Sunset Bridge (4 page)

After graduation, she had gone straight to the police academy; then, with few choices because of hiring freezes, she had started her career in central Florida, in a sheriff’s department with a record of treating women poorly. She had been warned away by professors and family alike, but she had taken “That which does not kill me only makes me stronger” as her motto, and survived two miserable years of discrimination and harassment. She had come away with survival skills, a strong aversion to male bonding, faith in her own good judgment and a well-deserved reputation as a loner.

Homesick for the city of her birth, she had applied repeatedly to the City of Miami Police Department so that she wouldn’t be in her father’s shadow in the larger Miami-Dade police force, and once a job was finally available, she had never looked back.

Not until now.

“I don’t know where we’ll go or what we’ll do after this,” she said. “Maybe some state with four seasons. You’d like snow. I could put you outside in a snowdrift and never see you until spring. Maybe I’ll find a job doing security. Or maybe I’ll get a job as some kind of private dick and follow cheating husbands around with a camera.”

Even the suggestion made her feel sick. She’d been a real cop, not a wannabe. The cat curled up in a ball and closed her eyes, but now Maggie was feeling worse by the second.

How had everything come to this? Three months ago she’d
thought she had it all. Now she was heading home, tail between her legs. Not that Palmetto Grove or the preposterously named Happiness Key had ever been home to her. But that was where her parents lived now. Her mother had developed a close circle of friends, and was happy with them and her new profession. Her father liked being a cop on a smaller force, a bigger fish in a smaller pond.

Maggie herself would just be a fish out of water. Job gone. Profession gone. Lover…

Gone.

She realized that while she’d been soul searching and placating her cat, she had reached Palmetto Grove. She drove past the city-limits sign, and the area began to look familiar. Maggie had been here over Easter. Her parents had rented a spacious gulfside motel suite for a weekend, and the whole gang had come. Junior, his wife and two children, Maggie and Felo. She and Junior had driven across the bridge to view their parents’ new quarters. The house was weathered and basic, but the problems that had haunted the Grays’ marriage during their final year in Miami had been noticeably absent.

For that, if for nothing else, Maggie was glad they had moved here.

But how would it work for her?

Palmetto Grove was unremarkable except that it seemed to lack the worst problems of Florida’s east coast cities. The landscape was familiar, as were the noises and the salt smell of the air. Still, she immediately missed the bustle, the energy, of Miami, particularly Little Havana, with old men playing dominoes under palm trees, the fragrances of cigar smoke and Cuban coffee, the lilt of Latin music that permeated their lives.

She waited at one traffic light, then another, before she
had a clear shot at the bridge that would take her to the key. She passed a sign announcing the erection of a new span in December, and a list of local officials who had appropriated all the credit. She wondered if the construction noise would reach as far as her new house.

Once she crossed over, she took her time. The bridge end of the key was the most settled, although she remembered her mother saying that beyond this first sparse cluster of pricey houses, much of the rest of the island was protected from development. Maggie was a fan of all things wild and natural, so this was a plus. No one had come here, as they had on other Gulf Coast islands, and denuded it to build high-rise condos and hotels, or replaced native foliage with water-guzzling, fertilizer-hogging exotics.

“Almost there,” she told the sleeping cat, although there was no joy in her voice. She was thirty years old. Once she had moved to Miami, she had made detective in record time. She had commendations on her record. And now she was going home to live with Mommy and Daddy while she put her life back together.

She could still turn around. She hadn’t spoken to Felo, but in a moment of weakness she had listened to one of his messages, although she had deleted the rest. He wanted her back. He was angry, yes, but he wanted her to come home. Her job would
not
be waiting, of course, but Miami was a big city, and there would be other opportunities.

For just seconds, her foot eased up on the gas pedal. Then she gripped the wheel until she saw the first battered cottage of Happiness Key appear. She came to a halt at the end of the community, lined with similar concrete-block cottages.

Wanda was sitting on a wooden bench in the house’s shadow. Her copper-colored hair was lacquered into curls on
top of her head. Her black-rimmed glasses tilted at the corners like the Cheshire cat’s smile. She wore purple spandex capris and a lime-green blouse, which somehow managed to look okay. Beside her was a gorgeous young woman with dark skin and hair. Although all the neighbors had been gone during Maggie’s brief visit, she knew from her mother’s stories that this must be Janya.

Wanda had become a mother at twenty-three, but she had been more than ready for the job. She’d been the go-to mom on the block, the one who always had homemade cookies in a jar, who set up the sprinkler for games of tag on hot summer nights, who didn’t complain when wet bathing suits left spots on her succession of flowered sofas.

She had fought for her children when necessary, let them wallow in their own mistakes when
that
was necessary, too. She was loud, opinionated, insensitive—and fiercely loyal to everybody she loved. She was Mom, but she and Maggie had never found the same frequency so they could really be intimate.

Now, seeing her on the bench with her friend, just waiting for the opportunity to jump back into Maggie’s life, made Maggie question every decision she had made.

It was too late to drive away. For better or worse, she and Wanda needed each other. She needed a place to recover. Wanda needed someone to help as her business grew. And Maggie had a chance to give something back to the woman who had raised, educated and supported her.

She opened the driver’s-side door and swung her legs over the seat. Rumba awoke and began to lick a paw as Maggie got out. She’d fully expected her mother to rise and hurry down to help unload, but Wanda didn’t move.

Maggie lifted a hand in greeting. Wanda lifted one, too.
For just a moment they stared at each other. For once Maggie understood exactly what her mother was thinking.

Wanda was worried, as well. Maggie’s breath caught. They were trapped in this decision now, but for the first time they had everything in common. They were afraid that the distance between them would finally be revealed, that the surface peace and intimacy they had found would be exposed as a sham.

Her life was in turmoil, and everything she had wanted was suddenly gone, but if Maggie had needed proof that she was standing on a precipice, here it was.

She couldn’t see her mother’s eyes, but she knew what was in them. Fear that she would fail Maggie. Concern that their relationship would not survive this challenge. And the endless, aching love of a mother for her daughter.

Maggie lifted her hand higher. “Hey, Mom, come get Rumba, would you? She needs you to talk some sense into her.”

Wanda got to her feet. “Nobody better equipped to do it.”

Maggie smiled at last, and Wanda smiled, too.

“I
have done something you will not appreciate.”

Janya looked up at those words and gazed steadily at her husband over the remnants of a late lunch. Perhaps Rishi was not a handsome man, but the new absence of a bristly mustache and a more attractive haircut had done wonders for his face. Or perhaps she was simply a wife falling in love with the stranger she had married.

She considered this conversation opener. Often the only time they had to talk was while they were eating. Although they had not yet been blessed with children, their lives were still busy, even on weekends. She had left the house early to help Wanda paint; then he had left to get his hair cut before she returned. They were finally in the same room.

She smiled encouragement. “Really?” she said, hoping for more.

“I have invited guests to visit this afternoon.”

“Today?”

He nodded sheepishly. “Soon. I told you about Harit, my
barber, and his wife, Kanira? I invited them to come. It happened before I even knew I was speaking.”

“And you didn’t think to telephone and warn me?”

“I expected to be home earlier, to tell you in person. Then I remembered another errand and forgot to call.” He paused, fork to mouth. “I am sorry, Janya.”

Rishi was a brilliant software designer, thought by many to be a genius. He was also a good businessman and loving husband. But while he could remember the smallest technical details, more often than not simple day-to-day matters slipped right by him.

“You have wanted to invite them for some time,” she said graciously.

Rishi had met Harit at the shop where Harit worked part-time. He and his wife were from India, too, although they were from Kolkata, in the east. Still, in Palmetto Grove, where few Indians had yet to gather, the region mattered less than the country. Rishi had been delighted to find a new friend with whom he had much in common.

He was clearly relieved. “I would like to know them better. And Harit says Kanira is lonely for other Indian women and will be glad to meet you. They will not be here for a meal, because the children go to sleep early. But they can run and play on the beach for a little while.”

“Children?”

“They have two, a boy and a girl. Little children.” He sounded wistful.

Janya didn’t say anything to that, but her heart went out to her husband. Rishi had discovered that the lack of children in their lives was due to him, and while he had undergone surgery that might help increase his chances of fatherhood, so far, no pregnancy had resulted. While she had assured him
this was not a question of fault, and that they would find a solution together with the doctor’s help, he still felt guilty.

Janya was glad she had cleaned the house thoroughly yesterday. When they had first come to live in the cottage just a bit more than a year ago, she’d had little to do except clean. Now she was busy at least several days a week painting murals of forest animals or underwater scenes on nursery walls. Last week she’d spent four long days on the entryway of a home in a lavish gated development. The owners had asked for a vivid depiction of the legend of Tsarevich Ivan and the Fire Bird to greet their visitors. They had paid her so much on completion that she still expected someone to appear and demand she return the bonus.

“I will be glad to welcome them,” she said.

“You are good to me.” He reached across to take her hand.

She squeezed it. “I will make lemonade, and tea. And you will drive down to Randall’s, and buy doughnuts and cookies.”

“I’m glad you’re not angry.” Rishi rose and began to clear the table. “I will sweep the patio when I come back from the store.”

She thought, as she often did now, that she had married well.

Rishi’s friends arrived an hour later. Janya watched the family emerge from an economy sedan that reminded her of the one Rishi had bought for her after she’d passed her driving test last year. Only, this car was older, much older.

She and Rishi went outside to greet their guests. Harit was shorter than Rishi, and thinner, with straight black hair parted in the middle and swept behind his ears. In his black T-shirt, Janya thought he resembled a pirate from one of the novels Wanda loved so well. Kanira was even shorter, probably not
quite five feet, with hair that was just a few inches longer than her husband’s and dangling gold earrings. She wore a dark red dress that trailed nearly to her ankles, but no smile.

The children were younger than Janya had imagined. Kanira carried the youngest, a tiny girl in a ruffled white dress, with a fluff of dark hair fluttering like dandelion down in the breeze. A little boy of about four walked beside his father, whom he resembled.

Rishi moved forward. “Harit, Kanira, welcome.”

Harit and Rishi clasped hands and exchanged courtesies. Kanira nodded a silent hello to Rishi as she fussed with the baby’s dress. She did not look happy to have come. Perhaps she had not been happy even to leave home. She looked tired and hot, and Janya immediately stepped off the stoop to introduce herself.

Kanira gave a wan smile in response. Harit was more enthusiastic and thanked her for the invitation. He introduced the children.

“My son, Vijay.”

Kanira spoke up immediately. “But
we
call him Jay because he is an
American
child.”

Harit ignored her. “My daughter is Lily, and we call her
Lily
.”

Janya heard the tension and tried to defuse it. She gestured toward the house. “It must be difficult to travel even a short distance with small children. Come sit inside, where it is cool. I will get you something to drink.”

“I have asked and asked Harit to have the air conditioner in our car repaired, but he does not listen.”

Janya glanced at her husband and Harit, who were deep in conversation. If Harit had heard, he didn’t seem concerned.

“Would you like me to carry the baby?” Janya asked.

Kanira ignored the fact that the child was reaching for Janya’s gold necklace and squirming to get closer to her. “She doesn’t like strangers.”

“Let’s settle you inside, then. We’ll visit the beach once you’ve rested.”

“I told Harit. The children are too young to enjoy a beach. But how would he know what is good for them? He is always locked away, writing his books.” Kanira followed Janya, while Harit stayed behind to finish his conversation with Rishi. Or to avoid his wife. Vijay stayed with his father.

Inside, Janya settled Kanira and the baby on the sofa. “Books? Harit is a writer? What a gift he must have.”

“
He
is no gift. That I can tell you. There are many things he could do to make a better living for us, but Harit is determined to write novels.”

“Does he not work at the barbershop?”

“Yes, he cuts hair in the afternoons, then in the mornings and evenings he finds a quiet place outside our home and writes. He makes just enough money from the shop and a small literary grant to feed us, but little more.”

Janya didn’t know what to say. Kanira was a stranger, but she was already telling Janya secrets she didn’t want to hear.

She offered her guest lemonade, but Kanira shook her head. “I am too upset to eat or drink. I am wasting away.” She began to fuss with the little girl’s dress again, and Lily began to whimper.

Janya lowered herself to the sofa beside them and, without asking, took the baby off Kanira’s lap. The little girl snuggled sleepily against her and reached out to play with her chain. “Rishi has been so pleased to find another Indian family to visit with,” Janya said.

“Rishi has his own business?”

“He designs and packages software. For computers.”

“Now,
that
is a job to be proud of. And he does well?”

“Well enough. He will do better in time.”

“You have no children?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, I’m sorry I do.”

This time Janya couldn’t think of one word to say.

Kanira didn’t notice, because she’d already continued. “I hoped that children would convince Harit he must stop playing at being a writer and start providing for us. He graduated from Princeton on scholarship. Princeton! For a boy from his village and caste? He was extraordinary. He could have gone on, become a doctor, an engineer, anything. Instead, he decided to become a writer. I thought children would make him responsible, but now I know nothing will do that. I should have realized it before I said I would marry him. I was blinded by love.”

“Then you chose each other? He was your own choice?”

Kanira made a face, as if that fact only made things worse. “Wasn’t I the fool?”

Once she and Marsh were parked outside her house, Tracy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t get out. I’ll just grab my backpack and head inside.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come in and make certain you have enough chicken soup for dinner?”

“I told you, I feel a lot better today. Whatever hit me last night is working its way through my system.”

And if she was correct, it would work its way out in something just short of nine months.

Marsh looked relieved he wasn’t going to be called on as
a nurse. “Take it easy. And call the doctor if you don’t feel better by Monday.”

“I’m really sorry we had to cut the trip short.”

Tracy figured as lies went, that was a small one. The larger one, the possible pregnancy, was the whopper. Of course, this evening she was not as convinced her diagnosis was correct. She’d felt nauseated in the morning, and a breakfast of instant oatmeal and powdered milk hadn’t helped. But as the day wore on, her stomach had settled. So what if she was experiencing every pregnancy symptom she’d heard women complain about? Surely it could be something else.

Maybe it was something easier to deal with, like a life-threatening illness.

“You’ll call if you need help?” he asked.

“I’m surrounded by women who’ll come over and hold my hand. Call me before you go to bed, and I’ll sing you to sleep.”

“I’ll call if you promise not to.”

“Coward.” She tossed him a smile, got out and reached into the back of the pickup cab for her pack. Stepping back, she waved goodbye, and he finally pulled away.

When she was sure he was gone, she dropped the cheerful act, rummaged through her purse for her keys and took off for her Bimmer.

In just minutes she was at Randall’s, the only store on Palmetto Grove Key. She had forced herself to drive slowly enough not to overtake Marsh, but now she pulled into a parking slot so fast she slid on loose gravel. She cut the engine and took a deep breath.

So Randall’s wasn’t a drugstore. The wooden building with a vintage Coca-Cola chest on the porch was an odd cross between a gourmet food and bait shop, where chicken gizzards
nestled next to prime Angus steaks, and fishing lures winked at French-press pots and bamboo steamers. Surely somewhere on the crowded, chaotic shelves she would find a pregnancy-test kit. She didn’t have the patience to drive into town.

Inside, she scanned the aisles, just to be sure no one she knew was nearby. Satisfied, she went in search. Ten minutes of digging through dusty boxes in the pharmacy aisle turned up nothing. Finally she cornered a clerk, a scrawny post-adolescent with a goatee and one gold hoop in his earlobe.

“I need a pregnancy test for a friend.” She had no idea why she was lying to the young man, but it glided across her tongue like extra-virgin olive oil. “I don’t see any.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.” He ambled off so slowly that at first she wasn’t certain he was moving.

She looked around for something to do while she waited. Settling at the magazine rack, she was paging through the newest
People
magazine, counting the faces she had seen at parties when she was still married to CJ, when she heard a familiar voice call her name.

“Tracy!”

Startled, she dropped the magazine, but she recovered as she picked it up and was smiling brightly by the time Olivia Symington came skipping toward her.

“Well, hey there!” Tracy made herself look pleased to see the girl, although for once, she really wasn’t.

“We’re getting ice cream. My soccer team won.”

“Congratulations.” They high-fived. Eleven-year-old Olivia was one of Tracy’s favorite people. Pretty, with brown hair, clear skin and startlingly blue eyes, she was already showing the promise of greater beauty. She and Alice, who was now coming up behind the girl, were Tracy’s neighbors. Alice had custody of Olivia, her late daughter’s child, while
Olivia’s father, Lee, was in prison. Olivia would be grown by the time Lee emerged—
if
Lee emerged—something for which all the neighbors were grateful.

“I hear your granddaughter’s team is tops,” Tracy told Alice, once the older woman joined them.

Alice looked tired. She was in her late seventies, and she had already suffered one stroke. As devoted as she was to Olivia, at her age, raising a preteen with an active schedule wasn’t easy.

“She was marvelous,” Alice said, resting a hand on Olivia’s shoulder.

Tracy wasn’t sure whether the hand was there for affection or support, but she didn’t have time to worry about it. She scanned the store, looking for the young man who might at any moment plod over and flash a pregnancy-test kit at the little group, or tell her in no uncertain terms that they didn’t have one in the store. She was not ready to explain this situation to Alice, and particularly not in front of Olivia.

“Well, I won’t keep you from your ice cream,” she said brightly.

“Would you like a cone?” Alice asked. “Our treat?”

Tracy’s stomach flip-flopped, and just that easily, she was certain, once again, what the pregnancy test would prove.

“No, no, thanks. Still watching my weight, and I haven’t had dinner. You two go ahead. I’ll see you soon. Aren’t we coming to your house Thursday night?”

Alice looked surprised, but she covered it quickly. Tracy wondered if she had forgotten, or if the thought of the work involved was an unpleasant reminder.

“Listen, don’t overdo,” Tracy said. “Randall’s rotisserie chicken is great. Wanda will bring a pie, and we’ll get Janya to make something with rice. I’ll bring wine.”