Wendy Wax - The House on Mermaid Point

The blocks were short; the avenues that stretched from the bay to the Gulf were barely longer. She passed the Paradise Grille and the Hurricane, a name she’d always thought was asking for trouble on a vulnerable barrier island. Eighth Avenue, which served as Pass-a-Grille’s Main Street, came next.

Her heart sped up as she neared the tip of the island. It was the first time she’d been back to Ten Beach Road since Christmas, when she’d accidentally discovered that her parents were getting divorced and then heard from an enraged Tonja Kay that Daniel was Bella Flora’s mystery buyer.

Bella Flora stood tall and pink, a smaller, more intimate wedding cake confection than the Don CeSar, which had been built right around the same time. Rows of arched windows lined both stories and wrought-iron balconies hung beneath them. Her chimneys and bell towers rose above an angled barrel tile roof.

“Buhfora!” Dustin was awake, his face lit with a smile. “Buhfora!”

“That’s right, Dustin.” She pulled slowly into the bricked drive behind what looked like a pool maintenance truck. “You were still in my tummy the first time you came here.” She parked and unbuckled Dustin. “Let’s go see if your daddy’s here.”

She carried Dustin up the curved front steps to the heavy wooden door. It felt odd to ring the doorbell; odder still to arrive as a guest at a home she knew so intimately.

The bell echoed inside and she wondered if she should have just gone around back. Before she was ready the door opened and Daniel stood in the doorway. He was barefoot; his jeans hugged his slim hips. A short-sleeved work shirt, which had Pasadena Pools inscribed over the pocket, hung open, exposing his bare chest and his equally impressive abdomen. His eyes were warm and slightly curious as he ran a hand through his dark curls.

“Dundell!” Dustin’s arms went wide and he leaned without hesitation toward his father.

“Hello, little man.” Daniel took him from her, settling him on his hip and dropping a kiss on top of his now blond head.

He ushered her in and shut the door behind her. “I see you both stopped off to have your hair done. Can’t say I ever imagined you as a blonde before.” He cocked his head, taking her in. “Interesting.”

“Yes, that’s right. Your wife is a blonde, isn’t she?” Tonja Kay’s hair was a symphony of shades of blond. Alabaster skin and a deceptively angelic face went with it.

He made no comment as he led them back through the central hall past the library, the formal living room, and the marvelous Casbah Lounge. They stood in the salon with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool and the pass behind it, where the Gulf and bay met. The massive playhouse built to look like Bella Flora that Daniel had sent Dustin for Christmas still sat off the loggia, where they’d left it. Kyra was relieved to see that no one had yet started excavating the salon for an indoor pool as Tonja Kay had threatened. So far Bella Flora appeared unmolested.

Kyra spent some time studying her surroundings partly because she loved this room and this house in a way she’d never loved anyplace else; not even the house she’d grown up in. And partly because she was not yet as immune to Daniel Deranian as she needed to be. Even now, it was hard to resist the warm brown eyes that deserved the adjective “bedroom.” And then there were the chest and abdomen that had filled many a movie theater with female awe and longing.

“I hadn’t realized quite how fabulous this house was before I bought it.” He sounded almost surprised and she wanted to ask him why he’d done it; what possible reason he could have had for making Bella Flora their sixth house when Pass-a-Grille and the not-so-booming metropolis of St. Petersburg just beyond it were so clearly not the kinds of places the Deranian-Kays ever chose to frequent. But she hadn’t come here to engage in a debate, or anything at all. She’d come to deliver Dustin.

“Would you like something to drink or eat?” Daniel asked. “The fridge is stocked and there are meals in the freezer.”

“Duce! Nack!” Dustin exclaimed, holding tight to his father’s neck.

“Coming right up,” Daniel said brightly. “You must both be hungry.”

They moved toward the kitchen, but Kyra didn’t stop there. “I’ll just get the things out of the car.”

“Do you need help carrying them?”

“No, thanks!” She called this over her shoulder, the words echoing in the silence.

She hardly knew this helpful man. And it occurred to her as she headed for the door that other than the heady, if brief affair that had led to her pregnancy, they’d spent very little time alone together. And even those original couplings had been hurried and furtive. Only someone as young and naïve as she’d been then on her first movie set could have believed his interest was prompted by anything more than lust. Remembering how she’d stood in this very house and argued with her mother that Daniel loved her, and wanted to spend his life with her and their son, made her flush with embarrassment.

She returned and found the two of them seated at the kitchen table, a huge array of food spread before them. She saw a jar of caviar and a plate of carefully arranged hors d’oeuvres. But there was also a large container of peanut butter and a jar of grape jelly. Daniel was putting the finishing touches on a PB&J sandwich as she set Dustin’s duffel and a bag of diapers down inside the kitchen door.

“Boy, you guys travel light.” Daniel cut the sandwich in half and set it in front of Dustin while Kyra stole a look around the kitchen Deirdre had designed, with its Spanish tile floor, reclaimed wood countertops, and soft green glass-fronted cabinets.

“Dustin’s things are pretty small and it’s only a couple of days. There should be more than enough here.” She toed the bag of Huggies. “Did you bring a nanny with you?”

“Nope.” He didn’t look at all worried about changing diapers or much of anything else. “Come have a snack,” Daniel said. “And then we should move your car to a spot I’ve lined up. I’ve got a series of different maintenance company trucks arriving at intervals so it looks like the house is just being worked on.” He popped a stuffed olive into his mouth, clearly pleased with his plan.

“I’m going to move my car to my hotel, so you don’t need to worry about it.” Kyra prepared to go.

“What?” He poured white grape juice into a sippy cup for Dustin with an experienced hand, and she reminded herself that he’d done this many, many times before; he and Tonja Kay had adopted children. Dustin might be his only biological son, but he wasn’t Daniel’s only child.

“But there’s no need to go to a hotel when there’s a whole house full of bedrooms here.” He said this quite reasonably, as if it were only a matter of space.

“This is your and Dustin’s weekend. I’ll be reachable, but I think it’s better if I’m not a part of it.” Needing to end the conversation and any chance of temptation on her part, she moved to the table to hug Dustin good-bye.

“Well, at least come back for a swim or to watch the sunset with us.” Daniel’s gaze was puzzled.

“Can’t,” she said. “But thanks. Oh, and Dustin’s suit and floaties are in his bag. And don’t let him go to bed without brushing his teeth.”

“But . . .”

She gave Dustin another kiss, told him to have a great time and listen to his father, and left with a cheery wave. But she was very careful to park the rental car at the far side of the inn next door where, hopefully, Daniel Deranian would never, if he felt so inclined, think to look for her.

Maddie didn’t mind the traffic on U.S. 1 at all. In fact, the cars, the trailers with boats that many of them towed, the SUVs crammed with families, and the convertibles filled with partiers put her in a holiday mood and made her feel part of the excitement.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a full day, let alone three, to do anything—or nothing—that she chose. Determined to enjoy herself she’d taken the Jon Boat all by herself for the first time ever, traveling east and then north, staying in the channels just as carefully as a child might color within the lines of a favored coloring book, until she reached Bud N’ Mary’s. She managed to tie the boat up without problem and even exchanged nods and waves with a few of the marina’s regulars. One of the local guides gave her a tip of his baseball cap as she left the dock to retrieve the minivan.

She dithered happily about where to have lunch, finally deciding on an umbrella-covered table on the beach at Morada Bay. There she could people watch in pretty much every direction and still enjoy the view out over the bay, where boats navigated the web of canals that intersected the mangrove-covered islands like droplets of blood slipping through the veins of a hand.

She slipped off her flip-flops so that she could curl her toes into the warm sand and sipped a glass of white wine while she mulled over the menu. She allowed herself a second—and final—glass with her endive and blue cheese salad, which she followed with a bowl of grouper ceviche. Around her the festive mood, like the heat, continued to build. When she’d finished her meal, she followed the boardwalk out to the docks behind the massive World Wide Sportsman, then strolled through the art gallery, which led her into the back of the World Wide Sportsman’s two-story retail space.

The air-conditioning was a welcome relief from the heat and humidity, and although the store was jam-packed, it was a wonderland of a place, managing to be both a serious outdoorsman outfitter and a marvelous tourist attraction. She waited her turn to climb the wooden stair up to the restored “sister ship” of Ernest Hemingway’s famed Pilar, which was berthed majestically in the center of the store, then took her time admiring the gleaming mahogany and brass fittings as well as the framed news articles and photos. For one brief moment she pictured William Hightower ensconced in the wooden fishing chair reeling in a jumping game fish like Hemingway might have done. And she found herself wondering where Will and Tommy and Hud were right now, where they might be fishing, how the father and son were doing with each other. Most of all she wondered how long Will would be gone.

After that she stopped at the Trading Post, a local grocery and convenience store, where she bought only those things that she wanted to eat over the next few days: a small fillet and greens for a salad, a half carton of eggs, cold deli meat and a couple of hoagie rolls for sandwiches, a cantaloupe and a few other pieces of fruit. She lingered longest in front of the freezer case, both because the blast of frozen air felt delicious and because she’d decided to treat herself to the most decadent dessert she could find. She ended up with a pint of Talenti sea salt caramel gelato, after several women offered enthusiastic and unsolicited testimonials when they saw her considering it.

At checkout she reached for a People magazine, something she typically only succumbed to at the beauty parlor. When a quick skim of its headlines assured her there was no mention of Kyra, Dustin, or Do Over, she added it to her purchases.

She made it back to Mermaid Point without mishap, which she deemed cause for celebration. Knowing herself to be completely alone, she changed into an ancient two-piece bathing suit, yanked her hair into a high ponytail, and carried the magazine, a historical romance, and a can of Diet Coke out to the hammock. The rope molded itself to her body as she settled in the shady spot, enjoying its easy sway and the warm breeze off the ocean. She leaned the cold drink can up against her bare midriff and leafed through the magazine. An article about former Friends star Matthew Perry’s battle with addiction turned her thoughts to William yet again and served as a reminder that success and happiness rarely seemed to go hand in hand. She pored over shots of the actor’s seven-million-dollar Malibu beach house, surprised by what the estate had been converted to and marking it to show to William, who even in his absence felt woven into the very breeze that slipped over her skin and rustled the mangroves and palm fronds.

That gentle rustling joined with traffic noise from U.S. 1 and the buzz of the island insects. All of these sounds mingled with the whine of boat engines out in the channel and the caw of gulls wheeling overhead to create a soothing symphony that had begun to sound like home.

She fell asleep in the shade of the palm trees, one hand wrapped around the drink can, and only roused slightly at the sound of a boat slowing nearby. She’d already drifted off again when the crunch of a foot on a branch reached her. Her eyes flew open. She was the only person on Mermaid Point. She groped for her cell phone, sending the Coke can flying, before remembering that she’d left the phone on the arm of the nearby Adirondack. Until this moment it hadn’t occurred to her to worry about being here alone.