Free The House on Mermaid Point by Wendy Wax

by the hours out on the flats fishing, endless laps in the pool when he could no longer sit still, and the AA meetings over near the library.
    The quiet had been so profound that had he not emptied his house, and yes, his grounds, of everything that might provide a high of any kind he would have been driven to drink, to pop, to snort . . . something, anything that would make him feel like himself again. But these strangers weren’t like the fans looking to interact for a minute or two before they were cleared from his path. The thought of having them here in his face and on his island made him feel even more alone. And Tommy thought he was going to open his home to a never-ending string of such strangers? He’d off himself first. Or get a little lighter fluid and a match and set the whole island on fire. Or maybe he’d just let them fix it up so he could sell it and . . . it was the “what” that stopped him. What the hell were sixty-one-year-old former rockers supposed to do with themselves when their careers were over? No wonder Mick Jagger was still on the road.
    He schooled his features as the introductions were made and did his best to stay tuned in. The small Kewpie doll with the major rack who said she was an architect and in charge of the renovation was named Avery. The older, better-dressed version of her was going to handle the interior design. There was something about this Deirdre and her appraising gaze that had him remembering a mother and daughter he’d once had in the back of his plane. Back when he’d been a frequent flyer in the Mile High Club. But these two didn’t look like they played all that well together. And when was the last time he’d even thought about a three-way?
    The woman holding the little boy was slightly above average height and had dark brown hair that brushed her shoulders. Her brown eyes went wide the moment she saw his face, and her cheeks turned a pretty pink when she told him her name was “M-M-M . . . Madeline.” When she shook his hand her cheeks deepened from pink to red, but her lips turned up in a smile before she dropped her gaze to the little boy, whom she introduced as her grandson.
    The little boy gave him a blinding smile that he would have had to be totally wasted to resist. The boy’s mother looked to be somewhere in her early twenties, tall and long limbed. Her dark hair had mostly escaped the knot it had been tied in. She had a camera propped on her shoulder and although she had Madeline’s even features, she didn’t stutter at all when she was introduced and either had no idea who he was or simply didn’t care.
    The expensive-looking redhead watched him almost as carefully as he watched them, but there was no sexual vibe coming off her. Her name seemed vaguely familiar but he had no idea why since he’d informed his son that he didn’t want or need bios on the crew who would be handling this renovation that he didn’t want or need. He had resisted so much as Googling their show,
Do Over
. As if there were any such thing. And he had managed to lose the article Tommy had emailed him.
    “You didn’t bring a mother or daughter with you,” he said to the redhead, who seemed to be the only one who’d come solo.
    “Only because I don’t have either.” The redhead didn’t seem at all perturbed by this fact or by his question. Unlike his son, who winced at the comment. “How about you? Any other family members or wives present?” she asked.
    Will wasn’t sure if she was flirting or simply curious. Good Lord, he
was
out of practice. Or maybe it was just the novelty of interacting with women without even an ounce of alcohol in his bloodstream.
    “No,” Tommy injected into the silence. “As far as we know, I’m it.”
    Will said nothing. He didn’t want a gaggle of females—not even attractive ones in a variety of ages and sizes—in his home. Didn’t want them changing things. Chattering at him. If they were looking for jovial or whatever