Good Karma

by Christina Kelly

  Once in the kitchen, she retrieved the half-filled bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. They were going to have only one glass before bedtime, but the evening had been so pleasant they’d lost track of time. As she moved back toward the screen door, her ringing cell phone surprised her. Catherine hadn’t realized it was on and had barely considered whether she’d get a signal so far from town.

  “Hello?”

  “Well if it ain’t Amelia Earhart, off on a great adventure,” Martha said.

  “It’s late, isn’t it?”

  “Only ten o’clock. I figure you spent your first full day in the sack anyway. You’ve got to get up and eat sometime. Got to keep your energy up, among other things.”

  “Yes, I suppose we do.” Catherine looked out the window and saw the orange glow from the fire.

  “Have you met his daughter yet?”

  “No. We’re stopping in Lewiston on the drive home. Just for two nights, but I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Speaking of swinging by, I’ve been thinking, why wait for Thanksgiving? Maybe I’ll visit in September for your birthday.”

  “My birthday? What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. I just want to meet Fred.”

  “Oh?”

  “But since you mentioned it, I did do a little regional search on Match.com. I figured if I were coming your way this fall anyway, I might see what’s out there, and voilà, I’ve struck up a lovely correspondence with someone.”

  “What?” Catherine couldn’t imagine Martha looking outside the excitement of the Villages.

  “I’m done with bocce players. They can keep their balls.” Martha laughed. “This guy I’ve been talking to, his original post said: ‘Loyal companion likes late-night cuddling, playing fetch, getting his belly rubbed, and treats.’ Under ‘hobbies,’ he wrote, ‘Looking for tennis balls.’ Clever, isn’t it?”

  “Sure. What’s his name?”

  “Lou. Lives right there in Seven Oaks. He even has a dog.”

  “Does he go to the dog park?” Maybe Fred knows him.

  “Didn’t think to ask but, FYI, you have no idea how many people on your little island are looking for love. There are, like, hundreds of posts. Like you’re on freaking Bora-Bora. I guess, same as here, you can have the security of gates but no one can protect you from loneliness.”

  Catherine thought of Ralph and their marriage. “So how old is he?”

  “Says he’s ten in dog years. What’s that, seventy? But I’m not worried about the math.”

  “And his photo?”

  “His profile shows an adorable mutt with a mop of white fur. He says, like most people, he looks like his dog but since she’s cuter, she’s the poster child.”

  “A mop of hair and a white beard? Like Santa Claus?”

  “He got the dog for his grandkids who, by the way, call him Lou Lou.”

  Lulu. Ernie. “You’ve talked on the phone?”

  “A few times. I don’t know if it’s his deadpan humor or what but he’s straightforward. I’ve decided it shouldn’t matter. I’ve spent too much time basing everything I do on whether a guy can bench-press my Medicare statements. My new policy is substance over style. Engine over chrome.”

  After hanging up, Catherine grabbed the wine and flashlight and followed the pale beam back to the fire. Fred had swaddled Karma in a towel and was holding him in the crook of his arm. She refilled their glasses and sat back on her beach chair.

  Catherine reached over and stroked Karma’s head. “I’d say my little baby is tired and happy.”

  “And may I say the same thing about you?”

  Catherine leaned into Fred’s shoulder. “If only you knew.”

  They remained silent for several minutes, watching the fire curl upward. Then the heady call of a loon pierced the night. From across the lake they heard a distant response. Catherine imagined it might just be the dying fire, but the stars seemed brighter since she’d returned outside. She’d meant to bring her science CDs to share with Fred on the long drive north, but she’d forgotten them in the excitement of packing tennis outfits and new lingerie.

  “Martha called,” Catherine said, breaking the silence. “She’s got a new romantic interest.”

  “Excellent,” Fred said. “’Tis the season.”

  Catherine thought about mentioning Ernie. Fred would admire his friend’s tenacity and maybe be surprised that he was lonely enough to post a personal ad. But it was better for that relationship to take its course, at least for now. Catherine wouldn’t have chosen Ernie for her sister, but love is unpredictable. She knew it could show up in the unlikeliest places, appear out of nowhere, like a renegade thunderstorm on a clear spring day.

  While Catherine looked skyward, Fred found himself watching her. He admired the smooth slope of her neck and the outer edges of her lips curling into a smile whenever she thought she’d identified a constellation.

  “Okay, there’s the Little Dipper, but is that Orion?” Catherine motioned to several bright stars in the southern sky.

  “No, that’s Cassiopeia.” He was thrilled she was interested.

  And then he heard Lissa, who’d been silent for weeks. I was interested.

  I know. You were a class act.

  Thank you. She’s a class act too, but you’ve got to give me a little credit.

  Oh?

  It’s not as if these things just happen.

  Well then, thank you. Thank you very much.

  And Danielle will like her, trust me.

  We’re visiting them next weekend.

  I know, I know.

  Tommy asked me to teach him to build something. Maybe even a doghouse. It’s a start.

  It is indeed.

  Fred considered stoking the fire again, but something held him where he was. He wasn’t finished.

  It’s all worked out, hasn’t it?

  What?

  This. What you have.

  I miss you, but I’m happy. Yes.

  And you forgive me?

  I forgave you years and years ago. You know that.

  I needed to be sure.

  I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.

  Fred heard the crackle of fire before him and felt Catherine’s arm against his own as she stroked her dog. He waited patiently, then heard Lissa one last time.

  Thank you. I can’t just hang around here forever, you know.

  I know.

  I’ve got things to do.

  You always had things to do.

  And now I’m late to meet Jack Klugman for drinks.

  “Fred?” Catherine asked.

  He didn’t know where he’d been but came to. “Sorry. Just on a little nostalgic walkabout.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is wonderful.” He liked the feeling of her head hard against his shoulder.

  “So is that Venus?”

  Instead of looking up to follow her arm, he adjusted Karma in his lap, then leaned across Catherine so his right hand rested on the outer edge of her thigh. His knees ached from playing tennis, but he’d been happy to get back on the court. Catherine shifted, so he placed his open hand on her lower back and pulled her whole body toward him. Every bit of him felt alive when their lips touched. He considered dropping back—they had the entire week to kiss—but he felt the urgency of passing time, of seconds clicking by then lost forever, so he pulled her even tighter.

  Suddenly Sequoia shook her massive head, her collar and ID tags jangling. They both pulled back and looked at her. Her nose twitched wildly.

  “Looks like Sleeping Beauty smells something,” Catherine said.

  To their surprise, Sequoia stood stiffly, then ambled in front of them, past the fire, and to the shore.

  “What is it, girl?” Fred asked.

  His Great Dane took a few steps into the lake and leaned forward into the night.

  As Fred watched her, his attention moved back to the fire, to a snap of wood sap and a bright spark that lift
ed skyward. As if it had been transformed into a firefly, it rose higher and higher, a flicker of light. It became a larger beacon as it floated away but remained visible, a Chinese lantern made of rice paper, a child’s illuminated kite, a hot air balloon.

  “Do you see that?” Catherine asked, breathless.

  But Fred remained still and silent, focused on what was now a distant rocket ship, the reverse of a falling star. Just as it reached the edge of the visible universe, he saw a bright flare like a Fourth of July sparkler and then, though he couldn’t be sure, he thought he heard the whisper of laughter.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  While writing is a solitary endeavor, publishing is a team sport. Fortunately, I have a wonderful team.

  First, thanks to my Savannah Scribes writing group: Nancy Brandon, Amy Paige Condon, Judy Fogarty, Lyn Gregory, and K. W. Oxnard, all talented writers, thoughtful editors, and invaluable friends. I feel blessed to have had your encouragement when I had only a few chapters about a well-intentioned pet psychic who needed to meet her neighbors.

  I appreciate comments from dear friends who read an early draft of this novel: Lydia Angle, Denise Farrell, Emily Sorokin Kessler, and Janine Steel Zane. I’m indebted to all other friends and family, near and far, who encouraged me with phone calls, distracted me with games of tennis, or took Gussie (our spirited Boston terrier) and me for walks. In particular, Marilyn Brady provided inimitable style and social media advice, Monica Hughes calmed me with her generous spirit, Jim Guerard tendered his ample photography skills, and Charlotte Sequeira always offered me a clear space at her magical desk. I am indebted to my parents, wherever their spirits are soaring, for their encouragement of creativity and humor.

  I treasure The Landings community on Skidaway Island in Savannah, Georgia that provided the inspiration for this fictional book but not the central casting. Thank you to Eileen Galves for her real estate savvy and to The Landings security staff, for a fun and informative afternoon of tooling around with them in a Prius in the name of research.

  I am indebted to Dan and Pat Lynch who passed along my story to their good friend Leah Wasielewski, and I am in awe of the editorial, sales, publicity, and marketing talent at HarperCollins. Heartfelt thanks to my talented and razor-sharp editor, Emily Griffin, who believed in this book when it showed up, unbidden, on her desk and then used her formidable skills to shape it. I so appreciate the support of Allison Hunter, my impossibly wise agent at Janklow and Nesbit. (And here’s a big shout-out to the fine folks at Stuart Krichevsky Literary Agency.)

  Finally, thanks to my husband, Bill, for his unflagging support, unwavering enthusiasm, and unswerving good humor. The best karma of all is that we found each other in this great big world.

  P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

  About the author

  * * *

  Meet Christina Kelly

  About the book

  * * *

  A Note from the Author

  Read on

  * * *

  Reading Group Guide: Discussion Questions for Good Karma

  About the author

  Meet Christina Kelly

  CHRISTINA KELLY is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and an occasional contributor to the New York Times crossword section. A native of Westchester, New York, she now lives with her husband in Savannah, Georgia. Good Karma is her first novel.

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  About the book

  A Note from the Author

  Good Karma is not only the title of my novel, it’s also the essence of how this book came to be.

  My personal definition of karma doesn’t involve big-picture, earth-shattering collisions of coincidence, but unexpected gifts the universe delivers when someone is good and ready. My version involves an unlikely string of green traffic lights or a tennis ball that hovers at the top of a net and becomes the match point winner in a tiebreaker. When Good Karma is published I’ll be fifty-four, well into my metaphorical second set, but exactly how old I needed to be to find my voice as a novelist.

  I wasn’t a voracious reader growing up, but I had a singular fascination with words. While peers devoured classics, I delighted in anagrams, palindromes, and rebus puzzles. I was a word mechanic, my head in the engine of language, who didn’t care much about driving. Then I attended Vassar College and majored in English literature because, frankly, they didn’t offer a degree in puns.

  My first job out of school was as assistant to the national sales manager at Random House. I had a romantic idea that after a distinguished six months of typing memos and photocopying reports, I’d be promoted to trade rep and start my illustrious career presenting spools of bound words to charming booksellers. After a year, I was politely informed that sales might not suit my rather whimsical personality, so I resigned to prove them wrong and peddled advertising space for a regional magazine. (Alas, the scouting reports were spot-on.) But karma interceded and I took an unlikely turn into editorial, just where I belonged. In 1992 I ended up at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop in a small class of brooding novelists. And so I became one myself, tamping down my humor and playful bon mots in order to write “serious” fiction. At graduation I ended up with an MFA and a rather depressing novel (which, as luck would have it, the world didn’t want or need).

  Fast-forward, I put my fiction aside to travel and enjoy eclectic positions as charter yacht cook, dogsitter, tennis professional, and crossword puzzle constructor. Pushing forty, I met and married my husband (nineteen years my senior), settled in Westchester, New York, and became a stepmother to two and doting but spry stepgrandmother to six. I wrote articles for periodicals, but I didn’t see how I could use my quirky fictional voice to say something important about love and life.

  But then my husband retired in 2010 and everything changed.

  After an exhaustive search, we relocated to a lively island community in Savannah, Georgia. Contrary to what I expected, retirement (at least for us) wasn’t relaxing into an armchair of late middle age—it was a tornado of social adventures, new opportunities, and temptations. It is an intersection, both physical and psychological, where the body starts to fail just when most people have the time and occasion to use it. I discovered an entire generation of women who experienced difficult transitions with long-independent husbands suddenly wanting to know what was for lunch. Likewise, many floundered in relationships with grown children, distant grandchildren, and, in some cases, aged parents. A nation of baby boomers was breaking up and hooking up.

  With my newfound inspiration and ample time, I began writing again. Good Karma started out with one character—a slightly off-kilter pet psychic who wanted to meet her neighbors. After a few pages, a kindhearted widower arrived on the scene, followed by a troubled younger woman who breaks into houses just to lead other people’s lives. I didn’t set out to have a dog in the book, but our high-energy Boston terrier forever thumps me with her tennis ball when I write, so Karma, the dog, came to life. Finally, Catherine entered the story. Shy and self-conscious at first, she began to speak the loudest to me. She was a woman at the crossroads of her marriage and her life. Catherine was thoughtful and funny and patient and she taught me that as long as you speak the truth, a little quirk can be good.

  So I hope you enjoy Good Karma, my nonbrooding first published novel in which both Catherine and I found our voices.

  Read on

  Reading Group Guide: Discussion Questions for Good Karma

  1. What are your first impressions of Catherine and Ralph, and what do their reactions to each other reveal about their marriage? What do you think each of them wants or fears? Did your impressions prove to be correct?

  2. Security is paramount to Catherine: in her sense of self, in her marriage, and in her home. Do you think she’s overly focused on it? Is she more secure or less so by the novel’s end?

  3. What do you think of gated communities like Seven Oaks? Is Christina Kelly’s depiction of such a
community accurate, or is it satirical? When you retire, would you consider moving to such a place? If you have a partner, have you discussed your expectations of retirement?

  4. Throughout the novel, Fred hears the voice of his late wife in his head. Do you read Lissa’s voice as literal or something Fred imagines? Have you ever felt that you could hear the voice of a deceased loved one? If not, would you want to?

  5. How does Fred and Danielle’s relationship change after Lissa’s death? What are the sources of Danielle’s anger or impatience? Are they justified?

  6. Do we all have an impulse to “lead other people’s lives,” as Amity does? If so, have you ever acted on this feeling? Does Amity’s rationale for creeping and taking advantage of others’ lapses in security reveal something about her character?

  7. Why does Ida Blue pretend to be a pet psychic? Is what she does wrong? Does it matter, if her heart is in the right place?

  8. The point of view alternates among several characters throughout the novel. Did you relate to one point of view or voice more than the others?

  9. The author juxtaposes humor and pathos. Did you find them balanced? Are some individuals more prone to see one than the other in a given situation?

  10. Several characters in the novel are “stuck” (as Fred tells his therapist), needing to take action but being unable to do so. What events compel each character to act? Are most people you know content in their marriages, careers, and lives? For those who aren’t, what holds them back from taking steps toward change?