Nineteen
“It’s Sunday,” Maddie groaned. “I thought we were taking the weekend off.”
“We are,” Avery said, despite all evidence to the contrary.
“Then why are we doing this?” Madeline motioned with the wand of the pressure washer she’d been aiming at the wall of the garage, then attempted to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand. She was a sodden mess and Avery didn’t look any better.
“Because we have so much to do and so little time to do it in.” Avery turned off the nozzle of her wand and sank down on the lounge chair. “And because it’s way too pretty out to work inside.”
Avery was right about that. Bright blue skies, sparkling blue green water, golden sun, white sandy beach. Madeline felt as if she were in an advertisement for Florida living. And if she’d been forced to pick up that putty knife or so much as touch another pane of glass, she would have run screaming from the house and never come back.
“Too bad the pool hasn’t been resealed and resurfaced yet.” Madeline managed to swipe at her face with the back of her free hand and looked down into the long, deep, empty rectangle. They were already wearing bathing suits under their T-shirts. “We could be in it right now.”
“Well, we do have the estimate from the pool guy. But it could be another month before the work gets scheduled.”
Madeline dropped down on the chair, letting the wand clatter to the concrete. Grime and water coated her skin. She was far too tired to go inside for the glass of iced tea she wished she were sipping right now. Her exhaustion wasn’t just physical. Earlier this morning she’d managed to get Steve on the phone and then spent thirty grueling minutes trying, unsuccessfully, to convince him to show up for a counseling appointment she’d scheduled for him. Maddie sighed and turned her gaze out over the water. It was a good thing it wasn’t sunset; she’d be hard-pressed to come up with a good thing right now.
“Nicole was smart to bail out,” Maddie said. “She’s probably soaking in a Jacuzzi right now.” Kyra had come back late yesterday and her description of Bitsy Baynard’s estate still rankled. “Or floating in that invisible-edge pool with an umbrella drink in her hand.”
“No doubt,” Avery said.
Madeline pushed away the images of Nicole in her vintage designer clothing schmoozing with the socialites. “Well, at least the folks there hate Malcolm Dyer as much as we do. It’s amazing how many people he managed to dupe.”
“I’d like to meet that asshole’s family and ask them how they can live with themselves,” Avery agreed. “But then they’re probably too busy enjoying themselves to worry about it.”
“Well, I just hope I never meet any of them,” Maddie replied. “I’ve never thought of myself as a violent person, but I don’t think I could be held responsible for my actions.”
She dropped her head back and concentrated on the warmth of the sun on her face. She willed herself to relax.
“Hey, Mom!” Kyra’s voice floated down to her from above. “Phone!”
Madeline opened her eyes and saw Kyra leaning over the master bedroom balcony. “It’s Andrew.”
Madeline stifled a groan. Conversations with Steve were infrequent and futile. Conversations with Andrew, who was now back in Atlanta for the summer and most likely the fall, were frequent. And frustrating.
“I don’t think we’re finished here yet.” She looked hopefully at Avery. “Are we?”
Avery shook her head.
“He says he needs to talk to you now.” Kyra made her way down the curl of wrought-iron steps and handed Maddie the phone, plopping down beside her. Kyra wore a pair of Soffes and a tank top that clung to her slightly rounded stomach and barely contained her burgeoning bust. It wouldn’t be long before her pregnancy became noticeable.
“Hi, sweetie,” Maddie said. “What do you need?”
What her son needed, it turned out, was everything from her attention to some sort of vacation. He was both whiny and angry. At the moment he sounded about five years old.
“Slow down, Andrew,” she said, trying to extract the important points from his litany of woe. “What exactly are you calling me for?” He’d barely been home from school for a week and she’d already lost track of the things he thought she should take care of from five hundred miles away. If remote laundry had been possible, she had no doubt he’d expect her to be doing a load right now.
“I want to go to the beach for a week with the guys. Everyone’s chipping in on a condo in Destin.”
“And what did your father say when you asked him?” she asked although the answer seemed obvious.
“He wouldn’t even talk to me about it.” Andrew’s voice was tinged with both anger and amazement. “He told me to call you.”
Maddie closed her eyes against the hurt in her son’s voice. The demands and belligerence were far easier to deal with; she was no longer impressed or swayed by them. “We can’t afford it, Andrew. Period. If the house down here gets finished by Labor Day and sold sometime in the fall, we can get back on our feet, but for now there is no money. We all have to hold on as best we can.”
There was what could only be described as a sullen silence. And then, “What’s wrong with Dad? He just lies on the couch all day.”
Madeline felt the sting of tears and willed them away. “He’s having a hard time dealing with what’s happened. He feels responsible, and he doesn’t seem to be able to move forward.” Just talking about it dredged up that morning’s conversation and reminded her how completely alone she felt without Steve to turn to.
