Ocean Beach (39 page)

Max insisted on making dinner that night and he did so on a George Foreman Grill that had fallen out of the back of a kitchen cabinet as it was being tossed into the Dumpster. Nicole’s appetite was not stimulated by the ingredients Max layered between the slices of rye bread and was stamped out completely when the smell of hot, pressed sauerkraut began to fill the air.

“Voilà!” Max exclaimed into Kyra and Troy’s camera lenses, behind which the two had taken refuge. “Behold the Golden Reuben!” He garnished each plate with potato chips and a dill-pickle spear and, with Madeline’s help, handed the plates around before joining the women at the table. Andrew, Troy, and Anthony set their plates on the coffee table and hunkered down to eat on the sofa.

“I offer these sandwiches with thanks for all the meals Madeline has made and served,” Max said gallantly. “And to all of you for working so hard to make The Millicent a home again.”

Maddie’s smile was shaky as she nodded her thanks. But then all of their eyes were kind of misty. Dustin, who was standing upright by steadying himself against his grandmother’s chair leg, smiled happily, his new teeth—all three of them—on display, and said, “Gax!” As they watched he moved a hand to Avery’s chair and took another careful step to the side.

“Well done, Dustin!” Max said to the little boy. “Before you know it, you’ll be ready for your own Reuben.”

Everyone but Madeline laughed. Nicole peered at her more closely and noticed that she held her sandwich in a death grip and seemed to be having trouble swallowing. Kyra, too, was chewing extremely slowly and looked more than a little anxious, but Nicole chided herself a few moments later for looking for trouble. For all she knew it was as simple as a dislike of sauerkraut. Or an understandable twinge of claustrophobia.

Dessert was a bag of chocolate chip cookies and a pot of freshly brewed decaf. The guys found a baseball game on the television while Max sat with them at the table. Kyra settled Dustin on the couch next to Andrew and brought her laptop to the table. Nicole knew she’d been tweeting their progress and posting updates to the
Do Over
Facebook page along with occasional blog posts from each of them.

“Are there any loose ends that need to be tied up?” Madeline asked.

“I’m still working on finding Pamela Gentry before I give up and go with something else in the foyer,” Deirdre said. “Max, did you ever hear anything about her after she and Millie lost touch?”

Max took a bite of cookie and chewed thoughtfully. “Someone we knew did run into her on a trip to Chicago.
I think she’d gotten married and opened her own design firm.” He sipped his coffee, then set down his cup. “Not too surprising that she’d be in business for herself, really. She was quite aggressive for a woman of that time.”

“Do you know what her married name was?” Deirdre pressed. “I guess I’ve gotten a little obsessed about that chandelier, but having such a unique custom piece in the foyer is a hard thing to let go of.”

“It was something with an ‘M.’ Malgrin…Martin?” Max’s brow creased in concentration. “I’m not sure.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin as he tried to remember. “Or wait, maybe it was…Mitson? No.” He rubbed his jaw. “Madsen? Yes, I think that sounds right.”

“Can you Google Madsen Design, Chicago, or Pamela Gentry Madsen, Kyra, and see if you come up with anything?” Deirdre asked.

“Sure.” Kyra’s fingers flew over the keyboard. They watched as her gaze skimmed down the screen. She typed some more.

“Look at this.” She turned her screen so the others could see. “This is from an awards ceremony in 1973.”

Nicole and the others looked at the photo. Someone was presenting a statuette to Pamela Madsen of Madsen Interiors.

“Love the dress,” Nikki said of the evening gown with the jeweled neckline. “Her hair’s longer and lighter and she’s wearing glasses, but the face is the same.”

There was another photo of her accepting the presidency of the Chicago chapter of the American Society of Interior Designers and several more of her heading up various committees and fund-raisers.

“She seems to have been quite a dynamo,” Nicole observed.

“Yes,” Max said. “She was always a force to be reckoned with. Pamela could be good company and she had a fair sense of humor.” He looked slightly uncomfortable. “But sometimes she just wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Max’s gaze stayed on the screen.

“I’m going to save these photos to print out,” Kyra said, and then her fingers tapped quickly across the keys. “Here’s the design-firm contact info. I’m sending that to your phone, Deirdre.”

“Thanks. Can you tell if she’s still active in the business?”

More tapping. Then, “Oh.” Kyra looked up from the computer screen then turned to Max. “Here’s her…” She hesitated. “I just found her obituary.”

When Max made no comment, Kyra turned her attention back to the screen. “It looks like she died five years ago.”

“Before Millie,” Max said quietly. “Can you read what it says?”

“Yes, I’m going to save it to print too. As soon as I find a place to set up the printer.”

There was another keystroke and then Kyra read, “‘Pamela Gentry Madsen died yesterday at her home at the age of eighty. She was a former president of the ASID’—then it names those committees and things she chaired. ‘Her firm, which carried her name, did many notable commercial and residential interiors in and around the Chicago area. She was especially known for her modern interiors, for mentoring promising artists and artisans, and for her affinity for the Art Deco style.’” Kyra skimmed further. “‘She
is survived by her son, Ethan, who became the managing partner of Madsen Interiors several years ago, and two grandchildren.’”

They all sat, their eyes on Max.

“Hmm,” he said. “Gone all these years already. It never occurred to me.” He stood slowly, holding on to the table until his legs steadied beneath him, in much the same way that Dustin clung to chair backs. He looked every one of his ninety years as he excused himself and began to move slowly toward his bedroom.

“So that’s it, then,” Avery said after the bedroom door had closed behind him. “Do you think you can find another chandelier locally?”

“Possibly,” Deirdre said, still staring at Kyra’s computer screen. “But the firm seems to be still in business. I don’t see any reason not to call and try to speak to her son to see if he knows this artist or his work.”

“Seriously?” Nicole asked. She’d been impressed with Deirdre’s work, but didn’t understand the woman’s single-mindedness over this one element.

“Why not?” Deirdre asked. “It’s just a phone call. I’ll see if I can reach him tomorrow.”

Avery woke the next morning in a foul mood, no doubt caused by being crammed on a roll-away between Deirdre and Nicole and then having to fight for bathroom time for a good twenty minutes. An entire day spent moving the furniture that was going into the POD that had been delivered and carting off the things that Max was donating and selling didn’t improve her mood one bit.

She was standing in the living room contemplating the
battered tile floor and trying not to think of what it was going to take to refinish it, when she heard the sound of applause coming from the kitchen. Seconds later Avery stood in the archway between the dining room and kitchen. From there, she watched Deirdre place one hand on a section of the gleaming teak countertop and bend from the waist in an exaggerated bow. Max, Maddie, Nikki, and even Dustin applauded wildly while Troy, Anthony, and Kyra recorded Deirdre’s moment of triumph.

Avery’s jaw set as she took in the space. Like everything else Deirdre had created or orchestrated, the kitchen was superbly done. It was, in fact, deserving of applause.

The cabinetry was clean-lined and finished in a sand-colored enamel that both complemented and contrasted with the teak and would pop even more strongly once the tobacco-colored stain was applied to the floor.

The gently rolling tile backsplash in shades of blue conjured up the feel of ocean waves. The faucet and the cabinet and drawer pulls were polished chrome fashioned to look like a ship’s wheel. The appliances, donated by yet another sponsor that Deirdre had found, were state-of-the-art stainless steel encased in custom cabinetry. The pantry door had been made to look like it led to a cruise-ship stateroom.

When the new light fixtures went in and the banquette was complete, The Millicent kitchen would belong on the cover of
Architectural Digest.

Avery’s gut clenched as she tried to understand how someone so self-absorbed could tune into a space so perfectly. While the rest of them struggled, Deirdre had skated through life letting nothing stand in her way. She’d gotten tired of being a wife and a mother, and so she’d picked up and left. When her career as a Hollywood designer hit a
road bump, she’d hotfooted her way to Bella Flora and gotten her face in front of the cameras. Now here she was blowing everybody’s socks off on camera while she pretended that all she wanted was Avery’s love and forgiveness. Ha!

“What do you think?” Deirdre asked Avery, apparently needing still more adoration despite the fact that everyone else already thought she walked on frickin’ water.

Avery took a long look around the space as if she had not already done so. “It’s very nice,” she said grudgingly. “You did a nice job of capturing The Millicent’s vibe.”

Silence descended.

“That’s it?” Nicole asked. “It’s nice?”

“Really?” Kyra added as she lowered her camera.

“You don’t like it?” Max asked, looking around the space as if to see if he’d somehow missed something.

Maddie shot her a look of disappointment. Deirdre’s face remained impassive, but Avery had seen her eyes widen in surprise before darkening with hurt and she knew she’d scored a direct hit.

“What?” Avery snapped, uncomfortable with the disapproving silence.

“Don’t you think it’s time to grow up?” Madeline asked.

“It’s okay, Maddie,” Deirdre said, drawing Madeline’s attention. “Please. You don’t need to…”

“No, it’s not okay.” Madeline turned back to Avery, her normally soothing tone surprisingly…not. “You can’t hold a grudge against your mother forever. She screwed up. She left you and your father. She did the wrong thing.”

“You’ve got that right,” Avery said, confused. Madeline was generally the most accepting of all of them, but at the moment Avery didn’t see a lick of acceptance in her eyes.

“But she’s here now,” Maddie continued, gesturing toward Deirdre. “And she’s apologized and she’s trying to make it up to you. The woman has been taking lessons in motherhood, for God’s sake.”

Avery started in surprise. “What did you say?”

“Really, Maddie,” Deirdre said, her discomfort now apparent.

“Yep, she signed up for the first-ever ‘Madeline Singer How to Be a Mother’ class, though lately I’m not so sure I’m qualified to teach it. I’ve been coaching her, but she’s come up with some interesting attempts on her own: the Cheez Doodle extravaganza. The hotel room. The new clothes. Most importantly, ‘the not leaving when the going gets tough.’”

“I don’t believe this,” Avery said. “This is just more Deirdre Morgan smoke and mirrors. Believe me, she’s only here to build back her career. On our backs, I might add.”

“Okay,” Deirdre said. “I appreciate your defense, Maddie, but it seems pretty clear my daughter has no interest in giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Good grief,” Avery said. “I can’t believe this! Now Deirdre’s the injured party and I’m the big bad bully?” She wanted to get the hell out of the kitchen, but she felt pinned down, under fire from the most unlikely of directions.

“That may be why she showed up at Bella Flora,” Maddie conceded. “But she has other options now and she’s still here.” She looked pointedly at Avery. “Because of you.”

“Right.” Avery heard the petulance in her voice, but she wasn’t about to concede the point. She wanted to leave but had no idea where she would go. And even if she went somewhere, she’d have to come back.

“It’s true,” Deirdre said. “I’d give anything to prove it. But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Seriously, Avery,” Madeline said. “It’s time to get over it. Your mother’s here and she’s trying. She’s not without flaws. But then who of us is?”

For a few long agonizing moments no one spoke. The whole thing felt somewhat surreal. And then Madeline’s face crumpled.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I didn’t mean to jump on you. I just…Being a mother, a good mother, isn’t all that easy. I just couldn’t help thinking you could at least give her a chance.”

Avery opened her mouth, though she had no idea what to say. She did the mouth-open-like-a-fish-out-of-water-and-gasping-for-air thing, then managed to close it. She didn’t know what had loosened Maddie’s normal reticence, but it was clear that the floodgates were now open and she seemed unable, or unwilling, to censor what came out of her mouth.

“God, I’m sorry I started all of this,” Madeline said in yet another rush. “But since I have, I might as well add that I wish you would stop hiding yourself in those baggy clothes.”

She paused while everyone’s mouths gaped open, but that pause was brief.