Happiness Key (8 page)

“Aii
,” she said in Marathi when her mother greeted her. “It is so good to hear your voice.”

“Yes, Janya. How are things in the United States?” No
matter the occasion, Inika Desai always sounded exactly the same, as if life was a business to be conducted with economy, each conversation a job to perform with haste. She was efficient and self-contained, and if she felt strong emotions, she had learned to disguise them. Janya couldn’t remember her mother ever saying that she loved her, although open affection was less a part of the culture Janya had grown up in than the one that surrounded her now. Instead, Inika had demonstrated her love by giving her daughter a proper start in life.

A start she clearly thought Janya had squandered.

The telephone connection was so good today that Janya felt as if she were sitting in her mother’s bedroom, as she had sat as a child, watching her mother fasten gold bracelets around her wrist and brush her jet-black hair.

“We are fine,” Janya said. “Rishi works many hours, but he is an attentive husband.”

“That is good, then.”

“And how is my family?”

“Your family is there, in America, with your husband.”

If her mother still felt the urge to instruct her in how to be a proper wife, Janya thought all was not lost. “How is my family in
India?
”

“Well enough. The heat is terrible and causes your father to cough, but soon the rains will come.”

“And you?”

“I am always well.”

Janya waited, hoping her mother would take the conversational lead, but when she didn’t, Janya asked about Yash.

“He is a good boy who tries hard and never shames us.”

Janya felt the slap as surely as if her mother’s palm had extended across the miles between them. Her throat con
stricted again. She wasn’t sure that words could make their way through the narrowed passage.

“He is not here to speak to you,” her mother said, before Janya could force out the next question. “He is with his father during the day, now that school is not in session. Your father wants him to learn what his life will entail once he passes his exams. He has little time for conversation.”

Janya asked about other relatives, her uncle and his sons and their families who lived on the top floor of the house the families shared. Her uncle’s wife, who had undergone hip surgery, an elderly cousin of her father’s who was nearing death.

Her mother gave perfunctory answers and finally reminded Janya that the call was expensive, and she must not waste Rishi’s money on news that could be handled as well in a letter. Janya didn’t have the opportunity to point out that her mother rarely wrote to convey news, because her mother continued.

“I will be writing you soon anyway. There is something I have to tell you that is best said on paper.”

“It will take at least a week to arrive. What could possibly be best said in a letter?”

“The very news I will tell you. I don’t want you to overreact. You must take this as if it were meant to be, as you must take every day of your life.”

Janya had gotten to her feet to stretch, but now she sat down again. “But now I will worry.”

“There is no need. This is something you cannot change with worry. It is simply something that is. No one is newly ill or dying. You are old enough to understand that not everything you want is good for you.”

Janya knew there was no persuading her mother. A decision made was a decision chiseled into granite. As a
child, Janya had pictured her mother’s edicts as Sanskrit text on temple walls.

“I miss you,” Janya said, although she knew the words were uttered for herself. She needed, somehow, to say them out loud, but she knew her mother would never acknowledge the emotion behind them. “I miss everything about India, even the things I didn’t like.”

“It will do you no good, this missing. Surely you are old enough to see that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you must learn to.”

“I hope you and
Baba
will come for a visit. I hope you are saving for it.”

“We are saving to help your brother reach his destiny. For our part of his wedding once he marries. For his education and his children. That is our duty.”

“I’m important, too,” Janya said. Anger was beginning to simmer beneath a long-nurtured sadness. “I am your daughter, and I’m worth saving for, as well. You will like Florida.”

“Look to the future, Janya, not to the past. Your past is best forgotten.”

Janya hung up a moment later. Outside, she heard someone passing. Through the window she saw Tracy Deloche, hands on hips, stomping by as if she had somewhere important to go.

Janya was afraid that she would never have a place like that herself, a place she truly needed to go and could. Never again.

Tracy was still furious. Of course she had known Wild Florida was determined to keep Happiness Key safe from development. She had been told Marsh Egan was a pit-
bull attorney with hound-dog charm, and that he was capable of doing anything to get his way.

The man was legendary. Once he and other rabid environmentalists had chained themselves in a line one hundred yards long to stop a fleet of bulldozers from gaining entry to acreage they had vowed to protect. By the time sheriff’s deputies arrived with bolt cutters sturdy enough for the job, a judge in Tallahassee had ruled that the developer’s permits were not, after all, in order, and that the housing corporation he represented was lacking many of the documents needed to begin work. From that point on Wild Florida tied up everything so thoroughly that by the time the dust settled, the corporation was begging to sign over the property, in the end recouping ten cents for every dollar they had paid.

Tracy steamed as she thought about that. She was a woman alone. She had no resources to fight anybody. The best she could do was hang on until somebody else was willing to take on Wild Florida, somebody who could buy this land and make things happen in the courts. But she owned what nobody was making more of—unless she counted all that dredging—and waterfront property was precious for a reason. Marsh Egan might slow things down, but in the long run she would win. She pictured herself, wads of money clutched in her fists, and Marsh Egan sadly shaking his head as Happiness Key was transformed into manicured lawns, vivid hibiscus and soaring condominiums.

She walked back and forth along the road to calm down. She was passing Alice’s cottage on the way back to hers when she saw Lee Symington heading toward the dark blue Saab in Alice’s driveway. She almost drooled. No golden oldie T-shirts for Mr. Symington. He was dressed the way Tracy liked to see a man. Tailored suit,
freshly pressed gray shirt, and a discreetly striped tie that looked as silky soft as a spring breeze.

The little girl she’d never formally met was following with his briefcase.

“You look ready for business,” she called.

“I hope. I’ve got a family ready to make an offer on a house if I can iron out a few details.” He put the briefcase in the car, then put his arm around the girl’s shoulders and guided her over to Tracy.

“This is my daughter, Olivia. You met through the screened door.”

Tracy was no connoisseur of children, but this one seemed pleasant enough. She was pretty, as children right before the onset of adolescence often were. But Olivia would be a pretty adult, too. The heart-shaped face, the smile that didn’t look as if it would need an orthodontist’s intervention, her father’s riveting blue eyes, and silky, straight, brown hair, even with Florida’s humidity.

They traded the usual adult-child pleasantries before Olivia skipped back to the house.

“She seems like a sweetie,” Tracy said.

“I’m in favor of well-behaved children. I make sure I’m contributing to that vanishing pool.”

“Well, good luck with your family. Any sale these days is a big event.”

He gave her a smile that clearly said they were in that boat together. She liked the way his eyes lit up. And unlike the sneers that Marsh Egan had aimed at her, this smile was not meant to make her feel foolish.

“Even now, it’s not impossible to sell a prime piece of property,” Lee said. “It just takes patience and imagination. After we talked, I started making calls about Happiness Key. There’s definite interest, but like you said, builders are cautious. So I’m going to get one of our
junior salespeople to do a computer search of outside outfits who’ve done development in this area. And I’m sending a full-color brochure to every developer in the local association. Maribel will agree we need a little push.”

“That’s really beating the bushes.” She thought about Egan’s words. “And how are you going to mention Wild Florida’s legal maneuvers?”

“Developers are used to that, Tracy.” He hesitated. “Okay if I use your first name?”

“I’m a California girl. Casual all the way.”

“About as casual as an Hermès scarf.”

She
loved
a man who knew quality and designers.

“As for the developers?” he said. “Once they see the potential, they’ll find a way to do whatever they want.”

“Short of murdering Marshall Egan, I’m not sure what they
could
do.”

“Then we’ll have to find somebody with very few scruples.”

She laughed. “Well, you’ve cheered me up. And I needed it.”

“Let me cheer you up some more. Let me take you out to dinner.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Maribel listed the property, and I work for her, remember? But we’ll try not to talk about Happiness Key. We’ll go to the yacht club, and I’ll introduce you to the event planner if you’re still interested. There’s some kind of private party tonight, but we could do it tomorrow if you’re free.”

“That will be great.”

“Then it’s a date. Let’s shoot for seven.” He smiled, and she felt the warmth tickling her in places that proved she was not invulnerable to a good-looking man.

She put the tickling aside, although she hated to. “Before you go, did you have a chance to ask your mother-in-law about Herb?”

“I completely forgot. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I’ll go over later and see what she knows.”

“I wouldn’t.” Lee looked as if he weren’t sure how to phrase his objection. “Alice hasn’t been herself since my wife died. She had a small stroke, no obvious damage that shouldn’t improve with time, but she’s still going downhill. The doctors are worried about some kind of permanent dementia.”

“Alzheimer’s?”

He shrugged. “One of the possibilities. The problem is, trying to remember things upsets her. It would be better if I just approached this casually. I’ll tackle it tonight. Will that work?”

“Sure, and thanks.”

“I’ll let you know if I find out anything. Need a ride to your door?”

He favored her with another warm smile when she said no. She thought those smiles might become an addiction.

Once she was inside her cottage, surrounded by all the considerable evidence of her new start, she smiled, too. She didn’t want to be here. Not in this state, not in this place. But it was quite possible being here was going to be more tolerable than she had feared only yesterday.

Wanda wasn’t sure when Ken came in from his nightly walk, but the next morning she found the paper on the table again, and the remnants of a pot of coffee on the counter. How the man survived on next to no sleep didn’t concern her. Nobody was forcing him to prowl Palmetto Grove Key. Whatever he was doing, he was on his own, and for all she knew he had found a comfortable bed at the end of the prowl that didn’t include her.

Since the beginning of April, she had worked the lunch shift at the Dancing Shrimp. She and Lainie, her supervisor, had decided lunch would free up her evenings for more important things, and besides, lunch tips were good in the summer. The Dancing Shrimp sat right on the bay, and Wanda usually took the outside tables. Customers on the deck felt expansive, as if they ought to pay a little more for their superior view of sailboats and pontoons, and besides, Wanda always gave extra special service.

Some servers felt that waiting on people was beneath them. Not Wanda. Life wasn’t a beach, just something
that sounded like it, and everybody needed TLC now and again just to get through. A person never knew what somebody else was living with. Wanda didn’t take sass, but she was good with the grumps, making them smile, even laugh, by the time she handed over their checks. She had that gift, and bringing food, making recommendations, replenishing drinks? It was just a good way to use her God-given talent.

Today, however, by the time her shift ended at two, she was dragging. The outside deck was shaded, and fans kept the air moving, but between the pervading heat, a couple of difficult customers and another server who had a hissy fit because a party of notorious big spenders requested Wanda, she felt as if somebody had turned her inside out. Plus her stomach was bubbling and churning, and she’d eaten a whole roll of Tums by the end of her shift. She figured that making a coconut cream pie in the summer wasn’t such a good idea if only one party was around to eat it. And eat it. And eat it.

The doings at work weren’t the only problem. She wasn’t happy with herself. When things didn’t go well at the workplace, but they were fine at home, she could manage. Vice versa, more or less. But when things weren’t going well anywhere? Well, life seemed way too complicated. And sad.

Back at the cottage, she changed out of her uniform: blue capris and a red polo shirt with a logo of two jitterbugging shrimp stitched in rainbow-colored thread. She couldn’t imagine a frumpier outfit, but at least when something spilled or splattered, it wasn’t as if she were emotionally attached. And the shrimp did add a little character, kind of a “dance before they eat you” flavor to the whole ensemble.

In the tiny living room she collapsed on the vintage
rattan sofa upholstered with prints so bright Ken used to say—when he was still talking—that a person needed sunglasses just to watch television. She didn’t really care. The orchids, palm fronds and what-all in vivid hues of her favorite purples, limes and oranges always made her smile. A plush monkey puppet swung from a shelf that sported a framed photo of Elvis before he went and got fat, and the king was surrounded by smaller photos of her children and grandchildren. Elvis and the monkey made her smile, too, and the grandkids made her feel all lit up inside.

She got up to lower the bamboo shades on the windows and rewound the VCR. In a moment she was immersed in the day’s doings on
All My Children
. She had not missed an episode of
AMC
in thirty-one years. The day she did, something terrible was going to happen. She didn’t know why or how, she just knew. Still, that was no matter, because that disaster was never going to occur. She had two VCRs that recorded the show, just in case one went down the way VCRs liked to do if they could get away with it. She had asked Ken for one of those fancy TiVo machines for her birthday, but he hadn’t even remembered the day, much less the present. No matter. When she moved out and got her own place, she was going to buy one. In the meantime, that was one less thing they would have to fight over at the divorce.

By the time the episode ended, she felt worse. Julia had gone and got herself shot! Wanda couldn’t believe it, but she’d seen it happen with her own eyes. Then she’d refused heroic measures and just up and died. Just like that, written off the show. Wanda felt as if she’d lost a friend. And it looked like old Tad was next.

Something had to change. She flicked off the VCR and rewound the tape to get it ready for tomorrow, and as she
did, she tried to think out why she was feeling so bad. As much as she hated to face it, the reason was pretty clear. She had let Miss Priss Deloche get to her, and she hadn’t done anything about it. She had hoped that just admitting to herself that she wasn’t at her best last night would be enough. But now she knew that just slapping herself on the wrist wasn’t going to cut it.

She rolled up the shades and stared out the window. She was a big believer in making amends. Enough alcoholics had explained the concept to her over the years as they ordered club soda and a twist of lime. That was something they learned at meetings, when they tried to sober up. If a person screwed up, they had to make good somehow.

She wasn’t all that wrought up over the Deloche woman. Any landlady could stand to be slapped around a little. Sometimes you just had to shake good sense into a body, like salt into chicken and dumplings. You never knew how much it was going to take, either. You just had to add a little, then try some more, until you got it right. In the end, everybody who partook was better off for your doing it.

But none of that excused the way she was letting down old Herb. He’d been a sweet old man, never did anybody a bit of harm. She should have been kinder, and now, with a chance to make amends, she was walking away. She wasn’t sure what she could do—that was kind of up in the air—but at least she should try. Guilt was a lot of extra weight for a body to carry. She was carrying enough weight as it was, considering that she was eating all the pie she baked these days, with no help from Ken.

Restless now, she went into the kitchen and got a glass of ice water. From the kitchen window she saw movement over at Herb’s cottage. Without wasting more time
thinking about it, she went outside and walked up the road to see what was happening. When she got closer she saw that the Indian woman with the funny name was moving slowly among the old man’s plants. Wanda was almost at the house before she realized what she was doing.

“Now, that’s a good idea,” she called, crossing through the open gate that led into the yard. “They would have died in a couple of days, that’s for sure.”

Janya looked up, hose in hand. The trickle was aimed in one of Herb’s pots of hibiscus. “Hello, Mrs. Gray.”

“You can call me Wanda. And you’re what, Tanya? I’m not good with names.”

“Very close. Janya, with a
J.
”

“People are always making up new names. I just can’t keep up.”

“Mine is common enough in my country.”

“Here it seems like mamas and daddies just put together any sounds they like, doesn’t matter what they are, and that’s what they call their poor little kids. Like those Christian names people have been using for centuries aren’t good enough for them anymore.”

“In many cultures, creating a name makes each child an individual.”

“Me, I stuck with the tried and true.” Wanda watched the woman carefully rotating the hose so that all the dirt got thoroughly and slowly soaked. “What made you think to water these? That Deloche woman ask you to?”

“No, I just thought it was something I could do for Mr. Krause.”

“He’s not exactly here to appreciate it anymore.”

“He worked hard to make these grow. It seems possible his family will want them. Plants this size are valuable, are they not? I have seen them in nurseries. The prices are extraordinary.”

“Yeah, I guess. The kind of plants I grow don’t need water. I stick ’em up on a shelf and that’s it until they get so dusty I give them the old heave-ho.”

“I think I might like to make things grow. At the least I can keep these from dying.”

Wanda was almost jealous. Janya with a
J
had figured out something to make herself feel better. She watched the young woman—younger, she thought, than Wanda’s own daughter—move the hose to the next plant, some kind of tree with big round leaves.

“You like living here?” Wanda asked, because she was still trying to figure out some piece of this problem she could claim. “Or are you planning to make a bunch of money, then go home and spend it, like so many foreign people do?”

Janya seemed to consider. “I don’t think so. I think I will be here forever. But is it a problem when people do that? Spend what they earn in other places, I mean? I think some people can’t earn what they need to support their families in their own countries, so they earn it here by working hard.”

“All that one-world stuff, right? I don’t know, but it just doesn’t seem right to me. It can’t be good, all that American money leaving the country.”

Janya smiled a little. “It is certainly good for the people who work hard and are able to feed their families.”

Wanda supposed that was true, although the notion still disturbed her.

“Did Herb ever talk to you about family? Because I know Ms. Deloche wants to find them.”

“He talked to me very little. And not about anything personal.”

As if she had conjured Tracy Deloche, Wanda saw the woman bearing down on them. She stood her ground,
although she wasn’t all that comfortable, considering the way she had refused to help last night with the mattress.

Tracy came to a stop in front of Janya. “Thanks so much for doing that,” she said. “It really is nice of you to offer a helping hand when it’s needed.”

Wanda knew a slight when she heard one. Janya nodded politely. Then Tracy faced Wanda. Her tone was ten degrees cooler. “How are you, Wanda?”

“Not bad. Yourself?”

“I’m still trying to find Herb’s family. I’m kind of stymied. From what Lee says, Alice’s memory isn’t good, so I can’t count on her. And I hate going through his stuff if I don’t need to. I just wondered if you could describe the guys you saw Herb playing chess with. I drove by the park I think you mean, and there was some kind of chess tournament going on, with about fifty old men in fishing caps sitting under the trees.”

“Sounds like you got the right place. And his friends were old men in fishing caps.”

“Brutal…” Tracy shook her head. “I guess I’m stuck with asking each and every one of them.”

Wanda knew her chance to help had arrived, but she did her best not to listen to the voice determined to have its say. In the end, she just wasn’t as deaf as she wanted to be.

“I can’t describe them worth a darn, but I can find them,” she said after a sigh. “I saw him there more than once.”

“I don’t suppose you’d come with me to point them out?”

“I guess I could do that.”

Tracy didn’t hide her astonishment. “Well, that’s awfully nice of you.”

“Believe it or not, there are people on this planet who think I’m usually awfully nice.”

Tracy licked her lips, as if that might help her form a reply.

“Don’t waste your time trying to figure out what to say to that,” Wanda said. “I’ve got some time right now. How about you?”

“I’ve got nothing these days but time.”

“Then let’s have at it,” Wanda said. She glanced at Janya, who had moved to another plant. “Nice talking to you,” she told her.

Janya nodded. “Most interesting.”

Wanda thought that was a nice reply. Being interesting was a good thing in her book.

Grambling Park, where Herb had played chess, was a green expanse dotted with palms and feathery leafed trees that looked as if they had been planted not too far in the distant past. Flower beds sporting marigolds and zinnias rimmed a spewing fountain. Tracy could almost see the spray evaporating. She parked the Bimmer in one of the few spots in the shade and gratefully fed the meter. She was as glad to be out of the car and the glowering presence of Wanda Gray as she was to be on this quest. If she could find Herb’s family, the cottage could be cleared out and a new renter installed. Of course, that depended on finding somebody willing to take a month-to-month rental, just as high summer approached. Happiness Key was surrounded by water, but there were no pretty white sand beaches out at the point for sunning or swimming, not until the developers got through with it.

Wanda took her time getting out, grumbling about having to haul herself out of a car so low to the ground. Tracy bit back a response. She was still in shock the
woman had agreed to help, and suspicious, as well. Quite possibly Tracy was missing something, and Wanda was going to zap her yet again.

If so, the time wasn’t now. Wanda stood with her hands on her substantial hips, clothed, as Tracy had noted earlier, in bright purple polyester cycling shorts topped with a purple-and-lime-striped shirt that emphasized breasts that must have made her the target of many a preteen boy’s uncontrolled lust—or jokes. Wanda was a creature of excesses. Hair too bright, makeup too obvious. And the way she walked? As if she were about to jump into the life of every person who came within ten feet of her. She was a neon sign advertising something, although Tracy had yet to figure out what.

“Do you recognize anybody?” Tracy asked.

Wanda pointed. “See that group on the far edge? The two guys at the table with the one hovering over him?”

“That’s them?”

“I’m almost sure.”

“Great. Shall we see up close?”

Wanda strutted off, and Tracy caught up with her. “I’d like to get this over with. The funeral home called today. If we don’t find Herb’s family by the end of next week, they’re going to go ahead and cremate him. They said he wanted things to be taken care of quickly, and they have to go ahead.”

“More likely they just want the space, people in Florida dying as fast as they do. Comes of an aging population.”

“That’s pretty cynical.”

“Don’t get me started.” Wanda glanced at her. “Why do you care, anyway?”

“Well, out of respect, for one thing.”

Wanda made a noise that said, right, tell me another one.