The House on Mermaid Point

Chapter Thirty-one

As a rule Avery didn’t believe in crying. She’d spent almost her entire thirteenth year doing little else after Deirdre up and left them. When she’d finally hiccuped to a stop she’d been pale and exhausted, but the tears hadn’t brought back her mother. The same could be said for the tears she’d shed at the demise of her marriage, the death of her father, and the end of her role on a television show she’d created.

Losing her father’s hard-earned fortune to Malcolm Dyer’s Ponzi scheme had left her fighting mad, which had struck her as far more productive. But saying good-bye to Fred Strahlendorf, and even temporarily to Roberto, made her eyes go slightly damp with gratitude and affection.

In fact, as the three of them walked through the structures with Fred’s assistant Danny trailing behind, she wanted to weep with joy at all that they’d accomplished in such a short period of time.

While Roberto seemed content to let his work speak for itself, Fred handed her a folder neatly filled with paperwork. An agenda and checklist for their walk-through had been stapled to the inside flap of the folder.

“So, William’s suite, his new kitchenette, and the guest rooms are good to go,” Fred said upstairs in the main house. “I talked to your AC people and I understand they’re putting in a damper system, so I’ve wired for the individual thermostats they plan to put in each guest room.”

In the foyer he pointed up toward the beams in the vaulted ceiling. “You see that each beam is wired for the pinpoint lights Deirdre showed me. Having the upstairs floor open made it easy to access from above.” He removed a mechanical pencil from his pocket protector and checked off each item as they moved. “Your kitchen wiring is ready, based on Deirdre’s drawings. I’ve made notes for the kitchen people.” He handed her a precisely laid-out diagram of the electrical plan. “But Danny or I could probably get back for a day or two during the installation, which I assume will be sometime in early to mid August.”

Avery’s eyes were comfortably dry now. But she thought she felt her heart flutter with happiness.

The garage-turned-guesthouse was another joy to behold. The framing was complete and the rooms now easily identifiable. Roberto ran a hand over a tricky piece of carpentry here and there in the two new bathrooms and over the newly constructed pocket door frames between the downstairs sitting room and bedroom and smiled dreamily. Fred flipped to the next page in the folder and said, “The upstairs and downstairs have been treated as completely different entities even though they can be joined and rented as one large unit. I spent a good bit of time on the switching for the stairs—we don’t want a guest in one suite to accidentally turn the stair lights on and off when the units are rented to unrelated guests.” He showed her the schematics and how he’d handled this. Then he checked it off the list.

They paused at the fork in the path that led to William Hightower’s studio, the only structure none of them had been allowed to enter or touch. “It’s a travesty,” Roberto said. “Wild Will not making music is an insult to the universe. Someone needs to stage an intervention.”

“You might at least clear the path when the landscaping is done,” Fred said. “And maybe do something to the exterior. Who knows? It could be like that movie Roberto and I watched the other night—Field of Dreams. If you build or remodel it maybe he will come.”

Except of course that it was hard to build or remodel something you weren’t allowed to even look at.

“That’s totally cosmic,” Roberto said with a pleased smile. “I’m proud of you, man.”

Fred looked down as if checking his list, but Avery thought she saw him bop his head slightly before they moved on.

The boathouse and guest suites above it had been rewired, the dock lighting enhanced for cleaning fish and boats after dark. A string of low lights had been affixed near the waterline for ambience and for night fishing.

Fred checked off three more boxes and nodded smartly. Roberto clapped him heartily on the back.

They met Deirdre down by the pool, where Roberto closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the morning sun. Fred showed them the location of the junction boxes, running parallel with the swimming pool, that would power the uplights for each of the palm trees that would be delivered and planted once the new pool deck was done.

“It’s perfect!” Avery and Deirdre pronounced in unison, which made Deirdre smile while Avery ducked her head in an effort to hide the tears that were once again pricking her eyelids. “I don’t know what we would have done without you,” she said when she’d managed to blink them away.

Fred smiled modestly and double-tapped his pocket protector. Roberto threw his arms around the electrician. “I’m gonna miss you, man. But your room will be available anytime, anywhere.”

“Thank you,” Fred said. “You know I appreciate the hospitality. Your sunset house is like a Rubik’s Cube to me: an irresistible opportunity to attempt to tame chaos itself.”

Roberto hugged Fred again and then threw his arms around Avery and Deirdre just as effusively. “Traffic’s gonna be a bitch from now ’til after the holiday. I’m gonna head out to a quiet spot I know ’til everybody takes themselves back to the mainland. Send me a smoke signal when the Sheetrock’s done and you’re ready for me to start the trim work.”

“Or you could call him on his cell phone,” Fred said smoothly. “I added both our numbers to the checklist.”

“It’s all cool, man,” Roberto said. “I hope you’ll all stop and smell a couple of sea oats along the way over the break. I know I plan to.”

Fred and Danny headed to the dock and loaded the last of their gear into Danny’s motorboat. Roberto walked over to the house of the setting sun and fired up her engines.

“I just hope he doesn’t smoke too many of those sea oats while he’s at it,” Avery said as she and Deirdre watched him untie his house and putt slowly out into the channel. “Thank God, it’s environmentally protected and not available by prescription.”

Deirdre smiled. Together she and Avery waved good-bye to their favorite Odd Couple and watched both boats until they disappeared under Tea Table Bridge.

The Mini Cooper bulged with people and luggage as it inched its way south on U.S. 1 toward the Marathon Airport. It was late in the morning of July 3 and Avery’s grip was tight on the wheel as she drove in the stream of holiday weekend traffic.

“It’s a good thing we left plenty of time to get there.” Deirdre, who sat beside her and had miraculously confined herself to only one suitcase and a makeup bag for their trip down to Key West, peered into the side mirror at the long line of cars that stretched behind them.

“We could probably have gotten there faster by water.” Kyra’s arm was draped over the back of Dustin’s car seat, which they’d buckled into the backseat beside her. Mother and son now had dull dishwater blond hair and wore nondescript Keys T-shirts, flip-flops, and dark sunglasses. The disguise didn’t cover as much of their bodies as some Kyra had devised, but would hopefully allow them to blend in with the rest of the passengers on their flight to Tampa.

Every time Avery spotted them in her rearview mirror she did a double take. None of them felt comfortable with the idea of Kyra and Daniel Deranian spending an entire weekend in such close proximity, but Kyra hadn’t exactly asked for their permission.

“A water route would only be faster if we didn’t do another sleepover on a flat,” Avery said drily. “But I do kind of wish Deirdre and I were taking a boat down to Key West after we drop you off. This traffic is unbelievable.”

The Florida Keys Marathon Airport was comprised of a boxlike concrete terminal, a single runway that paralleled the Gulf, and a hangar around which small private planes were parked. A commuter plane sat on the tarmac near the terminal, its stair extended. Avery watched idly as arriving passengers crossed the tarmac and entered the terminal. Her eyes swept over a lone male who reminded her of Chase, clearly a case of wasted wishful thinking. Her eyes swept back.

“What’s going on?” Beside her Deirdre and Kyra were grinning.

“What do you think is going on?” Deirdre’s voice carried a light mischievousness Avery had never heard in it before.

“It’s Ace!” Dustin shouted with glee, pointing at what clearly was not a figment of Avery’s imagination.

Before she could speak, “Ace” Hardin was wrapping her in his arms, lifting her off her feet, and spinning her around.

“Oh, my God! I can’t believe this!” She could hear the pleasure and disbelief in her voice. Inside she felt downright giddy.

Chase’s lips brushed the nape of her neck as he set her back on her feet. He let go of her just long enough to hug Kyra and Deirdre and tousle Dustin’s hair. His arm slipped around Avery’s shoulder.

“I don’t understand. I thought you had to stay in Tampa with—”

“A good friend volunteered to stay with Dad and the boys.” Chase grinned.

Avery’s heart pounded and her brain had filled with all kinds of things, but she couldn’t imagine who up in Tampa might have given up a long holiday weekend on their behalf. “A friend? But who?”

Chase laughed and squeezed her shoulder lightly. “She’s standing right in front of you.”

Avery looked up into his face, followed his gaze to where it rested on . . .

“Deirdre?”

“What?” Deirdre’s smile shone with satisfaction. “You don’t think I can keep an ornery old man and two teenage boys in line for one weekend?”

“But you and I are going to Key West. Your bag is in my car. You . . .” Avery’s voice trailed off.

“I’m going to ask Chase to go retrieve it when he puts his in your trunk. You and Chase are going to Key West. I’m flying to Tampa with Kyra and Dustin. They’ll drop me off at the Hardins’ on their way down to Bella Flora.”

Kyra hiked Dustin up into her arms and laughed. “I can’t believe we managed to keep this a secret. Mom didn’t think we’d ever pull it off.”

Avery heard the words but couldn’t quite grasp them. Everybody was in on it? She looked into her mother’s jubilant face and for the umpteenth time that day Avery’s eyes filled with tears.

She swiped at them and sniffed. If she wasn’t careful this crying thing could become a habit. And then where would she be? Hadn’t her father always told her that there was “no crying in construction”?

Nicole would have welcomed traffic, road construction, or anything else that might have slowed her progress north. But the majority of the traffic was on the other side of U.S. 1 and most definitely headed south. There was nothing to impede her. Nothing at all that would keep her from reaching Miami Beach and the Giraldi family’s Fourth of July celebration at Joe’s house.

The top was down on the Jag and she was moving at a good enough clip so that the warm breeze caressed her cheeks and tugged at the scarf she’d tied over her hair. She’d had only one night with Joe while she and Deirdre were up calling on sponsors, so she felt the distinct flutter of excitement she felt at any reunion with him; but it was tempered with something else, something she was embarrassed to name. That thing was dread.

Nicole turned up the radio and Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” washed over her; but the problem wasn’t making either of their hearts feel something they wouldn’t. Feelings weren’t the problem at all. It was their opinions on what to do with those feelings that made things so complicated. Joe was a determined man who was used to getting what he wanted and who believed all obstacles could be overcome; but even his patience wasn’t limitless. And what would she do when he decided he was tired of trying to overcome her objections? It wasn’t like there weren’t a million other younger, prettier women who would say yes to Joe Giraldi in a heartbeat.

The car behind her was practically on her bumper now. And no wonder. Her foot had eased off the accelerator until she was practically crawling along.

“Don’t be such a wuss,” she chided herself. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll eat some manicotti—make that a lot of manicotti—you’ll be friendly to everyone, and you will refuse to allow yourself to be drawn into a conversation about your future with Joe.”

The car zoomed around her and the driver gave her a long stare. Nicole pressed down on the accelerator and stopped talking aloud to herself.

It wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle Joe’s family. She’d handled far more difficult people than the well-intentioned, if outspoken, Giraldis every day that she ran Heart Inc. Insanely wealthy and demanding people who’d wanted to choose potential spouse characteristics like they might select finishes and wood stains for their yachts. An Italian grandmother who topped out at just over four feet and dabbled in ancient Italian curses was no cause for alarm. Not when Nicole had already survived and adapted to things that would have knocked most people flat.

The self-talk continued all the way up to Homestead, through Miami, and ultimately onto the MacArthur Causeway that spanned Biscayne Bay.

But as she turned off onto Palm Island and crossed the small bridge onto Hibiscus, she could tell that the self-talk wasn’t working. Because Joe was, well, Joe. And his parents were warm and funny and his sisters adored him and only wanted what they thought was best for him. Even Nonna Sofia, with her old-world accent, wasn’t guilty of anything but willful overfeeding.

How did you keep your guard up against any of that? Especially when you had no one left of your own flesh and blood; at least no one who hadn’t stolen from and betrayed you?

Nicole followed the curve of the oval-shaped strip of land to Joe’s house, an unpretentious one-story white stucco with a barrel-tile roof. Two rental cars were already in the drive along with Joe’s Jeep and the 1960 356 Porsche Speedster that was one of his few indulgences. Two of Joe’s nephews were out front tossing a football with their father.

She slowed, fighting off an embarrassing urge to just keep driving until the road looped around and led her back off Hibiscus.

“Hey, Nikki!”

Joe’s brother-in-law, Dom, snagged the football and ushered the boys onto the grass so that she could angle into the drive.

“Hi!” She smiled brightly as she parked and then thanked Joe’s nephew Gabriel for pulling her bag from the backseat. As she followed her advance greeting party Nicole kept the smile on her face. Inside, the Giraldis hugged and welcomed her so warmly that she had no choice but to give up the last lingering image of herself as a condemned prisoner being led before a firing squad. When Joe took her in his arms all thought of escape evaporated like willpower in the face of hand-rolled cannolis.