A Measure of Happiness

by Lorrie Thomson

  “Are you going to be nice to him?” Celeste asked.

  “I’m not going to be mean. I’ll treat him fairly, the way I treat all my employees.”

  “Just be your usual exacting self,” Celeste said, another one of her backhanded compliments.

  “I was going to invite you and Zach over for dinner Sunday night,” Katherine said. “Now, I’m not sure I want to.”

  “Both of us, together?” Celeste voice went high and squeaky, and she scrutinized Katherine’s gaze. When Katherine nodded, Celeste beamed, giving herself away for the second time that morning. She might not need Katherine’s approval, but she wanted it.

  “A celebration dinner for Lamontagne’s employees.” Katherine held her hands up in the push-away position. “No Blake. Employees who aren’t paying me back for damages. A welcome to and welcome back to Hidden Harbor celebration.”

  “You know it’s Halloween, right?” Zach asked.

  “Know it?” Celeste said, her tone turning playful. “She’s practically a witch. She doesn’t even need a costume.”

  With the exception of Barry, no one enjoyed teasing Katherine about her proclivity for tarot card readings more than Celeste. “If you’re going to be mean, I’m taking back my invitation.” Katherine was only kidding. But the threat to take back what she’d offered Celeste felt mean-spirited and—God help her—familiar.

  “All right, I’ll be good,” Celeste said.

  “Don’t be too good or I might not recognize you,” Katherine said.

  One for Katherine, Celeste mouthed, and she pretended to mark a chalkboard.

  Katherine hadn’t known they were keeping score. “How does an early five o’clock dinner of roast beef and root vegetables sound? Hmm? A good hearty fall dinner before candy and trick-or-treaters?” Katherine directed her question to both Celeste and Zach, but she already knew Celeste’s answer. When she was growing up, roast had been Celeste’s family’s Sunday dinner, a loud affair with Celeste and her brothers jockeying for the crispiest potatoes. Katherine and Celeste shared an undying affection for the humble potato. The meal was one of Celeste’s favorites. Food she, Katherine hoped, couldn’t resist.

  “Sounds great to me,” Zach said. “Should we come in costume?”

  “Are you thinking of dressing up like an alien?” Katherine asked.

  “Nah,” he said. “Been there, done that, time to move on.” Zach poured himself a cup of coffee. One-handed, he nabbed two creamers and pierced the lids with his forefinger. He tore open two packets of sugar with his teeth. He ruined the rich black coffee as far as Katherine was concerned but managed to keep most of the cream and sugar from spilling on the counter. He stirred the coffee and, aware of his audience, took a loud slurp. His eyes rolled up in his head in exaggerated delight. “Ahh! All right, then. Let’s get this party started. I’m ready to rack and roll!”

  Katherine watched Celeste watch Zach’s toosh walk into the kitchen. The sound of a metal tray clanging to the floor echoed into the shop. “I’m okay!” Zach yelled.

  “This could be interesting,” Katherine said.

  “If by interesting, you mean funny as hell,” Celeste said, “then I agree.”

  Zach peeked into the shop. The white cotton strap of his apron looped around his neck; the smock dangled over his chest. “Uh, Celeste, can I get your help with something?”

  “That didn’t take long,” Celeste whispered to Katherine.

  In the doorway to the kitchen, Celeste secured the ties of Zach’s apron. From the back, Zach looked even more like Adam than from the front. His height and his broad shoulders. The way he stood tall and never slouched.

  When Zach turned back around, he lowered his gaze, and his hair fell across his forehead. Her biological son was smitten with Celeste. Her nonbiological daughter?

  Katherine shook her head. Zach might stay in Hidden Harbor, giving her more time to get to know him. He might even choose to never share the true reason for his trip to Hidden Harbor with Katherine. But Katherine knew the price you paid when you hid a truth of consequence from someone you loved. How long would it take for Zach to spill the beans to Celeste? How long before Celeste blabbed said beans to Barry?

  How long before Katherine’s secret broke Barry’s heart? How long before Barry’s justifiable hatred broke her?

  Taking fertility drugs had made her crazy, the mother of all PMS attacks, squared. She’d tried to keep the crazy to herself, but sometimes the crazy leaked, and she’d snapped at Barry. For the way his knife scraped his dinner plate. For taking all the bedcovers. For giving her all the bedcovers. Then Barry would snap back. Even a gentle reminder that he too was a parent without a child undid her.

  The day she and Barry had married, she’d handed him her heart and the power to crush it.

  “Morning!” A woman breezed into the shop, wearing jeans and a French-blue fleece jacket. Tousled, shoulder-length gray hair. A pleasant, familiar face. She walked up to the counter, gazed up at the menu board, and then set her bright-eyed gaze on Katherine. “I’m here for more of Celeste’s Wild Blues.”

  The woman Katherine had seen in passing at the Hidden Harbor Harvest Festival had been neither the daughter of one of her oldest customers nor a youthful doppelgänger.

  “Mrs. Jenkins!” Katherine said.

  “Call me Judy,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

  This might take some getting used to—the first name, the unbuttoned attitude, the French-blue fleece, unzipped to reveal a womanly figure. How many years had Katherine known Mrs.—Judy? Katherine had only ever seen the outer trappings. The shapeless beige trench coat, the horrible clear bonnet. Her clothing protected her from elements real and imagined. Her clothing kept her protected from the world. What a shame her clothing kept the world from seeing her.

  You could be acquainted with a woman for decades without ever getting to know her.

  Katherine reached beneath the counter for a bakery box, but Judy held her focus. Her enviable hourglass figure, her hair’s smooth, sultry swirl. Katherine shook open the cardboard box and bent back the cover. “How many Wild Blues?”

  “A dozen.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, thank you.”

  And just like that Katherine’s customer, who’d been tied to a routine for a decade, doubled her count and dropped corn and lemon poppy seed muffins from her order.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Judy said, mistaking Katherine’s surprise for feeling insulted. “All your muffins are delicious, but the blueberry muffins are my favorite. And when you find what you really want”—Judy kissed her pinched fingers—“there’s nothing better. Why settle for anything else?”

  “You have a point,” Katherine told Judy. And then Katherine called into the back room, “Celeste! Could you come out front for a moment, please?”

  Something fell to the kitchen floor, more of a dull thud this time than a clatter. “I’m okay!” Zach said. Celeste’s laughter, as sweet and tart as Maine’s wild blueberries, inspired a chuckle from Zach.

  The ability to poke fun at your various mishaps, especially those you’d brought on yourself? Nothing better.

  Celeste emerged from the kitchen with a bounce in her step and stopped short. “Good morning?” she said to Judy, her voice sweet and singsong. The tail-end upswing, the hint of a question mark, told Katherine that Celeste had no clue whom she was greeting.

  “Mrs. Judy Jenkins would like a dozen of your Wild Blues,” Katherine told Celeste.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Judy Jenkins said.

  Celeste tilted her face. Katherine could almost see the realization cross Celeste’s features: Mrs. . . . Judy . . . Oh my God. When Celeste glanced at Katherine, she read: No freaking way!

  Then Celeste schooled her features into the professionally acceptable pleased to see you. “Mrs. Jenkins—”

  “Judy,” Judy said.

  “Judy.” Celeste nodded and patted one of her own French braids. “I love what you’ve done with your hair.” />
  Celeste pinched bakery tissue, slid open the back of the bakery case, gathered her wild blueberry muffins.

  Judy giggled like a girl, shrugged a shoulder, and touched a finger to her hair. “All I did was set it free.”

  “Beautiful.” Celeste tied up her Wild Blues and handed them over to Judy.

  Judy angled her face over the box and took a deep breath. “You ladies have a wonderful day!”

  Katherine’s regular Nurse Terry bustled into the bakery. Katherine nabbed and shook Terry’s OJ and dropped it into her bag, prefilled with a warm croissant and a cheerful orange-striped straw. Terry set her money on the counter, blew Katherine a kiss, and flew out the door.

  With Zach working in the back at half speed, now would be a good time for Barry to walk through the door. She was anxious to tell him she’d apprehended the big, bad burglar. She was anxious to ask Barry’s advice about Blake. She was equally anxious for Barry not to scrutinize Zach too closely. Thus far, Barry had only seen Zach from across the room. And maybe, just maybe, the fates were conspiring to keep Zach and Barry apart. Katherine smiled in Barry anticipation and the door jingled open. Daniel the construction guy met her look of Barry anticipation with Katherine anticipation and then took the look up a notch.

  Seemed the fates had something else in store for her today.

  Katherine came out from behind the bakery case, craned her neck, and gazed around Daniel for his coworker. “Where’s your friend?”

  “You mean tall, dark, and grouchy?”

  Katherine pressed her lips together, made a gesture, zipping her lips. “You said it, not me.”

  “I’m flying solo this morning.”

  “No wingman?” she asked, the term slipping out, as though she were swiveling on the stool of a singles bar instead of leaning against her bakery counter. She couldn’t say she disliked the way Daniel’s eyes widened in surprise and the corners of his grin hitched, taking it all in.

  “I’ve never needed a wingman.” Daniel held her gaze, confident, but he cracked his knuckles—one hand and then the other—giving away his nerves and drawing her attention to his ring finger. A pale band of skin stood out against his tan hand. A recent jewelry removal or a lingering tan line? “Ah, heck, I’ll just say it.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “The—the gray-haired guy that comes in every morning,” Daniel said, giving her whiplash from déjà vu. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Zach had started an inquiry about his paternity with the same stammering statement. She was sure that wasn’t where Daniel was headed. “Are you and him—?” Daniel gestured from Katherine to himself and back to Katherine again.

  “Stirring the air between us?” Katherine asked.

  Daniel laughed. The sound, deeper than she’d imagined, kicked up her pulse. “Are you involved?”

  Katherine would’ve preferred a different word choice, one that didn’t require skirting the truth. She and Barry were involved, intimately and continually, but only in their minds. “The gray-haired man and I got a divorce two years ago. We’re just friends.”

  “Are you sure?”

  This time, Katherine laughed. “I signed the papers,” she said, aware she wasn’t answering the question Daniel had asked.

  The door jingled and the friend who still occupied her thoughts walked into the café, looking trim, fit, and good enough to eat. Instead of jeans and a fleece, he wore pressed khakis and a striped button-down. She could still see the relief of his bike-honed thigh muscles, the shape of his gym-rat biceps. But, as always, Barry’s gaze was her undoing.

  He caught her eye, her expression, and—she was sure—the way she was leaning against her counter, arms crossed to hold up her breasts. She uncrossed her arms. She crossed them lower.

  “Morning!” Barry called to Katherine, with a heavy undertone of honey, I’m home.

  Katherine moved her arms up an inch. She needed to talk to Barry, if only to let him know about the break-ins and Blake. She needed to finish dragging out an ask-out from her suddenly shy and oh so sweet construction worker friend. She needed to stop the insanity.

  She wasn’t Barry’s property; she’d never been his property. And she was no longer Barry’s wife.

  She was Barry’s ex-wife, a term neither of them had used before in the company of the other. As though dancing around the term made it any less true.

  Barry stood behind Daniel and cleared his throat, a gesture she thought was overtly jealous and therefore below him, until he cleared his throat a second time.

  She smiled, conciliatory, and Barry gave her a triumphant grin. “Barry, this is my friend Daniel . . .” Oh, crap.

  “Anaghnostopoulos,” Daniel provided. “That’s okay,” he told Katherine. “My mother can’t even pronounce it.” He angled a wink at Katherine.

  “Daniel, my ex-husband, Barry Horowitz.”

  Barry shook his head and widened his eyes at the sound of the term. Then he pulled it together and shook Daniel’s hand.

  “I thought I heard your voice.”

  Celeste came up behind Katherine, stealthy as a thief, and then loud as a . . . as a Celeste. Actually, this was perfect.

  Katherine pointed at Celeste. “You, help Barry with his order. I’m guessing you need a blueberry muffin. Am I right?”

  “She always could read my mind,” Barry told Daniel, all while keeping his appreciative gaze on her.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. She pointed at Barry. “I need to talk to you.” Her pointer swayed in Daniel’s direction. “But I need to help Daniel with something first. Can you hang around for a few minutes?”

  “That would be my pleasure. I need to talk to you, too.”

  Laying it on rather thick, don’t you think?

  From the smug look on his face, she’d guess that Barry could read her mind.

  Before she could get to a four-top, Daniel stepped in and pulled a chair out for her. Laying it on rather thick, don’t you think?

  Barry both smiled and glared in their direction.

  Katherine leaned across the table. “So, Daniel Anaghnostopoulos,” she said, and the man with the surname she’d pronounced without a hitch gifted her with a belly laugh. She touched his left hand, kept her gaze on his eyes. “How old is your tan line?”

  “My what?” he asked.

  “The white band from your wedding ring.”

  Daniel flexed his fingers, as though they were cramped. “Ha. Women always pick up on that.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Daniel momentarily dropped his grin and his gaze. Then both lifted to Katherine. “My wife and I have been separated about four months.”

  Daniel could’ve said, I’ve been separated, but he hadn’t. In Katherine’s experience, that told her everything she needed to know.

  “Have you asked anyone out since your separation? Gone out on any dates?”

  Daniel held a steady smile and shook his head.

  “Filed for divorce yet?”

  Daniel blew out a breath. “It’s complicated,” he said. “We have a business together—”

  Daniel wasn’t just a construction worker bee. He was, like her, the worker boss.

  “We’ve been together forever,” he said, answering both the question she’d asked and, perhaps, one he hadn’t much considered. Did he really want a divorce?

  Daniel seemed like a nice guy. Katherine could imagine spending an evening with him, filled with easy conversation. She could imagine taking him back to her apartment and getting an up close and personal tour of his construction-ready body. She could imagine the evening leading to a whole truckload of regret. For Daniel.

  Right after she’d delivered the divorce papers and mundel bread to Barry, she’d parked behind his house and sat in her car for half an hour. She was either going to walk back in, take off her clothes, and make herself at home. Or she was going to drive to the nearest bar, bring a guy back to her newly rented apartment, and make sure she’d never be able to go back on her decision.

  The
bar’s name was Murphy’s Law.

  “Are you planning on asking me out on a date?” Katherine asked.

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “That’s very flattering,” she said.

  Daniel’s mouth fell open. “Oh, come on.” He sat up taller and shook his head. “Don’t say no.”

  “It’s just—”

  Daniel held his hands in prayer position. He leaned across the table close enough for her to get a good look at his golden-brown, earnest eyes. Close enough for her to imagine him walking into her apartment, taking off his clothes, and making himself at home.

  “Come on, Katherine. Come on.”

  Without glancing at Barry, she knew he was looking her way. The awareness of his gaze was as keen as the sensation of the chair beneath her bottom, the floor underneath her feet, her heart pounding in her chest and questioning every decision.

  Katherine wrapped her hands around Daniel’s. “Do you still love her?”

  Daniel went silent and his gaze skittered to the side. “I don’t know.”

  “My advice to you? See if you can work it out.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “At least figure out if there’s a reason to try. Then, if and when you file for a divorce, ask me out for real.” Katherine slipped her hands from Daniel’s and sat up straight. “I might even say yes.”

  “You sure?” Daniel asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  Daniel hung his head sideways, playing at regret. But the way he sat back in his seat, spreading out his weight, evidenced a whole truckload of relief.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “Why not?”

  The speed roller rattled from the kitchen. Celeste pulled the front of the cart and Zach pushed with his left hand.

  “You need some help with that?” Barry asked.

  “We’re good!” Zach said, using a plural pronoun.

  Katherine mouthed, Give me a minute, to Barry. She grabbed a blueberry muffin for Daniel before swinging by the coffee bar. She set brew and pastry before him.