County Yacht Club?”
She tried not to laugh. She wondered exactly who she would give as a reference, and how she would pay for even a few months’ membership—not to mention the yacht.
She told a slightly different story. “I’d rather not make a lot of new friends to leave behind. But I thought a summer job might be an interesting way to find out more about the community. You know. Stay busy, learn a little more about how things work around here.”
“I wish you had a Florida real-estate license. Maribel could use another good agent.”
“Too bad. I shmooze well with the rich and famous. I’d be great for business.”
“You know, the yacht club event planner might be able to use a little help. She always gets swamped this time of year. I could introduce you.”
Tracy wondered if a more tailor-made job existed. She’d planned or helped plan a host of events as a volunteer, first as second in command to her demanding mother, then as CJ’s wife. Charity balls, golf and bridge tournaments, luncheons.
“That’s a very kind offer,” she said. “I may take you up on it.”
“I’ll see what I can find out and let you know.”
She stopped in front of her car and watched him admire it. The BMW Z3 was a zippy little sports car that, in her extreme youth, had been as good as a sign proclaiming that she was fun-loving, carefree and off-limits to anybody except professionals with excellent prospects. Now she wasn’t sure what it said. Maybe something about faded glory.
“You’ll probably see me going in and out of Herb’s cottage,” Tracy said. “Until we find his family.”
“I’ll ask Alice what she knows.”
She smiled her thanks. They assessed each other for a moment. She liked what she saw, but then, she’d been perfectly happy with CJ until the morning he sat her down in their solarium and told her he was going to jail.
“I’ll see you around,” she said, unlocking her door.
“Sounds like you will. Let me know if you need anything.”
She thought about that as she drove away. And she realized that she had no idea what she needed, not really. She’d never had to worry about it. Now nothing was ever going to be that easy again.
chapter four
Janya could count on Rishi to get home by dark, although she knew if she wasn’t waiting at home with dinner, he would stay at work eating pizza out of cartons or fried chicken out of buckets. Janya was certain the food must taste like the cardboard that contained it. She could not imagine how anyone who had, at the very least, been born in India could tolerate that.
Although Janya’s family had always employed a cook, Janya’s mother had insisted her daughter learn the rigors of classic Indian cuisine. She had learned to buy and grind only the freshest spices. To toast them until the flavors were perfectly enhanced. To create a plate of vegetables so diverse in flavor and texture that meat eaters wouldn’t realize the meal had none. She knew how to mix flour and yogurt for chapati, then to cook it on the tawa, a special iron skillet, nudging the edges until the bread puffed like a balloon.
Rishi could not distinguish a chapati from a tortilla. Nor did he care. Janya knew she was supposed to care for him, so she tried, because it was expected.
Tonight, when Rishi walked into the cottage, Janya was finishing preparations for their meal. She was married to an American. She had observed his eating habits long enough to know he preferred French fries to rice, corn on the cob to lentils. As a strict vegetarian, she would never cook meat, but Janya attempted to please him by trying American recipes.
Rishi slipped off his sandals, as they always did, at the door. “I’m home, Janya.” He said the same thing every evening, as if he were afraid she wouldn’t notice he had arrived.
She went to greet him, and he wrapped his arms around her in the American way. She stood close, not relaxing, but not moving away, either.
“Tell me about your day,” Rishi said, holding her close.
“After prayers.”
Janya’s grandparents had been devout and traditional Hindus. From them she had learned the rituals, the devotions and prayers, the festivals and roles of the many deities who were aspects of the one true God. Her parents referred to themselves as cultural Hindus, abiding by many of the traditions, accepting some of the beliefs, but not putting too fine a point on