Chapter Two
In late December sunset is an Early Bird Special. At five P.M. I lie in a chaise near the pool watching Dustin play in the Bella Flora replica his father sent him a few Christmases ago and the sky is already beginning to fade. As my son pretends to build a set of bookcases in the playhouse’s salon, I wonder if the anonymous renter is an individual or a couple. Or whether there’ll be a whole family moving in.
I hate the idea of strangers living here even temporarily, but I guess renting her out is a whole lot better than losing her completely. Still, the anonymity thing makes me uncomfortable. In my experience it’s only celebrities and the ultra-wealthy who have reason to hide their identity.
When my cell phone rings I see the Los Angeles area code. It’s not Daniel’s and I freeze for just a minute before I recognize the phone number.
“Kyra?” Sydney Ryan has two first names and both of them are masculine, which is a testament to how much her father wanted a son and not what she looks or sounds like. She has a face and body that can—and have—stopped traffic, coupled with a husky voice that most men wouldn’t dream of trying to resist. Those men are rarely prepared for the tomboy who lives inside the uber feminine package—did I mention how much her father wanted a son?—and are shocked that she understands and cares about what’s happening on the football field or baseball diamond. Or that she knows exactly why the hockey players are beating each other to a pulp on the ice and who will likely win. You definitely don’t want to go up against her in a speed round of sports trivia.
“Hey, Syd. How are you?”
“I’ve been better.”
This admission is your average person’s shriek for help.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing really.”
“Okay.”
Sydney is famous for playing female cop Cassie Everheart on a long-running detective show called Murder 101. We met five and a half years ago on the set of Halfway Home where she was playing her first film role and I was the lowly production assistant who was stupid enough to fall for the leading man. Before Tonja went on the warpath—I wasn’t Daniel Deranian’s first or last extramarital fling—I wouldn’t have said Sydney and I had a ton in common other than growing up in the suburbs of Atlanta. But when the shit started hitting the fan and I became a cliché and pariah, Sydney was the only person on that set who didn’t ditch me. Something Tonja Kay did not appreciate. Syd and I have been friends ever since. She’s one of those friends that you don’t see for a year and then pick up right where you left off. Plus she’s one of Dustin’s godmothers.
“Something’s off on the set. I’m not sure what, but I was on my way to FedEx Dustin’s present. And then I thought about how long it’s been since I’ve seen you guys.”
She doesn’t mention Jake Bodie, her co-star and real-life boyfriend, and I don’t ask. Given the things that have been written about me, I will be the very last person on the planet to bring up the shots of him with a young starlet that I saw on the front page of a tabloid during my last trip to the grocery store.
“I’d kind of like to get out of town for the holiday. If you have room.” The last is offered in a timid tone that’s decidedly un-Sydney-like.
“There’s always room for you, Syd. But I just want to make sure you remember that Pass-a-Grille is only about two and a half miles long and two blocks wide.” Sydney swore off small towns, cities, and suburbs years ago, including her own.
“I’m not coming for the square footage,” she says. “I’m coming for the company.”
In my head, I start moving the company we’re already expecting around. Bella Flora is a big house, but she’s going to be bulging with people. Sydney could have Dustin’s room. Or even bunk in with me. Plus the cottage at the Sunshine Hotel that my mother is taking is mostly ready.
“Great.” I get up and walk over to the playhouse where Dustin is putting his tools into his tool belt. “When will you be coming in?”
“Christmas Eve day. The day after tomorrow.”
There’s a brief silence as I register the fact that she knew she was coming before she called. It’s the same day William and Thomas Hightower and Daniel are arriving.
“Perfect,” I say. Now there will be three celebrities at Bella Flora. Which makes our chances of getting through Christmas without a visitation from the paparazzi less than zero.
“Text me the details. Dustin and I will pick you up at the airport.”
Friends don’t let friends spend the holidays alone.
I’ve just hung up when the doorbell rings. Through the open windows I hear my mother answering the front door. There are greetings and exclamations—I have no doubt hugs and kisses are exchanged. By the time we get inside, Nicole Grant (I still can’t think of her as a Giraldi even though she and special agent Joe Giraldi are now married and the parents of eight and a half month old twin girls), Avery Lawford, architect and newly licensed contractor who spearheaded the renos we did for Do Over, and Bitsy Baynard, who was an heiress and sponsor before her husband ran off with an exotic dancer and everything Bitsy owned, are talking a mile a minute. As you can see, a lot of us aren’t what we used to be. Some of us are more.
A happy woof snags Dustin’s attention. “Cherlock is here!” he shouts as we head into the kitchen. He breaks into a huge smile when he spots the French bulldog that is all Bitsy’s husband left behind when he disappeared with her fortune.
There’s a knock on the kitchen door and my brother Andrew, whom I can no longer refer to as my “little” brother since he’s now a college graduate and well over six feet tall, steps inside. Dustin is in double heaven. “You ready, little man?” My brother hugs our mother, scratches Sherlock behind one bat-wing ear, and scoops up his nephew. “Geedad’s outside. We’re going to have a guys’ night out and a great big manly pizza.”
They’re gone in a flash and we carry snacks and drinks out to the loggia and settle around the wrought- iron table to watch and toast the sunset. Nikki, Joe, and the girls are just back from Miami, and my mother was visiting William Hightower down on Mermaid Point, so it’s been a while since we’ve all been together. Avery reaches for a Cheez Doodle, which is her go-to snack. To my knowledge, Avery’s never met a cheese product that she doesn’t like.
My mother has brought out toasted Bagel Bites and little hot dogs wrapped in dough. Bitsy spreads Ted Peters smoked fish spread on a cracker while Nikki pours wine into glasses. “God, I missed you guys. And this.” She raises her glass and waves it under her nose. “I’ve officially stopped nursing. I’ve got a lot of toasts and drinks to catch up on.”
“You look great.” My mother’s always the first to offer a compliment.
“Well, I’m still standing.” Nikki’s tall with great cheekbones and auburn hair that she’s wearing in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes are a stunning green. She’s forty-eight, but there’s a glow about her that’s new. “Though sometimes I reach the end of the day and it’s all a blur and I know I’ve been operating on automatic pilot.”
“Where are Sofia and Gemma?”
“Joe offered to feed them and get them down for the night,” Nikki says. “I pretty much ran out of the cottage before he could change his mind.”
“He’s a good guy.” Avery sounds a bit wistful. She and her longtime boyfriend Chase Hardin are no longer living together, but they do seem to be dating.
“He is,” Nikki agrees. “Even if he’s still making me look like a slug in the parenting department.”
“When do the Giraldis get in?” my mother asks.
“Day after tomorrow.”
Joe’s parents and grandmother Nonna Sofia—who’s still claiming credit for Nikki’s pregnancy due to an ancient Italian curse gone amok—stay next door at the Cottage Inn. But our Inn is going to be stuffed to the brim, too. We’re lucky to have a pool house if not a manger. I start moving guests and extra beds around in my head.
Sherlock is stretched out under Bitsy’s chair. He snuffles occasionally and rouses slightly when the Bagel Bites and mini hot dogs get close. We drink and nibble as the sun slips toward the water, dappling the surface with pinpricks of light.
Finally, Maddie asks, “Who has a good thing to share?”
There are a few groans, but none of us are surprised. My mother began the tradition of coming up with one good thing each sunset back when we were all completely broke and desperately renovating Bella Flora. Then, coming up with anything good was a serious challenge.
“You first, Maddie,” Avery says while the rest of us sip our wine and reach for snacks.
“All right.” She places her wineglass on the table and settles in her chair. “It’s really good to have everyone together again. And both of my children and my grandson here for the holidays.”
We drink to this and I watch Avery lick the Cheez Doodle residue from her fingers.
“You’re having regular carnal knowledge of a rock star and that’s the best you can do?” Nikki teases.
“No,” my mother says. “But that’s the best I’m going to do.”
Nikki laughs at my mother’s telltale blush. “Ahhh, that’s a different thing altogether. You are an inspiration, Madeline Singer. Maybe you should write a book about how to have a knock-your-socks-off romance after fifty.” Nikki was once a dating guru and A-list matchmaker with offices on both coasts and a bestseller of her own. Before her brother’s Ponzi scheme brought her career and her company Heart Inc. to a screeching halt.
“Right. And maybe you can write the chapter on giving birth just shy of it,” Avery says to Nikki. “Special agent Joe Giraldi isn’t exactly chopped liver.”
There’s laughter. The easy kind that comes from knowing people through bad times as well as good.
“True. But we’re both too exhausted most of the time to do anything about it.” Nikki yawns.
“We’re still waiting for your good thing,” Bitsy points out.
“Okay.” Nikki takes another sip of wine. “I’m still nowhere near as good as Joe in the parenting department, but I’m improving. My one good thing is that I’m starting to believe that it is possible to teach an old dog new tricks.”
Sherlock snuffles in his sleep and we share another round of smiles. My mother’s gaze turns to Bitsy. “Anything good to report on Bertrand’s whereabouts?”
Bitsy sighs. She’s sworn to track her husband and her fortune down then haul them back and is working part-time for an attorney in Tampa who specializes in those things in trade for her help. Bertie not only stole everything, he left without divorcing her. Which has to make you wonder whether he thinks there’s some way on God’s earth that Bitsy would ever take him back.
“There was a sighting in Montenegro, which has a plethora of banks and a no extradition policy. That’s as close to a good thing as I’m getting tonight.” Bitsy raises her glass and drains it, which doesn’t mean much since she’s drunk us all under the table on plenty of occasions. “But honestly at this point he could be anywhere.”
We think about that for a few minutes as the reddish-golden ball of sun hovers above the Gulf preparing for splashdown.
“How about you, Avery?” My mother asks, pulling her sweater around her as the breeze picks up and the temperature begins to drop.
“Well, I’ve got your Sunshine cottage pretty much completed, and I’m going to advertise my design-and-build services in a tiny house publication to see what kind of interest I can stir up. So, my good thing is what I hope will be a new beginning in the new year.” Avery raises her glass and we clink all around. We all thought she’d rejoin Chase in the construction company their fathers built, but apparently their relationship issues aren’t just personal. We drink and pour a last glass. I’m feeling the alcohol but not quite enough to share a good thing and mean it. Instead of buoying me, each good thing I’ve heard tonight has made me feel even more wretched.
My mother looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “Kyra?”
The truth is that spending six to eight weeks on a movie set with my son’s father, his vindictive wife, and their family may be more than I can bear. Not even for the money that will help us hold onto Bella Flora or to let Dustin be a part of his father’s directorial debut. I drop my eyes, ashamed of my wussiness and weighed down by the guilt I feel for risking the home Daniel gave Dustin and me that means so much to all of us. Somehow I’ve become a “waffler,” continually considering the pros and cons, but unable to reach a decision that I can live with. Which is extremely unlike me. Normally my decisions are made by my gut, not my brain. And they occur at the speed of light.
“Sorry.” I scrape back my chair and stand. “I’m going to have to take a pass tonight. I—I have to finish editing some video before Dustin gets back.” I swallow, nearly choking on the lie. “I’ll try to come up with two good things next sunset.” I still don’t meet my mother’s eyes as I turn and flee.