Ocean Beach by Wendy Wax

toward the closet. “I thought I might join you. I’d like to get some photos and take notes on the decor.” Keeping her back turned and her tone casual, she said, “I’m assuming you’ve asked Chase to consult on crew and a construction schedule.”
    There was a pause. In the murky reflection of the armoire mirror she saw Avery’s cheeks go red.
    “He’s swamped,” Avery said flatly. “And it’s not like I can’t handle this on my own.”
    She stomped into the bathroom and there was the sound of water splashing in the sink. When she came back into the bedroom, she’d swiped on mascara and lipstick and tamed the worst of a fairly virulent case of bed head. She rummaged through her suitcase and pulled on a pair of modest khaki shorts and a baggy blue T-shirt, which was safer than yesterday’s outfit but not at all flattering. Deirdre had left her room in both the closet and the armoire, but Avery had so far made no move to claim it. Perhaps she was afraid that allowing their clothes to touch might be construed as an acknowledgment of an actual relationship.
    There was a rap on the bedroom door. When Avery pulled it open, Kyra stepped into the room. Dustin had been strapped in a carrier and hung in front of her, face forward. His mouth was open in a gummy smile. Deirdre felt the oddest tug in her chest.
    “They didn’t have slings or papooses or any of that when you were born,” Deirdre said to Avery, remembering how alien and frightening motherhood had seemed at the time.
    “Would you have packed me in one and taken me with you when you ran away from us if they had?” Avery asked, the words flying out of her mouth like bullets. The words hurt far less than the ancient hurt that had propelled them.
    “You were thirteen when I left,” Deirdre said. “I doubt they make them that large.” The room swam briefly and she was horrified to realize that tears were a real possibility. “And I don’t know how many times I can explain and apologize.”
    “You’re right,” Avery said. “It’s pointless. You can stop now.”
    Kyra’s sympathetic look was almost as tear inducing asAvery’s rejection. The girl handed Avery a mug of still-steaming coffee. “Drink this,” she said. “All of it.”
    Avery did as instructed. But Deirdre was watching her daughter’s face, and although she could see that the warm jolt of caffeine was welcome, it didn’t erase the old hurts or assuage the current anger. And it didn’t turn Deirdre into the mother she had never been.

    Outside in the morning light, The Millicent looked far better and far worse than Avery had expected. As she stood on the front stoop face-to-face with the heavy wooden door set in the circular two-story entry, she could see every fabulous detail from the chrome anchor doorknob in the center of the door to the etchings on the glass transom above it and the hand-carved bas-relief of fanciful sea creatures that surrounded it.
    Unfortunately, she could also see the dire shape they were in. If it hadn’t been for all the jostling and what was supposed to pass for whispering, she imagined she might have been able to hear the house’s silent scream for help.
    “I don’t feel good about going inside without Max’s permission,” Maddie said for what might have been the fourth or fifth time.
    “That’s assuming we can get in,” Deirdre said. “Too bad we didn’t think to ask for a key.”
    “Shhh,” Kyra said over Dustin’s head as she filmed what was supposed to be a stealth reconnaissance, but that had somehow turned into a group field trip. “We don’t want to wake up Max. Or Frick and Frack.”
    “Maybe it’s not locked,” Deirdre said as Avery began to feel around for a hidden key.
    Avery ignored her as she upended an ancient flowerpot then shooed everyone off the front step so that she could look underneath the welcome mat.
    “I really think that if Max wanted us to have access, he would have given us a key,” Maddie said.
    Avery