Ocean Beach by Wendy Wax

Singer. Maddie’s face was smudged with dirt and her clothes were sweat-stained. Her smile seemed strained.
    “How about a glass of wine instead?” Deirdre asked. “You know, to start the mellowing process? I’m not sure I can wait until sunset.”
    Madeline glanced down at her watch and seemed surprised at the time she saw there.
    “It’s almost five,” Deirdre said. “That’s late enough to drink pretty much everywhere.”
    “Okay,” Madeline said, moving as if to rise.
    “Stay where you are,” Deirdre said even as she tried to figure out how to broach the subject she’d been hoping todiscuss. “There’s a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator. I’ll bring it out. It’s just as cool out here as it is inside and the breeze is stronger.”
    In the kitchen, Deirdre found a tray and assembled the bottle and two wineglasses along with a small bowl of mixed nuts as quickly as she could. Given the sheer number of them living together, any time alone with Madeline was bound to be short. It would be hard enough to ask Maddie for what she wanted; there wasn’t time for a slow build.
    Back outside, they clinked glasses but neither offered a toast.
    “How did things go at the Design District?” Maddie asked politely.
    “Good,” Deirdre said. “I have an old friend who has a showroom there. We worked together on a project down here a number of years ago. She mentioned a real estate firm that specializes in historic homes on the beach. They might be helpful as we work and could be the right firm for Max to list the house with when we’re done.”
    “Assuming he wants to put the house up for sale,” Madeline said.
    “It couldn’t hurt to have them come over and give Max an idea of the house’s value,” Deirdre said, noting Maddie’s protective tone and the glint of suspicion in her eyes. She and Madeline Singer had come to terms with each other by the end of their stint at Bella Flora, but they weren’t exactly BFFs.
    “I really don’t have an agenda here,” Deirdre said. She took a long sip of her wine, gathering her courage. “Well, except for one thing.”
    The suspicion in Madeline’s eyes sharpened; there wasan almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw. “And what one thing is that?”
    Deirdre looked down at her already empty glass, embarrassed. But there was no time to dissemble. “I want to mend my relationship with Avery,” she said. “No matter how many times I’ve apologized, she just can’t seem to forgive me for leaving. We’re sleeping in the same bed, for God’s sake, and she’s clinging to the edge of her side as if rolling anywhere near me would be some sort of punishment.” She looked away, her gaze settling on the citrus trees in the corner of the yard.
    Madeline didn’t speak, but Deirdre could feel her assessing her. When she turned back Madeline was appraising her frankly. For someone who was always anticipating the needs of others, the woman sure wasn’t rushing to ease the way.
    “I want to be a real mother to her.” Deirdre set the wineglass aside and leaned toward Maddie. “But I don’t really know how.” She folded her arms across her chest, feeling chilled despite the balmy weather. “You’re really great at being a mother—and grandmother. And I know Avery likes and admires you for it.” She glanced down at her empty wineglass. “She barely tolerates me.”
    Deirdre poured herself another glass and topped off Maddie’s without asking, then set the bottle back on the table between them, watching the other woman’s face carefully.
    “It’s not like there’s some list of do’s and don’ts,” Madeline finally said, some decision reached. “At least not outside of the occasional
Good Housekeeping
or
Working Mother
article.” She gestured with her wineglass. “I mean basicallyyou just put your children first. Everything else sorts itself out from there.”
    She made it sound so simple.
    “But how do you do that?” Deirdre pressed. “How do