Ten Beach Road (21 page)

Renée Franklin raised her arms in supplication. “Oh, just look at those poor birds-of-paradise. You can barely see them or the frangipani. And the bougainvillea and confederate jasmine! They’re magnificent, but they really need to be trained up over those balconies.”

She circled the fountain as she exclaimed and pointed. Facing the house, she gestured toward two huge, straggly-looking plants that flanked the front steps. “Those are triple hibiscus. There’ll be three blooms in different colors. But they’re so leggy.” She clutched her heart as if she were wounded. “Oh, I wish I’d brought my pruning shears.”

If Renée Franklin were a ship, she would be a Coast Guard cutter—solid and certain, slicing through the waves without a moment’s hesitation. They followed her out of the front garden and around the side of the house as best they could. Her husband, who managed surprisingly well with his cane, responded eagerly and lovingly. Maddie, who enjoyed spring in Atlanta mostly as a pleased observer, simply nodded when it seemed appropriate, but understood little.

On the western side of the house the amount of fine white sand far outweighed the grass and was overgrown with sandspurs and creeping cacti; definitely not a barefoot zone. Renée Franklin gestured dismissively toward a low-lying green plant. “That Sprengerle needs to be removed.” She turned for a moment to address Madeline. “It’s actually a weed”—she whispered this word as if it were somehow dirty—“and as you can see, highly invasive. It must be ripped out by the roots. Up north they put it in pots! Imagine!”

In the back the palm trees were plentiful, and apparently each palm had a name. Renée exclaimed over cabbage palms with petticoats of dry brown fronds that hung beneath them, and proclaimed the multi-trunked reclinada “quite valuable.” She led them toward a huge tree she referred to as a sea grape, its leaves dark green and rounded, that hung in a huge mass over a portion of the seawall.

Together they turned back toward the house. The buzz of saws and the pounding of hammers rang in the air and ricocheted off the thick stucco walls, the concrete pool deck, and the courtyard that surrounded it.

“There’s so much to be done,” Renée said, clearly relishing this fact. “But the grounds will be breathtaking once again.”

“And the house, too,” John Franklin agreed. “I’m so pleased to see it finally getting the attention it deserves.”

Madeline searched out the throng for her partners. Avery and Chase were squared off in front of each other again, their faces contorted in anger, their hands next to their tool belts as if they were holsters. The senior Hardin had a hand on each of their shoulders, trying to placate them. Nicole stood nearby downing a glass of tea, clearly in no hurry to start on the door stretched across a nearby sawhorse. Maddie knew the feeling. She was starting on a bank of upper windows today, and although she didn’t fumble quite as much as she had at the beginning of the week, each pane still took far too long. By the end of each day her whole body screamed in protest.

At the opposite corner of the gash of concrete that was the pool, Kyra stood, feet planted, her video camera aimed at Avery and Chase, apparently capturing their argument. As Maddie studied her daughter, the camera swung in her direction. For the first time that morning Maddie became aware of what she probably looked like. She hadn’t showered or worried about makeup because she got so dirty and sweaty every day that starting out clean felt practically sacrilegious. One hand stole up to smooth her hair, which was when she remembered that she’d never even combed it before clamping it up on top of her head.

By the end of the next day the way Maddie looked was once again the absolute last thing on her mind. Her shrieking muscles were making so much noise nothing else could sink in.

“Oh, my God.” She looked up the front stairs wondering if she could possibly make it up them and if she did, whether she could force herself back down again. She began to inch her way upward, her hand clutching the banister, but each step produced groans of inner protest. She was apparently far too old to spend close to six hours hunched in an untenable position. The number of times she’d climbed up and down the scaffolding did not bear thinking about.

With Herculean effort and complete concentration, she made it up another step. She knew better than to look up or count how many stairs remained.

“Mom,” Kyra called from behind. “Turn around and give me a smile.”

“No.” Both movements were far beyond her current capabilities. She managed to contain the groan as she took the next step. “You better not have that camera pointed at me right now,” she said as she completed one more step, then took another. This time the groan refused to be contained.

“Are you all right?” Kyra’s voice was, mercifully, farther behind her than it had been.

Madeline took another step. Then one more. She spied the landing just ahead and used what little arm strength remained to hoist herself up to it.

“Mom?”

The landing achieved, she stood beside the dangling effigy of Malcolm Dyer and braced her weight on the banister, careful not to move too suddenly; her sole mission aside from reaching the top, and ultimately the shower, was not to jar her back.

Kyra stood at the bottom, her camera angled upward.

“No, I’m not okay,” Maddie said. “And if you actually shot footage of my Mount Everest climb, I suggest you delete it now.”

Kyra laughed, but she did lower the camera. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m stunned to hear that,” Maddie said. “No, I’m too tired to be stunned.”

“Aren’t you going to do your sunset toast?” Kyra asked innocently. “Don’t you want to make sure everybody shares their ‘one good thing’?”

Madeline bit back a whimper. “No. Anyone who feels thankful today will have to announce it on their own.” She paused, gathering her strength to tackle the rest of the upward journey. “You’re in charge of dinner tonight, Ky,” she said as she hoisted her weight up another step. “Don’t wait for me to eat. I’m going to take a hot shower and then I’m going to lie down. And I’m not planning to come out anytime soon.”

Avery sat slumped in the oversized chair, munching on a slice of pizza, when Maddie finally hobbled into the salon in her robe and fuzzy slippers and lowered herself into a corner of the sofa.

“Are you okay?” Avery asked as she watched Madeline try to get comfortable. “Today felt especially long to me. My back is very pissed off at what it was put through.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Maddie said. She looked at the slice of pizza in Avery’s hand. “Is there any pizza left?”

“Here, Mom.” Kyra reached into the box on the coffee table, slid a slice onto a napkin and handed it to Maddie. “Do you want something to drink?”

“That would be great.” Maddie nodded her thanks.

“You should know that your daughter not only managed to place the order online, she found a coupon for it,” Nicole said.

“Like mother, like daughter,” Avery said with a smile.

Kyra shrugged. “I didn’t realize coupon clipping was an inherited trait. Can you believe they actually have an early bird discount here for pizza delivery?”

“I’m just glad there’s no senior citizen discount,” Nicole said. She and Maddie exchanged a glance.

The salon was dark, lit only by the flicker of the ancient TV. With its coffered ceiling, floor-to-ceiling arched windows, and cast-stone fireplace surround, the room was meant for more elegant evenings. But all of them, even the ubersophisticated Nicole, were far too tired to care.

Unable to decide or agree on what to watch, they put the remote in the hands of the youngest member of the group, and Kyra wielded it freely. Avery didn’t think she was the only one of them glad to see something other than the video camera in her hands.

Through a full-length window she saw the light in the detached garage go off, and she tensed slightly, waiting to hear the sound of Chase’s truck starting up and leaving. Instead she heard the creak of the outside kitchen door as it opened, then clicked shut. This was followed by the refrigerator door and heavy footsteps crossing the hall. Avery sighed when Chase Hardin appeared in the doorway. Even in the flickering light she could see that his face and T-shirt were streaked with dirt and his jeans had what looked like a new rip in the knee. He held an open beer in one hand.

“You look a little tired, Boss,” Nicole said. “Something get the better of you?”

“Well, it turns out the pipes passing under the former garage have nothing to do with the pool and everything to do with the main house’s original steam heat system. I hit two of them when I was digging and they’re going to have to be replaced by somebody who’s actually worked on a steam heat system. Which we’re unlikely to find down here.”

Avery sat up and shot him a look. She’d not only warned him that the system might pass under the detached garage but offered to help. He’d told her not to worry, that he’d be fine.

“I guess everything wasn’t so fine after all,” she observed but got no response. Big surprise there.

“Hey, look, there’s Avery!” Kyra said, pointing at the TV screen with the remote.

It was an episode of
Hammer and Nail
, and the camera was focused on a tight shot of Avery’s chest and then zoomed out to reveal her and Trent on set. She cringed at the vacant smile that appeared on her face.

A moment later Trent’s voice filled the room. “It’s a very simple matter of reattaching the shoe molding, Avery,” he said in the tone one would use with a child who was unlikely to understand. “Here.” He took the piece of molding and fit it into place, then gave a few gentle taps of the wood mallet.

There was a cutaway of her watching. None of the fury she’d felt at the time was reflected on her face. None of the disappointment, either. Maybe when this was all over, she should forget about architecture and consider acting.

“Jesus!” Chase swore. “How in the world does a licensed architect get talked to like that on national television?” He shook his head. “And you wonder why people don’t take your input seriously?” He took a long swig of the beer and turned his gaze on Avery.

“It’s just as obnoxious being talked down to off camera as on,” she fired back. “The only thing that’s different is the size of the audience.” They glared at each other for a few long seconds and she reminded herself of her “don’t ask, don’t tell” vow. It worked, but she resented having to resort to subterfuge. And sometimes he simply pushed her over the edge of reason so that all her best intentions crumbled. Maybe she should change the vow to “don’t ask, don’t yell,” she thought as Chase shrugged and turned his attention back to the screen, where Trent was explaining yet another very basic construction technique in insultingly simplistic terms.

“You really are so much more knowledgeable and competent than they portrayed you on that show,” Maddie said. “That’s not you at all.”

“I didn’t know you were an architect,” Nicole said.

“Were you really married to him?” Kyra asked.

Avery nodded yes to all of them, not trusting herself to speak as the screen revealed yet another close-up of Trent’s handsome face.

“Not bad.” Nicole contemplated his image on the screen like an art connoisseur judging a painting on a wall. “But he looks like he knows it.” They all watched as the camera moved lovingly across the planes and angles of Trent’s face. Avery had once made the mistake of counting his close-ups compared to hers; in the entire last season, the camera had rarely moved closer to her face than her bust.

“Oh, yeah, he’s definitely aware of his looks.” Nicole was looking at Avery now. “I’m thinking he was just a wee bit self-absorbed.”

Chase snorted derisively and took another long pull on his beer. He and Trent had disliked each other pretty much on sight, not that they’d seen a lot of each other. They’d nearly come to blows at her father’s funeral, though neither of them had been willing to share details.

“You can leave out the wee bit part,” Avery said because there was simply no denying it, especially not with Chase, who’d actually known him, in the room. “Trent was Trent’s biggest fan. And he spent a lot of time and energy recruiting people to join the fan club.” Especially women who could be helpful to him. Like Avery. And more recently Victoria Crosshaven. Avery shot Chase a look and caught him studying her. Would she have admitted Trent’s shortcomings if Chase and his flagrant disapproval hadn’t been there filling up the room?

“You see it all the time out in L.A.,” Nikki said. “I never matched up actors with other actors. Most of them were fully occupied being in relationships with themselves.”

“They’re not all like that,” Kyra said when Avery and Trent were replaced by a Home Depot commercial. Avery breathed a sigh of relief when the channel and topic changed.

“No?” Nicole said.

“I was on the set of
Dark Thunder
and Daniel Deranian is not—”

“Here, Ky,” Maddie said, cutting her daughter off in midsentence. “Let me have that.”

She gave her daughter a look as she held her hand out for the remote.

“I’m just saying that some of the actors weren’t like that. It wasn’t all about them and their . . . image.” Kyra turned back to the television as her mother began to click rapidly through the channels, the images flying by at a dizzying speed. “They do have feelings, you know. They’re people, too.” The last was almost whispered as Madeline finally stopped changing channels.

“Oh, look,” Madeline said. “Barbara Walters is interviewing Deirdre Morgan. I absolutely love her!”

Avery went still as Chase’s gaze fixed on her.

“Yes, she’s done the homes of some of the biggest names in Hollywood,” Nikki said.

“She’s been an A-list interior designer for decades.”

Avery sank lower in her seat, wishing it were possible to disappear as Barbara and Deirdre ambled through the Beverly Hills estate of a Hollywood actress, recently deceased, that Deirdre Morgan had designed, alternately solemn about the loss of the one-time star and chuckling like old chums.