The House on Mermaid Point (33 page)

“Goodness.” How odd it was that a woman she’d had so little affinity for when they’d met had become so supportive. “I don’t think I’m exactly ‘all that,’ as my kids would say.”

“You’re all that and more.” She picked Maddie’s bathrobe off the floor where it had fallen and handed it to her. “You’ve even got something going on with a rock star. You don’t want to forget that while you’re packing up your ‘old’ life.”

“Well, when you figure out what I have ‘going on’ with William Hightower, I hope you’ll let me know.” She shoved two more T-shirts into the suitcase.

“It’s a little unclear. Especially to him. But there’s some kind of connection,” the other woman insisted.

“We had sex, Deirdre. Pretty outstanding sex, in my book. The likes of which I don’t expect to see again. But a connection?” Maddie shook her head. “William Hightower doesn’t really ‘do’ connections. At least not with former suburban housewives.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Deirdre picked up a lone athletic sock still lying on the bed and handed it to Maddie. “Sixty is an age when you start seeing things a lot more clearly . . . when you want to do something about your regrets. Only shallow people want the cute twentysomethings at sixty-one. William Hightower has a bunch of issues, but being shallow isn’t one of them.”

Maddie zipped up the suitcase then began to paw through her carry-on, discarding refuse and slipping in the things she’d need back in the real world. Her hand brushed against the magazine she’d been holding on to and she pulled it out. A sticky note marked the article about Matthew Perry’s sober living facility that she’d been waiting for the right moment to show Will. Who knew if that moment would ever come? “Can you give this to William for me?”

“You want to give William Hightower a copy of
People
magazine?” Deirdre looked down at the magazine Maddie had placed in her hands.

“I want to give him this
article
in
People
magazine.” Maddie flipped the magazine open so that Deirdre could see the piece she wanted Will to see. “Whether he reads it or not . . . that’s up to him.”

Deirdre’s eyebrow went up in surprise when she saw the headline and the accompanying photos. “You go do what you need to do and hurry back.” She closed the magazine and folded it against her chest. “I’ll put it in William’s hands personally. And I’ll stay after him until he reads it.”

Maddie arrived at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport feeling as dazed and disoriented as any tourist. Andrew picked her up outside baggage claim in his Jeep, an almost grown man with a voice that had deepened over the summer and an even more serious air, courtesy no doubt of his brush with corporate America and the changes in their family dynamic. He filled her in on the internship at Coke and mentioned a girl he’d been seeing and she realized how long she’d been gone. In two weeks he’d head back to college to begin his junior year; in two years he’d be out on his own. It was almost as hard to absorb as the traffic she’d once taken for granted but that now seemed downright alarming.

As they drove north on a highway she’d traveled regularly for much of her adult life, Maddie was stunned by the number of lanes and cars and the death-defying speeds at which they traveled. The buildings that bounded the highway rose high into the sky, their glass walls and spires sparkling in the sunlight. The once-familiar terrain and big-city sound and traffic were so not U.S. 1.

Off the highway the roads were smaller but no less crowded. The hills rolled lush and green as the Jeep wound toward their suburb. Flowers bloomed brightly but the gardens lacked the burst of tropical colors and shapes that she’d begun to grow used to. In their neighborhood the houses they passed no longer shouted “almost home” but looked like pretty paintings framed and stuck behind glass; still attractive and familiar, but one step removed.

Andrew parked in the driveway and pressed the remote and the garage door flew open. Steve’s car sat inside it.

“Is Kelly here?” Maddie asked as she climbed from the Jeep. She felt shell-shocked and disoriented. One minute she was giving William Hightower shit about hiding from his life; the next she was walking through a wormhole into a past that was in its final chapter. She wasn’t particularly up for chitchat with her ex-husband’s girlfriend.

“Nope.” Andrew said this with satisfaction. “Haven’t seen too much of her lately; not since the house sold.”

“Oh.”

The house looked like a hurricane had blown through it. Dirty plates and glasses sat on every available surface, a pile of ancient newspapers teetered on the fireplace hearth, stacks of mail littered the kitchen counter, and two empty pizza boxes lay on the kitchen table. There was no sign of a female presence.

“What happened here?” Maddie looked at her son. “After the bomb went off, I mean.”

Andrew looked around the space as if noticing its likeness to a disaster area for the first time. “While it was listed we had to keep it all picked up. But once it went to contract Dad said we didn’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, Maddie.” Steve came down the back stairs and hugged her, and that, too, felt alien and unfamiliar. He held on a little longer than expected. She was the one who stepped back. Andrew went upstairs.

“Great news about the house, huh?” Steve smiled brightly. “And we got full asking price.”

“Yes.” She smiled back. “So, how many of the rooms have you packed up?”

He slid his hands into his pockets. “Oh, um, I’ve been kind of busy. I figured once you got here . . .”

“I’d take care of it?” This, of course, had always been the way it worked. Somehow she’d always ended up responsible for whatever had to be done. Had she wanted it that way? Or had that simply become expected? When Steve had lost his job and their life savings and ended up on the couch, she’d been forced to step in and take over; something neither of them had really forgiven the other for.

With Avery, Nicole, Deirdre, and Kyra she often organized and saw to details, but everyone contributed their skills and everyone pulled their weight.

“Oh, Steve. I can’t possibly sort through all of this myself. I mean, I did start before I went down to Islamorada, but I assumed we’d have more time than this between contract and closing.”

“The buyers wanted to be in before school started, but I was able to push them back some until you could get back and take care of it.”

She stared at the man she’d been married to. He needed a haircut and it looked as if he hadn’t shaved for several days. And then there was the state the house was in. “What happened with the cleaners?” The Brazilian couple who’d been coming in biweekly for more than a decade would have never allowed this kind of mess to accumulate.

“That’s a couple hundred a month in expenses I thought we could cut.” Steve’s tone was eminently reasonable but something felt off.

“What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

He glanced down at his feet before meeting her eyes. “I lost my job.” He didn’t say “again” and neither did she. But he was looking at her like a puppy who was hoping for a treat while bracing for a rolled-up newspaper. “I just couldn’t rebuild my client base as quickly as I was expected to.”

“I’m sorry.” She meant it, too. But she reminded herself this was not her problem. They’d need to set aside enough from the sale of the house for Andrew to finish school, and wherever she ended up she’d need to be sure there was room for Kyra and Dustin and Andrew to come home to. Where and how Steve Singer lived wasn’t her business; and it definitely wasn’t her problem.

Andrew came back downstairs wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt. “I’m heading out to shoot some hoops with the guys. I’ll see you later.” Andrew moved toward the garage door.

Maddie stopped him. “Sorry. But it’s going to take all three of us to get this house packed up in the time we have left.”

Both of them looked surprised and then alarmed. But Maddie’s Little Red Hen days were definitely behind her. “Andrew, you can tackle the garage and start on your bedroom today. You need to make one pile for trash, one for Goodwill, one to go into storage—and this needs to be only things you’re certain you will use in the future. The last pile will be for whatever you’ll need at school.” She ignored their mutinous expressions. “One of you will need to go find or buy boxes. And Steve? After you help with the garage you can focus on your office and personal belongings. Have you made plans for new accommodation?”

“No, I was waiting for you to . . .”

She couldn’t imagine why he’d be waiting for her. “Well, you’re going to have to move somewhere from here—even if it’s only into storage. I’ll schedule the cleaners for a final cleaning once the house is empty. At least Andrew will still be here to help you move.” She rummaged in a kitchen drawer and found a yellow pad. She began to jot on it as she talked. “I guess I’ll need to organize storage for Kyra’s things and mine until we figure out where we’re going to end up living.”

Both of them blinked at her like small animals that had been rooted out of hiding and flung into the path of an oncoming predator. Maddie knew the feeling. But there was no time for regret or fear. She scribbled several notes on the pad then yanked open the nearest cupboard and began pulling things from the shelves.

“Oh,” she said, spearing them both with one last look, “before you start sorting through things, please get a large trash bag and get rid of all the trash in here. And, Steve, maybe you could load the dishwasher. Unless you’ve stopped running it to save on water and power bills?”

•   •   •

Madeline Singer had barely left the island before Will had the feeling that someone had hung a cartoon bubble over his head that said,
Ream this man a new asshole.

Avery stomped up to him that same day and accosted him where he lay in the hammock, telling him that Maddie had only been doing what she’d been told. And that everything they did on this island, no matter how inconvenient, was for his benefit.

Nicole had sat a table away from him during an extravagant four-course meal Deirdre served one night in the pavilion and told Kyra—just loud enough for Will to hear—that some men couldn’t see the island for the palm trees. And that they rarely thought with the right part of their anatomies.

A couple days later when he stopped to build a sand castle with Dustin, Kyra informed him that her mother was not a woman who should be taken lightly; that she wasn’t someone to be “dallied with”—a phrase they both winced at. And that she deserved way more respect than Will had shown her.

Dustin looked at him through huge brown unblinking eyes and Will had the distinct impression that if Dustin could have strung more than two or three words together, he would have given him a mouthful for hurting his beloved Geema.

Even Roberto, who’d been stoned for close to four decades, had bopped over and told him that he’d seriously fucked things up with Maddie.

Will, who normally liked his fishing quiet, railed all the way out into Florida Bay about Maddie sticking her nose into his business and complained about the slap-downs everyone had given him on her behalf. Hud barely said a word, which of course, spoke volumes. And when he did finally speak all he said was, “You’re a moron. Stop your bitching and moaning and think about what she said to you.” Because of course his island was no longer private and the argument he’d had with Maddie had clearly been overheard.

Between the army of subcontractors and the continued lack of a pool, it really sucked on Mermaid Point in Madeline’s absence. Dinnertime fell apart without her there to make them follow the chart. There was an unspoken understanding that they’d all pretend they’d followed it when she got back, but in the meantime they made sandwiches and microwaved frozen dinners and snacks. To Will, Madeline Singer felt even more present in her absence. He wanted to tell them all that they didn’t need to protect her. At least not from him. That she’d spoken far more eloquently on her own behalf than pretty much any woman he’d ever known.

Still, it was almost a relief when the last of them came and told him off. He assumed Deirdre was the last, anyway—unless some random people were planning to appear to read him the riot act. She came and sat down in the Adirondack chair beside his one morning after he’d settled in to watch the sun vault up into the sky.

“Maddie asked me to give this to you. She’d like you to read it.” Deirdre placed a magazine in his hands.

“She wants me to read
People
magazine?” He looked down at the cover. He’d never been a particular fan of Matthew Perry.

“No, she wants you to read this article.” Deirdre reached over, flipped the pages to the right spot, and placed it back in his hands.

“Yeah, I’ll get to it as soon as I can.” He set it on the Adirondack’s flat arm and turned back to the sky, which was threaded in pinks and blues.

“No. I promised her I’d make sure you read it.” Deirdre placed it back in his hands. “It’s not all that long. Go ahead.” She picked up a cup of coffee that she’d set on the sand. “I’ve got all the time in the world. I can wait.”

Will read the article not as surprised as he might once have been that he and Madeline Singer had found themselves on the same wavelength. In fact, he read it twice. Just in case one of them showed up with a test that Maddie had left for him to take afterward.

•   •   •

Maddie had no idea how they’d accomplished it, but by late afternoon the day before the closing their life had been pared down, divided up, and packed into boxes that now resided in side-by-side storage units. She was physically exhausted, though that was something she’d become used to. Her heart hurt, too, thudding dully as she walked through the house one last time, her footsteps echoing loudly on the hardwood floors. The sound was as hollow as her chest now that the time had truly come to let go.

The closing was a business transaction with no room for emotion, just signing and initialing. The buyers’ side of the table appeared far happier than hers. The new owners were young, the wife pregnant with their first child. Their faces shone with happiness and anticipation for the future.

She ate lunch with Steve at a restaurant in the Brookhaven area not far from the MARTA station. He’d offered her a ride to the airport but she’d had just the one bag and had opted to take the train, which would deliver her right into the terminal.

Maddie picked at her food, still thinking about the door that had closed behind her and unsure what door or window might open in its place. There was enough money between her share from the sale of Bella Flora and the house here to relocate. She had no idea whether this season of
Do Over
had done well enough to justify another and if it did it was anybody’s guess where they’d end up next and under what kind of circumstances. Maddie enjoyed working with Avery, Deirdre, and Nicole, but television and film had been Kyra’s dream not hers. Did Kyra want to live with or near her so that she could help with Dustin? She didn’t have to stay in Atlanta. Theoretically she could go anywhere, do anything. She was spoiled by the daily contact with her daughter and her grandson and couldn’t quite imagine what it would be like to live without them.

She’d tuned Steve out while she contemplated her options and reminded herself yet again that she didn’t have to decide anything today. She needed to go back to Mermaid Point and help see the renovation through and then, well, then she’d regroup and see what made the most sense.