Wendy Wax - The House on Mermaid Point

He kept his mouth closed. But he did nod. He spotted a bag of Tootsie Pops on an emptied shelf and moved to retrieve it. Rolled-up posters, most likely from some long-ago tour, were stacked in a pyramid beside it.

“I wasn’t sure what to do with this.”

He turned to see her holding a soft fabric sleeve that stood almost to her shoulder.

“I hope you don’t mind that I looked inside. It has pieces of a fishing rod in it. I didn’t know if that meant it was broken or . . .”

He reached for the rod sleeve that he’d shoved in the back of his closet so long ago he’d almost forgotten it was there. “It’s not mine,” he said gruffly. “It was a gift for Tommy’s mother.” He couldn’t even say her name, hadn’t said it for twenty years.

Something made him go on. “It’s a custom rod I got at one of the first Redbone Foundation celebrity fishing tournaments I ever did. It’s a fund-raiser for cystic fibrosis started by a local family named Ellis.” He pulled out all three pieces that formed the whole. The wood still gleamed and so did the gold decorative thread under the coat of polyurethane. He ran a finger over the glossy surface and studied the signature and gold-threaded logo. “It’s signed by Jose Wejebe.”

He saw that the name meant nothing to her.

“He was a well-known fly fisherman and guide. And one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. He was known as the Spanish Fly.”

The good most definitely died young. Ornery assholes like him could try all they wanted to kill themselves with drugs or alcohol or whatever. The real punishment was to live alone for fucking ever. He shook his head to clear it. He needed to get out of this closet and this conversation. He made a move to go. She reached out unexpectedly and put a hand out to stop him.

“Before you go. I . . . we . . . I’m supposed to ask if you would donate some memorabilia that we could sell or auction off to raise funds for the renovation.”

“I thought the network was responsible for the budget.”

“They like to keep us stressed and ‘on our toes.’ So they cut the budget in half. Deirdre and Nikki went up to Miami to ask the companies that sponsored work at the Millicent to sign on. We’re going to place some of the—your—accessories and furnishings with consignment stores if that’s all right with you. Your name is really valuable.” She swallowed and soldiered on. “If you could just maybe autograph a few of the tour T-shirts or maybe a couple of posters?”

“Don’t you think you should force the network to do what they’re supposed to?” he asked curtly.

“Yes. We’d love to do that. But you may have noticed they’re not particularly concerned with how we come across or what we feel. None of us are in a position to walk away from the show. Or Mermaid Point.”

Her tone had turned a little frosty. But it was his house—hell, his whole island—that had been ripped apart. He didn’t want to see anybody leaving until it was put back together.

“Fine.” He bit out the word. “As long as you’re not thinking about auctioning off my underwear. And now, if you’ll excuse me.” His mind was on the pool, cooling down.

“There is, um, one last thing.”

“What?”

“Deirdre says she can get a brand-new outdoor kitchen donated and installed in the pavilion.” She hesitated. “All you have to do is a brief on-camera cooking demo in it.”

He barked out a laugh at the idea of anything so ridiculous. “Nobody wants to watch me cook.” Hell, nobody wanted to hear him sing, either. Maybe he should be grateful she hadn’t asked for that. With her worried brown eyes and that tilted chin.

“You’d be surprised at what people would like to watch you do.”

He looked at her then, watched as she blushed. But she didn’t take it back.

“I think it’s safe to say those people are not going to be watching me cook on camera.”

She continued to study him. “Sorry. But I really can’t take no for an answer.” Her eyes shone with a determined gleam. “I choose to believe you’re a nicer, more honorable man than you pretend to be. And that when the time comes you’ll think of the rest of us and not just yourself.”

“That would be a mistake,” he said. “Because the chances of that happening are somewhere between slim and none.” But she’d turned while he was still speaking and his final words were aimed at her retreating back.

Fred Strahlendorf, the electrician sent down from Miami by East Coast Electric, didn’t look like any electrician Avery had ever met. When he arrived on Mermaid Point, along with the plumber sent by Randolph Plumbing, the AC guys from Hendricks Heat and Air, the supervisor from Superior Pools, and the sales manager from Walls of Windows, Strahlendorf wore a short-sleeved plaid cotton shirt neatly tucked into belted khaki shorts. His tool belt was buffed and shined, his fingernails manicured, his iron gray hair buzz cut. A pocket protector housed a small assortment of mechanical pens and pencils.

All of the men who had been sent by the committed sponsoring companies for the walk-through promised to give her their estimates of time and materials before they left. But only Fred had arrived with a slightly battered but no doubt precision-packed suitcase prepared to get to work immediately. And so she loved him on sight.

“All I have to do is call my assistant with what I need and he’ll bring everything down with him tomorrow. He has family in Marathon, but if you can put me up here on Mermaid Point, I’m yours.” The electrician’s eyes, which were the same iron gray as his hair, twinkled.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“I need to spend time in all the structures, of course, to determine that, but if I’m here and I just roll out of bed in the morning?” He thought for a moment. “I’m starting a big job right after the Fourth. I’ll make it my business to be done before that, whatever it takes.”

Avery wanted to throw her arms around the man and kiss him, but she was afraid she might wrinkle something. The only question was where to put him. William Hightower had made it clear he wasn’t receiving “guests” until he absolutely had to and that he hoped that day would never come. They had no room on their houseboat and even if they had, Avery couldn’t quite picture this carefully pressed man standing in line for their only bathroom surrounded on every side by so much estrogen.

“He can bunk with me.” Roberto had come up while Strahlendorf was talking and had looked the electrician over. Now he offered his hand. “I’ve got an extra couple of beds.” He nodded toward his brightly painted houseboat.

“Thanks.” The electrician didn’t look at all worried about living with an aging hippie on a boat that was doing its best to imitate a Keys sunset. She looked and saw Troy and Anthony shooting, both of them smiling. No doubt they were already envisioning how much comedic relief might be provided by Mermaid Point’s very own Odd Couple.

When the day was over her brain actually hurt from the thousands of details that had been stuffed inside it, but she now had everything she needed to create a master construction schedule and she felt a relief that she hadn’t imagined just a day before.

If everyone followed through on their commitments and she was careful not to allow any overruns, they might actually be done by mid-August. Which would leave a couple of weeks’ grace for delays and spillover and for Deirdre to fluff and stage and put on the finishing touches. Her goal was to be off Mermaid Point before hurricane season kicked into high gear in September.

It was long past dinnertime when Avery stood on the dock waving good-bye and shouting her thanks as the subcontractors boarded Hudson’s skiff for the ride back to the marina. Back on the houseboat she watched Maddie throw together a salad, which they ate off paper plates. Slightly revived, they left Kyra tucking Dustin into bed and eased themselves into the hot tub just in time for sunset.

The only sounds were the occasional crescendo of the cicadas and boats passing Mermaid Point out in the channel. The air was warm and moist, the breeze mild. The quiet was as soothing as the water that bubbled gently around them. Maddie yawned and laid her head back against the edge of the Jacuzzi, her eyes tilted up toward the sky. Deirdre tilted her head back, too, but was careful not to get her hair wet. Nicole’s eyes were closed, her arms spread out to each side to hold herself in place. Even now after the day they’d all had, she looked oddly elegant, her hair still in its careless chignon, her lips, which were lightly coated with gloss, turned up in a small but satisfied smile. Avery smiled, too.

She contemplated Deirdre, who had belatedly donned the mantle of motherhood and refused to relinquish it, and admitted what she had never thought she would: Deirdre Morgan was an important part of their whole. A piece she wouldn’t want to be without.

“If I had a glass of anything in my hand, I’d be toasting all of you.” Avery raised her empty hand as if it were cupping a wineglass stem. “And especially all of the wonderful companies that sent subs our way and who Nicole and Deirdre have convinced to work for so little.”

“Here, here.” Nicole opened her eyes to chime in.

“I move we go to Islamorada for a celebratory dinner ASAP so that we can toast this up right.” Deirdre raised an imaginary glass and leaned forward to “clink” it against Avery’s.

“I second that motion.” Maddie raised her imaginary glass to theirs.

“What happens next, O fearless leader?” Nicole asked Avery as they settled back into optimal soaking positions.

“For the next weeks, or at least until it’s time to paint, refinish the floors, and add final decorative touches under Deirdre’s supervision, we’re going to assist our subcontractors in every way possible. I’m going to pair each of us with a sponsoring company as a runner/facilitator/interpreter—whatever it takes. Everybody needs to learn as much as they can with an eye toward future renovations and lend a hand wherever it’s needed. It’ll be up to all of us to keep everybody moving forward as seamlessly and quickly as possible.