Authors: Emilie Richards
“Tennis tournament?” Gladys looked over Tracy’s shoulder and smiled. Tracy had heard footsteps behind her; it seemed to be that kind of morning.
“I’ve never seen it so busy,” she told Gladys.
“Registration for youth camp just opened. People come early to be sure their kids get a spot. It’s going to be like this all day.”
“Then I won’t keep you. You can tell me about the tournament later.” She turned and saw that the footsteps belonged to Marsh Egan.
For a moment she didn’t know what to say; then she found her voice. “Let me guess. You’re here to register Bay for youth camp.”
He didn’t look pleased to see her. “I’m not sure why you care.”
Today Marsh almost looked presentable. Khaki trousers, a pinstriped sport shirt unbuttoned at the neck. A round pin on the pocket that read: It’s Not Easy Being Green. Even the end of his ponytail was tucked under.
“Registering him for the
whole
summer?” she asked.
“You got it.”
“We may have to require a ball and chain with your deposit.”
“We?”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m the new recreation supervisor. I’ll be in charge of every breath he takes.”
She heard Gladys clear her throat and remembered that the other woman was counting on her. “Of course he’ll be so happy to spend his summer here, doing things he loves, learning to get along with people. You came to the right place.”
“I thought so—until a few minutes ago.”
She had done her part. She turned to say goodbye to Gladys, who was standing, leaning forward. Before Tracy could stop her, Gladys reached over the counter and clapped an oversize cap on Tracy’s hair.
Tracy reached up with alarm and felt it sitting there like a bad bouffant hairdo. She snatched it off, but Marsh was already laughing.
The hat was bright red with white lettering. She turned the brim and read the slogan. Palmetto Grove Shuffleboard. Get A Cue. Under the letters was a logo of two long poles crossed like swords. She could still hear Marsh laughing as she squashed the hat in her hands. “I’m not sure I get this.”
“It’s not a tennis tournament, it’s a
shuffleboard
tournament. Tell me you know the game.”
She had probably studied shuffleboard in some class or other, but Tracy didn’t remember. Time had passed, and some of the games had been remarkably dumb. “I probably played it on a cruise ship.”
“Well, you’d better bone up. You’re in charge of the Coastal Florida Adult and Youth Singles and Doubles Tournament. Labor Day weekend right here in Palmetto Grove. I’ll tell you, our shuffleboard players take this very seriously. There’ll be no greater test of your skills than keeping them happy.”
“You so clearly hired the right woman,” Marsh said,
taking the hat from Tracy’s hands and plopping it back on her head. “She’s just going to be a natural, isn’t she?”
Janya watched Tracy fidget as she drove. She knew little except that Tracy had just been given a job at the recreation center. How she felt about it was a mystery, although the fidgeting was a clue.
“I can’t believe I said yes,” Tracy exploded as they pulled into the municipal parking lot in front of city hall. “Really! What was I thinking?”
“Perhaps that the salary would pay your bills?”
“It’s a huge job. Why on earth do they think I can do it?”
“
Can
you do it?” Janya asked.
“Well, how would I know?”
“Perhaps this is a good way to find out.”
“We have to be quick about this. I’ve really got to go to the library now and learn everything I can before Monday.”
The sidewalk was hot enough to melt the soles of Janya’s shoes, and the sun beating down on her head felt familiar, if not pleasant. City hall was three stories and modern, with siding so blindingly white it hurt her eyes. Inside, they were hit by a wall of air-conditioning. Janya wondered why the city paid so much to air-condition a hallway.
In a room on the second floor Tracy explained their situation to a man with a crewcut and wrinkly ears; then she asked for help. He seemed more interested in Tracy than the question, but perhaps that was the reason he so quickly agreed to see what he could find.
They waited, leaning against the counter.
“He’s going to run a records check,” Tracy explained.
“If this doesn’t turn up anything, maybe we can nose around some of the other offices another day.”
“You asked about Clyde Franklin, too.”
“Well, you know, if they were friends and Clyde has family around here, or he’s still alive, maybe he can tell us whatever he knows. I did search the Internet without any luck. But I thought it was worth a try. And this guy is eager to assist.”
“Do men often look at you that way?”
“What way?”
“As if they want to devour you.”
“Don’t they look at you that way? I bet you have to fight them off.”
“In India I was usually with someone, my brother, a cousin, a servant. They would do the fighting if it was necessary.”
“Always? You were chaperoned everywhere?”
“For safety, yes.”
“Well, I guess I can understand that. There were plenty of places in L.A. where I only went if I was with somebody else.”
They chatted about the dance aerobic class until the man with the crewcut returned. “I did a quick check for you,” he said. “On the computer. The only records I found for Herbert Krause were fishing licenses.”
“Oh, we actually found a bunch of those. Nothing else, huh? Nothing that would help us locate his next of kin?”
“Not that I could find.”
“Well, we appreciate your help.”
“I did find something for a Clyde Franklin.”
Janya had already started to turn away. “You did?” she asked before Tracy could.
“A Clyde Franklin married a Louise Green right here
in Palmetto Grove back in 1942. Would that be the one you’re looking for?”
“I guess it could be,” Tracy said. “Did you find anything else about him?”
“No, that’s all I saw.” He leaned over the counter. “I could maybe do a more thorough search if both of you come back tomorrow.”
Janya saw Tracy wink at him. “We might just do that.”
Back in Tracy’s car, Janya pondered what little they had discovered. “Mr. Clyde Franklin lived in Palmetto Grove. Perhaps this is where he and Herb met. Neither of them was born here. They met, and perhaps they became friends and went into the military together. Could Clyde have died in the war?”
“No, remember? We found
his
discharge papers, not Herb’s.”
“Oh, that’s correct.” Janya reconsidered. “So he survived the war, and of course we know that Herb did, too. But Herb had Clyde’s papers. So they must have been friends, and when Clyde died, he took them as mementoes.”
“Why didn’t this Louise take them? Clyde married a Louise Green, and it only makes sense she would have had Clyde’s papers after he died.”
“Perhaps they were divorced? Or perhaps she gave them to Herb afterward.”
“No, that doesn’t feel right. You don’t give away things like discharge papers, birth certificates, diplomas, not as mementoes. You give a favorite pen, or books he loved, a ring or tie clip, remembrances, not documents.”
“Why would a person have another person’s papers?”
“I have no idea. It makes no sense.”
“Maybe Clyde and Louise were no longer together,
and when Clyde died, Herb took care of matters and kept them.”
“I guess it’s possible.”
Tracy pulled into the library parking lot, and the two women got out. “I’m going to be a little while, do you mind? I’m going to see what they have about shuffleboard.”
“It’s played on a table?”
“Not this kind. It’s played on a court. It’s the stupidest game known to man, and suddenly I have to be an expert. I also have to see if I can find a book on installing tile.”
Janya listened as Tracy explained about the stacks of tile.
The explanation took them inside. “I will wait for you in the computer room,” Janya said. “I would like to check my e-mail.”
“Doesn’t your husband work with computers?”
“Yes, but we have a problem with our Internet connection at home.”
“I hope that’s your problem, not mine.”
“It is related to our telephone, but I’m afraid our leaking air conditioner
is
your problem.”
“Great. I’ve got a guy coming to look at Wanda’s cottage. I’ll send him down to yours, too, and now I really am going to have to install my own tile. I’ll see you in a little while.”
Janya returned her books to the front desk; then she browsed the aisles, settling on a thick novel about eighteenth-century Russia, and a cookbook with traditional American recipes. In her opinion, Rishi had a poor appetite, and she didn’t want him to waste away, not even if it meant she could go back to India.
After she checked out her new finds, she wandered
back to the computer room. The librarian explained what she had to do to get online, then checked her card. Finally Janya followed the simple steps and logged on.
In a moment, thanks to the miracle of microchips, she was gazing at her mailbox, plump with messages. Delighted, she saw that she had an e-mail from Yash. She opened it and quickly scanned his words, written not in their native language but in English.
I can understand that you are busy adjusting to your new life. But please let me know when it would be convenient to talk to you. I miss you, and I’m surprised you haven’t phoned me.
For a moment she was so angry she wanted to strike the screen. Her parents were intentionally trying to keep her from contacting her brother. None of her calls had borne fruit because they hadn’t told Yash she was trying to get in touch. Apparently they had told him that she wanted to be left alone to adjust to her new life.
She fired back an e-mail, using English, too.
Yash, I have called many times. It is clear that our mother does not want me to speak to you. Please telephone when our parents are not at home. Please do not let them separate us.
She typed in her telephone number, then paused before she pressed Send.
Did she want to create problems for Yash? If he confronted their parents, trouble would certainly ensue. She could almost hear the argument that would follow. Her entire history would be recounted. How she had shamed the family. How Yash’s own future depended on distanc
ing himself from Janya. How Janya was so selfish that she did not see the harm she was doing by trying to remain a viable part of her brother’s life.
Was this the news her mother had wanted to impart in her letter? That she was barring Yash from any communication with Janya? The letter had not yet arrived. Mail delivery between India and the United States could be excellent or poor, with no apparent explanation. Had Inika Desai written to demand that Janya separate herself from the family for everyone’s good? Was she demanding that Janya forget she had a brother?
Janya reread her e-mail. Yash would expect an answer. His e-mail was dated four days ago. He would wonder if she was ignoring him completely, and more than anything, she didn’t want to hurt him.
She struggled with herself. She had done nothing wrong, yet she must pay and pay again for someone else’s sins. Yash was her brother, and they deserved to continue what had always been a close, happy relationship.
In the end, though, she could not be the rebellious daughter her parents claimed she already was. She deleted her e-mail and wrote another, without recriminations.
Yash, I would very much like to talk to you. Here is my number. Please telephone when you are able. I miss you.
She signed her name. The e-mail was a compromise, but she refused to give up her brother when she had already given up so much.
Her delight in her in-box had evaporated. She looked up and saw Tracy coming toward her. Once the Internet connection was repaired, Janya could access the rest at
home. By then, perhaps, she would be calmer, more able to appreciate what her friends had to tell her.
She went to close the program, and as she did, her gaze drifted through the list of messages waiting to be read. She froze. There at the bottom was an address she had never expected to appear again.
“Darshan…” She whispered the name, and her heart began to beat faster. Darshan, the man she had loved, the man who had asked her to marry him.
The man who had set her aside because of the scandal that had swirled around her.
Her hand hovered over the computer keys. Then, with sadness weighting her fingers, she deleted the message without opening it and exited the program.
“Ready to go home?” Tracy asked.
“Yes.” But the word was a lie. Janya had finally realized that she would never be able to go home again.
In the days when she was married to CJ, Tracy almost never rose before eleven o’clock. Their social life had extended into the wee hours of morning, and CJ had a fondness for closing trendy bars and nightclubs with politicians and entertainers he wanted to impress.
Since arriving in Florida, Tracy’s entire schedule had changed. Now she rarely slept past seven. Most of the time, by seven-thirty she had already walked along the beach. After she stowed what treasures she found, she jogged, sometimes as far as the little general store a mile short of the bridge, where she bought plain black coffee—no lattes in the place, but plenty of bait—and sipped it on her walk back home.
This morning, as she passed Alice’s cottage, she spotted Lee going to his car. Summer might officially begin next month, but Florida was already well in the throes, and her jogging mornings were doomed. She was sweaty and disheveled, and she had sucked in enough humidity to seed her own thunderstorm.
Her hair was twisted on top of her head, she was sans makeup, and her T-shirt was soaked. She hoped Lee appreciated athletic women.
“Well, look at you,” he said, when she waved. The sun glinted off his silver hair. His blue eyes were as clear as a tide pool, and he wore a crisply pressed shirt that matched them exactly. She wondered if Lee ever worked up a sweat.
“I’ve got a busy day. I thought I ought to tackle it at a run,” she said, with her prettiest smile. “Are you a runner?”
“I’m more apt to work out at the gym. Not that I have lately. I like being here when I’m not at the office.”
She heard what he didn’t say, that he felt responsible for Alice and Olivia, and didn’t want them to spend more time alone than they had to.
“I’m glad I caught you,” she said. “And this won’t take you far from home. I thought you might like to come to my place tonight for a drink. It’s not fancy, but maybe we can sit outside if there’s a breeze.”
“I haven’t had an offer that good in a long time. But I’ve got showings tonight and tomorrow. Weekends are my busiest times.”
“Then how about Monday?”
“Great. You’re far enough along on your renovations?”
“As long as my guest doesn’t expect a palace. But if we don’t do it then, I might be too busy later.” She told him about her new job.
“Did you ever call Carol about the job at the yacht club?”
She didn’t want to go into her reasons for not following through. She just turned up her hands in defeat. “Before I could, this fell in my lap. So I thought I would give it a try.”
“I’m considering sending Olivia. Do you think she’ll like it?”
Tracy would know more by day’s end. The folder Gladys had given her contained more than paperwork to fill out. It bulged with information on the program, including copious notes the former supervisor had kept for each week of the previous summer.
“I’ll make sure she likes it,” she said. “I can watch out for her.”
“You must appreciate children.”
Tracy wondered. At least she had never actively disliked them. Sherrie’s little girls even made her question her decision not to have her own.
“I like Olivia.” She was pretty sure that was true, although she’d seen little of her. “Now Marshall Egan’s son? Not so much.”
“If he’s as pushy as the father, I can understand.”
She found herself lowering her eyelashes and tossing her head. Hot as she was, and drenched with sweat, Lee was still looking at her like something good to eat. Desire trickled through her, along with hunger to have a man in her life again. And this time, one for whom she was more than a mannequin to dress up and show off. There had been a lot of bling in her marriage to CJ, but after the first few months, very little zing. She would not make the same mistake twice.
He moved closer; then he reached across the space dividing them and stroked his thumb just under her eye. Whisper soft. “It looks like you picked up some pollen out here.”
She smiled slowly and was sorry when he dropped his hand. “What time would you like to come on Monday?”
He didn’t move away. “About seven? That’ll give me time to get home and get things organized here.”
He was always thinking about the women in his life. That was an excellent recommendation.
The front door of the cottage opened, and Alice stepped out, reaching for the ever-present broom before she saw Lee and Tracy. Dragging her feet a bit, she moved toward them.
“Lee, I forgot to ask…for a little cash.”
As his mother-in-law approached he stepped back from Tracy. “We talked about this,” he said gently.
“When?”
“Earlier.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t remember?”
“I guess not.” Alice looked confused.
“Don’t worry. Olivia was talking a mile a minute. She probably distracted you.”
“There’s a sale…in the paper. I want to buy a few clothes.”
Lee looked distressed. He glanced at Tracy. “Alice, I think you need to conserve.”
For a moment she looked taken aback. Then she straightened her shoulders and said with surprising dignity, “Fred took care of me.”
Lee looked defeated. “Yes, he did. But we’ve talked about this, remember? The stock market’s taken a beating, and there were some…irregularities? I guess that’s the best way to say it, some strange withdrawals before I took over your account that I’m checking into. So you’re going to have to take it easy on spending for a while. Do you really need whatever it is?”
“Better to buy on sale.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a wallet. Then he counted out several twenties. “I don’t want to take anything more out of your nest egg this month. Will this help?”
She looked bewildered. “Fred made good money. Good investments.”
“A lot of people all over this country are in the same boat,” he said sympathetically. “But look, together we can turn this around, Alice. I don’t want you to worry. We’ll get you back on your feet. Meantime, take the money, okay?”
When she didn’t reach for it, he took her hand and put the bills in her palm, folding her fingers over them. “Buy something pretty. You deserve it.”
Alice wandered off, looking dazed and unhappy. Lee looked troubled. “This is my fault. Karen helped her with finances, and in the months after she died, I should have jumped in. But I was so numb, I just didn’t realize Alice wasn’t coping. By the time I did…” He stared up at the house. “I don’t know where the money went. After her stroke she sold some of her best investments, put the money in places she shouldn’t have. Some of it just disappeared.”
Tracy felt sorry for both of them. “She’s lucky she has you. What would she do if she was here on her own?”
“We’ve got each other. She’s a great old gal. We’ll get through this.”
They agreed to Monday at seven; then, with a wave, Tracy started back toward her own house. When she arrived, she found Janya sitting on her front steps.
Surprised, she wondered if the young woman had come to complain about the air conditioner again. But Janya got right to the point.
“In my country, there is a mourning period after cremation. Ten, sometimes many more, days of fasting, and on the last, we have a feast and offer the food to the gods in the name of the departed. The next day the priests absolve the family, and we resume our regular lives.”
“Don’t tell me you expect us to do that for Herb? We aren’t even related to the man.”
“Not that, exactly.”
“And besides, don’t they burn the widow with her husband’s body in your country? I mean, are these funeral customs we want to follow?”
“Suttee was a cultural, not a religious, custom, and it has been outlawed for nearly two hundred years. Besides, some say it was brought to India by Europeans.”
“Not the best of imports.”
Janya got to her feet, brushing off the back of jeans worn with a long embroidered tunic. “The exact ritual is less important than that there
is
a ritual. Mr. Krause lived a long, useful life—”
“We don’t know that, do we?”
“We can guess. And he was kind to us. He always had a smile for me.”
“You’re reaching.”
“Would you feel better if we just forgot him? Or if we marked this day together at his house?”
Tracy thought of all the reading she needed to do. Then she thought about the guilt she would feel if she said no. “When?”
“Three. I have already talked to Alice. Wanda I will leave to you.”
“You know, I don’t think she’s as obnoxious as she comes across.”
“There are many people in the world like that.”
Tracy just hoped Janya wasn’t including her in their number.
Saturdays were never good at the Dancing Shrimp. Businessmen and ladies who lunch were replaced by tables of screaming toddlers and young families straight
from the beach without money for a decent tip. Wanda understood that—remembered, in fact, when her own children had shared the more economical super-size platters of shrimp and fries, and when every leftover at the table went home in a doggie bag.
Today, though, she had little patience for cleaning up spills, moving booster chairs or finding quieter tables for old ladies who didn’t want to listen to babies screech. Worst of all, she was afraid she might be turning into one of the latter herself.
The moment she could, she left for home, promising herself a hot shower and a cold beer. Instead she found a note from Tracy about the gathering at Herb’s.
“Five minutes?” She kicked a pointy-toed pump against her own door. She could skip it, sure, but what would they say about her if she wasn’t there?
She had just enough time to throw on a clean dress and slide her steaming, aching feet into sandals. Smelling like fried fish, and sticky with perspiration and the remnants of a preschooler’s soft drink, she headed straight to Herb’s.
The others were already assembled. By the time she joined them in the living room she was hotter still, out of sorts, and sorry she had come.
“I thought the man didn’t want a funeral,” she said, fanning herself with her hand.
“It’s a memorial service.” Tracy nodded at Janya. “Janya thought we needed one.”
Janya was wearing one of those long scarves that wrapped around and around and fell into some kind of a skirt. Wanda couldn’t remember what it was called, but this one was light blue, almost silver. Her hair was parted and knotted at her nape, and her forehead sported a red
dot. Wanda thought she looked like some princess out of an exotic fairy tale.
“I only thought he deserved to have someone thinking of him today,” Janya said.
“Well, it ought to be his family,” Wanda said. “Not a bunch of strange women.”
“Stranger than most,” Tracy agreed.
Tracy was wearing a flowered dress with a high neck and long skirt. The back was low, and her shoulders were bared by the cut of the bodice. Wanda thought
she
looked like a Hollywood starlet out on a photo shoot.
Now Wanda felt even older and greasier. Even Alice looked as if she’d freshly showered and put on a little makeup. She was wearing a dress that didn’t even snap up the front. It had a waist and everything.
“Is somebody going to read a prayer or something inspirational?” Wanda asked.
“I’m turning this over to Janya,” Tracy said.
“I’m a Christian.” Wanda nodded to emphasize her words. “I can’t be part of any heathen death rituals.”
Janya gazed up at her. “I thought we could each tell a memory we have of Herb. Will that offend you?”
“Not if that’s all we do, it won’t.”
“Then I thought someone might say a prayer. But if that is a problem…?”
Wanda knew she was being chided. As badly as she wanted to, though, she couldn’t find a way to strike back. Nothing Janya said was unreasonable.
“As long as there are no graven images. You folks seem to have a lot.”
“I have left all my graven images at home where they belong.”
“Wanda, please sit,” Tracy said. “We’ve got this under
control. Let’s all take a deep breath and a moment to think of something we can say.”
Wanda sat, smoothing her skirt under her like the lady she should have been. She wasn’t sure where all that about heathens and graven images had come from. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gone to church. Not since she’d moved to Sun County, that was for sure. She was too mad at Ken to risk sitting there and getting struck by lightning.
Alice was the first to rise. Personally, Wanda was pretty sure
she
never wanted to stand up again, at least not for the next ten years. She slid her tingling, sweaty feet out of her sandals and leaned back in her chair.
“When Karen died, Herb came to my house. He…” Alice paused, as if she were trying to find the words or the right way to finish. “He wasn’t rich. He was a working man, a welder—”
“That’s where he met Clyde,” Wanda said, sitting forward suddenly as the information clicked. “There’s our connection!”
“Shhh…” Tracy said, waving her to silence.
“Welders are not rich,” Alice said. “It’s a hot job. Hard work. Especially in Florida.”
“So Herb came to see you,” Janya said, as if to steer her back.
“He brought me dinner. I think they had coupons at the Golden Grill across the bridge….”
“Yes?” Tracy said, when she didn’t go on right away.
“And sometimes you could buy two entrées…you know, for the cost of one? He shared. When he could have saved it all for himself. He wanted me to feel better.” She nodded and sat down.
They shared a moment of respectful silence. Then another. Then, when Wanda thought for certain nobody
was going to have anything else to say, Janya got to her feet, feet that were adorned with a slender bracelet around one ankle and several toe rings.
“Every day trees fall and houses are built. The world’s rain forests are diminishing.”
“Herb was a lumberjack
and
a welder?” Wanda asked.
Without even looking, Tracy waved her to silence again.
“Some people use up the world’s resources, and some people take care of them,” Janya said.
Tracy interrupted this time. “I hope this isn’t a commercial against selling Happiness Key to developers.”
Janya lifted one elegant brow and waited until the room was silent once more. “Mr. Krause was one of those who nurtured plants and trees. Even though he owned no home of his own and could not plant his own little forest, he kept many plants in flowerpots so they could move with him. Plants in flowerpots are not easy to care for. They must be talked to, fussed over.”