On the western side of the house the amount of fine white sand far outweighed the grass and was overgrown with sandspurs and creeping cacti; definitely not a barefoot zone. Renée Franklin gestured dismissively toward a low-lying green plant. “That Sprengerle needs to be removed.” She turned for a moment to address Madeline. “It’s actually a weed”—she whispered this word as if it were somehow dirty—“and as you can see, highly invasive. It must be ripped out by the roots. Up north they put it in pots! Imagine!”
In the back the palm trees were plentiful, and apparently each palm had a name. Renée exclaimed over cabbage palms with petticoats of dry brown fronds that hung beneath them, and proclaimed the multi-trunked reclinada “quite valuable.” She led them toward a huge tree she referred to as a sea grape, its leaves dark green and rounded, that hung in a huge mass over a portion of the seawall.
Together they turned back toward the house. The buzz of saws and the pounding of hammers rang in the air and ricocheted off the thick stucco walls, the concrete pool deck, and the courtyard that surrounded it.
“There’s so much to be done,” Renée said, clearly relishing this fact. “But the grounds will be breathtaking once again.”
“And the house, too,” John Franklin agreed. “I’m so pleased to see it finally getting the attention it deserves.”
Madeline searched out the throng for her partners. Avery and Chase were squared off in front of each other again, their faces contorted in anger, their hands next to their tool belts as if they were holsters. The senior Hardin had a hand on each of their shoulders, trying to placate them. Nicole stood nearby downing a glass of tea, clearly in no hurry to start on the door stretched across a nearby sawhorse. Maddie knew the feeling. She was starting on a bank of upper windows today, and although she didn’t fumble quite as much as she had at the beginning of the week, each pane still took far too long. By the end of each day her whole body screamed in protest.
At the opposite corner of the gash of concrete that was the pool, Kyra stood, feet planted, her video camera aimed at Avery and Chase, apparently capturing their argument. As Maddie studied her daughter, the camera swung in her direction. For the first time that morning Maddie became aware of what she probably looked like. She hadn’t showered or worried about makeup because she got so dirty and sweaty every day that starting out clean felt practically sacrilegious. One hand stole up to smooth her hair, which was when she remembered that she’d never even combed it before clamping it up on top of her head.