Page 7 of Ten Beach Road

“It’s Daniel’s. Daniel . . .”

“Daniel Deranian?” She named the megastar of the film Kyra had been working on. “But he’s . . .”

“Married to Tonja Kay.”

Madeline nodded. Tonja Kay was a huge name in her own right. Together they were one of Hollywood’s premier power couples; only a couple of rungs beneath Brad and Angelina. “And he’s . . .”

“Older than me?”

“I think that’s a slight understatement. He’s a good decade older than you. And he’s got a horrible reputation with women. Why . . .”

“So much for not judging.” Kyra folded her arms across her chest.

“Honey, I’m just saying I don’t think you have any idea how completely having a baby will change your life. You’re only twenty-three. There’s so much still ahead of you. You know you don’t have to actually . . .”

“Yes, I do,” Kyra said. “I know what my options are. And I’m having Daniel’s baby.”

“And how does Daniel feel about this?” She felt silly calling a Hollywood megastar by his first name. As if she’d ever seen him anywhere besides the pages of a magazine or on a theater screen.

Kyra shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I don’t know. I never got to tell him.”

“Oh, Kyra.”

“He told me he loved me, Mom. He’s not like you think. Or the way they describe him in the tabloids.” Kyra folded her hands in front of her and then stared at them as if there might be some answer hidden between her fingers. “Everything was great. But then Tonja showed up on the set, and the next thing I knew I was off the picture.” She looked up, her gray eyes cloudy with hurt. “When I knocked on Daniel’s trailer door later, his assistant told me he wasn’t available. And that was it.

“I didn’t think it was the sort of news I should be texting or emailing.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Madeline reached for her daughter and drew her close. What right did some Hollywood Romeo have ruining her daughter’s life and then blowing her off? How could her baby have a baby? And how in the world were they going to pay for a pregnancy and support another child right now?

“Is it okay if I stay for a . . . while?” Kyra asked as she pulled back. “I’d already sublet my apartment because I thought I’d be on location all spring. And I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” She bit her lip, worrying it, just as she had as a child when she was trying to hold back tears. Madeline felt like crying, too. She’d thought she was all cried out, but apparently tears came in an unlimited supply. She felt them pricking against her eyelids, trying to get free.

“Of course you can stay here. You and the baby.” Madeline closed her eyes briefly, hardly able to believe Kyra was going to be a mother. “For as long as you need or want to.”

As Madeline watched helplessly, Kyra grabbed her suitcases, dragged them to the back stairs, and then began to bump them up to her room. Which was apparently not going to become a study/craft room anytime soon.

By the middle of April Madeline knew that her sky was definitely falling. Edna’s claim had still not been paid and living with her had reinforced the fact that Edna could not live alone. Nor could she afford to live in any sort of senior residence even if they were able to repair and sell her house in this horrible real estate market, and even if she’d been willing to go to one.

Steve was still in free fall and could not be begged, cajoled, or shamed into doing anything remotely helpful. He insisted he was just waiting for the economy to turn around, but Madeline had the feeling he’d simply decided he didn’t feel like working anymore. She carried the crumpled paper with the address of the beachfront property and the names of the other two owners and sat down next to him on the couch, placing the paper in his lap. “We need to go look at this and find out what it’s worth. It’s basically our only remaining asset besides this house.”

He needed a shave and although he lay around far too much, often with his eyes closed, he didn’t look at all rested. “There is no market for real estate, Madeline. And I seriously doubt that a ‘mansion’ on a Podunk beach that we’ve never heard of would be worth anything if there were.” His mother sat nearby, leafing through a newspaper. She and Edna had never had anything approaching a heart-to-heart, but Madeline had stopped trying to pretend weeks ago that everything was all right.

“But the market is going to recover, Steve. We can’t just sit here and lose everything. We have to at least try to save ourselves.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.” His tone was as weary and defeated as his eyes. “I’ve been the breadwinner for twenty-five years, Madeline, and I just can’t stomach going out after another loaf.” He picked up the letter and handed it back to her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He raised the remote and turned the volume back up.

“Edna?” It was her knowledge of just how close the sky was to falling that made Madeline turn to her mother-in-law. Edna shrugged her increasingly frail shoulders. “I think Steven needs this little break,” she said as if they were talking about an hour nap and not a complete abdication of responsibility. “We’ll all just have to give him some more time.” She leaned over and patted her son on the shoulder. When Madeline left the room they were both once again focused on the television screen, where a contestant was scrambling to identify the last word of the winning phrase onWheel of Fortune.

In the kitchen, Madeline poured herself a glass of wine; she’d slashed their household budget as far as possible, and so it was a single glass of Two Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s that she carried out onto the deck instead of a Kendall Jackson. She sipped it sparingly while she stared out over the deck railing and up the rise of the heavily wooded backyard. The pine trees stirred slightly in the early evening breeze, and she breathed in the soft scent of the camellia bush that had begun to bloom on the side of the house. She searched the sky, hoping to find at least a smidgen of serenity, but the reality of their situation made that impossible.

Bill collectors had begun calling, and she could barely afford the store brands at the grocery store. She’d delivered the last of her lightly worn clothing to the Designer Consigner shop yesterday.

Inside the phone rang and a few moments later the back door opened. Kyra stepped out onto the deck in a spill of light. “It’s Andrew, Mom. He wants to talk to you.” She covered the handset as she handed it to Madeline.

Madeline took the phone from her daughter and finished the last swallow of wine before lifting the receiver to her ear. “Hi, sweetie,” she said, brutally aware that her youngest was the only family member who seemed to be where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do. “How’d that Lit exam go?”

“Not so good.”

“Oh?” She settled back in her chair and propped her feet up on the railing. Compared to all the truly horrible things that had happened lately, one bad test score hardly seemed worth getting worked up about. “Well, I’m sure if you study harder for the next one, you’ll be back on track. You just need to buckle down now. You’ve always been a great student.”

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