One Good Thing Page 16

  “I think you need to find something besides yourself to focus on.” Maddie clicked the television on and handed the remote to Nikki. “Why don’t you find a movie we can watch while I get you a few of Sofia’s biscotti.”

  Ten minutes later Nikki was dunking her biscotti into a large glass of milk while Maddie sat on the sofa folding laundry. Both of them sighed as Annette Bening and Michael Douglas kissed in the oval office midway through The American President. By the time the laundry was folded and stacked, Nikki had fallen asleep. Careful not to wake her, Maddie delivered the clean clothes to their owners. Placing the last pile on Steve’s bed in the pool house, Maddie closed her eyes in frustration. She’d originally begun doing his laundry to prevent him from shrinking anyone else’s clothing like he had Nikki’s Chanel suit. Somehow she’d never stopped. She was crossing the pool deck when she noticed Steve sitting motionless on a chaise staring out over the water. “Are you okay?” she called.

  “Not really.”

  Maddie walked over and stood looking down at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He continued to stare out at the water. His voice when he spoke was wooden. “The Belle Vista offer fell through. The buyer couldn’t get a mortgage.”

  “That’s too bad. But you said it’s a great house. I’m sure someone else will buy it.”

  “I don’t know.” His shoulders drooped. He wore the “oh, what’s the use” expression he’d adopted when their world had fallen apart and he’d taken up residence on the couch, where his primary relationship had been with the television remote. “Nothing ever seems to go right. At least not for me.”

  She moved to stand directly in front of him, blocking the view. “You cannot give up because of one little setback. That’s just part of doing business.”

  He didn’t argue but he didn’t meet her eyes, either. She knew she should simply walk away. He was a grown man and they were no longer married. The best way to help him get his act together was to leave him alone to figure it out. What she said was, “Kyra and Dustin should be back from the beach soon. How about a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch?”

  “Thanks.” He brightened. “That would be great.”

  Maddie went into the kitchen, put a large pan on the burner, then began to assemble the bread, butter, and cheese. In the end she used the whole loaf. Once she was cooking, she might as well make enough for everyone.

  She put together a tray for Nikki. The rest of them were gathered around the kitchen table eating when Renée Franklin arrived carrying an arrangement of fresh-picked flowers.

  “Neh Nay!” Dustin’s smiling face was smeared with cheese. His T-shirt was littered with bits of potato chip. “Want krill cheese?” He held up the smooshed remainder of his sandwich.

  “Thank you, Dustin.” Renée smiled back, but that smile lacked some of its usual wattage. “I’ve already eaten. I’m going to take these to Nikki. Why don’t you come visit us when you’re finished?”

  He nodded happily and popped a large strawberry into his mouth. After the table had been cleared and the plates loaded into the dishwasher, they trooped out to the salon. Dustin climbed into Kyra’s lap and began to suck his thumb and twirl his hair as the conversation flowed around him. Nikki’s eyes strayed to him repeatedly. Worry creased her forehead.

  “The flowers are beautiful,” Maddie said, nodding to the arrangement on Nikki’s bedside table.

  “They are, aren’t they?” Renée agreed. “That’s the thing about flowers. Plant them in the right spot, water them, feed them, and chances are, they’ll do all right.”

  “Yes, kind of like children,” Maddie said. Her eyes moved from Nikki’s face to Renée’s, which was also troubled.

  “Is everything all right?” Maddie had lost count of how many times she’d asked that same question in the last few hours.

  “Well, not everything, no,” Renée replied. “The most immediate issue is the upcoming Sand Castle Showdown. Annelise is under the weather and the event’s less than two weeks off. Entries aren’t at all what we’d hoped.”

  “Does it matter how many people participate?” The question came from Nikki. It was the first sign of interest she’d shown since she’d been put on bed rest.

  “Yes, because it was meant to not only be a fun activity for existing beach club members, but a means of raising awareness about our yearly memberships and also to show off and try to sell the cottages. The original idea of finishing out each unit after enough time shares had been sold to cover the cost of finish out for that unit just hasn’t worked. The units are really too small to be permanent residences—unless you’re used to living in New York City. And while the grown children and grandchildren of Nana and Pop Pop’s original guests were initially enthusiastic, they’re nostalgic about the Sunshine Hotel but they don’t necessarily want to come here every year.”

  “What happened to the family that looked at the two-bedroom model Bitsy was in?” Kyra asked her father.

  “I think they’re still considering it, but so far they’re not willing to commit.” Steve’s voice was tight, his shoulders still slumped. “The units have been for sale since mid-October, and so far, Joe’s the only person who bought a unit outright. And he had a specific reason.”

  Renée reached out to adjust a sunflower. “John has planned a series of open houses and other incentives, but I know he’s afraid we won’t be able to sell them for enough per unit for any of us to even get our investments back, let alone make any kind of profit. And we don’t have the front money to finish them out so that we have a better chance of selling them.”

  “But the Beach Club’s doing okay, isn’t it?” Maddie asked. “I mean I see people around the pool and in the dining room. The rooftop deck seems to be popular at sunset.”

  “It’s building,” Renée said. “But slowly. The place is nowhere close to supporting itself. The restaurant management group is barely breaking even. And of course, our percentage was supposed to come out of their profit. So far memberships are throwing off just enough to cover utilities, lifeguards, pool maintenance, and other operating expenses, but we’re barely squeaking by.”

  The room had grown quiet. They had all put in virtually everything they had left in order to see the Sunshine Hotel brought back and to shoot the renovation in hopes of creating a version of Do Over that they’d assumed would help them take control of their own destinies. Now they couldn’t even sell the documentary.

  “Thank God we have Bella Flora to live in,” Maddie said fervently.

  Kyra went so still, she could have given a statue a run for its money. Steve was watching their daughter’s face, too, and his own looked just as troubled.

  “So how can we help?” Maddie asked.

  “I’m not even sure what to ask for at this point,” Renée said.

  “What you’re talking about is a lot of separate issues. God knows that can be overwhelming,” Nikki said, clearly referring to herself. Maddie was glad to hear her talking at all.

  “Nikki’s right,” Steve said. “All of these issues are related, but it’s probably best to attack them one at a time.”

  “So maybe we should just focus on the Sand Castle Showdown for now?” Maddie asked, unable to take her eyes off Kyra’s face, which had turned a chalky white. “Surely, at the very least we can field a team.”

  “Dustin wanna build catsle!”

  “You are a fine castle builder, Dustin,” Renée said warmly.

  “Maybe we should make Dustin our captain,” Maddie said.

  “And maybe we need to set up an on-site sales center for the showdown,” Steve suggested.

  “That’s a great idea,” Renée said. “I know we’d hoped to sell the units ourselves, but maybe John can invite other Realtors to participate in the competition and take a look at the units while they’re there.”

  “I can post video of the hotel then and now to hel
p promote entries,” Kyra said in a rush as if she’d been holding her breath and was only now letting it out.

  “Are you allowed to do that?” Maddie asked as Troy ambled into the salon holding a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich.

  “I don’t see why not,” Kyra said. “The footage is ours and we’re not trying to sell it, air it on television, or market it as a renovation or part of Do Over.” It seemed her worry had been replaced by anger. “And I’ll shoot on the day of the competition and see what I can put together.”

  “Thank God we’re finally shooting something,” Troy said. “I’m starting to get rusty.”

  “There is no ‘we’ here. I don’t think a multi-camera shoot of a sand castle building contest is necessary.” Kyra glared at Troy. “And since we’re on the subject, I don’t know why you’re still here when we’re not shooting a series, or anything else, and the documentary we can’t sell is finished.”

  “Are you evicting me? Because I don’t think our agreement included an eviction clause,” Troy replied.

  “There is no agreement.” Kyra’s voice was taut with anger. “We never had an agreement. You turned a favor into something it was never meant to be. There’s no good reason for you to hang around. Unless you’re spying for the network, or trying to take advantage of us in some way.”

  Maddie saw Kyra’s last salvo land, saw the brief detonation of hurt in Troy’s eyes. Dustin was looking between his mother to Troy and back again.

  “For a reasonably smart and talented woman, you really can be amazingly . . . unwise,” Troy said with a small sorrowful shake of his head. His glance at Dustin made it clear why he’d chosen a synonym for the word “stupid.”

  “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Kyra said in an impossibly sweet voice for the same reason.

  “Feel free to take it however you want to.” Troy matched her tone, but Maddie could see the effort it cost him. “I’ll need a day or so to make other arrangements, but I’ll get out of your hair if that’s what you want. I actually thought I might be of help.” He shrugged. “But you can lead a horse to water and all that . . .”

  They watched in silence as he turned and left the room.

  “Did he just call me a horse’s ass?” Kyra asked several long moments later.

  “Yes,” Nikki said with a rare smile. “I do believe he did.”

  Eighteen

  The Hardins’ garage door rumbled up, then down that evening. In the family room, Avery heard the door into the kitchen open and braced for an angry teenaged stomp, which would signal Jason’s arrival, or an enthusiastic, nonthreatening footstep, which would mean Josh. But the door had opened and closed with a quiet click, and though she was no longer alone, the vibe in the house remained spectacularly stress-free. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding as Chase entered the room.

  “Do you hear that quiet?” he asked in wonder. “I feel like a soldier in a foxhole when the shelling finally stops. There’s a slight ringing in my ears, but I can actually breathe and hear myself think.”

  “Copy that,” she said, inhaling another breath.

  They shared a conspiratorial smile. Her shoulders relaxed. Her nervous system followed suit, taking it down a notch to a less noticeable jangle.

  Chase came forward and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “What are you watching?”

  She swiveled around and roused her computer screen. “YouTube. Tiny house videos.” She hit “play.” A young woman standing on a postage stamp front porch welcomed them to the tour of her 140-square-foot home.

  “Wow, that is tiny.”

  “Yeah. More than three hundred square feet smaller than the one-bedroom cottages at the Sunshine Hotel. And look how much the builder fit into it.”

  As they watched, the woman pointed out each feature in the miniature kitchen, including a drop-down cutting board that fit precisely over the top of the gas stove and a miniature dishwasher. In the bathroom she pulled back a shower curtain to reveal a custom-made soaking tub with a detachable showerhead.

  “I’ve been intrigued by the whole tiny house thing for a while,” Avery said. “If we utilize some of these design elements into Bitsy’s one-bedroom, we could better accommodate her things and also make it feel more spacious. If we make these vacation cottages fun and functional, they’ll be more attractive to buyers looking for a full-time residence.”

  “Good thinking.” Chase stepped up behind Avery as the young woman on-screen stepped back to reveal the cleverly disguised storage that had been built into the narrow staircase that led up to the sleeping loft.

  “Cool.” He leaned closer, resting his hands on Avery’s shoulders as the woman demonstrated how even the bottom treads concealed deep drawers. “There’s a lot of skill involved in utilizing the space so efficiently.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Plus the more efficient the design, the fewer the materials needed.”

  “Mmmm.” The back of her head pillowed against his abdomen, not a soft spot but a comforting one. Reluctantly she leaned forward to cue up another video. “Look at this.” She hit “play” and they watched another tiny home owner slide a cut-down barn door across two room openings. “One sliding door covers the bathroom and the bedroom without taking up more than a couple inches of floor space.” She leaned back against him again, enjoying the physical connection, as she pulled up another example. “With enough building-in and tiny space technique, we can create the illusion of space. Which can be more important than the actual square footage.”

  “I like it,” Chase said and Avery realized how long it had been since they had really collaborated.

  “The Sunshine cottages won’t be portable like a lot of tiny homes are,” she said. “And we can’t afford to sell them for as little as they tend to go for. But they’ll come with club membership, the pool, a gorgeous stretch of beach, and the Gulf of Mexico.” She could see the cottages in her mind’s eye. “We could make Bitsy’s one-bedroom into a model and build out a two-bedroom version as well. I’m betting most buyers would prefer the more efficient versions. I know I would.”

  He turned the desk chair around and pulled her to her feet. She had to crane her neck and look up to meet his eyes, but tonight she didn’t resent the disparity in their heights. Because those eyes were filled with admiration.

  “Did you ever read any of Sue Grafton’s alphabet mysteries?” she asked. “You know, A is for Alibi, B is for Burglar, and so on?”

  “No.”

  “I used to inhale them. The main character, Kinsey Millhone, lives in this really compact studio apartment converted from a single-car garage. I remember some of the descriptions of the space—everything tightly fit together like the cabin of a boat. It always sounded so cozy.”

  “Cozy is good,” he murmured, pulling her up against him. “So is tightly fit.” He grinned. “And I’m especially partial to compact.” He ran his hands down her sides to illustrate, let his hands settle on her buttocks. “I don’t remember the last time we had the house to ourselves.” His kiss was long and lingering. “I never thought of DIY videos or anything with the word ‘tiny’ in it as turn-ons before, but . . .” He kissed her again. His hands moved over her backside with more intent.

  “Shows what you know,” she teased. “Home and Garden programming of almost any kind is total porn for women.”

  He pulled her tighter so that their bodies melded. “Good to know.” His lips quirked up as he leaned back in for a kiss. “I guess it’s kind of like when you talk construction to me.”

  “Square footage,” she breathed. “Slope ratio.”

  His lips found hers. They shared a smile that turned into a bone-melting kiss.

  “We might not get the house to ourselves for another millennium,” Chase said.

  “Oh, is there something special you want to talk about?” She looped her arms around his neck.

  “I
don’t want to talk at all,” he whispered as his lips moved to nibble on her ear and his fingers began to unbutton her blouse. “But I’d like to help you get undressed. At the moment you have way too many clothes on for the kind of communication I have in mind.”

  • • •

  Maddie was outside on the loggia watching Dustin “renovate” his replica Bella Flora when Troy finished loading his car and came to say good-bye. Each layer of his shaggy hair shone a different color of blond in the morning sun. His chiseled face was lightly tanned. A wry smile twisted his lips. When he removed his sunglasses, his eyes were missing their usual challenging glint.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be getting on the road.”

  “Where are you headed?” Maddie asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve had some offers. I may take a little time weighing them.”

  “Will you be all right . . . financially?”

  His eyes lit with surprise, which he quashed quickly. “Oh, I’ll be fine. But it’s nice of you to ask. In fact, you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever come across.”

  Maddie smiled. She’d watched his gentle manner with Dustin, the fact that even when he’d worked for the network, he’d done what he could to protect her grandson and Kyra.

  “Your daughter, on the other hand, can be a bit harsh. And her taste in men is seriously flawed.” He looked out over the playhouse, beyond the fishing pier to the Gulf beyond.

  “We all have our weaknesses. And truly charismatic men can be especially hard to resist,” Maddie said, trying not to think how poorly she seemed to be handling her own relationship with the way too charismatic William Hightower. “But if you’d been less confrontational and more forthcoming, Kyra might have been able to see your good qualities. You do have more than a few.”

  “Forthcoming about what?” he asked as if he had no idea what she was talking about. But when he turned his gaze back to meet hers, his discomfort was plain.

  “About your feelings for Kyra.”

  He put his sunglasses back on. His broad shoulders stiffened. “What makes you think I have feelings for Kyra?”