Sunshine Beach (18 page)

“Jesus,” Nikki whispered. “And I thought Lisa Hogan was ruthless.”

Avery just nodded numbly. Which was exactly how Kyra felt. So much effort had already been poured into getting the Sunshine Hotel, raising money, reopening the tragedy that had impacted Annelise's and Renée's lives.

“Don't look so glum,” Troy said. “We're not beaten yet.”

Kyra stood, squared her shoulders, and looked at this messenger of doom. “You are not a part of ‘we.' It's not like you offered us this information. We had to drag it out of you. Thanks for stopping by and all that, but there's no place in this for you.”

“Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but you can't really refuse,” Troy said, coming to his feet.

Kyra didn't have energy or breath to waste. This was her house, their show. Their disaster. An air of desperation hung as thick as the syrup with which they'd smothered their pancakes.

“When I agreed to send you the Keys episodes without
permission, which as I mentioned got me fired, you agreed that you owed me a favor. Moving in and working on
Do Over
is it.”

Once again they looked at him numbly.

“I think I'll go out and get my gear,” he said cheerfully. “Then you can show me where you'd like me to bunk.”

“Good God,” Troy complained as he dragged an old and very moldy mattress out of the cottage, then dropped it at Ray's well-shod feet. “What did you do before you went into design? Run a chain gang?”

Ray simply pointed the tip of his imaginary whip at Troy and mimed the snap of said whip as he had all morning. Occasionally he'd hummed what he'd said was the old
Rawhide
theme song that ended with, “Head em up, move em out”—whip crack—“Rawhide!”

“You can quit the gang at any time,” Kyra told Troy. “No one's keeping you here.”

“I came to shoot, not haul furniture,” Troy muttered.

“There's no room at Bella Flora for people who only do one thing,” Avery said, to Kyra's obvious delight.

“My dad's even helping,” Kyra pointed out.

Avery was not the only one biting her lip so as not to mention just how often Steve had to be found and directed through the tasks he was assigned. “There are no specialists on this shoot,” she said instead. “At the moment your muscles are the most valuable thing you brought with you.”

She had to admit that Ray was efficient and well equipped. He was also succinct. He'd set them to work with a simple, “Steve and Troy will haul out the mattresses and box springs. The ladies will be pulling out the curtains, blinds, and hardware. Things with a black dot are to be disposed of, things with a red dot will be donated, and things with a smiley face”—he whipped bright yellow smiley face stickers from his pocket—“will be repainted, refurbished, refinished, or repurposed.” He had color-coded stickers for each of those options, too.

Troy set his jaw and followed Steve into the next cottage. Avery turned to Maddie, Nikki, and Kyra. “Why don't we divide up, start on opposite ends, and work toward each other?” She pulled an extra screwdriver from her tool belt and handed it to Maddie. She handed Dustin a pail. “Will you put all the screws and hardware in this for me?”

Unlike the other males in the group, Dustin grinned happily.

“Last one to the middle makes dinner,” Maddie called over her shoulder as she hurried into the nearest cottage with Dustin right behind her.

Renée sat in her car next to the hotel property that afternoon working up the courage to get out. When she'd finally dragged herself out of the vehicle, she walked slowly through the opening in the hedge, then took her time on the concrete path, following it past the guest cottages, which hummed with activity. She smiled and nodded to everyone who greeted her, but couldn't quite find the voice to speak or the will to make small talk, as the apartment drew her with the force of a tractor beam.

She paused briefly beside the overgrown hibiscus that had been planted by her grandmother to commemorate the hotel's opening. It was wild, unkempt, and thick with deep red blooms. If their apartment were going to become part of the
“new” Sunshine Hotel, the hibiscus would have to be trimmed. Or perhaps she could take cuttings from it and plant them strategically around the other cottages. Or in the private courtyards that Avery was planning. She might even . . .

Stop stalling. It's just an empty apartment
.

The front door was propped open. The window screens had been removed and the casement and jalousie windows left gaping. There was nothing there that could hurt her. Nothing to be afraid of.

She inched forward. She hadn't told John she was coming. Hadn't actually known whether she would or not. She didn't want to go inside but couldn't turn away from it, either.

She took another step. Then another. Drawing a last deep breath of air, she stepped inside. Once again the memories washed over her.

She'd stood here just inside the doorway the day that her father had finally come home from the war. It was June 1946; he'd stayed on more than a year working at the American headquarters in Frankfurt and waiting to get permission to marry Ilse so that he could bring her home with him. A choice that her seven-year-old self had bitterly resented. Renée had been wearing her best dress, a bright pink one with polka dots and matching white patent Mary Janes that pinched her toes.

“Look how grown-up you are!” Her father had knelt down and enveloped her in his arms, rocking her back and forth and kissing the top of her head. She'd been okay living with her Nana and Pop Pop, but she'd been so afraid that her daddy wouldn't come back. Like her mother, who had never come home from the hospital. She'd worried about it even after he wrote her her own letter saying that he was fine and asking what she wanted him to bring her when he came home.

She'd only wanted him. But she'd asked for a doll just to be polite. She had not asked for a new mother who looked
like a doll herself with porcelain white skin and china blue eyes and a halo of soft blond hair. So unlike Renée's own mother who had been tall and dark-haired like Renée. She'd vowed in that moment that she'd do everything right, be the perfect daughter. So that her father would never leave her again.

When Ilse was introduced, she reached a small white hand down to cup Renée's cheek. “I am so . . . pleased . . . to finally, to meet you,” she said in broken English. “Your father . . . he has talked about you so . . . a lot.” Her blue eyes were gentle and bright. And even though she was only seven, Renée could feel that it was Ilse who was the most frightened. “I thought that I would luff you.”

Renée closed her eyes remembering. People had not liked that her father had brought home someone so patently not like them. To her grandparents' Jewish friends and hotel guests she was too German, too much a part of all that they'd gone to war to stop. Some of them had thought Ilse stuck up and standoffish. They'd gossiped about the fact that Ilse was already pregnant, but Renée had seen how confusing Ilse found her new life. How hard she'd clung to Renée's father. The way she'd tremble or cry out when someone or something took her by surprise.

Once again Renée found herself in her parents' bedroom. Saw her father lying there, his arms and legs akimbo. Saw the blood pooled around his head. The dresser lamp overturned. The sheets strewn across the floor. Had she heard something that night? Had she been up? Had she blocked the memory? Or was she only now wishing that there was one?

She thought about Ilse so quiet and meek, so eager to please. Only fierce if someone she cared about was threatened. She'd been protective of Annelise and of Renée. Determined to find the bridge between the Yiddish words Nana and Pop Pop knew and the German they had been derived from. She'd
vowed to speak only English in honor of her new family and country.

Renée closed her eyes and tried to go back. Tried to remember if Ilse had been upset about anything, if her father had seemed worried. If the two had argued. But even now from an adult's perspective, she could recall nothing that would have caused her stepmother to do her father harm and then run away leaving her five-year-old daughter behind. She would have never left Annelise.

Out on the path she heard Dustin's squeal of laughter. The sound of metal objects clattering on the concrete.

Something teased at the back of her mind. Something that hung in the air of the apartment, stirred in the dust. Something that she had seen or heard. Something that if she could only remember might allow all of them to finally put the past to rest.

Unsurprisingly, Nikki and Maddie were the last to reach the middle. Due no doubt to Nikki's lack of energy and skill with tools and the fact that Maddie had Dustin helping her.

“God, that Ray is a fiend,” Kyra said as they exited the van late that afternoon and dragged themselves into Bella Flora. She made an attempt at the designer's whip snap but her movements were nowhere near as crisp as their slave driver's.

“Yeah. He's just lucky we didn't have the energy for mutiny.” In fact, Nikki felt short of breath and had no energy at all. She used the last bit of it climbing the stairs, pulling off her sweat-soaked clothes and stepping into the shower. Where she stayed until her skin shriveled and the water began to run cold.

Wrapped in her towel she yawned and groaned simultaneously, a sound that was becoming far too familiar and which
she might have to trademark. In her bedroom she eyed the bed with real longing before forcing herself to dress and go downstairs.

“I ordered pizza,” Maddie said as Nikki entered the kitchen. “Because the only place I have an ounce of strength left is here.” She held up her index finger.

“Works for me.” Nikki yawn-groaned as she joined Maddie, Kyra, and Avery, who were sitting at the kitchen table in a stupor. Outside, Steve appeared to be asleep on a pool chaise. Troy was tossing Dustin around in the pool.

“I know we should have something green to go with the pizza,” Maddie said. “But I . . . can you guys live with green olives?”

There were nods, but the kind that didn't require much movement. Nikki looked at the pitcher of iced tea on the table but didn't have the strength to reach for it.

“I've been thinking about
Do Over
airing. And whether it's going to help us or hurt us with potential sponsors.” Avery picked up the tea, poured herself a glass, and set the pitcher in front of Kyra. “It's not too bad, right? I mean, we decided there was no point in torturing ourselves watching it before it aired since there was nothing we could do about it, but . . .”

“I'm not going to lie. You aren't gonna like it,” Kyra said. “But watching it's not that much worse than living it.”

Maddie groaned. “Oh, God. I'm not looking forward to seeing myself stutter over Will.”

“Yeah. Well, while you're watching you can focus on the fact that your days of stuttering around William are over and that his record company is sending a private jet to take you to his first comeback concert,” Avery said.

“That's right,” Nikki said, rousing herself to intercept the iced tea as it made its way to Maddie. “He who laughs last and all that.”

An incoming text dinged on Nikki's phone. Hoping it was Joe she glanced down, her nerves skittering. But the
message was from Malcolm. It read,
I have something important to tell you
.
Come soon.
The “or else” was omitted, but Nikki knew it was there. Her mind raced. The skittering became a prickle of fear.

The pizza arrived and Kyra placed the box in the center of the table. “I got an extra-extra large so we'd have leftovers. Half veggie, half meat lover.”

The others helped themselves. Nikki couldn't seem to tear her eyes from the screen.

“Are you okay?” Maddie asked.

“Hmmm?” Nikki looked up.

“Are you all right?” Maddie repeated.

“I was just thinking,” Nikki replied, sliding her phone into her pocket.

“It did look kind of painful,” Avery said.

“Very funny.” Nikki reached for a slice of pizza more for something to do with her hands than hunger. “No, I . . . I was just thinking I might take Maddie up on her invitation to fly up for Will's concert. It's the day after the first episode, isn't it?” The Butner federal prison was located just outside of Durham, North Carolina, where Will's group was playing.

“Really?” She felt a stab of guilt at Maddie's immediate excitement.

“Yes. I have some business I need to take care of near there. And it might be good to have some face time with Bitsy.” This was not exactly a lie.

Maddie shot her a questioning look but said simply, “Sounds great. I'm looking forward to the concert and seeing Will perform and all, but I wouldn't mind having one of my peeps with me.”

“I wish I could come,” Avery said. “But Enrico's going to open up the ceiling in the main building to see what's what and I need to be here.”

Steve came in, a towel tied around his waist, pool water
dripping, his movements careful. He helped himself to a piece of pizza, then looked around. “Is this it?” he asked, as if someone might have hidden the rest of the meal.

Nikki kept her mouth firmly shut. Avery reached for her drink. Maddie contemplated her plate.

“It is unless you want to make something to go with it,” Kyra said. “Will you take a piece out for Dustin?”

“Um, sure. Should I take one out for Troy, too?” He said this as if it were a completely novel idea that he was trying on for size.

“That's a great idea,” Kyra said. “In fact, why don't you take the rest out with you? Dustin will love the idea of a guys-only picnic.” Not waiting for an answer, she removed the remaining veggie slices onto a plate and placed the pizza box in his hands, piled paper plates and napkins on top of it. “I think there are a few juice boxes in the pool house refrigerator if Dustin gets thirsty.” She escorted her father to the back door and held it open for him.

“Well done,” Nikki said when Kyra returned to the table.

“Masterful,” Avery added.

“You're definitely getting the hang of it,” Maddie agreed.