Sunshine Beach (19 page)

“But that's how I handle Dustin,” Kyra protested.

“Yes, exactly.” Maddie smiled.

“I wish someone had told me that when I was married to Trent,” Avery said. “He didn't act much older than Dustin, either.”

Nikki tried to imagine managing Joe Giraldi like one might a toddler and failed. Then she wished she hadn't thought of him at all. Because it hurt like hell—way more than her body did after the day they'd spent at the Sunshine Hotel.

A silence fell as they finished their dinner, lost in their own thoughts.

Nikki yawned and didn't care in the least if it sounded more like a groan. “I don't think I'm going to have the strength to come up with a good thing tonight.”

“Me, neither,” Avery said on a yawn of her own.

“Doesn't matter,” Maddie said, yawning in turn. “Sunset's after eight
P
.
M
. tonight. Nobody at this table looks like they're still going to be awake then.”

“You've got that right,” Nikki said, trying but not succeeding to hold back a gigantic and noisy yawn. “I just hope I can find the strength to make it back up the stairs.”

As if yet another long, hot day of manual labor wasn't enough, the time had come to watch the first episode of
Do Over: Keys Edition
. Avery had tried to lose herself in the work, but had not been able to dispel the dread that had dogged her. The butterflies that had fluttered madly in her stomach all day were still at it when Bella Flora's doorbell pealed. She made it to the foyer before it stopped ringing, threw her arms around Chase and Jeff, and led them back to the salon. With Dustin in bed, Kyra and Maddie were setting out snacks that Avery could not imagine eating. Steve was ensconced in the recliner, and Nikki had carved out a section of the sofa. Troy was there looking far too eager for Avery's liking.

The men helped themselves to food and waited expectantly. Maddie, Nikki, and even Kyra wore the same wary expression she could feel stretching across her own face, the sort a passenger in a speeding car might wear while trying to come up with the position that might allow them to survive the crash.

“How much alcohol are we going to need for this?” Avery asked, wondering if alcohol would slow the butterflies or maybe even put them to sleep.

“I'm not sure,” Kyra said. “Are we talking hard liquor or wine and beer?”

“Great.” Avery closed her eyes and took what she hoped would be a calming breath. “I was thinking wine. How many glasses do we need?”

Hands shot up, some more desperately than others. Maddie stood. “Let me help you.”

“Thanks.” Avery took three bottles of wine from the bar fridge, clutched them to her chest, then managed to tuck a liter of tequila beneath one arm while Maddie loaded a tray with wineglasses and a stack of shot glasses.

Chase relieved Avery of her load. “I didn't realize we were going to need quite so much fortification.”

“The tequila is just in case of emergency,” she said in as flip a tone as she could manage. “I'm thinking it's better to be safe than sorry.”

Troy snorted, then attempted to camouflage it with a cough. He raised his video camera to his shoulder but Kyra moved in quickly. “Here.” She swapped her camera for his. “You can shoot with mine tonight. So you don't accidentally forget whose side you're on.”

“As if you'd let me,” Troy said.

“This way there's no question who the video belongs to.” She held his gaze. “Because I'll be deciding what we use and what needs to be deleted.”

The set of his jaw telegraphed his displeasure. It took him several long moments to rein in his irritation.

Good
, Avery thought
.
Now it was his turn to think before he acted. Just as they'd been forced to do ever since the network had turned the cameras on them.

The wine was poured. The tequila and shot glasses were placed within easy reach, kind of like a fire extinguisher behind glass hung next to the axe required to access it. Chase retrieved the beers he'd brought and offered them to Steve and Troy.

Too soon a brief teaser for
Do Over
played on-screen.

“I just want to go on record as saying that I was only following orders. And there wasn't much in the way of wiggle room,” Troy said during the opening commercials.

“It's a little late for excuses now,” Kyra said. “And I think the word ‘slither' sounds way more appropriate than wiggle.”

“I'm just saying I shot what I was told to shoot. And I edited what I was told to edit. This was not my baby.”

Oh, God
. Even as she told herself not to panic, Avery picked up the tequila, poured herself a healthy shot, and downed it.

Then the
Do Over
theme music was playing. There was an establishing shot of Bella Flora, which dissolved into a shot of them sitting in this very room on Christmas Day. A lit tree stood in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Crumpled wrapping paper and opened presents were strewn all around it as a narrator's voice set up the scene and the situation.

A shot of Kyra with Dustin in her lap filled the frame. Her hands were clasped around his stomach as he twirled the propeller of a wooden toy helicopter. The camera panned over to Avery. Her face looked huge as she licked her lips and then tore open the flap of an envelope. As they all looked on expectantly her eyes skimmed the card she'd extracted from the envelope. She could still remember how her hand had trembled as her screen image read, “Your next Do Over will start in May. When you turn the home of an extremely high-profile individual into a bed-and-breakfast.” There was a cutaway to the rest of them trying to figure out just how high profile that person might be. And then Avery was full frame again as she continued. “That home . . .” Her screen self flipped the card over and hesitated as if waiting for a drumroll. “. . . is located somewhere in the Florida Keys.”

The tequila she'd downed did nothing to prevent Avery's gasp as the shot of Deirdre filled the screen. Her mother's voice was wry, her expression challenging as she said, “Has anyone else noticed that we're going to be on another barrier island in the middle of hurricane season?”

Before Avery could blink, let alone pour and drink another shot, the video cut to their arrival at Bud N' Mary's Marina in Islamorada. Shots of fishing boats coming in and disgorging their anglers were followed by shots of deckhands skinning and fileting the catch while other anglers posed in front of really big fish that had clearly not gotten away.

All of them were standing on the docks when Hudson Power, a longtime fishing guide and friend of the homeowner they'd be working for, arrived by boat to pick them up. Which was when they discovered that their renovation was going to take place on an island, as in only reachable by water.

Shots of their stunned faces were followed by shots of Mermaid Point framed by turquoise water. As they drew closer there were glimpses of the island's dense tropical foliage and mangrove-shrouded edges, a tidal pool, a half-moon of beach, and a pavilion overlooking a swimming pool. The soundtrack was one of water slapping the camera boat hull, the buzz of insects, the rustle of palm fronds. There was a loud cock-a-doodle-doo. Avery could practically smell the salt breeze with the faint undertones of fowl and fish.

“Are those chickens?” Steve asked in surprise.

“In the flesh,” Nikki said. “And that's Romeo the time-challenged rooster out front. He had a very enthusiastic harem.”

Kyra's lips clenched at each close-up of Dustin, of which there were many.

No amount of bracing prevented Avery's eyes from tearing up at the shots of Deirdre, who had been so clearly intent on winning her back. Chase's arm went around her shoulders as she watched her screen self tell her now-dead mother just what she could do with her pile of designer luggage.

Chase pulled her closer.

Nikki poured her another shot as the camera lingered on their faces, revealing their doubts and fears, exposing their least attractive selves for all to see.

Then Thomas Hightower came to greet them and lead them in a scraggly line past the sagging and peeling house to the pavilion where they came face-to-face with Mermaid Point's famous owner.

William Hightower's black eyes were not welcoming as he bowed mockingly, but it was Steve Singer's eyes that narrowed as the introductions were made. He went very still when the camera settled on Maddie's face, which had gone all crimson. Just as it did now as they all watched her screen image whimper and stammer a greeting when she recognized the rock star.

Avery poured a shot for Maddie, put it in her hand, watched her down it.

Steve snorted briefly. A derisive sound that died in his throat when the angle changed and they could all see William Hightower checking Maddie out.

“I told you you got his attention from the beginning,” Nikki said, clearly glad that Steve was finally being forced to see just how other men saw the woman he'd taken for granted. His shock at all that followed made it obvious that he'd never really bothered to watch season one.

Kyra reached for the tequila as they watched their initial tour of Mermaid Point, led by the surly William Hightower. They saw the interplay between him and his son and watched him stomp off after informing them that they would not be renovating his studio and that it would, in fact, be off-limits.

Once again the camera lens lingered on their faces as their screen selves watched Wild Will storm away. As much as Avery hated seeing herself as one of the bugs pinned under the microscope, there was no denying that Troy's camerawork and editing were skillful. No one in the room could look away as the horror at their situation mounted. The room fell completely silent as their on-screen selves discovered they'd be living on the houseboat tied at the dock below.

At the commercial break Avery reached for the bottle of
tequila and poured shots all around. “I am not looking forward to watching us schlep our things onto that ridiculously small and ill-equipped houseboat.” She was especially not looking forward to hearing the nasty tone with which she'd informed Deirdre that she had to carry her own luggage up to the cramped upper cabin Deirdre had insisted on calling the “penthouse.”

Nikki, who'd been uncharacteristically silent, burrowed further into her seat but made no move toward the shot glasses.

Chase shook his head. “How in the hell did you put up with those accommodations?”

“Those network people should be tarred and feathered,” Jeff agreed.

Steve Singer kept his thoughts to himself, for which they were all grateful.

Troy attempted to make himself small and unobtrusive, not an easy task for someone over six feet. Despite the tequila, Avery's fury at the hijacking of their show and the way they'd been made to look burned bright inside her. But it was far too late to rail about what had already happened. Better to use that anger to make sure no one could make them look so foolish ever again.

Nikki watched the remainder of the episode with an odd sort of detachment. She could see just how ridiculous they looked, how frightened, how vulnerable. She just couldn't bring herself to care. She'd felt as if someone had wrapped her in a layer of cotton wool ever since she'd decided to go see Malcolm.

A text dinged in on her phone and she started. Afraid that her thoughts of her brother had somehow summoned him. But this time when she forced herself to look down, the text was not from Malcolm but from Joe.

I hate what they've done to you on this show
.

A tiny surge of hope pierced the cotton wool slightly. Joe was somewhere watching
Do Over
and thinking about her.

Definitely not pretty
, she texted back.
Should have turned and fled while we still could
. Not that any of them had had a viable alternative. Or any clear understanding of all of the dirty tricks up the network's sleeve. She held her breath, waiting for his response, and wishing she could turn back their relationship to what it had been then. When Joe didn't respond, she texted,
Wish we were headed to the Cheeca Lodge right now
, then held the phone waiting for a response
.
She was just about to give up, when his answer appeared.

Yeah
. It was only one word but for that moment she could almost feel his solid presence.

Her thumbs hovered over her phone. She wanted to text him back, wanted to share all her hurts and fears. Tell him she was going to see Malcolm after all and why. Ask him for his guidance. His approval. His . . . love. But there was no sign of typing from his iPhone on the other end. No indication that he had anything else he wanted to say to her. Still she held on to her phone as the rest of the episode played out before their eyes, a train wreck she couldn't look away from.

If her taste buds hadn't been completely repelled by the idea, she would have been reaching for the tequila bottle and pounding down the shots along with Avery, Kyra, and Maddie. But the only thing she could imagine being worse than the numbness was being numb and hungover.

She slid her phone into her pocket and tugged the cotton wool firmly back into place.