The House on Mermaid Point

Chapter Twelve

They sat on the upper deck of the houseboat that night as the sun went down. Dustin was tucked into his berth, pleasantly worn out by the hours he’d spent swimming and digging in the sand. Maddie had put together a collection of snacks to carry up, including a bowl of Cheez Doodles for Avery, the Bagel Bites Kyra favored, and hummus and veggies to round things out. Despite the makeshift nature of their living quarters, she felt oddly content.

“There must be some sort of gourmet shop somewhere,” Deirdre said.

“Definitely. Probably right next to the bait shop,” Nicole said, filling each of their cups with the strawberry daiquiris she’d blended. “No, wait—down here it’s probably in the bait shop.”

There was laughter.

“Eat up,” Maddie said after taking a long, lovely sip of her drink. “I’ve just made a salad for dinner. I tried to stock up today but there’s not really enough storage space to keep the ingredients for serious meals and it gets kind of hot down there with the oven on for any length of time.”

“Yeah, the air-conditioning isn’t exactly powerful,” Nicole said.

“Maybe it just needs a shot of Freon,” Maddie suggested.

“I think it lacks the will to live,” Avery said drily.

“So do I,” Nicole said. “I felt like a lump of clay baking in a kiln at the pool today.” She waved away a kamikaze mosquito.

Avery slapped at her thigh. There was a rustling in the mangroves that none of them wanted to acknowledge.

“We’ve only been here twenty-four hours and I feel like I’ve sweated through half of my clothes,” Avery said.

“That’s what happens when you pack too light,” Deirdre said. “I can lend you a few things if you’d like.”

Avery popped a Cheez Doodle in her mouth, wiped her orange hands on her shorts. “I don’t need more clothes; I just need access to a washing machine.”

“Maybe we can get them to set one up next to the port-o-let.” Deirdre grimaced.

“There must be a Laundromat in Islamorada. It is a major tourist destination,” Maddie reasoned.

“There’s a perfectly good laundry room in William Hightower’s house.” Avery waited until Deirdre was looking and licked one orange finger.

“Sure, why don’t we just ask him if he’d like to run a few loads for us?” Kyra’s comment was accompanied by an eye roll.

“Obviously we’re not going to ask him to do our wash. But we could ask if he’d let us use the washer and dryer. I mean, why would he object? Maybe we could offer to do his while we’re at it—as a sort of trade-off,” Avery suggested.

“You wouldn’t mind doing William the Wild’s wash, would you?” Nicole teased Maddie. “Just think: you could have William Hightower’s boxers in your hands.”

“I can’t see him in boxers. Maybe briefs,” Deirdre said. “Actually, now that I think about it he looks like the kind of man who might prefer to go commando.”

“It frightens me that you’ve thought about his potential lack of underwear,” Avery said.

“I may be the oldest woman here,” Deirdre said, “but I promise you I’m not dead.”

“What do you think, Maddie? You had a pretty fair close-up,” Nicole said.

“No clue,” Maddie said. “And I’m not going to ask to use his laundry room.” And she was most definitely not going to imagine him in his underwear. Or out of it.

“Why not?” Avery asked.

“For the same reason she swam in her T-shirt instead of ever taking it off,” Kyra said. “Just because William Hightower was watching.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Maddie said. “It’s not like he’d be looking at me even if I stood on my head naked.”

“Well, that would be one way to compensate for gravity,” Nicole said. “But honestly, I’m pretty sure he was looking.”

“I’d like to propose a toast to Islamorada and Mermaid Point,” Maddie said, deciding it was time to take control of the conversation. “Both of them are beautiful. And while our living situation may be a bit . . . rustic . . . we are living on a private island. So that’s my good thing tonight.”

“Well, as hostile as he is to the renovation, William Hightower’s name should pull a lot of new viewers to Do Over,” Nicole said. “So that’s a good thing.”

They raised their glasses, clinked, and drank.

“Being on an island is my good thing, too,” Kyra said. “Because while it might be harder than I’d like to get on and off, it also makes it harder for the paparazzi to sneak up on us.”

“Being on an island also keeps distractions at a minimum. Which will help us stay focused.” Maddie noticed that Deirdre was looking at Avery when she said this.

They clicked and drank again, as the sky streaked purple and the glowing red ball that was the sun prepared for splashdown.

“I’m not about to downplay the logistical challenges of working here,” Avery said, her eyes following the sun. “But the sunset is spectacular and one of these days I might even make it up for sunrise. It is pretty cool to be able to see both over water from one location.”

“Here, here!” They clinked and tipped their cups to their lips.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the sunset from somewhere other than this deck,” Nicole said. “Why don’t we try that celebration at the Lorelei?”

“How do you propose we get off the island and back again?” Kyra asked.

“Maybe Hudson would take us and pick us up,” Maddie said, wishing she’d had enough lessons with the skiff to drive everyone herself.

“Or we could call a water taxi. If there is such a thing,” Deirdre suggested.

“Sounds good,” Nicole said.

“Great, we’re agreed then,” Deirdre said. “Maddie will ask William Hightower about using the laundry and kitchen . . .”

“Oh, no, I’m not going to do that . . .” Maddie’s palms went slightly damp just thinking about it.

“And Nikki will be in charge of finding the best way off Fantasy Island for sunset,” Avery finished.

“No. Wait. I’m actually not . . .” Maddie began, but the others had all turned their attention to the sky and the final plunge of the glowing red ball.

Which meant that Maddie actually was.

Avery was up before the rooster but not before the sun. She smothered her vibrating alarm quickly and sat up in bed, wanting to go through the main house while William Hightower was doing his morning laps, which appeared to be a regular seven-to-eight-A.M. occurrence. Deirdre’s bed was already empty and Avery feared she’d be waiting for her in the main cabin insisting on joining her, but as she quietly climbed down the short ladder she heard water running in the bathroom and saw no sign of Deirdre. If she managed to sneak off the boat without Deirdre seeing her, she could walk through the house and finalize her thoughts on her own.

At the counter Maddie turned to greet her. “Good morn—”

“Shhhh.” Avery put a finger to her lips. “I don’t want to draw Deirdre’s attention,” she whispered.

“But—”

“I know,” Avery whispered, “I can’t leave without a cup of coffee.” She was, after all, wearing the T-shirt that Kyra had given her for Christmas that read, I Drink Coffee for Your Protection. “Is there . . .”

Maddie handed her a to-go cup creamed and sugared the way Avery liked it.

“Thanks,” Avery whispered, stuffing her yellow pad under one arm and slipping her pencil behind her ear. Her tape measure was already tucked into her back pocket. “I just don’t want Deirdre to . . . you know . . .”

“But she’s not even—” Maddie began.

“I’ll see you later.” Avery turned and tiptoed past the bathroom door and up the short ladder to the main deck. Congratulating herself on her clean escape, she stepped off the boat and onto the dock.

Where Deirdre’s cheery “Good morning!” stopped her cold. It took her a moment to fully register that the greeting had come from the island. Where her mother stood freshly made up and fully dressed. The bag that Avery knew always contained a tape measure, notepad, and paint color deck hung over one of Deirdre’s shoulders. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she said pleasantly. “But I didn’t want to miss our window of opportunity, either. It will be easier to discuss details without Hightower there.”

Avery walked toward her mother, the word “Busted!” echoing in her not-yet-caffeinated brain. She took several long sips of coffee while she weighed her options. Short of racing Deirdre to the house and attempting to lock her out, they were extremely limited.

Deirdre was smart enough not to look victorious as Avery joined her near the boathouse and stayed mercifully silent, not even commenting on what Avery knew she must look like given how quickly she’d dressed. Avery waved a hand toward the path and said, “After you.” She drained the cup of coffee as she followed Deirdre to the house, but no means of escape presented itself.

“So how shall we do this?” Deirdre asked when they came to a stop in front of the house.

Avery shrugged. She was wishing for another cup of coffee when Deirdre pulled an insulated travel mug out of her bag and handed it to Avery, who did not have the strength to reject it. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Deirdre pulled out her notes then turned to look at the façade while Avery gulped down the coffee.

“I’m going to leave the structure to you,” Deirdre said while Avery was still drinking. “I know the bad sections of board and batten will have to be replaced along with the windows and the rotted frames, and I know you’ll want to get a roofer up to take a look as soon as possible. We’ll need someone who can address the stonework and a carpenter to handle the rotted sills and bad planking on the porch. Decoratively, we’ll need new ceiling fans and porch furniture—I’m thinking an outdoor rattan or wicker. Maybe a wooden double swing on this corner and another overlooking the pool. When we repaint I think either gray or possibly a creamy beige—something soothing and somewhat masculine—but with bright pops of island color. Which I’d also like to continue on the garage and boathouse units.”

Avery looked for something to take exception to and failed. Every ounce of Deirdre’s enthusiasm seemed genuine.

“It’s lucky that the house is raised and the foundation surround needs work anyway, because if we’re going to convert the two front rooms to guest suites it’ll make reworking the plumbing to include an en suite for each so much easier.”

She looked to Avery for a comment. Once again, Avery was forced to nod in agreement. Which was horribly painful.

Deirdre reached for the front doorknob. “I double-checked with Will while I was waiting for you and he said to go ahead and ‘knock ourselves out.’ Unfortunately, I think he meant that literally. The man would like nothing more than for us to throw up our hands and disappear. Which I’m certain neither of us intends to let happen.”

Once again Avery searched Deirdre’s smiling face for something she could take exception to. Once again, she failed. It was as if Deirdre had somehow shed her blatant narcissism and self-serving ambition like a snake might shuck its skin, leaving only a consummate, and smiling, design professional with whom it would take great effort to disagree.

“Oh, and I’d like to replace the heavy wood doors with glass,” Deirdre said. “So that the eye is drawn in even from outside.” Deirdre opened the door and they stepped inside. “It’ll also brighten the foyer. What do you think of the pecky cypress on the walls?”

“It’s a great material, bug and moisture resistant,” Avery finally said. “But . . .” Avery hesitated, still resisting the on-site collaboration that Deirdre had forced her into.

“But what?” Deirdre prompted in the tone she’d used when she’d taken Avery into an antiques or fabric store as a child and then quizzed her on the provenance of an armoire or the heft and weave of a fabric.

“But it’s darkened as it’s aged,” Avery replied like the child she’d once been.

“And?” Deirdre prompted.

Avery hesitated, trying not to remember how eager she’d been to please her mother. How proud she’d been each time she’d known an answer. “And although I think a glass door will help, the walls are going to absorb a lot of the gained light.”

“Yes,” Deirdre said, clearly pleased and not trying to hide it at all. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. And I believe I have a solution.” She eyed Avery. “Look at this.”

Deirdre handed her a page torn from a magazine. It showed a pecky cypress ceiling that had a whitewashed look.

Avery studied the photo then considered the foyer walls, intrigued despite herself.

“It’s an acid wash,” Deirdre explained. “I found a formula for it online. We could actually apply it to the foyer and great room walls ourselves.”

Avery imagined the space with sunlight streaming in from the east and the west, the washed walls glowing in that light. It was a good idea. Possibly a great one. Damn it.

Deirdre looked her in the eye then repositioned the bag on her shoulder. “You’re allowed to like my ideas without formally forgiving me. In fact, we could work together on this project and then when we’re finished you could go back to hating me.” Her smile was sad.

Avery looked into eyes the same shape and color as her own and couldn’t help but see the regret there.

“I like it,” Avery said reluctantly. “I like the acid wash. It’ll do a lot for the space.”

Deirdre’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she said only, “Good. That’s . . . I’m glad.”

This, of course, made Avery feel like shit. She looked away and moved into the sun-filled space. “I was thinking that I’d like to rip the stairs out of the foyer.” She led Deirdre into the kitchen and gestured to the back wall. “And move them here.”

Deirdre surreptitiously wiped away her tears as she considered the space.

“And I was thinking maybe we could even build in part of the kitchen under the stairs.” After a long moment, and without looking at her mother, Avery asked, “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Deirdre asked as the smile spread over her face. “I thought you’d never ask.”