fatigue that would creep up on her at all hours of the day and the pregnancy hormones rushing around her body, inducing her to cry at the drop of a dime. She’d even gotten teary at a car rental commercial last night. Madison shook her head. The pregnancy was already making her soft.
If only her friends from high school knew. They’d voted her least likely to have a family and most likely to own a business by twenty-five. Madison had always focused on her career and made her personal life secondary. But Madison wasn’t about to apologize for her ambition. She wasn’t going to be like her mother: a stay-at-home mom who’d been completely unprepared for the workforce when her husband had suddenly died. They’d had several hard years, with her mother cleaning homes and working odd jobs, before her uncle helped her mom get paralegal training and then hired her in his own firm. Madison had watched her mother struggle and vowed never to be so unprepared. Family and kids weren’t her priority—financial security was.
The shore of North Captiva came closer as the small ferry approached the dock. Madison recognized the North Captiva Island Club, home to swimming pools, boat rentals and the island’s best restaurant. She saw the golf carts lined up in the small dirt parking lot near the office, the bright Florida sunshine bathing everything in a warm glow. She remembered the island from when she was a kid and her parents had taken her there on vacation, using her uncle’s house. Now, as an adult, she welcomed the getaway. Here, she could think. Figure out what she planned to do. Alone.
“Hope you feel better, dear,” the woman in the flamingo pink hat said as she moved past her to climb off the boat. Madison followed, and once her sneakered feet hit the wooden dock, she instantly felt better. Either it had been the boat making her morning sickness worse, or she was just relieved to be back in the place that held so many prized childhood memories. Uncle Rashad had been very generous to her mother and her, hosting them every summer, even after her father died. The clubhouse had received a new coat of paint since she’d last been to the island, a few years back, but otherwise, everything seemed the same.
Madison glanced at the line of golf carts parked near the tennis courts and didn’t see her uncle’s telltale silver four-seater, the one that looked less like a golf cart and more like a dune buggy. Usually the North Captiva club staff had everything waiting for guests, including transportation from the dock. Burly workers flexed their muscles as they took cargo from the ferry to the shore—crates of food, luggage, coolers. The island might be remote, but it was hardly rustic. As the crew unloaded her luggage and her plastic bin of groceries, Madison headed into the main office.
She saw Yvana Davis, the resort’s manager she adored and had known most of her life, standing behind the counter. The woman wore a uniform of a golf shirt and khakis, accessorized with sparkling dangle earrings and a colorful scarf around her head. There was no way Yvana was going to let the club dress code cramp her style. Now, however, a frown replaced her usual smile. She was trying to deal with what seemed to be an unruly tourist.
“But there are spiders,” cried the forty-something brunette, who wore a floor-length wrap dress and sparkly slip-on flats and held a quivering lapdog in her arms.
“Inside your house?” Yvana asked, raising a dark eyebrow and putting one hand on a generous hip. Yvana made eye contact with Madison and gave her a nod of recognition.
“No, outside,” whined the woman with the Boston accent. Madison, meanwhile, felt the nausea return. She didn’t know if it was because of the woman’s nasal voice or the fact that it was a little hot inside the office, but she was definitely feeling sick again.
Yvana pursed her lips. “Honey, this is Florida. We got bugs bigger than your dog. Hell, our bugs will eat that adorable little thing.”
Madison hid a smile. That much was true.
“Well, I’m just asking someone to spray,” the indignant woman said. “And...the garbage just... It just stinks. It’s thoroughly disgusting. The dumpster’s full of rotten fish and goodness knows what else, and it was full before we arrived...”
At the idea of fish rotting in the hot Florida sun, Madison’s stomach lurched. Please stop talking about trash. Or I’m going to hurl. Again.
She glanced around for a bathroom...a trashcan...but found nothing. I can hold it, she thought. I can will myself not to throw up... And the woman will stop talking about trash. Any minute now.
“Trash pickup isn’t till tomorrow,” Yvana said, tapping her pink nails on the counter and clearly starting to lose her patience.
“Well, something needs to be done. There’s rotten eggs in there, something that smells like spoiled meatloaf and probably some awful shrimp salad and...”
Madison lost it. Her reaction came hard and fast with no time to react. Even as she tried to cover her mouth, she threw up what little was left in her stomach—she was surprised there was anything—all over the tourist’s sparkly shoes.
“Oh...my Gawd!” shrieked the woman. “What on earth...” Her face twisted in revulsion.
“I am so very sorry. I...” Madison wanted to say she was pregnant, but she couldn’t get the words out, not with the angry woman glaring at her. “Let me see if I can help...” Madison moved forward but the woman batted her away with one hand.
“Get away from me!” she cried, backing off while clutching her dog.
Yvana obviously couldn’t resist, as she instantly emitted a cackle. “Well, goodness me. That is something. Want a tissue?” Yvana held out a tissue box to the tourist, who frowned at the offering as if it had spider legs. Yvana gave one to Madison instead.
“Maddie, here, child.” Her expression softened instantly. “You okay? You look like death warmed over!”
“I’m not contagious... I’m just...” She clutched at her mouth once more.
Yvana jumped into action, tugging a trash can from behind the counter up to her. “Here, honey.”
Madison grabbed the metal wastebasket. Luckily, nothing more came up.
“These were designer shoes. They’re ruined and...they cost $200 retail, and now...” The tourist stomped her feet.
“I’m happy to pay for them,” Madison said, wondering where she was going to find an extra $200. Her budget was tight, and even with the money she’d tucked away, she was about to take unpaid leave from work and she needed every dime she had.
The woman wasn’t placated. “I ought to sue,” she threatened. The tiny white dog in the crook of her arm barked as if he agreed.
“Careful,” Yvana warned. “This lady is one of the best lawyers in town. If you sue, you’re going to lose, sister.”
The tourist’s face grew more pinched. She opened and closed her mouth, seemingly at a loss for what to say. Her cheeks grew redder than a ripe tomato.
“Well, I’ve never had such poor service in all my life. Do I have to call your supervisor?” The annoyed woman hugged her little dog to her chest and delicately lifted one foot to shake off some of Madison’s vomit.
Madison just shook her head. Yvana didn’t have a supervisor. She damn near ran this place and nobody was foolish enough to go toe-to-toe with the woman who owned a fourth of the island and knew everyone. An older resident on the island had left his entire share to her when he passed away five years ago—she was the one who’d cared for him and he’d had no living
