Happiness Key (23 page)

“Do you want me to ask around at work tomorrow about a vet?” Tracy asked.

“I’ll call that clinic just across the bridge first thing in the morning. Somebody at the Dancing Shrimp mentioned they’re good.”

The track vet had bandaged Chase’s leg and given him a painkiller. Now the dog seemed comfortable enough. He was already sound asleep. As if he was home. As if he knew, somehow, he was safe. But what did a dog know, anyway?

“Have you ever owned a dog?” Tracy asked.

Wanda pulled her gaze away from the sleeping animal. “Grew up with hounds. Had a poodle when my kids were young. When that dog died, I figured I’d never put myself through that kind of sadness again.”

“Tough old Wanda, huh?”

“How about you?”

“Dogs shed and slobber. They yap. No dogs in my family.”

“They tear your guts out, dogs in general. See, a dog’ll love you pretty much no matter what you do to ’em. I bet
Chase will think fondly of his old owner or trainer, whoever that bozo was that had him. He won’t know that all that loyalty he gave out, all that heart, well, the best reward he could hope for was being cast aside.”

“Are we talking about Chase?”

Wanda looked up. Tracy’s tone had been gentle, maybe even concerned. A few weeks ago Wanda wouldn’t have believed that the woman had either gentleness or concern inside her.

“I’m talking about the dog,” Wanda said. “People? We’re raised to know better. We’re raised to
suspect
.”

“I was raised to get everything I could before the bottom dropped out or the roof fell in.”

“Now you’re right smack-dab in the middle of the wreckage. Those warnings didn’t get you anywhere, did they?”

“Sure. They got me right here.” Tracy headed for the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow to see what Ken says.” At the door she turned. “You know, I think your lease says you can’t have a pet.”

“You know what you can do with that lease, don’t you?”

“I thought you’d probably say that.” Tracy winked, then let herself out.

A little later Wanda was nursing a gin and tonic when the telephone rang. She got a couple of numbers from Lainie, who sounded just the same whether she was giving out phone numbers of dirty old men or asking one of the Dancing Shrimp busboys to clear table nine.

She looked them over, then decided not to call the men in order. She selected the second from the end, her newest conquest of sorts, and dialed the number.

The familiar, gravelly voice answered.

“Hello, Shadow,” she said. “You’re being seduced.”

“You been outside? Isn’t it a little hot for hanky-panky?”

She laughed. “Honey, I could make it a whole lot hotter if I was in the same room with you.”

“Promises, promises. Although you know what I’d really want to do if you were? I’d want to take a walk tonight. Along the beach. Moon’s up out there, and you could probably see a mile in every direction.”

She remembered nights when she’d walked with Ken that way. Although pretty soon she wouldn’t remember, because those hours would be so far past. That made her sad.

“You like strolling in the moonlight, Sunshine?” he asked.

“It’s been a long time.”

“That’s not good.”

“When was the last time you did?”

“Too long. At least with a beautiful woman.”

“You want to know what I’m wearing tonight?” She looked down at one of Ken’s faded T-shirts, something he’d picked up at a Boys Club picnic maybe ten years ago. She had thrown it on after a quick shower.

“No, tell me where you’re sitting instead. So I can picture you.”

“In my bood-war…”

“All lace and satin?”

“No… Lots of flowers, though. More of a jungle theme here.” She eyed her bright upholstery. “Me Jane, you Tarzan. Exotic animals, too.”

“Animals?”

“Uh-huh. A monkey…” She gazed at the stuffed monkey. “And a wild beast lurking in the corner.”

“Wild beast?”

She laughed. “Just a dog. A sleeping dog, at that.”

There was a pause. “Now that’s something I never pictured you with.”

“Well, you would be wrong.”

“What kind of dog?”

She wondered if a man could find a woman by her dog and decided she was safe enough. “A greyhound.”

“Who’d have thought?”

“And what about you? Tell me where you are.”

“Both feet planted firmly in the Land of Regret.”

She thought that was the strangest answer she’d ever gotten, and still, she understood immediately what he meant.

“Whatever got you there? You can leave anytime.”

“You got any idea how?”

“First thing would be to say sorry to anybody who needs it. Second would be to realize you got the rest of your life ahead of you, and you don’t want to spend it mired up to your knees. So you take steps. A few at a time. Until you’re standing in the open again.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not easy. I seem to be spending time there, too.”

“You have things you regret?”

“Honey, I’m just human.”

“I don’t like you being unhappy.”

She realized the man was paying for the call, and he was right. It wasn’t her job to bring him further down or complain about anything. She sat up a little straighter, and even though he couldn’t see her, she pasted a smile on her lips. “Then I won’t be. I’ll be as contented as a cat swimming in cream. And I promise, I can make you feel the same way.”

“No, Sunshine, I just meant I wish you were happy. Really happy. You deserve to be.”

Her shoulders sagged. “We all deserve to be.”

“You think we ought to warn babies in the hospital nursery that this life might not turn out the way they hope?”

“What, and scare them back to wherever they came from? It can be a trial, no doubt. But you’ve had good times, right? Enough to keep you moving.”

“A lot of them,” he acknowledged. “Talking to you is one of them.”

Her heart beat a little faster. She realized how pathetic that was. A stranger who was paying for this conversation said something nice, and she reacted like a high school freshman on her first real date.

“I like talking to you, too,” she said. Sadly, she meant it. “I have to go now. But we’ll talk again. Okay?”

“You bet.”

“Pet that greyhound for me.” He laughed a little.

She hung up and held the phone to her breasts a moment. She wasn’t sure whether the man mired in the Land of Regret or the dog she had rescued from certain death had brought the flood of tears to her eyes. She lifted the hem of Ken’s shirt and dried them. Then she dried them again. And finally once more.

It really was such a sad, old world.

Like her predecessor, Tracy planned her workweek down to the minute. By the time the kids arrived, she was already sure all the day’s equipment was in place, and all the counselors and teachers were present. If needed, she had made calls to parents and chatted with either Woody or Gladys about lingering concerns. At nine, she positioned herself with the counselors near the front door, trading fist bumps or high fives, and insinuating herself between boys bent on proving their superior testosterone levels. Oddly enough, she didn’t hate any of it.

On Friday morning she woke earlier than usual and realized she’d had “the” dream again. This time she was dressed in a silver Hervé Léger bandage dress, tight and short and utterly fabulous on her carefully toned body. She walked through the door of the country club, and before the walkie-talkie men could evict her, George Clooney and Ben Stiller sent admiring glances her way. She waved as the men in dark suits dragged her outside, sprouted
eagle’s wings and soared into space with Tracy clutched firmly in their talons.

Only this time, she didn’t tumble to a white sand beach. This time she was released over the sparkling whitecaps just beyond. And as she fell, she simply positioned her hands in front of her in the classic position and dove into the surf.

She lay in bed and gazed above her, wondering if an early-morning shower had found its way through holes in the roof to write a different ending to her dream. But she was dry, and so was the ceiling. Since going back to sleep was impossible, she dragged on shorts and a tank top for an early run.

When she had the time, she liked running to the point and back. The shelling was best, and few people got up early enough to compete. She usually had the point to herself at dawn, but this morning she had company.

“Hey, Janya!” She waved and jogged faster. “You’re up early.”

The sun was just rising, and the light was rose-tinted. The gulf lapped lazily at the shore just beyond, but the beauty of the moment seemed lost on the other woman.

“I’m often up early,” Janya said. “Rishi is in a hurry to get to work, and I walk so I won’t be in his way.”

“I never see you.”

“One day I’ll show you my favorite spot. Perhaps you have yet to discover it.” But Janya made no move to do so, as if the words were spoken while she was thinking of something else.

“Are you okay?” Tracy asked. “Your husband didn’t mind you being gone last night?”

She shook her head, and her lovely hair was a cloud around her face. “He is a very determined man, my husband. He wants to succeed, so he’s often not at home
himself. I suppose he
will
succeed. I’m told he’s brilliant.”

Tracy thought that was a strange way to talk about one’s own husband. Then again, what had she really known about CJ? Only what he wanted her to.

She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Was your marriage really arranged? Did you know Rishi at all? Or did you meet him on your wedding day?”

“It is a complicated story, but no, we met before the day of our wedding. And I was free to agree to the marriage or not.”

Tracy had a million more questions, but she sensed Janya wasn’t in the mood. “You didn’t say if you’re okay. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“We know each other that well now?”

Tracy turned her hands to the lightening sky. “Guess so.”

“I woke this morning to find all the plants on my patio had been turned upside down. Some pots are in little pieces. Many of the plants were uprooted or broken and won’t survive. And my little fountain…” She sighed. “It’s good not to get attached to things.”

“But that’s awful!” Tracy was outraged. “Vandals? They didn’t get inside, did they?”

“Rishi is very careful that we should lock our doors at night and while we’re away.”

“Teenagers, I’ll bet. Out to make mischief, maybe find a place to drink beer and hang out. When did it happen, do you know?”

“I found them this morning. I had no reason to check last night after I came home. But I heard nothing during the night.”

“I bet somebody was out here while we were at dinner or the track. I wonder if anybody else got hit? I guess I’d
better check around my place and talk to the others.” Tracy wondered if the tile she hadn’t yet installed was now in broken shards.

“What if this was somebody we know?”

“Who do we know? I haven’t made any enemies, except maybe Marsh Egan, and even he wouldn’t stoop to that kind of thing.”

“I think, perhaps, I
have
made an enemy.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Symington was angry with me the night we were invited to Alice’s.”

Tracy almost laughed. “Lee?”

“You think this is silly?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think
you’re
silly, but I don’t think Lee’s that kind of person. Look at him. He’s a devoted father, a devoted son-in-law.”

“You must have noticed how hard he tries to keep Alice from being with us. And when I…” She looked frustrated. “I can’t remember how you say this. Stood on his toes?”

“Stood up to him? Stepped on his toes?”

Janya nodded. “Stood up to him. He was angry. He refused to meet my eyes.”

“Janya, he was upset with all of us. There’s no question he’s overly protective, but he apologized, remember? And he seemed to mean it. Besides, he was gone last night when this probably happened. When we dropped Alice and Olivia at their house, he wasn’t home, and I saw him drive by about half an hour later.”

Janya was silent.

“Come on,” Tracy said. “I’ll help you clean up the mess.”

“That is unnecessary.”

Tracy thought it probably was very necessary. Janya
had been taking exquisite care of Herb’s plants. Whether it was a good idea to become attached or not, she had. And the sense of invasion didn’t help. She needed somebody to lend a hand. Tracy was just surprised it was turning out to be her.

“We’ll get the mess cleaned up,” she assured Janya. “And we’ll see what we can salvage. The sooner the better, if any of the plants are going to survive. I think Herb had some extra pots out by his car, and maybe even some potting soil. After we take stock we’ll see what we need. But we’ll get this back in shape for you.”

“You are very kind.”

“I’m so
not
very kind. For some weird reason it’s just starting to look that way.”

After helping Janya set her patio to rights and salvaging about half the plants, Tracy made it to work just ahead of the campers. A quick glance at her desk calendar wrenched a groan straight from her painted toenails. The shuffle board, who had managed to avoid her since the incident with Bay, had finally agreed to meet and plan their tournament. She had hoped to stop by the grocery store and buy cookies to bribe them. Instead, she hadn’t even found time for McDonald’s coffee, and without caffeine, she was running on empty.

She left everything on her desk for later and went to greet the kids. Now that the second week of camp was nearly over, they seemed to be finding their niche. Olivia fit in nicely, and this morning when she saw Tracy she was all smiles, walking between two other girls in their identical royal blue T-shirts with the camp logo of a grinning alligator wearing a baseball cap.

A group of boys ran up behind them, pushing and shoving each other until they saw Tracy standing, head
cocked, as if to ask what they thought they were doing. They slowed and grinned. She knew from a few conversations she had overheard that these boys, the oldest in the program, thought she was hot. If trying to impress her kept them in line, that was okay with her.

The rest of the kids trickled in, and just as she thought she’d greeted the last of them, she saw Bay Egan bringing up the rear.

Since the start of youth camp, Bay had been surprisingly well-behaved. Before his first day, Tracy had conferred with his counselor, and together they had worked out a plan to deal with problems before they got out of hand. For help Tracy had fallen back on college lectures and experience with spoiled adults. In the end, the differences weren’t huge.

But although he had not caused any real trouble, Bay had problems. He was a valued member of the swim team, but when it came to soccer and softball, he was the teammate nobody wanted. He was short for his age, and baby fat hadn’t yet hardened into muscle. He wore orthopedic sneakers that didn’t completely prevent one foot from turning in when he ran, so he stumbled, sometimes spectacularly, when he was out on the field. He was quick with sarcasm, and much too good at zeroing in on the other kids’ shortcomings. On Wednesday his counselor had reported that he’d gotten into a scuffle. So even though he wasn’t exactly an outcast, Tracy thought he was probably headed in that direction.

She told herself that changing Bay into a happy, popular camper was not in her job description. Her job was to make sure the camp ran smoothly and safely, to make sure the kids went home at summer’s end pleading with their parents to send them again next year. She was not a therapist; she wasn’t even a parent. What did she
really know about a boy like Bay, who badly missed his mother and blamed the world for his loss?

She did all she could. She greeted him not like a potential serial killer, but like a boy who needed a warm welcome.

By ten o’clock she was ready for her meeting, but Gladys got to her first. She arrived in the rec room looking as crisp and comfortable as an English nanny, Mary Poppins with thirty extra pounds. In the past weeks Tracy had concluded that even if Woody was officially the director of the rec program, Gladys was just as important to its success. She was the day-to-day face, the person who knew all the secrets. She might not rub shoulders with town officials, write grants or search the county budget for funding, but she was the one who kept the building standing.

“About the arts-and-crafts program,” Gladys said. “Our parents are wondering if there’s more in store for their children than braiding plastic strips and glueing shells on Christmas balls.”

Tracy smiled brightly. “Weren’t some of those ornaments the best?”

“This is Florida. Every Christmas tree in the state’s already in danger of toppling under the weight of them. Please don’t tell me that next you’ll be glueing seashells to picture frames.”

“Well, of course not.” Tracy wondered if there was time to cancel the order she’d made yesterday for little pine boxes and another case of craft glue.

“Then you’re found a teacher?”

“I’ve tried, Gladys. Here, look…” Tracy rummaged through the papers on her desk and handed Gladys the record she’d kept of phone calls, some of which had been nothing more than thinly disguised pleas.

“We did leave you in something of a bind, I’m afraid.”

Tracy nodded. “I’m afraid you did.”

“But you seemed so resourceful. We were counting on that.”

“Puh-leese! I even tried the local artists who exhibit in the corridors of the outlet mall, Gladys. I
went
to the outlet mall. I’m at the point where I’m willing to let the same people who paint portraits of collies in fluorescent greens and pinks teach our kids. But even they aren’t interested. We don’t pay enough, and we don’t have a lot of money for supplies.”

“No braiding, no shells. Find us a teacher or come up with something to impress the parents, okay? Something that teaches the campers a skill they don’t already have. Go to the library and get a book on scrapbooking, or weaving or knitting—”

“Knitting?”

Gladys brightened. “You knit? That would be perfect. They’d be learning something they can use later.”

“Of course I don’t knit. You think I knit? But my neighbor crochets. Will that do?”

“Even better. One hook per child. Better than two knitting needles. Cheaper. And we have yarn on the supply shelves. I’m sure of it.”

“She’s older….”

“That’s even better. The intergenerational touch is good.”

Tracy thought of all the problems involved in getting Alice to say yes, and every one of them began with “Lee.” But wouldn’t teaching here be great for her? She needed a confidence boost. Her work was gorgeous, and she adored Olivia, so there was an excellent chance she liked children in general. If Alice taught the kids basics for a week, even two, then when most of them went on to
something else, the ones who had really caught on to crocheting could continue with Alice.

She thought of another problem. “Boys, too?” she asked. “Are they going to throw a fit at something so girly?”

“Not if we let them make something like a beanbag, or maybe one of those Hacky Sack thingies.”

Tracy thought that might just fly. “I’ll see if I can talk her into it.”

Gladys left, and Tracy went over everything she had gathered for her meeting with the shuffle board. She had information about tournaments in other places, official rules, issues they had to face, like publicity, whether food should be served, and whether to have a referee for every court, how to choose the youth who would compete for Palmetto Grove. The list was long.

She had struggled to be professional. But she wasn’t optimistic. The shuffle board were out to get her, and that wasn’t paranoia.

The picnic table outside the rec room door was their meeting site. She assembled bottles of cold water from the rec room fridge, and took notepads and copies of the agenda for each man. She was making notes when she heard footsteps. She smiled, but not too brightly, as the three old men, well,
shuffled
in her direction. She tipped her head to acknowledge their presence, but not too far. She waited for them to be seated, but not too long.

“Let’s get this explanation over quickly,” she said. “I was not trying to knock any of you to the ground when Bay came flying through here the last time we were together. I was trying to move you out of his way. So I hope we can get past that and move on to our agenda. I’ve given up hope you’ll forgive me. I’m way past thinking
you’ll learn to like me. All I’m shooting for here is a chance to do a good job for you with this tournament.”

She held up her copy of the agenda. “So would you like to get started?”

“We want to see you play first,” Mr. Mustache said. Tracy knew he had a real name. Roger Goldworthy, retired chemical engineer, but he would always be Mr. Mustache to her.