Accidental Happiness
Read Accidental Happiness Online
Authors: Jean Reynolds Page
Tags: #Literary, #Sagas, #Family Life, #General, #Fiction
Table of Contents
This book is dedicated to
RICHARD LEIGHTON PAGE,
FRANKLIN REYNOLDS PAGE,
GILLIAN GRACE PAGE
,
and
EDWARD BATTEN PAGE
with hope for the future,
and to the memory of
HUBERT ALDERMAN REYNOLDS
and
GRACE REYNOLDS MASSENGILL
with gratitude for the past
Acknowledgments
The dedication of this book says part of it, but not all. My family, Rick, Franklin, Gillian, and Edward, deserve so much more than simple gratitude for the patience and enthusiasm they’ve had over the last year. Thanks everybody. I love you.
Many thanks to Susan Ginsburg for holding my hand (no small feat from across the country) through every phase of this book. When an agent can also be a trusted friend, it’s nothing short of a blessing.
Colleen Murphy and Victoria Skurnick have continued to cheer me on with advice and encouragement. Life is too short to thank you both enough.
Thanks (and congratulations!) to my editor at Ballantine, Charlotte Herscher, and abiding gratitude to Dana Edwin Isaacson, also at Ballantine, for stepping in to edit when Charlotte stepped out to give birth. Dana, you made it better and you made it fun. Thanks also to Arielle Zibrak for helping to fill the void (and for calming me down) on many occasions.
Boatloads of gratitude to Roger Page and all the folks at Island Books on Mercer Island, WA, for hosting a great reception and so much more. Roger, you’ve offered wise counsel during a hectic year and I thank you. Also thanks to the people at SMU Continuing Studies, especially Barbara Wedgwood, for the wonderful party in Dallas.
For the excellent advice and valued friendship (not to mention eye-blurring hours of reading), love and appreciation go to my writers group in Texas: Ian Pierce and Jeanne Skartsiaris, who doubled as therapists over the phone; Mary Turner and Lou Tasciotti, who have also been there from the start; Kathy Yank, relative newcomer (to me, at least), but oh so appreciated; and Chris Smith—that sabbatical can only last so long, buddy . . .
Joyce Ross and Lynn Saunders (sister and cousin-who-is-like-a-sister)—thanks for getting me through those rough days in March when I had to become an author (and for so much more, of course). (And thanks to Neil and Mike for letting me “borrow” you both for a whole week!)
Mary (Turner, that is) gets another round of thanks for her expert advice on matters of mental health. The same goes for Steve Juergens, M.D. Thanks for reading so carefully. Appreciation also to Linda Malcolm at Indigo Books on Johns Island, SC, for Charleston-area information (the parts I got right, at least). And to Andy Ziskind for putting me in a good light in the author photo. And, of course, to Hilda Lee for showing me a bigger world all those years ago.
It has to be said that this year had the highest highs and the lowest lows, with the publication of my first book that followed just months after the passing of my mother. Through it all, good and bad, there was family.
I have so much love and appreciation for all of you. Rick and the kids, of course. Joyce and Lynn (again). We propped each other up, didn’t we guys? My mother’s sisters, Lois McQueen (the closest thing to “Mom” now), Frances Thompson, and Edna Lee Smiley, and Mom’s wonderful husband, H. V. Massengill. My brother Ralph Reynolds and my uncle Bob Reynolds, and all the spouses and kids of the above that make up this amazing gathering of souls. Also H. V.’s family, especially Lynne and Gene Griffith, who showed Mom boundless love and care. Thank you. This book deals with finding a way back from grief, and this year we’ve been there—together.
Ellis Page, Tim Page, and Betsy Page Sigman and their families gave me additional shoulders to lean on. So many thanks.
And finally, to all the folks in Troy, NC, especially the people at the Montgomery County Public Library and the
Montgomery Herald,
thank you for proving, once and for all, that Thomas Wolfe was mistaken.
Prologue
Gina
O
n the night I shot Angel, everything in my life changed—again. Up until that evening, two terrible events had altered the shape of my world: the drowning of my younger sister, when we were both kids; and the death of my husband, several months past, but still recent enough to seem like yesterday. In an instant the sadness of these losses became married in their unlikely, surreal occurrences.
Someone once told me that groupings of objects should be displayed in threes. Three provides both tension and balance among items of varying size and heft.
The accident of my sister made me an only child; the accident of my husband made me a widow. Part of me will always believe that Angel was the third, the one that left me with hope.
1
Reese
“I
s the sailboat a good place to sleep?” Angel asked, eyes on the blue-hulled yacht in its marina slip. She leaned tight against Reese, hands pulling lightly on the gauzy material of her mother’s skirt. Reese knew she was too young to worry so much. She needed a normal life.
“Sure it is. Remember? Inside the sailboat,” Reese said, her voice suggesting whispered confidences, “there are long seats with cushions. We can stretch out, feel the motion of the water rocking the whole boat, but just a little bit. Like this.” She moved Angel slightly back and forth, a soothing, lullaby cadence. “You’ll sleep like a puppy. I promise.”
Angel nodded. Smiled.
“That’s my girl,” Reese said, pulling slightly away so Angel would pay attention. “I need for you to stay here,” she told her daughter.
They were on the outside of the dock’s security gate. The lights that lit up the marina at night were muted, but, even so, shone brighter than she’d expected. Still, she didn’t see anyone around. If they were quiet, everything would be okay. Angel looked small—too small to be almost eight years old; too small for what Reese was asking of her.
“Where’re you going?” the girl asked.
“I’m wading through the water to get to the dock on the other side.” She tried again to remember the security pad code. She’d seen Ben punch in the numbers, but that had been months ago, and who knew she’d be returning in the middle of the night like this? “Once I get around, I’ll open the door for you. That way, you don’t have to get wet.”
Reese looked out over the inlet, over a calm so complete, the water looked slick, frozen. But it was summer and muggy. South Carolina in August. Still air kept the day’s heat intact. But if she opened all the windows on the boat, she and Angel could sleep comfortably, safely, for the night. They could rest before she got in touch with Ben.
“Are you sure that’s it?” Angel pointed to the sailboat, a large, midnight blue hull sitting in one of the middle slips. “It’s the right color, but it looks smaller than I remember.” Most of the boats were white, making Benjamin’s easier to spot.
“That’s it,” Reese answered. “
River Rose.
It’s thirty-five or thirty-six feet. But it looks smaller from over here.” She felt the flutter of nerves, tense energy that built up in her stomach. But she loved the unknown seconds before the risk.
“Is he there?” The small voice sounded hopeful.
“No, baby, we talked about this.” Reese tried to sound patient. “I’m sure Ben’s at home.”
“Didn’t you call him?” Angel looked uncertain. She needed a kind of reassurance that Reese couldn’t offer.
“His cell phone’s not working. I’ll call him tomorrow, okay?”
She wondered how much of her plan she could still salvage. Maybe enough to give the two of them a shot at an honest-to-God normal life. At the very least, it would leave Angel with that option. That was the important part. If things got worse, she didn’t want to bring Angel down with her. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, crawling back to Benjamin for help. But after what they’d just run away from in Boone, she had no choice.
“Can’t you call him now?” Angel stared through the chain-metal gate, eyes large, mouth set with a slight tremble.
“Come here, sweetie. It’ll be okay.”
Angel came closer, leaned in against her again. Reese knelt down and held her daughter; felt the slightness of her frame. She was strong and healthy, but sometimes seemed so fragile.
“The water looks dark,” Angel said. “Are you sure you won’t get hurt?”
“I’ll be fine.” Reese bent to kiss the girl’s head, felt earrings dangle lightly against her cheek. “I’m going to be around the gate and on the dock over there before you blink twice. Then we’ll have a place to stay for the night. Okay?”
“Okay.” Angel still seemed to lack confidence in the plan.
Reese stood up, took a deep breath. She wished she had time for a cigarette. Angel made the signal—a balled fist tapped onto a flat palm. The girl had made it up for luck, and Reese knew that the superstition gave her daughter boldness in their adventures. Reese returned the gesture, then turned and walked down the length of shoreline until she reached the edge of the gate.
A dinghy sat beached on the mud bank, and she had the notion of taking it to the dock, letting Angel inside the door as planned, and then returning the boat to the bank. But that would take too long, make her far too visible to the security station. Instead, she stepped from the brittle grass into the soft tidal mud. She kept on her flip-flops to keep from cutting her feet. Shells, some still housing living creatures, no doubt, crunched under her weight. She felt bad crushing them, but let go of the thought and moved deeper into the water, hoping to avoid anything that might want to sting or bite.
As the surface came waist deep, her clothes slowed her progress. A skirt had been a bad choice for this operation. Shorts would have made more sense; but then again, she hadn’t had much time to prepare. Her clustered bangle bracelets had a tinny sound. They unnerved her, and she put her arm in the water to silence them. She moved carefully to keep from making noise, splashing. She reached up to brush a hair from the corner of her mouth and tasted the moist brine of the inlet on her fingers.
The salty glaze settled against the skin of her arms. “This feels good,” she mumbled aloud to no one. She hadn’t swam in saltwater in so long. The feel of it evoked memories of childhood, of hot summers—memories of Benjamin, some of them very good. But she hadn’t regretted her decision to leave. Not then. They’d had good years, she and Angel. But now it was time to make a change.
Angel stood quiet, motionless at the gate, an outline of a girl. Reese pulled herself up. Drenched, she landed, sitting, on the dock, then waved at Angel, put her finger to her lips for Angel to stay silent. Even though her daughter was only a shadow, backlit by the marina lights, she saw the child wave back. Reese could imagine Angel smiling, relieved that her mother had kept her word, after all. Just as she’d promised, she’d made it safely to the other side.