Happiness Key (10 page)

“She’s glad to have you. That’s obvious.”

“I’m finding I like it, and I’m good at it. I may stay in real estate if the market improves.”

She thought Lee had done that neatly. He had dispensed with the sad parts quickly, as if he knew she needed the history. But he hadn’t used her as a sounding board or a dump, the way other men might have. The man was pretty amazing. Not only was he a huge treat for the eye, even a simple conversation with him was seductive.

She edged closer. “How are you and Olivia doing?”

“We’re getting there. Alice is the one to worry about.” He snapped his fingers. “Which reminds me. I did ask her about the Krause fellow. She said he didn’t talk about himself.”

“I’m not having much luck.” Tracy thought of the chess players. “Worse than that, actually. I’m having bad
luck. But I do have a possibility in Kentucky. I talked to one of Herb’s former landlords, and he gave me the name of a preacher Herb used as a reference. But that was almost fifteen years ago.”

“The preacher’s still preaching?”

“Retired now, but I was given a new phone number for him by the church and left a message. We’ll see if he returns my call.”

The wine arrived with a flourish of ceremony, and the mushrooms came a moment later to perfume the table. Tracy realized she was hungry. Really hungry. Not a handful-of-walnuts kind of hungry.

“Maybe it’s the ambience, but I feel like I could eat my way through their kitchen.”

His gaze moved over her, warm and approving and sexy as hell. “Good, because the chef is first-rate. They stole him from one of the big restaurants in Miami. But I think you’ll feel at home here. It’s your kind of place.”

It was. Certainly not as exclusive or world-class as Tracy was used to, but a place where she might belong. She had missed that, and now she knew how much. She had also missed being with an exciting man.

“There’s Carol.” Lee got to his feet and beckoned to a middle-aged woman who seemed to be making the rounds. She wore a striped cotton blazer over a red dress, and her blond hair was cut in layers that looked as sensible as the rest of her.

Lee took the woman’s hand when she reached them; then he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Carol, I want you to meet my friend Tracy Deloche,” he said. “I told you about her yesterday, remember?”

Tracy held out her hand, and they exchanged greetings.

“Carol is our event coordinator.” Lee gestured to an empty chair. “Will you join us a moment?”

Carol sprawled in the chair as if hours had passed since she’d sat down.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Lee asked.

“No, thank you, Lee, although I’m tempted. We’re planning the Tarpon Fest, and I’ve been making calls, and chasing down craftspeople and vendors since early this morning.” She turned to Tracy. “It’s a day-long fair, very popular with everybody who hasn’t left town for the summer. But it’s a bear to organize. I’m working with a committee.” She left it at that, as if Tracy would understand.

“Oh, I’ve been on those committees. I know how much work goes into something like that.”

Lee smiled his approval, then turned back to Carol. “I told Tracy you might need help, and I think there’s even room in the budget for a little, right?”

Her smile looked tired, and her lipstick was just a bit crooked, as if she had applied the latest coat without a mirror. “The people I’ve interviewed are clueless. Most of them have never been inside a country club, so they have no idea what to expect. They have visions of hanging out around the pool.”

“I have a feeling Tracy’s been in more than a few,” Lee said.

“Why would you want the job?” Carol sounded genuinely mystified.

“Well, I’m in town for a while. It just seemed like it might be fun to be doing something. To stay busy.”

Carol looked skeptical. “This busy?”

Tracy stretched the truth to fit. “Well, it doesn’t make sense for me to join the yacht club if I’m not going to be around for years and years. But it would be nice to be involved a bit.”

“We have reciprocal memberships. Have you checked with your club at home?”

Tracy belonged—or rather,
had
belonged—to two clubs. She was fairly sure one of the things that had disappeared with her divorce were those memberships. If she remembered correctly, CJ had gone off to Victorville owing both Riviera and the Bel Air Country Club a great deal of money.

She didn’t answer directly, something at which she was becoming adept. “I think I’d like the work. I’ve helped plan so many events. The list goes on and on.”

“As a volunteer.”

Tracy nodded. “But I do have a bachelor degree in recreation.”

“Really?” Lee and Carol asked together.

“Uh-huh, really.” It wasn’t in her self-interest to add that the moment she had realized she could actually get a degree that focused on leisure time, Tracy knew she had found her major. Of course the classes hadn’t turned out to be leisurely at all, but that was beside the point.

“I’d be a natural,” she finished.

Carol didn’t have time to respond. A woman in her sixties came bearing down on their table. Above a string of real pearls, her second chin wobbled with what looked like barely repressed fury.

“Carol, I must speak to you!”

Carol got wearily to her feet. “Mrs. Swanson. How are you tonight?”

Mrs. Swanson’s bloodshot eyes were practically shooting sparks. “Not happy. I can tell you that. Not one bit happy! Have I heard correctly? You’ve changed the Tarpon Fest entertainment schedule? Without consulting me?” She continued in the same vein for another minute.

Carol turned to Lee and Tracy. “It was nice to meet
you, Tracy. Come see me anytime this week, and we can continue our conversation. Lee…” Then she turned back to Mrs. Swanson. “Let’s just take this into the hallway, shall we? I’m sure you won’t be unhappy once I’ve had a chance to explain.” She led the older woman out of the dining room as Tracy stared after them.

“Well, I’m glad you got to meet her,” Lee said.

“Who, Carol or the volcano?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to June Swanson if you work here. The Swansons run this place. But I bet the job is yours. Carol liked you. I could tell. She perked right up.”

Tracy thought about Carol’s tired eyes and poorly applied lipstick. “That was Carol at her perkiest?”

“Let’s order dinner.” Lee signaled their waiter. “The prime rib is superb here. And the shrimp scampi is, too.”

Tracy leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. “Lee, how many Mrs. Swansons
are
there at the yacht club?”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “As many as there were at your club in California.”

Tracy thought about that. She ran out of fingers to count on. When the waiter arrived she ordered the scampi and decided to enjoy it. She had a feeling that unless Lee invited her to dine as his guest here again, she would not be enjoying anything about the Sun County Yacht Club in the future.

The evenings when Rishi went back to work after dinner seemed to drag on forever for Janya. She wasn’t certain which was worse—making conversation with a man with whom she had so little in common, or being in the house alone, where she had so little to do.

In India she had rarely been alone. The pink house,
with its balconies and shaded courtyard, was home not only to her parents and her uncle’s family, who lived on the top floor, but her grandparents, too, had lived there before their deaths, and other family and friends often came and went. She had never known what it was like to spend a quiet evening with only the sound of her footsteps, the croaking of frogs, the whining of mosquitoes.

This evening she had no desire to watch television, always a reminder that she was a stranger here. Later she might read, but for now she sat on the front steps and thought about how alone she was.

Except that she wasn’t. There were scurrying noises on the side of the house, followed by the rustling of shrubs. She wasn’t frightened. She had a very good idea what might be causing them.

“There is room for two on the steps,” she called. “We could share them.”

Silence fell. Just as she thought her invitation would not be heeded, a girl’s head peeked around the side of the little house.

“I’m a spy. You weren’t supposed to hear me.”

“I saw you on your bicycle. And what are you spying on?”

The girl, who looked to be perhaps ten, came out into full view. “Just whatever. My grandmother’s watching a movie, but they’re shooting Indians, and I don’t like that.”

Janya patted the step beside her. “You are Alice’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”

“Olivia,” the girl said, moving closer.

“And I am Janya Kapur. You can call me Janya if you like.”

“That’s like a boy’s name, only with an ‘ah’ at the end.”

“Olivia is a lovely name.”

“My mom said she never knew anybody named Olivia, so she didn’t have to forget what she knew.”

“A good idea. Then you could give all the meaning to the name.” Janya smiled at the girl. She was pretty, with long brown hair that needed a good brushing, pale blue eyes and a pointed chin. She had the perfect complexion of a child and the accompanying guileless smile.

“What are you doing out here?” Olivia asked.

“I was thinking perhaps I should move some of Mr. Krause’s plants to the side of my house where you were spying. I watered them this morning, but it’s been a hot day. They dry out so quickly, and that way I can water them more frequently.”

“I like plants. I could help.”

“That’s very kind, but I think it’s going to be a big job.”

“I’m strong.”

“Then let’s take a few, shall we? You can help me plan where they should go.”

They chatted as they walked down to Herb’s cottage. Janya showed Olivia a couple of ferns in small pots that she could carry. Together, with Janya hauling three pots, one tucked under her arm, they started up the road.

“Where are you from?” Olivia asked. “Peru?”

Janya laughed. “Why do you think that?”

“Because there was a girl from Peru in my class last year, and she had long black hair like yours. I wish I had black hair.”

“Brown hair is lovely. I’m from India. Mumbai.”

Olivia practiced the word out loud. “India is in Asia.”

“Yes.”

“That’s pretty far away, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Do they speak English? Because you do.”

“Some people do, but there are many languages in my country.”

“Do you know them all?”

“I don’t think anybody could. I know some of them. Do you know another language?”

“Sí, señora.”
Olivia giggled. “We take Spanish in school. My father says it’s a waste of time. Do you think it is?”

“I would not want to argue with your father.”

“He says that everybody in the world should learn English. Just English.”

Janya was afraid she wasn’t going to be fond of Alice’s son-in-law. “I took English in school before I knew I would move here. Maybe someday you’ll move to Mexico or Spain and be glad you learned Spanish, too.”

At the side of her house, Janya examined the area, and they found a place for the plants on a rickety bench under a tree beside her small patio.

“Do we need to get more?” Olivia sounded afraid that they might.

“Oh, not tonight.”

“Is there something else we could do?”

“I think we need something cold to drink. Would you like some fruit juice?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Janya knew better than to invite her inside. In their brief encounters, Olivia’s father had been, at best, civil. She thought he would not approve of his daughter going into a stranger’s house, especially one whose first language was not English. “Why don’t you water the plants while I get it?”

Olivia turned on the hose, and when Janya returned with two glasses of orange juice with lots of ice, they sat on her steps again and sipped.

“Is the man who lives here your husband?” Olivia asked.

“Yes, but he works very hard.”

“My daddy works a lot, too. He leaves me alone with my grandmother. My mother died.”

“I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to lose a mother.”

“Did yours die, too?”

Janya was silent for a moment. It was a simple question, one she should not have to think about. “My mother is alive, but very far away.”

“Do you have a job here? You know, so you have something to do?”

“No.” Janya smiled down at her. “And you, Olivia? Do you have a job?”

Olivia giggled again. “Silly! I’m a little kid.”

“Oh, so you are. It escaped my notice.”

“I go to school. I’ll be in fifth grade.”

“What is your favorite subject?”

“I like a lot of things. But I like to make things best. I like to draw people, even if their arms and legs are always too short.”

“That is the hard thing about drawing people. I agree.”

“Do you like to draw?”

“Yes. Do you have to go home very soon?”

“At dark. I’m supposed to be watching out for Nana, but she said John Wayne could do that. I think he’s in the movie.”

“There are no children here to play with, are there?”

Olivia shook her head. “And my dad says having my old friends come to play will confuse Nana even more.”

“I have paper and colored pencils just inside. Would you like to draw for a little while?”

“Really?”

“I haven’t drawn myself for a very long time.”

“Then you ought to get busy, don’t you think?”

“You sound like my brother, Yash. He would say exactly that. We can sit out here and draw until it’s time for you to go home. I’ll just be a moment.”

Janya got up and went back inside. For the first time that evening, she was in no hurry for the sun to set.

Tracy enjoyed almost everything about her date with Lee. As he’d promised the food had been good, if somewhat ordinary. Three musicians—bass, piano and drums—arrived halfway through the meal. Okay, so it was music Alice’s generation could have sung along to, but the trio provided a romantic backdrop for conversation. Lee was the perfect date. He seemed to know what she needed and made certain to provide it. She had been dazzled by the sheer joy of having somebody pay attention to her again.

Embarrassed as she was to admit it, she had missed that more than anything. During the past year and a half she had watched friends drop away. Until then, she had never given loyalty much thought. Maybe she, too, had distanced herself when people went through tough times, as if bad luck was catching. But during the divorce she had given loyalty and love a new place in the “what’s important” lineup. She certainly wasn’t going to mistake one good conversation, one evening with a particularly atten
tive man for either. But just being with somebody who was interested in her had been special.

After the meal Lee drove them home the long way, along the beachfront road, the warm air blowing through her hair, the moon glinting on the distant water. At home, he handed back her keys and walked her to the door. She thanked him, wondering if he was going to spoil a lovely evening by expecting payment in the form of a romp in her bed. But he simply kissed her cheek, squeezed her hands, then left for Alice’s cottage.

For just a moment she’d wished more had been required.

Much later, as she was getting ready to go to sleep, she heard footsteps out front, and when she went to the window she saw Lee slip inside his car and quietly close the door. Miraculously after one hiccup the Saab started, and he drove away. She was glad the problem had been minor enough that he could get the car back to the garage without having it towed.

So, yes, on most levels, the evening had been a success. There was just one problem. She was certain she didn’t want to work at the yacht club. She didn’t want to watch from the sidelines as others enjoyed the fun she had worked so hard to organize. And while she was being truthful, she also had to admit that the thought of organizing endless parties, fashion shows and charitable events was too much like her former life. That would hurt even more if she was kicked around while she did it by people who didn’t look up to her as the ultimate Bel Air success story. If she ever went back to the club, it was going to be as a guest, not a worker bee.

All this went through her mind the next morning as she dressed. She had risen with the sun, found a résumé template online, filled out the form and printed it. There
was a job in town with her name written all over it. The position was temporary; she could make a little money; she did not have to hobnob with anybody except snotty-nosed little kids. And the good news? She was bigger than they were, and in a pinch, she could hold them underwater.

By the time she reached the recreation center, Palmetto Grove was fully awake. Sprinklers sprayed rainbow-hued mist over shrubs and lawns; gray-haired women power-walked in groups of three and four; plump men bicycled slowly, showing too many inches of flesh spilling over their seats. The air was tinged with salt and newly mown grass. As she parked, she heard the shrieks of children from a school yard down the street. She imagined that for them, summer was not coming fast enough.

She had a full day of chores ahead of her. On the way home she planned to pick up the remaining tile installers’ estimates, then she would slap another coat of paint on the walls and the first coat on the kitchen cupboards. Afterward, if she had time, she would hit the grocery store. She wanted to find something she could keep on hand to offer Lee if he stopped by to see her. If she were lucky, she could quickly dispense with this part of the day.

She bustled to the welcome desk and noted that the same receptionist who was always there appeared to be setting up for the day. The woman had short hair and middle-age spread. She wore a white blouse and no jewelry, and Tracy thought she looked like somebody who ought to work in a school cafeteria. All she needed was a hair net.

“Good morning.” Tracy didn’t want to waste her time or the woman’s. “I came to apply for the swimming in
structor’s position, and I wonder if you can point me to the director’s office so I can give him my résumé?”

“Why don’t you let me take a look first? I’ll make sure you have everything we need.”

Tracy figured she was in luck. Apparently the job hadn’t been filled. She dismissed the suggestion with a smile. “I’m not worried. Is there an application I need to fill out, too?”

“No, Mr. Woodley checks résumés first, to save paperwork.” The woman paused. “Usually after I’ve looked them over.”

Tracy had told one of the installers she would be at his shop no later than nine-thirty. She didn’t want him to leave without giving her the estimate. She checked her watch.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just take my chances. I need to get going. If you’ll just tell me where his office is?”

“Well, I could do that.”

Tracy was getting annoyed, but she tried to sound pleasant. “Good.”

The woman still looked unruffled, but she was no longer smiling. “You’ve had experience?”

“It’s all right here.” Tracy held up the folder. “Can you tell me which hallway he’s on?”

“Do you think you’ll be in this much of a hurry with the children? Because they get frightened in the water, and they don’t need to be rushed.”

Tracy stared at her. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Rushing children. It’s even worse than rushing people who are trying to help you. It’s not a good thing in a swim instructor.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to find out where to drop off my résumé. It’s a simple task. I walk down the right hallway and knock on a door. If Mr. Woodley has time,
he asks me to fill out an application. If he likes what he sees, he offers me the job.” Her volume had strengthened with each word. She wasn’t shouting by the end of her speech, but she was surprisingly loud.

“Children also do best with instructors who don’t get angry and
don’t
raise their voices.”

Tracy took a moment to breathe. “Look, I don’t want to cause a scene here. But does Mr. Woodley know that you’re keeping qualified applicants from submitting their résumés? Is that what he would want?”

“I can ask him tonight over the dinner table.”

Tracy had a moment of revelation. She almost put up a hand to stop the woman’s next words. She didn’t want to hear them. She didn’t want to know that, once again, she had screwed up. She was afraid if she closed her eyes she would see visions of three old men trying to find chess pieces in the grass.

But she didn’t put up her hand in time, and the woman smiled thinly.

“Yes. I’m Mrs. Woodley. And in order to save my husband a little time, because his is a most demanding job, he asks me to look over résumés before they get to him.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“You’re a religious woman, I take it?”

“I wish. I could use some divine intervention about now.”

“Well, yes, that’s just about what it’s going to take.”

Tracy crossed her arms and leaned over the desk. She needed the support. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

“Let’s review. I did exactly what I needed to. I believe I asked you for the résumé. Then I asked for it again. And
possibly I asked for it a third time. Which time was unclear to you?”

“You didn’t tell me you were married to the director.”

“It shouldn’t matter.”

Tracy knew Mrs. Woodley was right. It
shouldn’t
matter. The fault was her own. Hers. Again.

Her throat constricted. The feeling was so unfamiliar, for a moment she thought she was choking. “You know, you’d think I’d get this. I mean, a year and a half ago, I had everything. You name it, anything, it was mine. Then it all just disappeared. So for eighteen months the universe has been telling me I’m not a spoiled princess after all, that I’m just like everybody else.” She had no idea why she was saying any of this out loud. She sniffed. “I never cry.”

“Everybody cries.”

“Do they?” She sniffed again.

“Of course. And this would be an appropriate moment if ever there was one. Why did everything disappear?”

“Because I was married to a creep, a crook, and do you know what? I knew it!” Now the bewildered Tracy was crying in earnest. Big fat tears spilled down her cheeks, and her nose was running. It was unconscionable.

“Maybe he wasn’t as bad as you think, but he changed,” Mrs. Woodley said.

“No, he was bad news right from the get-go. There, I’ve said it. He wasn’t just bad, he was worse, and I knew what kind of man he was, but I told myself he was a businessman, that to be as wealthy and successful as CJ was, he had to look at the big picture. So I just looked the other way. And doesn’t that make me bad news, too? And isn’t that why everything just caved in and keeps caving in? Divine retribution?”

“Possibly it keeps caving in because you still talk to people like you’re a spoiled princess.”

“I know.”

“Then it’s time to stop, don’t you think?”

“Well, that’s the crazy part. I’m trying. I’ve been hit over the head with this like you wouldn’t believe.” Tracy took a tissue that the woman offered her and wiped her eyes, but she couldn’t wipe fast enough. The tears just kept flowing. “The other day I practically caused three old men to have heart attacks. But I keep falling back on what I used to do best.”

“Dear, if that was your best, you need a little work. Maybe that’s all the universe is trying to tell you.”

Tracy blew her nose. “I thought I was listening. I relapsed.”

“We all do that from time to time.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because you’ve been kicked enough, and you’re starting to come to terms with it. You don’t need more.” She handed Tracy another tissue.

“I didn’t even cry when my divorce was final.” Tracy blew her nose again. “I cried when they took away all our bedroom furniture, though. California has a seize and freeze law. Between the Feds and the state, almost everything I owned got carted away.”

“How did you end up here?”

“My ex put land in my name out on Palmetto Grove Key. But you want to hear the worst part? I can’t sell it. No developer will touch it. Too many restrictions and lawsuits around it.”

“Oh, my, I know about that. So that’s
you.
”

Tracy wasn’t thrilled to hear that she had become something of a local celebrity. “’Fraid so.”

“Well, you’re definitely in a pickle.”

Tracy took a moment. After a couple of deep breaths she started to pull herself together. She knew she had to apologize and get out. Her voice was just short of a croak. “I’m so sorry I dumped all this on you. And I’m sorry I came in with so much attitude. I sound like a crazy woman. I’m surprised you haven’t called the men with the butterfly nets.”

“Can you imagine a world where we really had men like that? We’d all be on the run.” Mrs. Woodley smiled, and Tracy managed a watery smile in return.

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded a shade more normal, and the tears had finally slowed to a moppable trickle. “And please, please, you won’t tell anybody about this, will you? I really
will
sound like a nutcase.”

“I won’t, but really? You would only sound like a woman under some serious stress. Do you need this job?”

Tracy nodded. “Money’s tight. But I guess I can work at the yacht club. The event planner’s interested. Only…”

“What?”

“I don’t want to.”

“And you want to work here?”

“I’m a pretty good swim instructor. And I’d be happier in this environment.” Tracy had parted with enough of her life story not to want to go into her reasons.

“Shall I look at the résumé now?”

Tracy couldn’t believe Mrs. Woodley still wanted to. She handed it over meekly. “Just wait until I leave before you tear it up, okay?”

“My goodness, you have a degree in recreation and leisure studies?”

“I know it’s hard to believe.”

“And lots of experience with tournaments, I see. And a variety of social activities.”

“Volunteer, mostly, although you’ll see I taught
swimming in college. And I did a little work for our local park organizing a new swim program before I got engaged. I should have stayed with the program and told CJ to kiss off.”

“I will pass this on to Mr. Woodley.” Mrs. Woodley smiled. “That makes me sound very Victorian, don’t you think? Mr. Woodley? Everybody calls him Woody, including me.”

“What do they call you?”

“Gladys.”

Tracy liked her. More than that, she admired her for being both forthright and kind. “I’d appreciate your help, Gladys. And thank you. Again.”

“If you still need to talk, I’ll be here.”

Tracy thought about that on her way out to the car. Embarrassment was creeping in. She had behaved like a complete idiot. Maybe she needed a psychiatrist, only she couldn’t afford one. She was one of those millions of Americans without health insurance. When she sold Happiness Key, she ought to check herself in to some clinic and figure out when and why she’d gotten so mental. Other people got divorced. Other people didn’t sob all over strangers. They picked up and went on. The way she’d thought she was doing.

She was deep in thought—a more or less unfamiliar destination—when a missile slammed into her.

“Oof!” Instinctively Tracy threw her arms out and grabbed. The missile was medium-size and warm, and it smelled like bubble gum.

Once she realized what she held, she thrust the boy away from her, but she didn’t let go. Instead she tightened her grip on his shoulders.

“You almost knocked me over!”

“Y’oughta watch where you’re going!”

“I know where I was going. I just didn’t expect to get tackled.”

“So? You were in my way.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s going to happen a lot, kid. Because you have to stop for other people if they happen to be there first.”

“Let go of me.”

She was about to, more than a little anxious to be done with the boy, when she noticed he was looking frantically over his shoulder as he wriggled in her grip.