Page 52 of Ten Beach Road

Nikki had wanted to say no, she didn’t need her past and present lives rubbing together quite so closely, but it was hard to come up with a good reason to refuse. It was just a couple of hours in the car each way. And she could hardly say she needed the alone time to get her current story straight and her former act together. Or that one of the reasons for going was to try to find at least some bread crumb of information that might help her pick up Malcolm’s trail.

In the first fifteen minutes of the drive, Kyra polished off two chocolate iced doughnuts, a large glass of milk, and a banana. Nicole made no comment; she was not the girl’s mother and her daily caloric intake was not her concern. They drove over the Sunshine Skyway, which arched high over Tampa Bay. Boats cut through the blue green water, leaving frothy white wakes like airplane trails behind them. The sun looked almost golden against the pale blue of the sky.

Malcolm had always had a soft spot for Florida—as children they’d lived in several of the state’s northern cities. One Thanksgiving, which had been celebrated in a tent in a panhandle campground, they’d offered thanks for the clear skies and warm temperatures. After they’d finished their meal, a feast of KFC extra crispy with two sides and a roll for each of them, the six-year-old Malcolm had vowed that one day he’d own a beachfront mansion. Apparently one of the few promises he’d kept.

Once her food was gone, Kyra stared silently out the window while the palmettos and scrub brush flashed by. As they continued along Highway 78 with its sugar-cane-field border, she turned her gaze on Nicole, who kept her own on the road.

“Could you tell which couples you matched up would stay together?” she asked.

“Sometimes.”

“What was it that gave it away?” Kyra asked. “Their personalities, their backgrounds? What they did for a living?”

Nicole thought about it, something she’d tried not to do too much over the years. She’d always been afraid that it would render her too cynical to continue in the lucrative field. “Motivation.”

She could tell it wasn’t what Kyra had been expecting. She was a little surprised herself. “It comes down to how much both parties want to stay married. I think that has to be fairly equal, even if their reasons are different, for it to work. One person wanting it isn’t enough.” She knew this not only from observation but her own two disastrous marriages, failures she rarely mentioned and wished she could forget. Deep down she’d known that she’d chosen badly, an irony that haunted her, like a doctor failing to diagnose his own illness. Or a hairdresser who arrived at the salon with her own hair uncombed.

“So those reasons could be about a person’s career or something and not just about how much they love the other person,” Kyra said.

“Yes.” Nikki looked at the girl wondering whether it was her parents’ apparently strained relationship on her mind, or one of her own. “I’ve seen horribly mismatched couples—not by me of course—stay together if the reasons were compelling enough, while others who appeared perfect for each other couldn’t make it through the first disappointment.”

“Do you ever advise people to split up or try to keep them together?”

Nicole laughed. “Fortunately, my business is introducing people who meet each other’s criteria, not keeping them married. I’m a matchmaker, Kyra, not a marriage counselor.” At least she was before Malcolm ripped that business out from underneath her.

This was met with silence and more staring out the window, but as she’d just pointed out, Nicole wasn’t a therapist. Kyra and her mother belonged in the “not my problem” category. She already had far too many problems of her own.

Still, she was curious. When they’d first met, Madeline had seemed stretched to the breaking point and Nicole recognized a loneliness in Kyra that reminded her of her own.

With each passing mile, Nicole felt less and less monkey-like. The thought of spending the entire weekend in an interior-designed guest bedroom with its own plush private bath, waited on by a well-trained staff, had her foot pressing ever more firmly on the accelerator.

“Did you ever date a married man when you were young? Er, I mean younger?”

As if she couldn’t date any married man she chose right now. Nicole sighed. “I have,” she said. “But not intentionally.” She looked at Kyra. “It’s a bad idea from every point of view. Even if you’re able to overlook the morality of the question, those kinds of scenarios rarely end well for anyone.” She watched Kyra’s face for a reaction but didn’t get much. “A cheater is a cheater is a cheater.” She’d learned this during marriage number one. “Any man who would cheat on his wife with you would cheat on you with someone else.”

“But what if he’s only staying married for business reasons? Or because his wife’s publicist says it’s important for her image?” The question was so earnest it almost hurt to hear it.

“Kyra,” she said. “I don’t know who you’re referring to, and I’m not sure I want to know. But that’s just bullshit. It belongs in the same category as ‘my wife doesn’t understand me,’ ‘we don’t sleep together anymore,’ and ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’ ” She gave her a stern look, hoping to help the message sink in. “And that’s especially true in Hollywood, where most marriagesarebusiness deals or based on mutual convenience. People in the movie business often confuse fact and fantasy. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“But he’s not . . .”

“If I were your mother,” Nicole continued, “and I’m sure we’re both glad I’m not, I’d tell you to forget about him, whoever he is, and move on. Chances are if he’s out on the West Coast and you’re here, he’s already done that.”

“That’s what my mom says.” Kyra drooped in her seat. “But haven’t you ever listened to your heart instead of your head?”

Nicole hesitated. “I have,” she admitted reluctantly. “And it didn’t end well.” Not with either of her husbands. And certainly not with her brother, whom she’d loved so intensely from the moment he was born. “Listen to your mother. She loves you and she’s trying to protect you. Which is exactly what mothers are supposed to do.”

That put an end to any confidences that might have been coming Nicole’s way.

They were in the outskirts of Palm Beach County now. Nikki had left just enough time for a manicure and pedicure before she had to be at Bitsy Baynard’s; there was no way she could arrive with her hands and feet looking like she’d been working on a chain gang.

She pulled the Jag into the first strip center in West Palm with a nail salon; she didn’t have the time or the money to be fussy. “I’m going to run into that nail place,” she said to Kyra. “Why don’t you have your friend pick you up here?”

Kyra followed her into the shop, her thumbs already flying over her phone keyboard. An older Asian woman led Nicole back to a well-worn spa chair and waited for her to remove her shoes. Nikki sighed with pleasure as she sank her bare feet into the warm bubbling water and set her hands where the technician could reach them. The place was nothing like the salons that lay just over the bridge in Palm Beach, but it had been a long, grueling month and Nikki was too tired to care. She closed her eyes, eager for some pampering.

“Shit!” Kyra said.

Nicole’s eyes flew open. “What? What’s wrong?”

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