Christmas at the Beach (5 page)

Seven

I’m still standing in the hall outside the salon when he gets off the phone. I tell
myself not to say anything. That this is not my business. That I should just erase
what I heard from my memory banks and go outside to toast the sunset. But I’m a cameraperson,
not an actor. And this is my father, not some stranger. The next thing I know I’m
in the salon and moving toward my dad. Who’s got a perfect view of my mom and the
others gathered near the pool with drinks in their hands. So that she couldn’t possibly
overhear him or catch him unaware. The shit!

He sees me and smiles, but I see guilt stamped across his face. Too bad they don’t
have big red letter
A
s for men. At the moment I’d be glad to nail it to his forehead.

“Hi, kitten. Did you have a good nap?”

I don’t trust myself to speak. I nod, my eyes pinned to his face while I try to think
of any other explanation for what I’ve overheard than the obvious one.

“Is everything all right?” His brow is furrowed as if with concern. But I don’t trust
any of his expressions now. He fell apart when he lost all our money and his job,
and my mother was forced to step up and try to put our lives back together. And this
is how he repays her? By screwing around with someone else?

“I don’t know,” I say. “Is it?” I glance through the floor-to-ceiling windows and
see my mother laugh.

He shrugs. “It’s Christmas, and pretty soon it’ll be a brand-new year. There’s nothing
like the prospect of a fresh start.”

He looks so smug and happy that I want to gag. I
am
gagging on all the things I want to say. I feel like I did when I was five and the
boy next door told me there was no Santa Claus
or
Easter Bunny.

How could you?
I think but do not ask. Because I don’t think I can bear to hear his excuses. And
if he admits that he’s having an affair, there’ll be no taking it back.

Do all men cheat? Is it just a matter of time? Something that’s hardwired into their
DNA, a time bomb set to go off sometime after the day they say
I do
but before they keel over?

But I don’t care about other men right now. I only care about my father. I had an
affair with a married man even though I knew it wasn’t right. But it would have been
even worse if Tonja Kay weren’t the nasty person she is. If she were . . . my mom.

“Right. Well, I should get outside.” I can’t meet his eyes, which is stupid since
he’s the one who’s doing something wrong.

When I get outside my mother pats the chair next to her and Nikki hands me a glass
of red wine. Temperatures are set to drop and now that the sun’s on its way down it
is a bit cold for a frozen drink. Avery’s fingers are orange from Cheez Doodles. Deirdre’s
sticking out her chin over something. “You’re just in time,” my mother says. “We’ve
been holding off on our ‘one good things’ until you got here.”

I take a sip of wine and study my mother’s face. She looks happy and relaxed despite
having cooked and served a major Christmas dinner. But then, she didn’t hear her husband
on the phone just now telling some other woman how much he misses her. And she doesn’t
know that Daniel Deranian is the new owner of Bella Flora.

Normally I’d be shooting the sunset and our “one good thing” ritual, but I just sit
and listen as the toasts begin, wondering what in the hell I’m going to say.
I’m glad my mother doesn’t know my father’s cheating on her
doesn’t seem quite right. Neither does
Maybe Tonja Kay won’t do too much damage to Bella Flora
.

I’m still thinking damage control when Deirdre says, “I’m glad Avery didn’t burn the
lingerie I gave her. And I believe if she actually wears it good things will happen.”

“Oh God,” Avery groans. “You are not going to turn me sleeping with Chase into your
good thing.”

Deirdre’s eyes flash in protest, but she wisely stays silent.

“You’re sleeping with Chase?” Nicole asks in faux shock, which cracks everyone up
and lightens the mood. As badly as my gut is churning, I can’t help laughing.

“Ha, look who’s talking,” Avery shoots back. “At least I’m not sleeping with the FBI.”
She licks the cheese off her fingers with a
Take that
kind of look.

“I’m not sleeping with the whole FBI. Just one agent.” Nikki smiles wickedly. “And
there’s not a whole lot of sleeping going on anyway.”

When I first met Nicole Grant she looked so sophisticated and la-di-da, even in her
designer running clothes, but underneath is an iron will and a ramrod of a backbone.
I think Agent Joe Giraldi has his work cut out for him.

“That’s your good thing?” Avery challenges.

Nicole looks like she’s going to argue, but she says, “Yes, I guess it is. My brother
may be a greedy convicted felon and Heart, Inc. may be pretty much dead and buried.
But good sex is a good thing.”

We all drink to that. I think about picking up my camera and getting a couple of shots,
but I don’t. I try to keep my video honest, and honest is the last thing I feel like
I can be right now.

“I don’t see Agent Giraldi bringing someone he just has sex with home to meet his
family,” my mother observes. Nicole doesn’t respond, but she does pour herself another
glass of wine. Normally, I’d be zooming in for a close-up, but I still don’t pick
up my camera. All I can think is that my dad seems to be having good sex with someone
else.

“Kyra?” Deirdre asks, but I shake my head. I’m definitely not ready yet.

“Okay, then that leaves you, Maddie,” Deirdre says.

My mother smiles and makes eye contact with each of us like she always does. “My good
thing, my very best thing, is the same as last night. Having you all here to celebrate
the holiday in my favorite place on earth is incredible. Even if it is the last time.”
She raises her glass. “Here’s to the new owners of Bella Flora. May they love her
and appreciate her every bit as much as we do.”

I raise my glass to my lips, but I don’t drink. There’s no way I can possibly swallow
right now. I’m trying my hardest not to even think about Daniel, Tonja Kay, and their
entourage tromping around the house that changed all of our lives; I’m definitely
not going to drink to it. I also try not to think about my father and how he’s betraying
my mother, actually betraying all of us. That’s a lot of things not to think about.
I feel warm and overdressed, even though it’s cold out here now that the sun has gone
down. I can actually feel my body temperature rising. If I were a teapot, I’d be close
to a boil.

“I can hardly wait for the new year and the fresh start that it brings,” my mother
continues, eerily echoing what my father said. “We’ll all have a clean slate to write
on. There’s so much opportunity to . . .”

“Oh, my God!” I cut her off midsentence. I just can’t take it. “Are you serious?”

My mother looks at me. Her expression is one of concern, not anger, which makes me
feel even worse. If, in fact, that’s possible. “Are you completely blind?” I ask.
“Or don’t you care that Daddy is . . .”

“No, Kyra,” she interrupts me. “This isn’t a good time to talk about your father.”

There’s a warning note in her voice, but everything’s roiling inside me, looking for
a way out. “I heard Dad on the phone,” I say in a rush. “He was talking to another
woman!”

No one says anything as I spew out the rest. “He told her that he missed her. That
he can’t wait to get back to Atlanta.” I barely stop long enough to breathe. “After
everything he’s done, after everything he’s put you through, I can’t believe you’re
letting him cheat on you.”

I can’t believe I’m losing it like this, either, but I can’t seem to stop. I know
I should have waited until we were alone to bring this up—or not brought it up at
all—but I just can’t handle it alone. I look at my mother’s face. She’s upset but
not shocked. I look at Deirdre and Avery and Nicole. Their discomfort is obvious,
but they’re not shocked either.

Everyone already knows. Everyone but me.

“It’s not what you think,” my mother says while everyone else tries to look as if
they’re not there or at least not listening. “It’s . . .”

“It’s what?” My internal censor has checked out, and I’m practically shrieking like
a child. Which is what I feel like. Small and irrational and helpless and unable to
control what’s happening to my life as I know it. “He has a girlfriend and you don’t
care?” I’m mortally offended on my mother’s behalf. She deserves so much more than
this. But I’m also mad at her for letting him get away with this. I can’t stand that
I’m about to cry.

“Kyra, sweetie. It’s all right. Everything’s okay.”

“How can you say that?” I watched my mother take on the whole load for our family
when my father fell apart. I’ve been surprised and inspired by her unexpected strength.
I want her to storm inside and threaten to cut off his balls. And at the same time
I want her to smooth things over. To fix this like she’s always fixed everything else.
“This is definitely not okay!” And never would be again.

“Kyra, honey. Your father is seeing someone. But that’s because we’re already living . . .
separately.” She swallows and I think about her insistence that Dustin and I stay
in her bedroom. The physical distance they’ve maintained that I’ve been trying not
to notice. “Because we’re getting a divorce.”

My hand drops to my video camera and my fingers wrap around the grip. I wish I could
pick it up and hide behind it. “But why didn’t you tell me. How could you not tell
me?”

“We didn’t want to ruin the holiday, sweetheart. We wanted you and Andrew and Dustin
to have this last Christmas with both of us. As a family.”

Tears fill my eyes, turning everything soft and out of focus. My parents, who’ve been
married for twenty-six years, are getting a divorce. “He’s divorcing you? But, why
would he want a divorce now? How can he do this to you?”

“He’s not
doing
this to me, honey. He’s giving me what I want. I asked for the divorce.”

Without speaking, Avery, Nikki, and Deirdre get up and begin to carry things inside.
Vaguely I realize the sky is darkening.

“But I don’t understand. You’ve been together for so long. You’ve been through so
much. All the hardest stuff is over. Dad’s back on his feet. You’re fifty-one. Why
would you want to be alone now? I mean, that’s just . . .”

“Silly?” she asks quietly. “You think I’m too old to bother?”

“No,” I say, but of course that’s exactly what I think. “No, of course not.”

She sighs. “At my age you start thinking not only about the length of time you have
left, but the quality of that life. And despite everything we’ve been through—or maybe
because of it—I can’t be myself—the self I am now anyway—with your father.” Her smile
is apologetic. It’s me she’s worried about.

I hear the finality in her voice and I can’t hold back the tears anymore. They pour
out of my eyes and skid down my cheeks.

My mother wraps her arms around me. “Oh, Kyra. Honey. I’m so sorry.” She wipes a tear
off my cheek and I look up at her, but her face is a blur. “I’ll always love your
father in certain ways, and I’ll always be grateful to him for giving me you and Andrew.”

I’m crying full-out now.

“He’ll always be your father. And Dustin’s grandfather.” She pauses. “But I think
I deserve to make the most of the time I have left, don’t you?”

I nod because I know I’m supposed to, but I feel like someone ripped a hole in my
chest the size of the Holland Tunnel. I just can’t process this on top of everything
else.

I hate that I’m crying, but it’s a lot harder to stop than it is to start. “I just
feel like there isn’t anything I can do about . . . anything.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She brings her forehead to mine. “There’s nothing to be done. Change
is the only constant, and there’s no point in wasting time and energy trying to fight
it. There’s just acceptance and moving forward.”

I sniff and nod, my forehead pressing into hers. My mother has turned into this font
of New Age wisdom when all I really want is the pancakes with the smiley face formed
with chocolate bits and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches shaped like stars. Is that
too selfish for words?

She unwraps her arms from around me but holds on to my hand. I don’t know if she signals
them that it’s okay or they’ve been watching and waiting for the right moment, but
Avery, Nikki, and Deirdre come back bearing more wine. I try not to be mad that they
knew about my parents before I did. Timing isn’t really the point.

Nicole fills everyone’s glasses and I take a long drink.

“Are you okay?” Avery asks.

I nod even though I’m not. The tears are on intermittent now, but I can’t seem to
locate the
OFF
switch. It’s small of me. I think I’ve already used the words childish and selfish,
but I can’t help it. I’m both of those things. I just can’t bear to be the only one
dealing with bad news. So I raise my glass. “I guess this is as good a time as any
to share some news.”

I have their attention now and I don’t let myself stop and think about whether this
is the best time to share it. “Daniel bought Bella Flora. He’s the mystery buyer.
Tonja Kay called today to tell me how pissed off she is about it.”

I see the shock and horror on their faces, but I’m beyond caring. “She can’t wait
to get her hands on it. She and her designer.” Deirdre once worked for Tonja Kay,
but not anymore. “She’s thinking about gutting the first floor so that they can build
an indoor pool.”

No one speaks or moves. No one even lifts a glass to her lips or so much as swallows.
I’m not sure anyone is breathing.

“So I guess my one good thing is that we won’t be here when he moves Tonja Kay, their
kids, and her interior designer into the place she referred to as
Bella fucking Flora
.”

Eight

We’re sitting in a stunned silence when Troy walks up from the beach. Once the sunset
is complete, the camera-free zone ceases to exist, so his camera is on his shoulder.
The men are right behind him. My father is holding Dustin’s hand. Chase and his father
and sons are arranged around him. Andrew brings up the rear. They look like a batch
of linemen in a protective formation around a miniature quarterback.

The pack of paparazzi straggle up the path behind them and plant themselves in the
no-man’s-land of scrub and sand that lies between Bella Flora and the jetty. Apparently
no real celebrities or celebrity look-alikes have popped up in the Tampa Bay area.
We will have to do.

I brush my lips across Dustin’s sandy forehead and brush a dark curl back out of his
eye, but I don’t meet my father’s eye when he hands Dustin to me, and I don’t speak
when Troy begins to herd us inside for the grand announcement of the location of our
next
Do Over.
I’m not sure how it’s possible to seethe and go numb at the same time, but that’s
what I’m doing. I am an emotional Oreo cookie—hard and crumbly on the outside, soft
and seething in the middle.

Avery goes up on her tiptoes to whisper something in Chase’s ear.

He swears, and I know she’s told him about Daniel buying Bella Flora. Chase poured
his heart, his skills, and his money into both of her renovations. I hope Avery’s
spared him the part about the indoor pool. And that I’m not around when he tells his
dad.

“All right, everybody.” Troy continues to herd us toward the house, filming as we
go. “We’re going to shoot the reveal in the salon.”

Just before the doors close behind us, I hear Nigel and Bill and the paparazzi at
their backs begging for one more shot. A smile. Anything. Even a mooning from my brother
or one of the Hardin boys would probably make their day. But I don’t turn around.
They’ve had every bit of the golden hour when the light is best to get shots of Dustin
on the beach. That’s as close to a Christmas present as they’re going to get from
me.

Inside the lights are still twinkling on the tree. Opened presents lie all over the
floor around it. Troy motions Mom, Avery, Chase, Deirdre, Nicole, and me to the sectional
near the fireplace, then sets his camera on a tripod across from us, which will allow
him to include the tree, the presents, and the rest of the group in the background.
It’s exactly where I would have set up if I’d been shooting this, but I will never
tell him that.

I breathe deeply and settle Dustin on my lap, trying to focus on what’s happening,
but my mind is filled with images of Tonja Kay wreaking foul-mouthed revenge on our
poor defenseless Bella Flora and of my family, which will only have one of my parents
in it at a time. My reality has altered so much in the last twenty-four hours that
I hardly recognize it. I’m afraid if someone looks at me the wrong way I’m going to
start crying again.

I want to be anywhere but here. I’d be heading there right now, except that “anywhere
but here” is not an option.

Troy locks down the camera, makes a small adjustment, and hands Avery the sealed envelope.

“Are you guys ready?” Avery asks. Her smile is uneven. Her hands tremble so badly
that the envelope wobbles. My hands are clasped around Dustin’s stomach, which has
the dual purpose of keeping him semistill and disguising my own trembling. He’s busy
twirling the propeller of a wooden toy helicopter and kicking one of his legs against
mine. He couldn’t care less about the camera, but then people have been aiming them
at him since he was born.

Avery licks her lips as she tears open the flap and I realize how dry mine are. My
mother reaches a hand over and rests it on mine, but I don’t meet her eyes. We’re
about to find out where we’re going next—the network could theoretically send us anywhere
in the world—but I still feel oddly half-numb. My emotional Novocain is starting to
wear off.

Troy waves one hand above the lens until I look up. His lips stretch into a smile.
He points at them and then at me. I smile and try to look eager and engaged. This
is business. I have to be professional. No matter how much I resent Troy being first
camera and the unpleasant reality TV turn
Do Over
has taken, none of us can afford to walk away from a network television series. I
wear what I hope is an expectant look on my face as Avery’s eyes skim over the card.
All of us zone back in from wherever we’ve escaped to as she begins to speak.

“Your next
Do Over
will start in May,” she intones. “When you turn the home of an extremely high-profile
individual into a bed-and-breakfast.” Avery looks up and I can tell that like the
rest of us she’s trying to figure out just how high a profile we’re talking. Is it
a politician? A movie star? A relative of Mother Teresa?

“That home . . .” She flips the card over then hesitates as if waiting for a drum
roll. “ . . . is located somewhere in the Florida Keys.”

There’s a beat of silence and then the guys hoot their approval. Without urging from
Troy, they come toward us, talking fast.

“I’ve been down there by boat and car,” Chase says. “The fishing and diving are great.
But May’s the beginning of the rainy season. It’s hot and humid as hell there in the
summer, and the mosquitoes are as big as helicopters.”

“Hurrykopter!” Dustin says, spinning the wooden propeller.

“One of my roommates went to Key West last year for spring break,” Andrew says. “The
pictures were awesome. Lots of body paint and big boobs.”

“Boobs!” Dustin says. I glare at my brother. I can tell by how well the word is formed
that this is not the first time Dustin’s heard it. The village that’s raising my child
is not always as mature as it might be.

Everybody’s talking over each other. Chase’s sons are on their phones, Googling everyone
and everything they can think of to try to figure out who the house might belong to
and which of the Keys it might be located in.

No one comments on the fact that the high-profile individual, whoever he or she might
be, has been chosen because
Do Over
needs a major ratings boost to survive.

“Has anyone else noticed that we’re going to be on another barrier island in the middle
of hurricane season?” Deirdre asks.

“We’ve all noticed.” Avery starts to roll her eyes then remembers she’s on-camera.
“I have a feeling they’re not going to be happy until they get footage of us clinging
to a rooftop waiting for someone to rescue us.”

“I guess Hurricane Charlene wasn’t enough for them,” Mom says. Charlene was the hurricane
that roared up the Gulf Coast, right past Bella Flora, just after we finished renovating
her, causing us to spend the night cowering in a Tampa motel bathtub. Last summer,
when we were in South Beach, the disaster we faced was entirely man-made.

I see Troy smiling and I can’t really blame him. We’re all so excited that we barely
notice that he’s here recording all of our warts and foibles for playback at a future
date.

Dustin slides down off my lap and races over to the tree, where my father picks him
up and helps him choose a candy cane off a branch. I wish I could forget that he and
my mother are no longer the single entity I’ve always considered them. I’m a mother
now myself, and the idea of being a child of divorce at the ripe old age of twenty-four
is ridiculous, but it still makes my stomach hurt. The thought of Tonja Kay taking
her anger at me out on Bella Flora makes the ache even worse.

I hear the loud whine of a boat motor out in the pass. An explosion of flashes lights
the sky just long enough for someone to get an exterior shot of Bella Flora with a
hint of us inside. I wish I were wearing my burqa right now. Or even the big hair
and strap-on boobs that I wore in Nashville. I’m going to have to come up with a lighter,
more breathable disguise, something that’s water-repellent, before we head down to
the Keys.

I can feel Troy zooming in on my face. He pans the camera lens slowly across the couch,
carefully pausing on each of us briefly before moving on. Unlike his lens, my thoughts
move in quick jerks and starts. My mother says it’s all about accepting change and
moving forward. But I think that’s easier for the person making the change than it
is for the people who are forced to accept it.

I try to imagine who the “high-profile” individual in the Keys might be, but of course
high-profile
could mean about as much as
celebrity
does. The house we’ll be renovating could belong to the president of the United States.
Or a
Project Runway
all-star.

Dustin runs to me and climbs into my lap and I hold him tight against me. I don’t
have to look to know what Troy is shooting. We are the tabloid version of the
Madonna and Child
, but our powers are confined to selling magazines and, maybe, if we’re lucky, a successful
network television show.

I look around me and I’m reminded that Dustin and I are not alone. We’re all bound
up with each other and with
Do Over
. And another chance to “do over” our own lives. We’ve had two shots at this, and
we’ve all made progress. I know I’m not the only one who’s hoping that the saying
is true. That the third time, somewhere down in the Florida Keys, will be the charm.