One Good Thing Page 9

  Avery raised her chin, held her ground. “I want you to tell your father what you did today. You owe him honesty at the very least.”

  Jason snorted. “He doesn’t give a crap what I do unless it’s playing baseball to get some stupid scholarship. And I can’t think why I need to tell him what I did today. It would only piss him off.” His look turned crafty. “Besides, it’s not like you can do anything to me if I don’t.”

  “That’s true,” she conceded. “But if you don’t tell him, I will.” She said this with every bit of assurance she could muster. But as she turned to walk away, she hoped like hell she wouldn’t have to.

  Ten

  Maddie was in the minivan on her way to the grocery store when the DJ introduced William Hightower’s seminal seventies hit “Mermaid in You.” She froze for an instant as the opening strains of the song that had seemed the very definition of love to her teenaged self swirled around her. At the time she’d been busy spinning fantasies about “William the Wild,” whose poster hung on her bedroom wall, never imagining those fantasies might one day come true.

  She had coral cheekbones and sunkissed hair . . . Skin that shimmered everywhere . . . Maddie sank into the powerful lyrics and haunting melody, even more affected now that she knew how intensely personal the song had been to him and sang along with her favorite line, I didn’t know what love was or what it could do ’til I found the mermaid in you . . . Lost in the song, she remembered who she was then and shivered at how Will made her feel now.

  She tuned back into the DJ’s voice as he cued up “Free Fall,” the current hit that had fueled Will’s unexpected comeback. “William Hightower’s forty-city tour sold out ten minutes after tickets went on sale!” the DJ announced. “But I have it on good authority that Hightower’s people are adding more performances. Yours truly will be giving away some of those tickets right here on WLCK, so stay tuned!”

  Maddie reached for her cell phone, but once she had it in her hand, she hesitated.

  You’re too big a wuss to call him. How do you think you’re going to hold on to him if you don’t even have the nerve to call? It was her subconscious, who’d taken to popping up uninvited, and who was unfailingly negative.

  I am not afraid to call Will. She was getting kind of tired of having to defend herself to herself.

  You are—you’re afraid to call him. Afraid he won’t answer. Afraid he will but will sound eager to get off the phone. Afraid he’s already looking forward to getting on the road, where there will be lots of younger and better-looking women to choose from.

  Am not.

  Are too.

  Irritated with herself and her relentless subconscious, she shoved the phone in her purse.

  I don’t blame you for being afraid, her subconscious conceded. It’s been four days since you heard from him.

  We communicate in other ways. He sent me that photo of the redfish he caught. Will is still Will, Maddie countered.

  And you’re still you.

  Maddie wasn’t sure when her subconscious had begun copping this attitude, but this was clearly not a compliment.

  How long do you really think your relationship is going to last once he’s on the road for all those months without you?

  He’s not a player anymore. He’s only doing the tour to make music and for the money to subsidize the sober living facility, she fired back.

  So he’ll just turn his back on all those women? He won’t even be tempted? Her subconscious wasn’t buying it. You should have agreed to go on tour with him. He told you he needed you. He even said he “trusted himself” more with you there.

  She parked the van, slammed the door, and crossed the parking lot. As she pushed the cart through the aisles, the internal debate continued. In the produce section she weighed a bunch of bananas and wondered whether thinking to yourself was as bad as talking to yourself.

  She told herself to stop as she threw the grocery bags into the van. Back on Gulf Boulevard, she reminded herself that there were far more important things to worry about at the moment, most notably their lack of funds and their inability to sell the documentary or shoot their own version of Do Over until the lawsuit was dismissed or settled.

  Her “self” didn’t seem to be listening.

  “Fine.” She picked up her phone and called Will. This time she didn’t get a chance to reconsider because he answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, there, Maddie-fan. How are things going?”

  “Oh, they’re going,” she said brightly. “I just called to say congratulations! I heard on the radio that your tour sold out in ten minutes.”

  “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Will said.

  “Crazy,” she said.

  Yeah, just fabulous, her subconscious added with a far heavier dose of sarcasm than a subconscious should possess.

  “That’s what Aaron keeps telling me. We hit the road in March, and I think we play Tampa in early April. But I hope I’ll be seeing you before then.”

  “When do you think you can come up?” She was ashamed of how hard it was to ask.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to see. They’ve hired an assistant to handle my schedule and keep me organized. I think Aquarian’s afraid that if I have too much free time on my hands, I might get into trouble.”

  “Well, being organized never hurt anyone that I know of,” Maddie said a bit too cheerily. “What’s his name?”

  “His name is Lori Blair—that’s Lori with an i.” There was amusement in his voice. “Or so I was informed when we were introduced.”

  “Oh.” Was it wrong that she was now hoping that Lori was a transvestite or a badly dressed cross-dresser and not an attractive female?

  Will laughed. “She’s a little on the young side. In fact, I’m pretty sure she was still wearing diapers the first time I went on tour.”

  Maddie did not want to think about just how young that would make Lori with an i.

  Doesn’t matter. There’s no such thing as too young, her subconscious assured her.

  “But she’s surprisingly competent. And fiercely protective,” Will said. “She kind of reminds me of you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  Why don’t you ask him in what ways? her subconscious nudged.

  But she couldn’t do it. Because she was afraid of hearing him describe the girl. Afraid to know just how young Lori was. Terrified that Aaron had chosen to send a younger, presumably prettier version of Maddie on the road with Will for reasons that were not completely professional. And because, as her subconscious pointed out, If you’d agreed to go with him, there wouldn’t be a Lori.

  “The residents here are all already a little bit in love with her. Even Hudson doesn’t seem immune,” he said, mentioning his longtime fishing guide and closest friend, who had taught Maddie how to operate a boat.

  “That’s great,” she said as enthusiastically as she could, which was to say with the stiffness of a board. “I look forward to meeting her.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire!

  “And I look forward to seeing you.” His voice grew quieter, more intimate. “All of you.”

  There, she told her subconscious. Take that. There’s no need to panic.

  “I’ll ask Lori to put some time aside,” he said without a trace of irony. “She’s very big about making sure even personal things are on the schedule.”

  Ha! Her subconscious sneered. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s definitely time to let the panicking commence!

  Maddie sighed. It was bad enough having such a negative, know-it-all subconscious. Did it always have to have the last word?

  • • •

  “Sorry, Sherlock.” Bitsy looked down into the bulldog’s forlorn face as he pushed at the bowl that contained actual dog food rather than the sautéed hamburger and grilled steak bits he was used to. “It’s t
his or a granola bar.” Which was what she’d been reduced to eating for breakfast and lunch and sometimes even dinner. “You may have noticed we don’t have a cook anymore. Or a housekeeper. Or even a house for the housekeeper to keep.”

  Sherlock snuffled and looked even more pathetic, but Bitsy had been shocked to discover that even the lowest-quality ground round was too expensive for her nonexistent budget. “Hey, it’s not like I’m sneaking foie gras and feeding you this.” She, too, was now eating food that came in boxes and wrappers, though fortunately not yet in dog food cans. “Eat up. Then we’ll go outside for some fresh air.”

  Though he looked at her accusingly, Sherlock ultimately ate the entire bowl of food then quickly washed it down with fast slurps of water. Bitsy changed into a bathing suit and cover-up, took him outside to do his business, then carried him and the local newspaper to the pool. Slipping his leash under one leg of a chaise, she removed her cover-up and began to apply sunscreen. The sun was warming in the cloudless blue sky, and the rhythmic wash of the water out on the beach was far more calming than her white noise machine had ever been. The people at the pool were not former models or socialites who went after cellulite and varicose veins as if they were enemies of the state. Their bathing suits and cover-ups did not carry the designer labels she was used to or show off hard, sculpted bodies honed in private Pilates classes and at the hands of personal trainers who came daily to one’s home gym.

  Although the cottages didn’t appear to be selling—only the two models and Joe and Nikki’s unit were more than empty shells—the beach club, if not thriving, seemed to be attracting members. Four women sat at a card table beneath the overhang playing mah-jongg and chatting while casting an occasional eye at the children diving for pennies or bobbing up and down in the pool. Two teenage girls in bikinis sat on the low wall that bordered the beach and pretended not to watch the nicely muscled, bare-chested lifeguard who was perched on a retro stand between the deep and shallow ends of the pool. Voices floated down from the rooftop deck, and out of the corner of her eye she could see several tables of people in the glass-walled dining room as well as a Ping-Pong match taking place in the main lobby. Every once in a while a child would walk inside and come out licking an ice cream sandwich or cone from the soda fountain. Even the seagulls soaring above the string that crisscrossed above the pool and pool deck, looking for a way in, seemed less strident than their Palm Beach counterparts. Sherlock curled up on the concrete next to her chaise and watched the children as if they were a fascinating new species. If she hadn’t been so desperately poor and embarrassingly lonely, it would have been downright relaxing.

  Bitsy pulled the local newspaper out of her beach bag and turned to the alarmingly slim classified section. Nowhere did she see an ad for a job that required skills in entertaining, charitable fund-raising, lunching, or shopping. The closest listing to Bitsy’s skill set was for an activities director at a nursing home that paid the annual sum of thirty thousand dollars. Which she was fairly certain was less than their part-time gardener had made. The other was for a concession stand trainee, which listed a salary that was frighteningly close to zero, but promised free meals.

  She was waffling over whether to even circle the two ads when Sherlock gave a small woof. A shadow fell over the paper. She looked up to see Nicole Grant, who had, despite her increased bulk and pronounced waddle, somehow managed to sneak up on her.

  “May I join you?”

  “Please do.” Bitsy motioned to the chaise beside her and waited while Nikki lowered herself down onto the cushion then lifted and levered her legs off the ground. Lying down, her belly was even more pronounced. One hand cupped the bottom of her stomach, the other rested on top of it. “That’s quite a load you’re carrying.”

  “You’ve got that right.” Nikki drew in a deep breath of air then expelled it slowly. “You know it’s time to give birth when even sitting down makes you short of breath.”

  They lay side by side for a moment silently watching the jigsaw of clouds rearrange themselves in the sky. “Are you afraid?” Bitsy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Of giving birth or being a mother?”

  “Both.” Nikki’s eyes remained on the sky as she spoke. “Back when I was wishing I could have a child, I never imagined it happening at this point in my life. And I sure as hell never expected I’d end up having twins.”

  “Joe seems pretty happy about becoming a father.” In fact, Bitsy envied Nikki’s support system. She had Joe, who clearly loved her, a set of grandparents and even a great-grandmother for the babies, plus good friends nearby at Bella Flora. Despite her brother’s thievery and what it had cost her, Nikki was far richer in the ways that mattered than Bitsy had ever been.

  “Yes. And I have no doubt he’ll be better at all of it than me. The only person I ever mothered was Malcolm and we all know how that turned out.”

  “I don’t think you can be blamed for Malcolm. Sometimes the people you love just behave badly.”

  Nikki gave her a sharp look. “Has Bertie done something, Bitsy? I don’t mean to pry, but I had the impression it was a good match and that you two really loved each other.”

  So had Bitsy. She wanted to ask Nikki to explain just how in love they’d looked, wanted desperately to reassure herself that Bertie had not simply been a fortune hunter who’d bided his time until he could make his escape and take her fortune with him. But the loss was far too staggering and the hurt too great to admit.

  “We were. I mean, we are.” Bitsy grimaced.

  She’d become a pariah in the town that had once courted her. Without money, she was beneath their notice though not their contempt. Nikki had also experienced a great fall through no fault of her own. Yet, she had survived it, made real friends, and even found love.

  “I hope you know that I’m here for you,” Nicole said. “All of us are.”

  Sherlock raised his head and looked up at her. Bitsy reached out to scratch him lightly behind one ear. He snuffled and looked at her with what she thought might be gratitude. “Thank you,” she said to Nikki.

  “If you told me what’s really going on, we might be able to help,” Nikki said gently.

  Bitsy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the chaise. “I appreciate that,” she said, pulling on her cover-up and releasing Sherlock’s leash. “Really, I do.” Just not enough to share her sad, humiliating story. “But I think Sherlock needs to go to the bathroom.” She tugged on Sherlock’s leash but he didn’t budge. In fact, he snuffled at her with what sounded like disapproval and refused to move.

  For some reason that Bitsy didn’t understand, Nikki and the others had not yet done a Google search or run into anyone from Palm Beach eager to share the clichéd soap opera Bitsy’s life had become. She was not about to clue them in unless she had to. Reaching down, she gathered Sherlock into her arms. “I’m going to take him over to his favorite tree on Thirty-first,” she said inanely, being careful not to meet Nikki’s appraising gaze before she turned and walked away. Surely inanity was better than pity. She intended to hang on to the remnants of her pride as long as possible. At the moment, they were all she had left.

  Eleven

  Nikki was sound asleep on the chaise when she felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder.

  With the nightmares that had been waking her in the wee hours of the night absent, she’d been floating peacefully wrapped in a fluffy cloud and had no interest in leaving it. “Not now,” she murmured. “Sleeping . . .”

  “Yes, I can see that.” The voice was Joe’s, the words breathed close to her ear. “But you look like you’ve been out here for a while. Do you want to go inside and lie down?”

  “No. In sky. Is nice . . .”

  “Okay.” A beach towel was laid on top of her. Something scraped across concrete. She tried to turn on her side but something was in the way. Her eyes flickered open, she looked down. That thing was her s
tomach. “Good Lord.”

  She heard Joe’s chuckle and turned her head to face him. “I dreamed I was floating in a cloud. It was so beautiful. The best thing was that I didn’t weigh anything at all.” Nikki sighed with real regret. “The only place I feel like that now is in my dreams if I’m lucky enough to sleep for more than five minutes at a time. And in the water.”

  “I think the Gulf’s a little cool, and the pool probably is, too. But I could run a bath for you.”

  “You’d do that for me?” Her eyes got moist. But then she teared up at Hallmark commercials and pictures of puppies in magazines. Yesterday she’d sobbed uncontrollably when Dustin handed her a weed he’d picked. “I don’t know, the cottage feels so far away right now.”

  “So what would you like?” He bowed like some courtier. “Your wish is my command.”

  She looked into his dark eyes and for the briefest moment what she wanted was to ask him to marry her. But how humiliating would that be? And what if he really had changed his mind and no longer wanted to get married? What if the occasional distance she felt from him was real and not imagined? “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to an ice cream sandwich.”

  He smiled with a reassuring flash of white teeth. “I’d be worried it would ruin your dinner, but I happen to know that’s not possible. Be right back.”

  When he returned, she wasted no time peeling off the wrapper and licking her way across the ice cream edges. Her eyes closed in unfeigned pleasure. “God, I love ice cream sandwiches. I think they’re unfairly underrated in the dessert world.”

  He unwrapped his own and took a large bite.

  “How can you do that?”

  “You don’t get the full flavor when you lick around the edges and eat one chocolate layer at a time,” he said. “It’s called an ice cream sandwich for a reason.”

  “Ha!” she replied, her tongue coated with ice cream. “It lasts way longer this way. And you get to enjoy each part thoroughly.”