Fortunate Harbor (7 page)

“I think it is the second time today I am afraid to look.”

Tracy was curious now. “Janya, after the bull and the butter, how can that hurt?”

Janya carefully spread the bag wide and took out a CD. “‘Country Love Songs,’” she read out loud. “‘Your Favorite Songs by your Favorite Stars.’” She looked up. “This is very kind, Wanda, but—”

“See, the thing is, you’re more likely to get pregnant if—” Wanda lowered her voice, although Olivia was at home sorting through her belongings “—you have an orgasm,” she finished, hissing the
s.
“And we all know that’s a lot easier if there’s some romancing going on first. So you just put that on in the evening and sit close to Rishi on the sofa, or better yet, get him to dance with you—”

Janya covered her ears. “Stop.”

“Oh, please, if you’re
that
shy, maybe there’s your problem,” Wanda said.

Tracy couldn’t help herself. She giggled.

She glanced at Alice to see how the older woman was taking this, and saw that Alice’s eyes glistened mischievously behind her glasses.

“Janya could dance for Rishi,” Alice said. “Like she did…for us. He would like that.”

Now Tracy hooted. With Janya’s brown skin, it was hard to tell if she was blushing, but Tracy thought if she wasn’t, she should be.

“Good idea,” Wanda said. “Some sexy Bollywood dancing. Just the thing. After a little country snuggling.”

Despite herself, Janya was smiling. “Now you are finished? We can talk of other things?”

“You’ll try my CD?” Wanda said.

“I will be sure to.”

“You can name the baby after me.” Wanda went back to scrubbing the vegetable bin. “And I
will
change the subject. I have an announcement.”

“
You’re
pregnant?” Tracy asked, fluttering her eyelashes innocently.

“I said an announcement, not a medical miracle.”

Tracy realized Wanda wanted to be prodded. “We’re all ears. Tell us before we’re interrupted.”

Wanda smiled, and the smile took ten years off her face. “Well, I went and bought me a store, only it’s more than just a store, it’s a restaurant, too. So I got a lot for my money.”

“What are you talking about?” Tracy hopped down off the counter to get a dry towel.

“I got me a little place all my own to sell my pies.”

The room was silent; then as if they’d waited for a cue, all the women yelped together. They grabbed Wanda for a group hug.

“If I’d known you were going to do that, I’d have waited until poor Alice was done sweeping. Look what we did to her dirt pile!” Wanda extricated herself, but she looked pleased at the show of support.

“I can sweep again.” Alice lifted the broom off the floor and began to do just that.

“So tell us!” Tracy demanded. She listened as Wanda explained about going to the Sunshine Bakery with her pies.

Wanda sped up. “So there I was, walking back to my car,
and I nearly fell flat on my face. While I recovered, I peeked in the window and saw this place. On a whim, I called a Realtor I know from the Dancing Shrimp and asked her to see what was up with the place, and she checked for me. Seems the owners thought they had it rented, which is why there was no sign in the window, but the deal fell through. She said they were so tired of the mess, they were about to give it away. So I made an offer to buy it, and they grabbed it. And the deal’s been sealed. Ken and me, well, we had the money in the bank, and he was all for it. Said the world needs my pies, but I think he just needs me to be busy.” She took a deep breath, having told most of the story in a rush.

“You did all that without telling us?” Tracy asked indignantly.

“I didn’t want to tell you if it fell through, and it almost did a time or two this week. But now it’s a fact. We close next week, since it’s a cash-and-carry deal.”

“Wanda, you are in business,” Janya said. “A businesswoman.”

“Well, I’m hoping you’ll all help me.” Wanda looked radiant. “I want Janya to paint a mural all over the front. Pies, of course. Apple trees, bakers, you know. I’ll leave it to you, Janya, to work your magic. And I’m hoping you’ll come in, Tracy, and tell me what you think about fixing it up, doing a little decorating inside. I want to get this moving fast after we close. Got inspectors lined up for a license. Nobody much is opening anything, so they’re mostly standing around wondering why the city’s paying them, I guess. I’ll have to update a little, but it was a luncheonette not that long ago, so most everything’s up to code. I need new tables, more stools. See, we’ll serve pie there, and sell pies to take home. I don’t know what I’m going to call it yet.”

“Wanda’s Wonderful Pies,” Alice said, as if she couldn’t imagine why Wanda hadn’t thought of it herself.

Everyone was quiet; then Tracy found herself nodding. “She’s right. It’s perfect. ‘Wanda’s Wonderful Pies’ says everything. Maybe it’s long, but everybody will just call it Wanda’s when they talk about it.”

“I like it, too,” Janya said. “I think it will be easy to remember and impossible to forget what kind of place it is. And I think Wanda’s should be very homey inside, a little old-fashioned.”

“It has a counter,” Wanda said. “Like an old-time soda fountain, with twirly chrome stools. I thought I’d keep that idea alive.”

Tracy was beginning to imagine it. “Checked curtains in the windows. Maybe window boxes outside on the sidewalk, and glass vases with flowers on the tables. Paper place mats, like they have at the Dancing Shrimp, only printed with your own logo and a special recipe you don’t mind sharing. That way they’ll take the place mat home, and every time they look at the recipe, they’ll want to go buy one of your pies instead. Everything light and bright and happy, like a grandmother’s kitchen—if grandmothers still cooked. Anyway, a reminder of pies baking and families sitting around a dinner table together.”

Wanda sobered. “Momentum just carried me along. I was so mad at that Frieda So-and-So, I got the idea and just kept going forward. But I’m in for a lot of work. What if nobody comes?”

“They’ll come once they find out how good…” Alice smiled.

Tracy finished the thought. “And they
will
find out how good they are. But you’re right, it’s going to be a lot of work. You can’t do this alone.”

“I’m thinking about asking Dana if she wants to work for me. I have to have somebody help me manage it, and the hours’ll be more regular than the Dancing Shrimp. Besides, they’ll be closing down to renovate in the summer, and she’ll need another job.”

“She insisted we stay with a month-to-month rental on this place,” Tracy warned. “I don’t think she’s ready to commit to long-term anything.”

“Maybe she will if she has a job she can count on during Lizzie’s school hours. I’m thinking I’ll close up about six, so people still have time to buy a pie to take home on their way back from work. But I can get a high school student to work after classes.”

There was noise from the front of the house, and the giggles of young girls. Tracy heard the front door whack the wall as it was thrown open. Tracy was glad concrete block was impervious to almost everything.

“They’re here!” The shout was Olivia’s.

Dana came into the kitchen, wearing denim capris and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the tails tied around her waist. “I’m sorry. They’re just so excited.”

Tracy heard squeals from the other room, and she smiled. She would bet Olivia had taken Lizzie right in to see her new room.

“Welcome! We’re just doing a little extra cleaning,” Tracy explained. “Alice and Olivia brought you brownies and some groceries to get you started.”

“That’s so nice of you.”

“We’ll have the shelf paper up in a minute, then we can help you carry your things inside.”

“No, we have very little. Lizzie and I can get it. Please don’t worry.” Dana seemed to need to explain. “We…travel light. Especially now that jobs are so hard to find and harder to keep.”

“The house already has furniture, pots and pans and such, and you have clothes. I’ve seen you wear them, so you can’t deny it. Seems to me, then, that you’re all set,” Wanda said. “And not having a lot of stuff just frees you up not to work so hard.”

Dana seemed to relax. Tracy thought hers was a face that needed a smile to be attractive, and with it, she far exceeded that goal.

“I like the way you think,” Dana said.

“Well, maybe you’ll like this, too.” Wanda launched into the story of Wanda’s Wonderful Pies, but a condensed version. “And I’ll need a manager,” she finished. “I thought about you.”

“I’ll be happy to have Lizzie after school,” Alice said, without even a pause to regroup.

Dana looked unsure. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“I like to play bingo at my church. I like…to go to needle-craft guild. I sometimes…need someone to keep an eye on Olivia at night. Your help would be appreciated then.”

“So you could trade,” Wanda said. “And we’ll be closed on Sundays and Mondays, so you’ll have a weekend day with Lizzie. Open on Saturdays, I’m afraid, but Lizzie can come in and help if she wants.”

“Or stay… with Olivia,” Alice said.

Dana didn’t answer. Tracy was watching her closely. Dana was an enigma, someone who kept her thoughts and feelings to herself. But Tracy thought the woman was torn. She wondered if money was the problem. Working for Wanda would be a steady job, but on a good day at the Dancing Shrimp, she probably made more. Of course, there were also bad days, when tips were few and far between, especially now. And soon enough it would be closing for renovations.

“You…” Dana clamped her lips shut, then shook her head. “You are all so kind. I’m, well, I’m just not used to it.”

“I’m not being one bit kind,” Wanda said. “I’m being selfish. I need somebody good to help me. I’ve watched you work. You’ll do nicely.”

“We’ll talk,” Dana said, and followed it with one of her transforming smiles.

“You bet we will.” Wanda, who had been drying the vegetable bin, shoved it back into the refrigerator. “Now, let’s get you all moved in.”

“Mommy! Come here! Right away!”

Tracy watched Dana revert from relaxed—at least a little—to cautious. She drew herself up as if ready to spring, a lioness preparing to rescue her cub.

“I think she just wants you to see her new room,” Tracy explained quickly. “We fixed it up since you saw it last time.”

As if to prove Tracy right, Lizzie ran into the kitchen, her wide freckled face wreathed in smiles. “They painted my room yellow. And there’s a bed with sunflower sheets, and a comforter and a pink lamp on a pretty table. Just for me!”

If Tracy had been forced to name what she saw in Dana’s eyes, she would have said the woman looked as if she’d been shut into a jail cell. Dana recovered quickly, but just for that moment, Tracy thought she’d looked sorry they had been so nice, sorry that Lizzie was so pleased with her new room.

“Thank you,” Dana said. She sounded as if she meant it.

Tracy was not convinced.

Janya knew better than to take her neighbors’ suggestions. She might be the youngest woman in Happiness Key, but she was an excellent judge of what worked best with her unique cultural roots. So with that in mind, it was a source of great mystification that on Friday night, she found herself following Wanda’s advice.

Of course, all signs pointed toward this being a “special” night, which explained a bit of it. With a little calculation involving a calendar and a pregnancy manual from the library, she knew that tonight, she might be at her most fertile. Then, right after she had done her calculations, Rishi had called to say he would be home earlier than usual. He’d invited her out to dinner, an unusual treat, since he was usually exhausted by the time he left work, but instead she had told him she preferred to spend the evening at home.

At home—in their bedroom.

Signs. All of them good.

Janya knew Rishi’s favorite foods. She was a strict vegetarian, and he was less so, but he loved her potato
bhaaji,
a dish served in many homes in Western India. The recipe was simple, potatoes with chilies, chopped coriander leaves, and other herbs and spices, fried together until crisp. Rishi said the result was similar to American hash browns, but to her,
bhaaji
was a beloved childhood comfort food. Tonight she prepared it to serve with dal and rice. In the end, choosing something she knew Rishi liked instead of something to impress him made the most sense. Particularly since she intended to spend more time than usual dressing.

She prepared dinner, then went to shower. Afterward she scented her hair with jasmine oil, and carefully lined and shadowed her eyes. She had polished her nails a bright red that morning, and now she slipped rings on her fingers and toes to accent them. After thinking carefully about her wardrobe, she had settled on a black sleeveless top beautifully embroidered in gold, worn over a loose, pajamalike
salwar,
although these pants were cut to ride low on her hips—which Rishi would discover when he undressed her tonight. She wore gold sandals, spiraling gold earrings and the two bracelets Rishi had given her for her last birthday. She was a little dressed up for a night at home, but she didn’t intend to stay that way.

When she heard Rishi parking his car in their driveway, she started Wanda’s love song CD. After he had removed his shoes, she greeted him with mango juice and a plate of
paneer pakora,
cubes of breaded fried cheese with mint chutney on the side, setting the food on the table near the sofa.

“Coming home to a house that smells this good is a gift.” Rishi put his arms around her and pulled her close. “Coming home to you is a bigger one.”

She put her arms around his waist and her cheek against his shoulder. “I am so happy we have a whole evening together. You work so hard.”

“I was not being productive today. I was too tired, and missing you too much.”

She liked the sound of that, although she could hear the fatigue in his voice. Rishi was rarely subdued, but tonight that was the best word to describe him. She pulled away reluctantly. “We need to spend more time together. I’ve looked forward to this since you phoned.”

“And what is this music?”

She smiled. “A present from Wanda. Do you like it?”

He listened a moment. “Love can be very sad. Here, as well as in India.” He turned away. “Let’s say our prayers, then we have the night all to ourselves.”

Janya had prepared a
puja
room in what was meant to be a coat closet in the living room. Hindu homes usually had a special room set aside for worship, and this, even though modest, was theirs. She opened the doors and together they went through the familiar rituals with a statue of Krishna watching over them. She ended by placing several pink hibiscus flowers at Krishna’s feet. Later she would use one to snuff out the flame she had kindled in the oil lamp on the
puja
tray.

“Someday we will do this with our children beside us,” she said when they had finished.

Rishi looked uncomfortable. “Someday, yes.”

She ushered him to the sofa, turned on the music, which she had paused while they worshipped, and joined him for a glass of juice.

“Tell me about your day,” she said after a sip. “Did you have a good one?”

He still seemed tense, even after prayers, but he relaxed as they chatted. By the time she told him to take a seat at the dinner table, he seemed more like himself. He ate the dinner with relish, took seconds of everything and complimented her lavishly. She had heard stories of ungrateful, critical husbands from friends she had grown up with, and Janya knew how lucky she was.

“What would you like to do this evening?” he asked, after he had helped her clear away the dishes.

She wondered how she could have signaled her intentions any more clearly. Her lovely blouse was cut low between her breasts and bared her shoulders. Her scented hair was down, the way Rishi liked it best. As they cleaned the kitchen she’d stood close to him, resting her hip intimately against his, turning when she could to lightly brush his arm with her breasts. From their CD player a man with a gravelly voice was explaining that a woman decorated his life. She hoped her husband was listening.

Still, she had prepared for this, just in case. “I thought we might watch a DVD.” She smiled softly, her gaze lingering on his lips. “Unless you have something else you’d prefer?”

“No, that sounds perfect. I’m too tired even to take a walk.”

She hoped the movie would energize him for what she had in mind.

“What DVD is it?” he asked.

“
Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love
,” she said innocently. “Have you perhaps seen it already?”

Rishi looked uncomfortable. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I believe you would remember. The director is famous, and the story is supposed to be quite touching. I have heard wonderful things about this film.” She didn’t add that she had also
heard
Kama Sutra
was one of the most beautifully sensuous films ever made in India. She turned off Wanda’s CD, which had played and replayed several times by now. Then she turned down the lights, turned on the DVD player and settled beside him on the sofa, her hand resting lightly on his thigh.

She was not surprised when half an hour later, Rishi had his arm gripped convulsively around her. Her own fingers were locked into place, digging deeper in his flesh. Half an hour after that, she was afraid Rishi might hyperventilate. The film
was
gorgeous, the most sensuous tale she had ever encountered. She had almost forgotten her real reason for putting it on. Now she was less concerned about making a baby and more concerned about simply getting her husband into the bedroom. She had bought the movie online. The rest of the story would keep for another night, hopefully when, once again, she was fertile.

She put one arm around Rishi, cupping his cheek. Then she kissed him with the practiced fervor of the major character, courtesan to a king.

“We could finish this movie another time,” she whispered. “We could practice what we have seen so far.” She couldn’t remember ever being this bold with Rishi, but they had been married more than a year. Surely this was allowed.

He stood and gathered her in his arms. They kissed hungrily. Somehow she found the remote and stopped the DVD. Somehow they ended up in the bedroom on their bed together, their clothes in wrinkled piles along the way.

She moaned when he fell on top of her and kissed her, bringing her knee between his legs and moving it slowly up and down. She wrapped her arms around him, moving her hips in a slow rotation, pressing her naked breasts against him.

Rishi was whispering in a Hindi dialect, the language he had
learned as a child. He was not a man who frequently gave in to emotion, but when he did, the dialect emerged. She could understand some of the words, but what she understood most of all was that Rishi was entranced with her, that he wanted her in the same way that she wanted him. That at this moment, when they might create a child, they were together in every way.

He opened his eyes and stopped moving. He stopped kissing her. He was still warm against her, but now his body seemed inflexible, rigid. Worse, much worse, as he lay there, he lost all desire to be with her. One moment they had been one entity. Now they were two, and one was strongly resisting the other.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly. “Did I do something wrong?” Such a thing had never happened before. Normally she was the one who had to be coaxed.

He didn’t pretend. He rolled to his side, then to his back. She had been so warm, so caught up in their lovemaking. Now the soft breeze of their ceiling fan rippled unpleasantly against her heated skin. She wanted to cover herself with the sheet, but she was afraid to move, afraid she would completely destroy the spell that had brought them here—if any part of it was left.

“It’s looking at me. It’s staring at me.”

She propped herself up on one elbow and stared at
him
. “Rishi, what are you talking about?”

“The bull.”

She had set Nandi near the head of their bed, on a table near the window. She had thought little about it, laughing when she told him her mother’s intention. She had teased him and said they should be grateful for all help.

“Nandi?” She sat up and looked at the bull. “Rishi, it’s a statue made of stone. I do not think it can really be staring at you.”

He didn’t reply.

“I will remove it. Don’t concern yourself.” She got up and went to the table, lifting the statue with both hands to carry it around the bed. In the living room she looked for a place to set it. Nothing seemed quite right. In the end she opened the door into their
puja
room and set the statue next to Krishna. She closed the door again and went back into the bedroom, picking up their clothes as she went and draping them carefully over her arm.

“It’s gone,” she said softly as she moved around the bed, lay down and eased herself against him. “Rishi, I didn’t know having Nandi beside the bed would upset you. I won’t put it in here again.”

There was no answer.

“Rishi?”

Again, no answer.

She didn’t know if her husband was really asleep or just pretending to be. She considered shaking him awake, but wasn’t that more pressure than a statue?

In the end she got up, brushed her teeth, washed her face and slipped into a nightgown. When she came back to bed, Rishi hadn’t moved, but his breathing sounded shallow. It was not the breathing of a man so fatigued he had not been able to remain awake long enough to make love to his wife.

She told herself she was wrong. But the hour was too early, and her thoughts too heavy. She knew she would lie awake for hours staring out her window at the moon drifting across the night sky.

She was considering therapy. In the week after Dana moved in, Tracy thought she saw CJ twice more.

The first time happened when a strange man walked jauntily
up her driveway wearing a meter reader’s uniform. On closer view, of course, nothing but the walk was the least bit familiar. The hair color was wrong. The height was wrong. And the man was a good ten years younger than her former husband. But for a moment…for one whole moment, she had expected the real CJ to knock on her front door.

The second time, she spied CJ from a distance, disappearing down the road toward the point on foot. This sighting was more disconcerting. She knew if she jogged in that direction, she might lose him. So she actually,
actually
, got in her car and sped toward the point herself. But in that brief time span, the man disappeared, most likely off to some favorite fishing cove on the bay. And having chased one impostor through palmetto scrub, she was not anxious to chase another. She still hadn’t found her umbrella.

Now, on Friday night, she tried to put this growing insanity out of her mind. She and Marsh had negotiated a date, and negotiated was the only word for it. Things probably went faster and smoother when Hillary Clinton visited the Mideast. Marsh’s place was now off-limits since, more than a week after her arrival, Sylvia was still in residence. Tracy’s place was off-limits because she didn’t want to chance another CJ sighting. Besides, her instincts told her that she and Marsh needed a night together with no pressure. A chance to reconnect.

They had finally agreed to a late dinner at a restaurant he loved and she tolerated. Skeeter’s was the kind of dive where it was best not to wear sandals in case something scuttled under the table. But the shrimp was fresh and the beer icy cold. Best of all, Tracy would be there with Marsh. If they got food poisoning, they could comfort each other over the telephone.

To avoid another confrontation with Sylvia, they’d agreed
to meet at the restaurant, which sat on the bay in Palmetto Grove proper. Lights were just coming on in the other cottages when Tracy got into her car. On the way out she saw the flicker of a television from Janya’s, and the kitchen light at Wanda’s, where she was probably elbow-deep in piecrust, obsessing about what to make and sell.

She arrived at Skeeter’s just in time to meet Marsh in the parking lot. He was dressed for the occasion. Ragged shorts, a Wild Florida T-shirt, canvas shoes without socks. Definitely no sex on the horizon tonight or he would have made
some
attempt to impress her. She was encouraged and disappointed simultaneously.

“You just can’t
not
dress up, can you?” His tone said he didn’t mind one bit.

“You think this is me dressed up?” She kissed him hello, then again for good measure. “These are cleaning rags.”

He let her go with obvious reluctance. “For who? Billionaires?”

She wore capris and a flirty Betsey Johnson charmeuse blouse, along with faux snakeskin flats she hoped would scare away the vermin.

“Not a thing I’m wearing is new,” she pointed out.

“Tell me no snakes died for those shoes.”

“They did not.” She didn’t add that she had other shoes she couldn’t say the same about. She had lost so much when the Feds cleaned out her closet and left so much behind when she moved to Florida. But she did have an obscene number of shoes left over from her former life, and now she was determined to wear them out.