Fortunate Harbor (3 page)

“There
was
somebody,” Janya said. “I saw them, too.”

Tracy was filled with relief. “You did?”

“Yes, just a little while ago.” Janya paused. “I was on the telephone. With my mother.”

“Your mother?” the other women asked in unison. For a moment that bit of news eclipsed the prowling stranger.

“She telephoned me. To tell me she is sending a gift. And she asked if I was happy.”

Tracy wanted clarification. “As in, ‘Well, are you happy now, you miserable loser?’ or ‘Janya dear, are you happy, because, you know, I want you to be, more than anything.’”

“I think it was somewhere between those extremes. But as our conversations have gone, this one was pleasant.”

“Well, there’s something to celebrate,” Wanda said.

“My mother called this evening, too,” Tracy said. “She ranted and raved about CJ. I heard bits and pieces of her particular thunderstorm from the other room.”

“I’m sorry.” Janya put her hand on Tracy’s arm. “She is still chained to the past?”

“Yeah, knowing Mom, she swallowed the key. I don’t think she’s going to recover any time soon. But I’m glad your mother saw the light.”

“I would not go that far, but perhaps it’s a start.”

“So who was out here?” Wanda said. “Who’d you see, Janya?”

“I don’t know. Someone. Thin, tall. Somebody walking
quickly. I cannot even say whether it was a man or a woman. I only caught a glimpse.”

“Match your description?” Wanda asked Tracy.

Tracy tried to think. She’d immediately thought of CJ, although why, she couldn’t say, now that her memory of the stranger was fading. But CJ was tall, and most likely thinner than he had been during the years of their marriage. She doubted the wardens at Victorville were serving osso bucco or roasted quail.

“I don’t know.” She considered whether to tell her friends who she thought she’d seen, but rejected the idea. “I thought it was a man,” she added. “But maybe not. It was almost dark, and I just got a glimpse.”

“The person I saw had a backpack, I think,” Janya said. “I noticed a little bulge.”

“I didn’t see that.”

Wanda twisted the strap on Tracy’s dress. “You know, Ms. Deloche, you are surely dressed to kill. Were you hoping this mysterious stranger might ask you on a date?”

“I
had
a date.
My
date left.”

“Marsh?” Janya asked.

Wanda twisted harder. “He left when you were wearing this dress? It’s one step from a slip. All he had to do was reach out and tug, and you’d have been stark naked.”

Tracy brushed away Wanda’s hand. “The whole evening went south. I don’t know what happened, exactly. He punched the button on my answering machine and heard my mother ranting about CJ. After that, CJ just kept coming up, and I was distracted, and Marsh…” Tracy paused, then let out a long breath. “Gone home now.”

“Well, that’s pitiful.”

“I thought so, too. Let’s not dwell on it, okay?”

Apparently Wanda wasn’t feeling merciful. “Then I won’t say another word. Although a person does have to wonder if you just got spooked.”

“Spooked?”

“About going to bed with Marsh. I mean, the two of you have diddled around so long, making eyes at each other, getting close, dancing back. You ever see an egret mating dance? That’s what it looks like.”

“Please!”

Wanda turned up her hands. “I think now that you’re finally getting down to it, it’s been so long, you both forgot how it goes.”

“Wanda!” Janya took the older woman’s arm. “Why not tell Tracy what you told me earlier today? About the server who works with you?”

Janya, who was only in her early twenties, had the ability to pour soothing words into any conversation. In fact, there was little the Indian woman didn’t have in abundance. Gorgeous black hair, perfect features, a trim, well-rounded body, and intelligence. Tracy liked her too well to be jealous, although the feeling
had
erupted from time to time. Tracy had to work to be beautiful. Janya just
was
.

Wanda took Janya’s hint, which was not always the case. “You remember me telling you about all the changes at the Dancing Shrimp?”

Tracy did. All the women of Happiness Key thought it was a shame. The family that had started the town’s most popular beach hangout forty years ago had sold it to a young couple from Manhattan who wanted to put their particular stamp on it. Gone were the jitterbugging shrimp T-shirts, automatic refills on hush puppies, most of the funky Florida decor. Gone,
too, were a lot of the staff. And Wanda was being asked to take extra shifts to cover for them.

“I miss the old place,” Tracy said.

“Don’t we all? A bunch of regulars aren’t coming anymore. Anyway, the owners hired a new server, a woman named Dana Turner. She’s new around town, and she and her little girl are staying in that seedy old motel near the industrial park. You know, the Driftwood Something or Other? She’s looking for someplace to rent. She asked if I knew of anything out here. She likes the water, but she can’t afford anything fancy. I thought maybe you’d like to show her Herb’s cottage.”

“Herb’s cottage” was the fifth house in the development CJ had named Happiness Key.

CJ!

Tracy plowed on. “She’s willing to live all the way out here? With a child?”

“She seemed interested. I told her it’s no great shakes.”

The original plan for Happiness Key had included a cutting-edge marina and, of course, razing all the existing tumbledown rental cottages to make way for deluxe condos. After her divorce and CJ’s incarceration, Tracy had moved to Florida to manage the cottages—the only thing she’d taken away from the marriage—while she tried to interest another developer in the property. One renter, a man named Herb Krause, had died soon afterward. Since that time Tracy had rented his house twice, but only short term. Now it was empty again.

“I could use the money,” she admitted. “But last time I spent almost as much as I made just to fix the damage the renters did. I have to get somebody who will take care of the place.”

“I don’t know how long she’s planning to be here. She told me she’s looking to settle down, though. She thinks this climate
is healthy for her kid. Lizzie’s her name. Cute girl, looks to be Olivia’s age. Sometimes she does her homework outside or in the coatroom while her mother’s working, though the owners aren’t too wild about it.”

Eleven-year-old Olivia lived in the fourth house in Happiness Key with her grandmother Alice. In her own way, each of the women looked out for her. Sometimes Tracy thought Happiness Key was the proverbial village that was raising a child.

“It would be nice for Olivia to have a friend right here,” Janya said. “We are good for her, as far as we can go, but a girl needs someone to confide in who will understand.”

Tracy was still wondering who had been walking down the road and why. A man? A woman? A ghost? When she realized the others had fallen silent, she tossed out the first answer that occurred to her. “I’d like to meet her.”

“It is my turn to have all of you for dinner Sunday night,” Janya said. “Wanda, would your friend like to come and bring her daughter to meet us and see the house? I will make extra.”

Tracy pulled herself back to the conversation. Normally the women got together on Thursdays, but this week they’d postponed. “That’s a great idea. You’re sure you feel like it?”

“I will be happy to help. Maybe she will be a new friend.”

Wanda peered over her shoulder at her house, where Chase was barking for attention. “I’ll make pies, if you’d like. It’s the least I can do, since I suggested her.”

“Any day with one of Wanda’s wonderful pies is a happy day,” Janya said.

Tracy thought of Marsh’s bottle of wine, but that was earmarked for another, better, night with him. “Settled, then. I’ll bring a nice wheel of Brie.”

They said their goodbyes. Wanda bustled off to quiet her
dog. She was a raw-boned woman fast approaching her senior years. Tracy had never been able to guess what color Wanda’s hair really was, but the coppery red suited her somehow, as did the fashion faux pas blue eye shadow she loved so well. Wanda was Wanda. One of a kind.

Janya stopped Tracy before she could start home. “If you will be uncomfortable alone tonight, because of this stranger, you would be welcome to sleep at our house.”

“I wasn’t really worried about anyone breaking in or anything.” Tracy hesitated. “I just thought… I mean, I thought he looked like…” She shook her head. “It’s crazy.”

“Like someone you know?”

“Someone I used to, but it doesn’t matter. It couldn’t have been him. You’re not even sure you saw a man.”

“It is possible we saw different people.”

“And why would
anybody
be out here? Maybe driving out to the point, but not walking around.”

“Perhaps a flat tire? Somebody saw something on the roadside and stopped to check? There are many good reasons.”

Tracy knew Janya was right. And if she hadn’t thought the stranger looked like her ex-husband, she wouldn’t have given his presence much thought. Not with Marsh waiting with open arms.

“You sleep well,” Tracy said. “And if I have any problems, I’ll call.”

She walked slowly home, making certain to peer behind every tree and bush along the oyster shell road. But whoever she had seen was gone.

As she unlocked the front door, she wondered if Wanda had actually hit this particular nail right on the head. Tracy had made elaborate preparations to be with Marsh tonight. She’d
cooked and primped and cleaned. She’d been uncommonly concerned about every detail.

She was certainly no virgin. Before CJ there had been other men. She was a woman of her generation, but a picky one. She had shown considerable discretion, but she
had
used her head and occasionally her body to get her heart’s desires, a man who could take care of her, a man who could give her whatever she wanted.

Now, she was a different woman entirely. She wanted to sleep with Marsh just because she wanted to. And maybe that’s what all the anxiety was about. She wanted Marsh just because he was Marsh. It could be that made all the difference.

Inside she sat to unbuckle her sandals. The telephone rang, and again she ignored it. But she stopped fiddling with the strap and listened as the message began, hoping it was Marsh, with something reassuring to say about the evening.

Instead a woman’s voice began to record after Tracy’s message.

“Tracy? It’s Sherrie. I imagine you’re frantic, but I had to call. CJ’s all over the news here. I’m not sure the media’s going to bother to find you for your opinion, but just in case—”

Tracy flung an unbuckled sandal across the room and limped at a rapid pace to the telephone. Sherrie, her old college roommate, was one of the few people who had stuck by her after the divorce. But she’d never had news like this to share. Tracy grabbed the receiver.

“Sherrie?”

“You
are
home. Well, no surprise you’re not answering your telephone.”

“What do you mean about CJ?”

“You mean you don’t know? Nobody called to tell you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“CJ was released from prison, but it didn’t hit the news until this afternoon. It’s a big deal in California—”

“No, it’s not possible. He was in Victorville for life. For a couple of lives!”

“I guess not. His attorneys got him out, at least until they can have a new trial. I don’t understand it all, but they’re talking about prosecutorial misconduct. Altered records and testimony. The Feds wanted him so badly it looks like maybe they messed with the evidence. At least that’s what the papers are saying. Everyone says they’ll try him again, but in the meantime, he’s out as of yesterday. I don’t know how they kept it quiet as long as they did.”

Now Tracy understood her mother’s telephone call. If only she had listened. If only she hadn’t just assumed the call was another baseless rant.

CJ!

“Listen to me, Sherrie. Do you know where he went? Where he is now?”

“No idea. He’s not giving interviews. I’d guess he’s holed up with his attorneys, figuring out what he should do next. Didn’t he say all along he was innocent, that he just trusted the wrong people? They’re probably preparing his defense for the next go-round. He hasn’t contacted you, has he?”

Tracy stared out the window.

“Tracy?”

“If he did, what do you suppose he would want from me?” she asked.

“
Has
he?”

“No. No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“You know, you don’t sound so good. Do you need me? I could fly down next week. Hold your hand, or fend off CJ, if he shows up.”

The road outside Tracy’s house was as empty now as her bed. She had
not
seen her ex-husband. Even if CJ was out of jail, he had to be in California. He probably wasn’t even allowed to leave the state.

“I’ll let you know if I need you,” she told Sherrie, “but CJ must realize I don’t want anything to do with him. He’s an old hand at ex-wives. I was just the last bimbo who made him look good. If he wants companionship, he’ll find somebody younger and thinner.”

She wasn’t sure where that last adjective had come from. She really
was
a mess.

“If you’re wrong, stay away from him, okay? I mean, prosecutorial misconduct is not the same as not guilty. It doesn’t mean CJ is innocent.”

They talked for another minute, then Tracy hung up.

She couldn’t help herself. Still wearing one high heel, she turned off the lights, then limped to the window.

She stood absolutely still for half an hour, gazing into the darkness, but only tree limbs moved in the lazy Florida breeze.

Rishi rarely slept past dawn, but this morning Janya had already been up for an hour when she finally heard the shower. She suspected her husband’s long hours at work had finally caught up with him. By the time he arrived at the table, an omelet, coffee and fresh fruit were ready in the kitchen.

“I did not mean to sleep so late.” Rishi took his seat and rested his head in his hands, as if he wasn’t yet ready to hold it erect.

She thought many men would phrase the sentiment differently. “You should not have let me sleep so late,” they would say, and she, as a woman, would be expected to accept this as just. But Rishi was not such a man. He took responsibility for his own actions. Raised by a resentful aunt and uncle after the death of his parents, no one had cared enough to be responsible for him. Everything Rishi had become was due to his own hard work.

She poured cream into his coffee and brought it to him. “I am glad you slept. You are tired. It’s no wonder you stayed in bed a bit on your day off.”

“You are good to me.”

He was easy to be good to, but she didn’t say so. Theirs was not that kind of marriage.

“I made your favorite.” She returned with the omelet, prepared the way they were made in Mumbai, where she had grown up. The eggs had been whipped with finely chopped red onion, tomatoes, chilies and herbs, cooked on one side, then flipped. The fruit was fanned out at the bottom of the plate like a happy smile.

“Ah, Janya, I have no idea what I did to deserve you.”

“You arrived in India at precisely the right moment.” She smiled to let him see that even if this was true, the truth was now a joke. She was sure Rishi knew he was more to her than simply the man who had rescued her from a bad situation in her home country.

“Lord Vishnu must have guided my footsteps.”

“I am glad he was not too busy to guide them to me.” Janya returned with her own plate and settled herself across from him.

“I am particularly sorry I overslept,” he said. “I had hoped to spend some of the morning with you, but now I must get ready and go to work.”

“Again?” Janya was surprised, and surprise was quickly followed by worry. Rishi was a wiry, athletic man in excellent health. But lately he had been distant, a fact she blamed on exhaustion. He was working later and later each evening, and this was not the first Saturday that he had gone into the office. In fact, working through the weekend was becoming normal. She missed her husband and the intimacy they had slowly begun to develop, the give-and-take of a marriage built on more than convenience and tradition.

When she didn’t speak, he cocked his head. “And now you are angry with me?”

“How can I be angry? My mother telephoned last night.” Janya shook off her concerns and proceeded to tell Rishi what had transpired.

He finished the last bite of his fruit before he spoke. “And you have no idea what she is sending?”

“Perhaps a photograph album of all the grandchildren of her friends. To shame me.”

Rishi looked uncomfortable. “You told her that we have decided to have children?”

“There was no time and no inclination. We do not need my mother keeping track of our progress.”

“That we do not.”

Janya lifted one shoulder. “Besides there was nothing to tell her. No good news, anyway.”

He looked uncomfortable, as men often seemed to when anything personal was discussed. He glanced past her to the clock in the kitchen, then he stood. “Do you have plans for the day?”

She wanted to say her plans had included him, and now they would have to be remade. Instead she shook her head.

“Will you be home for supper?”

“I will try.” He picked up his plate and took it into the kitchen.

Janya wished she could remind her husband that leaving her alone for so many hours was not the best way to start their family. But that, like so many things, was too direct, too emotional. They might be living far away from the country of their births, but they were still products of its culture, a culture they respected. She told herself she would see Rishi through this difficult time at work. And everything else would take care of itself.

Saturday’s lunch shift at the Dancing Shrimp was always jammed and tips were good, but despite that, it was Dana’s least
favorite shift. During the week, when Lizzie was in school, Dana didn’t have to worry about child care. Tips weren’t as good, but at least Lizzie could walk to the restaurant after school. Usually by then Dana was ready to take her back to the Driftwood Inn, the run-down motel that nowadays passed for home.

Unfortunately, on Saturdays Lizzie had nowhere to go. She was the only child who lived in the two-story building, so there was no hope of a friend’s mother watching her. Dana thought of the Driftwood as the
Drifter
Inn, since the residents—mostly male—seemed to drift here and there while they tried to find a reason or place to set down roots. Before she and Lizzie had moved in, she’d insisted that the manager install a sturdier chain lock and tighten the dead bolt, but still, she would never leave her daughter in the room alone. Dana even took her along when she paid the rent.

“So, you doing okay?” Dana asked Lizzie, after an afternoon of delivering the luncheon special, a blue crab salad with shredded jicama, raw sweet potato and cold rice noodles. If she had ten dollars for every time she’d had to explain what jicama was, or why the sweet potato wasn’t cooked, she and Lizzie could leave right now. A hundred for each time she’d removed a salad that was only half eaten and they wouldn’t need to be in Palmetto Grove at all.

They could spread their wings and fly far, far away.

“I’m tired of sitting out here.” Lizzie wasn’t a whiner, but this time Dana couldn’t blame her. The afternoon was beautiful, and Lizzie was spending it in a beat-up beach chair just outside the service entrance. Dana had brought all kinds of things for her daughter to do, but it was no surprise that even adaptable Lizzie was more than ready to leave. The little courtyard where the staff took breaks—courtyard being the kindest
possible term—was clean and safe, but the smell of seafood was strong, and sometimes the kitchen crew came out to smoke a quick cigarette and curse the new owners. It was not the kind of place where Lizzie should be spending her day.

“I know you’re tired.” She ruffled Lizzie’s pale honey-colored curls. Dana had streaks of the same honey in her dark blond hair, but while her hair was spiky short with just a hint of wave, Lizzie’s curls spiraled past her shoulders.

“It’s time to go,” Lizzie said. “It’s past four already.”

Dana had saved the unfortunate news so Lizzie wouldn’t spend the whole afternoon steaming about it, but now she had to tell her. “I hate to say this, but there’s a staff meeting in a few minutes, sweetie. I have to be there, but you can come inside and sit with me. I got permission.”

“I want to go somewhere fun. You promised! The beach, or McDonald’s, or even the stupid library.”

“I really am sorry, and we will, just as soon as this is over. You can choose. McDonald’s
and
the beach, if you want. We can stay until the sun sets.”

“You’ll make me get a salad.”

“Uh-huh. But you can have a hamburger with it.” Dana saw that hadn’t done the trick. “And fries, just this once.”

“And a milk shake.”

“Nice try. Fries or shake, you choose.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“I’m not sure.” Dana lowered her voice. “They probably called the meeting to tell us they’ve changed something else. Maybe I’ll have to wear a bikini and serve in my bare feet. How’ll I look?”

Despite her annoyance, Lizzie giggled. “Silly!”

Dana ruffled Lizzie’s hair once more. “Okay, come on, and
please be on your good behavior, okay? As much as you don’t like being here, it’s nice of them to let you hang out while I work. Let’s not spoil a good thing.”

“I’d like to spoil it. Then I could hang out at the mall.”

“Too young. Sorry. But not for long. You’re growing up so fast.”

“Not fast enough.” Lizzie tried to pout, but when she stood, she let Dana give her a quick hug.

Dana led the way through the kitchen to the dining room. The waitstaff had set the tables for the dinner shift. Dana’s feet throbbed, and she was grateful to take a seat in the circle that had been set up for the meeting.

Rena and Gaylord Stutz, the couple who owned the Dancing Shrimp, were, in Dana’s opinion, most notable for the way they resembled each other. Late thirties, dark slicked-back hair, hips so narrow that from behind, it was impossible to tell who was whom.

Staff who hadn’t been on the lunch shift began to trickle through the front door. Dana saw Wanda limp in. This was a job for athletic shoes, not for pointy-toed pumps. She caught Wanda’s eye and gestured to the seat beside her. Wanda joined them, pulling out a plastic bag of chocolate chip cookies and passing them to Lizzie.

“For when your mom says you can have them.”

Treats like homemade cookies were such a luxury that for a moment Dana didn’t know what to say. In the past few years she couldn’t remember an oven reliable enough to produce such a thing. She couldn’t remember having the money to splurge on real butter or walnuts, either.

“Yum,” Lizzie said. “Thank you, Mrs. Gray.”

“You know what? You’re in the South now, Lizzie, though
some folks don’t think Florida qualifies. Anyway, you can call me Miss Wanda, if that’s okay with your mother.”

“Miss Wanda.” Lizzie giggled.

“The little girl down the road just calls me Wanda, but she knows me real well. Maybe you’ll know me that well pretty soon, too.”

“What’s her name?”

“Olivia. Olivia Symington.”

“I know her! She’s in my class. We’re friends!”

“Well, if that don’t beat all.”

Dana smiled her thanks. “She’ll really enjoy those. Store-bought’s nothing like the real thing.”

“I bake when I’m upset, and I bake when I’m happy. It’s good to have somebody to give my cookies, too, although mostly I bake pies.”

People were still straggling in, and the Stutzes were now at the front, conferring. Dana wished they would get moving, but they were the kind who seemed to feel larger when they made other people feel insignificant. She was afraid the meeting would drag on and drag on as they postured, and she hated to think how Lizzie might handle that. Lizzie took matters in her own hands, at least for the moment, and went to the restroom.

Wanda leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I talked to my landlady. There’s an empty house in our little development. More of a cottage, really. Concrete block, little rooms. Nothing fancy, that’s for sure, but the setting’s pretty, and Tracy—she’s the landlady—has had some work done on it, so it’s tight and sound enough. There’s just one bedroom, but there’s another room one of the renters used as an office. Used to be a laundry room. Might be it’s big enough for a single bed for Lizzie. A lot bigger and nicer than anything
at the Driftwood Inn, anyway. Best of all, it’s not far from the water, and, well, there’s Olivia. Lizzie would already have a friend.”

Dana wondered if prayers really could be answered. When she’d asked Wanda about houses on Palmetto Grove Key, she had not expected a hit. And not right there. Not just down the road from Wanda herself. For a moment she pondered this news, afraid to speak. Then reality intruded.

“I…we don’t have much money. And we don’t travel with much in the way of furniture. I’m…I’m not sure we could swing this.”

“There’s furniture there. Nothing to crow about, but sturdy enough. And I can tell you the rent’s probably cheaper than your motel. You’re paying, what? Three, maybe four hundred dollars a week? Tracy’d charge you less, I’m certain. And the last long-term renter, old man name of Herb, did a little handyman stuff to offset some of
his
rent. Maybe you could, too.”

“I can paint, but I can’t repair much.” Dana glanced at Wanda. “I love to garden. I’m a whiz with a shovel. I could do some landscaping.”

“I doubt Tracy would care whether anything was growing or the place was all gravel and sand, but you could ask.”

“She really said we could look at it?”

“Better than that. One of our neighbors, Janya Kapur, is having the whole gang over to dinner tomorrow night, and you and Lizzie are invited.”

Lizzie arrived back at that moment and heard the invitation. “We’re going to somebody’s house for dinner?”

“One of my neighbors,” Wanda told her. “And your friend Olivia will be there, too.”

“Oh, wow! Can we go, Mommy?”

“But this Janya doesn’t know us,” Dana said. “I mean, it seems awfully presumptuous.”

“Not so much. See, we all got to be friends. I’m still not sure how it happened, but I think they’d all expect to meet you. Tracy and Janya and Alice—she’s Olivia’s grandmother. We’re what they call a community, and the last couple of renters didn’t fit in. Now that won’t stop Tracy, push comes to shove. She’s got to keep body and soul together, after all, and that rent helps. But she’s like the rest of us. Somebody who fits in would be best. I think you’d fit nicely.”

Dana heard the subtext. If she passed this test, she would be allowed to rent the house, but she would also be expected to be part of their little circle.

Dana made certain never to be part of
anything
. Yet how could she refuse? This gift was heaven-sent. And Lizzie? With a friend already in place? Her beloved daughter who had put up with so much, more than she would ever even remember?

“You can come see the house and figure out if you like it enough to rent it. Then, either way, you can have dinner with us. I’m making pie. “

Dana was trapped between logic and yearning. This was the kind of situation she stringently avoided, yet how could she say no? She didn’t believe in omens, but she suspected every blade of grass in Palmetto Grove was pointing toward the key.

Palmetto Grove Key, where by now the ashes she had sprinkled in an overgrown cove at dusk last night had probably washed deeper into Little Palmetto Bay with the first high tide. Palmetto Grove Key, where once she had been happy.

Gaylord clapped his hands to get everybody’s attention. Dana was surprised to see that the entire kitchen staff was there, as well. All shifts, all positions.