed at will. Sleek white herons perfectly balanced on one pick-up-stick leg arched S-shaped necks and stared out to sea.

The beach itself was postcard perfect, the sugar white sand so pristine she felt almost guilty marring it. Removing her sandals, she stepped gingerly onto the cushion of night-cooled sand. Dangling her sandals between the fingers of one hand, she began to walk along the water’s edge, her bare toes sinking into the damp sand and enjoying the feel of the water playing over them.

For a while she just walked, the Gulf sparkling blue green on her left, the breeze coming off it so light its surface barely rippled. Schools of needlelike fish darted in the shallows, turning on a dime and moving with military precision. Ahead of her the beach stretched in a gentle curve well past the Don CeSar. On her right, beyond the clumps of seaweed deposited at high tide, wooden walkways arched over the dunes to the sidewalk, protecting them and the wildlife that sought refuge there.

Seagulls flew overhead, gliding and diving while a flock of smaller birds raced here and there on impossibly fragile legs. As she passed the Paradise Grille, where they’d agreed to meet for breakfast, the flow of people increased. Some stopped to search for treasures in the sand while others moved at a faster pace, but no one intruded with more than a smile or a nod.

As she walked Madeline’s gaze scanned from the Gulf, across the beach, and up to the homes and condos—many of them large and clearly expensive—that bracketed the beach on her right.

She drew in soothing lungfuls of the warm, salt-tinged air and lost herself in the gentle rhythm of the water as it advanced and retreated. Everything slowed, her heartbeat, the swirl of her thoughts, the pitch of the panic that had consumed her since Steve’s confessions. She wished he were here with her now to share in the decisions that had to be made. The “old” Steve wouldn’t have been intimidated by Nicole or in awe of Avery. But then if Steve were himself, these decisions wouldn’t feel so much like brain surgery, and she wouldn’t be so horribly afraid that the wrong choice would put her family’s future at even greater risk.

Before she could stop herself she hit the speed dial for home and lifted the cell phone to her ear; the ringing was harsh and discordant against the wash of gentle sounds around her.

“Singer residence.” Her mother-in-law’s voice was not the one she’d been hoping to hear.

“Edna? It’s Madeline. Is Steve there?”

“Oh.” Madeline could picture the pinched lips that had produced the word. “He’s . . . resting.”

Madeline couldn’t stop the thought “from what?” that popped into her head. Ashamed, she drew in another breath of beach air and expelled it slowly. “Could you get him on the phone for me, please? I need to speak to him.”

“But he’s . . .”

“Edna, I have to speak to him. Now.” Madeline tried to focus on the feel of the sand beneath her feet and the warmth of the sun on her back. She did not want to think about the fact that her mother-in-law had started screening her son’s calls.

“Well!” Edna huffed. A few moments later Madeline heard the murmur of voices and then the blare of the television as Steve came on the phone.

“Hi,” he said, and she wondered how one word could convey such defeat. “Have you seen the house yet?”

“Yes. Yesterday,” she said. “It’s, um, it is, um, actually a really interesting house. And large—about eight thousand square feet. It was built in the twenties.”

“And?”

“And it’s beautiful. Well, it was beautiful,” she amended. “And apparently it’s a great architectural specimen. The style is called Mediterranean Revival.”

There was a small sound of surprise. “Really? That’s great.” It was the most enthusiastic she’d heard him in far too long. “How much can we get for it?”

“Well, that kind of depends on what we decide to do to it.”

“Do to it?” Wariness crept back into his tone. “I thought we were just going to sell it and take our third.”

Madeline stared out over the Gulf, processing his use of the word “we.” In the distance a person dangled from a brightly colored parasail tethered to a speedboat by a long umbilical cord.

“Yes, well, it’s not quite that simple. It needs work before it can be put up for sale. A good bit of work.”

“Jesus,” he said. “I should have known anything to do with Dyer would be bullshit.”

“The house is valuable,” she said. “And so is the land,” she interrupted, hating how quickly the enthusiasm had leached from his voice. “ ‘As is’ the house is worth about a million, but this apparently isn’t a good time to list it. The land itself is worth three million—it’s one hundred fifty feet of prime waterfront, but we’d each have to put in five thousand dollars to have the house torn down, and again, it’s not a great time to list the property. Or we can stay and spend the next three to four months getting it ready under the supervision of a contractor that Avery Lawford knows. He’s willing to get paid out of the proceeds from the sale.”

There was a silence, and in it Madeline had this wild hope that the old decisive Steve was going to choose one of the options and offer to take over. She waited, almost breathless, for this to happen.

When he finally spoke he said, “We don’t have an extra five thousand dollars.” As if she had somehow managed to remain ignorant of this fact. “And we don’t have any extra months to wait around for a return.”

“I know,” Madeline said, though what she really wanted to say was, “Ya think?” “That’s why I thought maybe you could come down and help, so that we could work on the house together. It might be good for us, for you.”

Again there was a silence.

“It’s beautiful here, Steve,” Madeline said. “And at least we’d be doing something constructive to get everything back on track. Andrew could come down when the semester’s over—that’s only a few weeks from now. The more people working, the faster we could get it ready.”

“Jesus, Maddie,” he said, and she could picture him running a hand through his hair. She wondered if that hair had been washed recently, if he’d showered and shaved. Before she’d left he’d barely bothered to dress. “We can’t all go traipsing down there to work on a house that we may or may not ever see anything out of.”

Did he have something more pressing to do? Was he perhaps out every day pounding the pavement looking for a job? “Why not?” she asked.

“My mother . . .”

“Your mother and Kyra can look after each other. Or they can come down and help.” She did not want to think about her daughter’s problems right now. Or her mother-in-law.

When he didn’t answer she said, “Steve, I need you. I need you to be a part of this.” She hesitated, hating the pleading tone in her voice, hating that she had to beg him to do the right thing. “Our marriage needs you to be a part of this.”

There was another silence. Through the receiver she could hear his mother’s voice sharp with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you all right, Steven?”

“I can’t, Maddie,” he said so quietly she had to press the phone tighter to her ear to hear him. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I just can’t do it. Not right now.”

“Steve, no, don’t hang up. I . . .”

The line went dead before she could finish. He hadn’t even done her the courtesy of allowing her to finish begging.

Slowly, she turned and headed back down the beach, but the pleasure she’d felt in her surroundings had evaporated. Picking up her pace, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as the smarter seabirds scurried out of her way.

At the Paradise Grille Madeline, Avery, and Nicole ordered breakfast at the counter and then sat at a table that overlooked the beach, sipping coffees as they waited for their food. Nicole had once again slicked back her deep red hair and was dressed in the kind of expensive resort wear more appropriate to a high-end cruise ship than a picnic table. Avery wore an HGTV T-shirt and a pair of cutoffs, clearly unworried about her public image.

It took two cups of coffee apiece and the delivery of their meals to loosen their tongues. Eating and talking were made more difficult by the defensive posture required to protect their breakfasts from marauding seagulls.

“All right,” Avery said, still hunched over her plate after shooing off one of the bolder birds. “I guess we need to go ahead and see where everyone stands. All in favor of tearing down and selling the lot say ‘aye.’ ”

They contemplated each other carefully, assessing what, Madeline didn’t know, but she felt her pulse quicken. What would happen if they couldn’t agree? Before her conversation with Steve, Madeline might have gone for the option if she’d had the nerve to ask one of the others to loan her the five thousand. Now she couldn’t even imagine going home and watching Edna enable Steve while he deteriorated further. She felt once again like that Little Red Hen with a good deal of Chicken Little thrown in, because she could no longer pretend that any day now Steve was once again going to be . . . Steve. There was simply no question that her whole sky had finally fallen in.