“I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a UPS-deliveryman-like nod. “Give Dustin a hug from me.”

Chapter Forty-six

The following night the four of them climbed into the minivan and drove over the Howard Frankland Bridge to St. Petersburg, ultimately winding their way south on Gulf Boulevard to the tip of Pass-a-Grille. They were headed to Bella Flora to toast the sunset, each other, and especially Deirdre Morgan.

Maddie pulled into the bricked drive of Ten Beach Road. Bella Flora’s white-trimmed pink stucco walls and bell towers contrasted beautifully against the pale blue sky. The low-walled front garden was lush but well maintained. The dolphin fountain at its center gurgled happily. Like the house in Atlanta, it was a place she had poured her heart and hopes into.

“She looks good.” Avery got out of the passenger seat and went around to open the cargo door.

Maddie looked closely at her daughter’s face, unable to read her mood or her expression. The outing had been Kyra’s idea. “I don’t like being here without permission.”

“It’s okay, Mom. We’re just going to be on the back deck for an hour or so. No one will know we were ever here.” She gave Maddie that wide-eyed innocent look that meant something was up. “Come on. We don’t have that long until sunset.”

They carried a small cooler with chilled white wine and hors d’oeuvres around to the loggia. A grocery bag held crusty French bread and an industrial-sized bag of Cheez Doodles. Nicole had brought four wine goblets.

“Everything’s just like we left it.” Maddie took in the outdoor furniture, flipped on the fans over the table and chairs on the loggia, and watched them turn lazily. Even Dustin’s playhouse sat in the corner with its back to the brief strip of no-man’s-land between the house and the jetty.

“Do you remember how awful she looked and smelled the first time we saw her?” Nicole shuddered.

Bella Flora had come complete with birds’ nests, holes in the roof, and a gag-worthy rolled-up bathing suit smell. They fell silent as they remembered what it had taken to bring back Bella Flora to her former elegance.

“Do you remember when Deirdre first showed up and we thought she was an intruder?” Kyra asked.

“Yeah, an intruder with matching designer luggage who’d taken over the master suite before she’d even said hello.” Maddie smiled at the memory.

They settled around the wrought-iron table, spreading their food and drink across its top.

“I brought the caviar and fixings in Deirdre’s honor,” Nicole said. She passed out plastic plates and poured them each a glass of Chardonnay.

Avery opened the Cheez Doodles. “I’ll never be able to eat one of these again without remembering how much they annoyed her.” Her smile was crooked. “That was half the fun.”

Sea oats swayed slightly and a parasailer floated in the air down the stretch of white sand beach.

“To Deirdre Morgan. Who transformed every house we touched into something uniquely beautiful.” Avery toasted.

“To Deirdre. Who always looked ready for her close-up.” Kyra raised her glass.

“To Deirdre,” Maddie added. “Who loved her daughter and who finally managed to let that daughter know just how much she meant to her.”

They tipped their glasses to Avery.

“To my mother.” Avery smiled, but her voice broke on the word.

“To Deirdre, who told the network to shove Do Over up its ass.” Nicole touched her glass to theirs.

“She did go out in style, didn’t she?” Kyra mused. “I got a text today from Troy that Lisa Hogan has been fired.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Nicole sipped on her wine and the others followed suit. “What happened?”

“Apparently her bosses were not impressed with her vulgarity or her demands that their crew shoot Deirdre’s collapse.” Kyra reached for a Cheez Doodle.

“How did her bosses know?” Maddie asked.

“Troy refused to film Deirdre, but he did shoot every ugly minute of Lisa Hogan’s tirade. Then he sent the footage to her boss at the network.” Kyra’s voice was filled with pleasure.

They fell quiet as they sipped and ate and watched the sun begin to turn from gold to red as it hovered over the Gulf, its reflected brilliance shimmering beneath it. Maddie knew they could all feel Deirdre’s absence. But they could feel her presence, too.

There was comfort here in Bella Flora’s warm plaster walls and the way she seemed to hunker almost protectively behind them. “I thought the Millicent was a fabulous house and Mermaid Point was pretty spectacular—”

“We all know what you liked most about Mermaid Point, Maddie,” Nicole teased.

Maddie blushed but continued. “But, I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted, there’s only one Bella Flora.”

They raised their glasses as the puddle of red sun oozed into the Gulf. “To Bella Flora.”

“No matter who she belongs to, she’ll always be ours. Because we’re the ones who brought her back and we know she did the same for us. We’re the ones who know and love her best.” Maddie put down her glass, afraid she was going to cry.

“Maybe Do Over’s not over.” Kyra took a sip of her drink and stared at the sky. “Lisa Hogan kept downplaying the size of our audience, but Do Over must have some kind of following. With her gone maybe they’ll assign someone a little less . . .”

“. . . crass and mean-spirited?” Nicole prompted.

“Exactly. Maybe her replacement will be open to what we had in mind in the first place—more renovation, less reality.” Kyra smiled. “Troy gave me the name of the new production head. I left a message for him this morning.”

“And if they’re not interested we could approach another network,” Maddie said, realizing just how freeing Lisa Hogan’s removal could be. “Or if it came down to it and we wanted to, we could probably shoot and produce it ourselves and then sell it to another network. That would allow us to maintain control.”

“We could,” Nicole enthused. “I could handle the sales. I still know people in the movie and television business.”

“I love working with Chase in the business our fathers founded, but I’d really like to continue with Do Over, too.” Avery seemed to have shrugged off her sadness at least temporarily. “If we produced it ourselves we could control what projects we undertook and where.”

There was a buzz of excitement around the table. Maddie watched their faces; all of them reflected the same sense of possibility that simmered inside her. She, Madeline Singer, was fifty-one and single. The rest of her life, however long it might be, lay spread before her, infinite in possibility.

Because of all they’d been through she was a far different person than she’d ever imagined: stronger, more competent, definitely more resilient. She could do things she’d never even dreamed about; her life could be anything she wanted it to be. And if Deirdre’s unexpected death had taught her anything it was not to squander time or feelings.

She looked down at her phone. Her thumbs moved of their own volition. When the message was finished she didn’t hesitate or reread it; she just pressed “send.”

“Who are you texting, Mom?” Kyra asked. “You know your thumbs tend to get you in trouble.”

“No one special.” She could feel herself grinning like a goon.

They laughed at her knowingly and she took a long sip of her drink. Before she could swallow it there was the ding of an incoming text. She looked down at the screen and blushed with pleasure, which faded only slightly when she read the message from William. Not sure whose “dick” you’re watching sunset on right now, but wish you’d come back and do that here.

She snorted wine and laughter. His next text left her glowing in an entirely different way. Miss you, Maddie-fan. Took your advice. Wrote you a gong.

“I wouldn’t mind staying in Florida. Especially if Avery’s in Tampa with Chase and Nikki’s down in Miami.” Maddie didn’t add that William Hightower’s presence gave the state of Florida an additional glow.

“Oh, we’re definitely staying in Florida,” Kyra said.

“What do you mean?” Maddie looked at Kyra, trying to assess the tone of her voice, the odd look on her face. Nicole and Avery were watching her, too.

Kyra stood. She stuck a hand in her pants pocket and brought out a key then strode to the French door that led inside from the loggia.

“What are you doing?” Maddie asked as she, Nicole, and Avery got up and followed her.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Kyra stuck the key into the lock and gave it a turn. An alarm system beeped.

“Are you crazy?” Avery asked. “The police are going to be here any minute. They’ll . . .”

Kyra punched a number into the keypad and the alarm beeped off. “Come on. I think we need to get something stronger from the Casbah Lounge.” She led them into the house, past the salon and kitchen and into the Moorish tiled bar.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Maddie demanded as Kyra laid out shot glasses on the bar and began to pour them all shots of tequila.

“We can’t start drinking tequila before we drive back to Tampa. We’re going to have to go home. And I suggest we do it before someone notices my car in the drive and sends someone to see what’s going on.”

All eyes were now on Kyra, who finished with her generous pours and then pushed a glass toward each of them. “We are home.”

Kyra, Nicole, and Avery downed their shots and slammed their empty glasses down on the bar. But Maddie was the one who’d be driving. “You’re going to have to explain yourself, Kyra Singer. Because I’m not going to jail tonight for breaking and entering or driving under the influence.”