The Happiness Pact

by Liz Flaherty

  Another survivor of the accident and the owner of Feathermoor, the golf course near the lake, Nate Benteen was also a lifelong friend. He was sitting on a stool at the far end of the island with a cup and a plate in front of him. He looked comfortable there. Very comfortable.

  But what was he doing here? He was supposed to be in North Carolina designing links-style golf courses. Even as he was shaking hands, Tucker asked the question.

  “The owners of the new course are coming up for a few days in April. They want to get a look at Feathermoor now that it’s been here a few years and matured, so to speak,” Nate explained. “They’re going to stay at Hoosier Hills—not the campground, but the cabins. I was looking for a place to have long business dinners with them without going into Sawyer or Kokomo, so I came to beg Libby to feed us.”

  Libby handed Tucker a cup of coffee and waved him to a seat. “Did you meet Meredith? Did you like her? More to the point, could she stand you?”

  “Yes and yes, and she said she’d go out with me, so maybe. She was fun to talk to.”

  “Good. Are you taking her to the Valentine’s party at the clubhouse?”

  “On a first real date? No. Although if the first date works out well, the party would be a great second or third one. Are you going?”

  “I’m going with Nate. We figure our last date was when he was a senior and I was a junior, so maybe we should try again.” She beamed, but there was something a little off in the expression. What was it?

  Oh.

  That had been the night of the accident, when everyone’s lives had changed. Nate, who’d had a golf scholarship and plans to play professionally, had ended up with pins in his hips. He’d settled for designing golf courses for a living instead, starting with Feathermoor. Back then, it had still been his parents’ farm that had abutted the Worth place. Nate didn’t like the term settled, though, and he was one of that happiest people Tucker knew.

  Tucker had lost most of the hearing in his left ear that night, Holly had lost a foot, Sam Phillipy an eye, Arlie her singing voice. People had died. Libby had suffered a head injury that left her in a coma. She never talked about it, even to him, but he knew she still got headaches.

  But they’d come back, except for the ones who’d been lost. And except for Cass Gentry, who’d left the lake and never been heard from again. Jack and Arlie had come full circle and were going to be married in May. Maybe Nate and Libby would, too.

  Tucker couldn’t come up with a single, solitary reason he hoped that wouldn’t happen.

  But he hoped it anyway.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NATE CALLED LIBBY after church on the day after the Valentine’s Day party and asked her if she’d like to play golf that afternoon. Since the alternative was waxing the tearoom floors, Libby agreed. How hard could it be to hit a little ball around?

  It was, she learned quickly, kind of hard, but by the time they parked the cart in the garage beside Feathermoor’s clubhouse, she thought she liked golf. She’d like it even better, Nate promised, when it was more than forty degrees and they weren’t the only people on the golf course. He mentioned that lessons would be a good idea come spring and that it was perfectly all right to swear when she lost her ball in the weeds—everyone did that.

  She liked Nate, too. He was tall and handsome and fun to be with, but so was the golden retriever rescue Jesse had brought by with the suggestion she and Elijah might like some company. Libby hadn’t been sure about the addition to the family, but Elijah had given in right away, so now Pretty Boy slept on a rug in Libby’s room and made the occasional appearance in the tearoom.

  Nate, on the other hand, was a good conversationalist and didn’t shed in the house. Elijah wasn’t fond of him, but he drove a nice car and told good jokes, and the only time he kissed her she thought maybe the earth might have moved a little. It didn’t—they’d looked at each other and laughed—but it had definitely been enjoyable.

  That had been after the party, when she’d worn her favorite red dress and five-inch black stilettos. The shoes had necessitated rubbing Icy Hot on her calves and feet before she went to bed and wearing sneakers to church the next morning, but it had been worth it.

  Tucker came after she closed for the day on Tuesday to help change lightbulbs in the chandeliers in the parlors. “The party was fun,” said Libby, handing him the little flame-shaped bulbs.

  “It was. Meredith had a good time.”

  “She’s beautiful.” An old and not-missed boyfriend had referred to Libby as “pretty enough”—that was as close to beautiful as she’d ever come. She couldn’t quite keep the envy out of her voice.

  “She is.”

  She cleared her throat. “Are you seeing her again?”

  “We’re taking her kids bowling day after tomorrow.”

  “That’ll be nice.” But would it? Didn’t he always play poker on Thursday nights? Was Meredith becoming that important to him that quickly?

  “You seeing Nate again?”

  “He’s back in North Carolina until the first of March.”

  “That’s too bad.” But Tuck didn’t sound as if he thought it was too bad. He sounded kind of like a smirk looked.

  “He asked me to come down there for a weekend. He has a house on Topsail Island. It won’t be beachy weather, he says, but still warmer than here.”

  Tuck screwed in a few more lightbulbs. “Are you going to go?”

  “What do you think?” She stepped from one achy foot to the other, feeling like a ten-year-old uncertain about whether she was ready for fifth grade. “Do you think I should?”

  He hesitated and didn’t look at her when he answered. “I think you’re an adult, Lib. I can’t tell you what to do when it comes to relationships.” He reached to take more bulbs from her. “Don’t go this weekend, though, okay? It’s time for another adventure. Can you take an extra day off?”

  “Probably. Neely pushes me out the door every chance she gets.” Libby put the old bulbs into a box for recycling. “Which is great for me. I’m thrilled the business can support us both. It just feels weird. I haven’t taken extra time off for years, and all of a sudden I am. What should I pack?” She knew better than to ask where they were going—he never told her.

  “Walking shoes.”

  She stifled a groan. She’d better pack the Icy Hot, too.

  * * *

  “FLYING? WE’RE FLYING?” Libby’s gray eyes were huge. Unless Tucker missed his guess, the little blue lights in them were shooting sparks directly at him. “Tucker, I’ve never flown anywhere. I’ve barely left Indiana.”

  “About time then, isn’t it?” He pulled into a parking lot.

  “Where are we going?”

  He swung into a parking place and grasped her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Trust me. Okay?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  It was there again, that look he couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of, and he’d have said he knew all Libby’s expressions. He’d seen it when they’d mentioned the night of the accident in her kitchen. She was grinning, open and challenging, but there was something missing, too.

  He sniffed. “You wound me with your lack of faith. I’ve never told anyone about you losing your lunch when we rode the bullet at the 4-H fair when we were in the seventh grade, but you still don’t trust me?”

  “Well, since I did it in front of half the county, I’m really impressed that you kept my secret. Okay, I trust you. But if I lose my lunch on this plane, you’ll be sorry.”

  He opened his door. “Come on, Nausea Nellie, let’s go. See that shuttle coming? We’re going to ride it to the terminal.”

  By the time they’d checked in, he’d had to tell her they were on their way to Nashville, Tennessee. To be tourists, something she’d spent
precious little of her life doing, and go to the Tennessee branch of Llewellyn’s Lures and his apartment in nearby Gallatin. He’d lived there until moving to Indiana to share the CEO duties with Jack at corporate headquarters. He still missed it.

  He never flew first-class, considering it a waste of money, but for Libby’s first flight, he’d booked two of the roomy front seats on the plane. They were still on the ground when she was holding her first cup of coffee.

  “See there?” He pointed to the pocket in front of her. “That bag is for when your stomach decides you don’t like flying. You did have breakfast, didn’t you?”

  “Just that drive-through biscuit.”

  “Oh, Lord.” The biscuit sandwiches were good, but they also sat like lead on a normal stomach—heaven only knew how hers would react. “Read the magazine.”

  But she couldn’t. She was too excited. When the plane taxied down the runway a little while later, her eyes widened with anticipation. “I’m not scared. I thought I’d be scared.” But she grabbed Tucker and cut off all circulation to his right arm.

  Other than a little gasp when the plane lifted, she did well with takeoff. “Well,” he said, “that’s a relief. I don’t have to be embarrassed.”

  “Right. Like you can be embarrassed.” She sipped the last of her coffee and set the cup aside. “So, now that I’m an expert in commercial flying, let’s talk about your personal life.”

  He snorted. “If you want a nap, just say so. You know my personal life is boring.”

  “Well, sure, I know it, but I didn’t know you did.” She patted the hand that was only beginning to resume normal blood flow. “Tell me about Meredith. She’s come into the tearoom with Arlie. She seems very nice. And beautiful.”

  “She is nice. And beautiful. Her kids are good, too. They miss their dad.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “It is. It’s not like Jack and me—we never missed ours at all. From everything Meredith says, he’s a good father. He lost his way in the marriage, though.”

  “Do the kids see him?”

  “Yeah. He lives in Indianapolis and he comes and gets them every other weekend and drives up and has dinner with them one night during the off week. Pays support right on time, even early. But he and Meredith don’t communicate at all except for texting about the kids or the very occasional phone call. When he picks them up, she sends them out to the car. When he brings them home, she stays inside and opens the door when they come onto the porch. She’s never said why they broke up, but it must have been serious stuff.” He hesitated. “Is that more than I should say about her?”

  “I don’t think so. I—” Libby stopped. “You know what? It probably is. I mean, I’m not going to repeat anything you tell me. You know that. But if I were dating someone, I wouldn’t want him talking to another woman about me, even if that woman was twenty-seven minutes older than him and no competition whatsoever. I’d feel as if he owed me some loyalty, or at least confidentiality.”

  “You’re right.” She was, and it bothered him that he hadn’t hesitated at all in talking about Meredith. If he had known truly private things about her, if they were having a physical relationship, he would have felt safe talking to Libby about that, too.

  Sometimes he wasn’t nearly as sure about his nice guy status as he wanted to be. “But, hey,” he said, picking up on something she’d said, “what do you mean, if you were dating someone? You are. You’re dating Nate.” Although it didn’t feel right to him, and he couldn’t really figure out why. Nate was one of the good guys, too.

  But maybe not good for Libby. Maybe that was what didn’t feel right.

  “Not really dating. I think he still looks at me only as Jess’s little sister. There’s someone in North Carolina, too. The more he tries not to mention her name, the more often ‘Mandy’ enters the conversation.” She smiled, a lazy, sleepy expression, mildly regretful. “He is fun, but it’s definitely a buddy thing.”

  The flight attendant came around, bringing more coffee and assuring them the weather in Tennessee was going to be great today. She smiled at Libby’s drowsy expression and procured a blanket and pillow from the compartment above.

  “Do you want something more?” Tucker asked when the woman had moved toward the back of the plane. “More than fun, I mean.”

  “I do.” She drank, then set her cup down on the tray table and turned her head to look out the window. “I want to be something besides good old Lib to someone.”

  * * *

  “OH, RHETT!” LIBBY fluttered her eyelashes at Tucker as they toured the gardens at the Hermitage, the home of Andrew Jackson. “How you do go on.”

  “You’re in the wrong state, Miss Scarlett. I assume you know that?” He lifted his phone to take pictures of either her or the flowers in the beds behind her. In case it was her, she tried to straighten her hair a little and wished she’d freshened her makeup before they left the airport.

  “Of course I know that. I’ve read Gone with the Wind at least once a year ever since seventh grade. But I figure this is the closest I’m going to come to Tara in this lifetime.” She knelt to look at the crocuses peering out from between the tulips. The flowers were the same as the ones that grew at home, but Tennessee was well ahead of Indiana on the color scale. “It’s so nice to be here. I’m ready for a glimpse of spring, aren’t you?”

  More than a glimpse, she realized. The depression that was nipping at her heels was becoming frightening. She needed light, lots of light, and February in the Midwest offered very little. Spring tossed other demons in her path, but at least she got to fight them with sunshine in her arsenal.

  “I think the long winter is easier for me because I travel so much.” Tucker’s eyes were darker than usual, and he wasn’t smiling. “What’s wrong, Lib?”

  Am I trying too hard? “Nothing.” She kept her voice bright. “Except I’m hungry. You picked me up at zero dark thirty this morning and all I’ve had since the drive-through are those crackers on the plane, which I lost while we were landing in Detroit. I never knew Detroit was on the way to Nashville, did you?”

  “You learn new geography every time you fly.” He helped her straighten, then went on in a truly appalling Humphrey Bogart voice, “Stick with me, sweetheart, and you’ll be throwing up all over the world.”

  She laughed, elbowing him, and didn’t draw away when he pulled her in close and kept his arm around her as they went to the on-site restaurant for some lunch.

  “Where do we go from here?” she asked after they’d ordered and she’d consumed a small pot of tea.

  “Downtown.”

  They walked for miles, stopping to listen politely to every fresh-air musician they passed and leave generous tips in open guitar cases. They rode a tourist bus all over town, ending at the Grand Ole Opry.

  “This was the only place my parents ever went on vacation,” she remembered. “They never took us, but every couple of years, they’d hire someone to help with the milking and come down for a few days. Going to the Hermitage, walking around downtown and listening to the heart’s echoes in the Ryman just now—it felt as if I was with my mom. She loved it here. It was where she grew up, and even though she didn’t have any family other than us, she still felt at home here. Dad brought her down when she was sick. He always thought the trip shortened her life, but even if it did, it gave her joy she wouldn’t have found anywhere else.”

  Libby didn’t know how many years it had been since she’d wept. The losses were things she kept buried in a safe place. Arlie and Holly’s mother had once called that place a pocket behind her heart, because grief wasn’t measured by tears. Libby remembered feeling so relieved when Gianna said that, because maybe it meant the girl who’d stood dry-eyed at her parents’ funerals wasn’t broken after all.

  She didn’t cry tonight, either, sitting beside Tucker in the Gr
and Ole Opry watching some of the same artists her mother had loved in addition to ones Libby listened to. But her heart ached to a depth she’d forgotten existed. It was good to feel something other than numbness, she supposed, but she hadn’t thought feeling this much would be as heavy as it was. Not after all this time.

  Tucker laughed beside her, drawing her attention to the performer on stage. He’d been around since her mother’s time. Oh, her mother used to say, he’s a case, he is. He grew up on the same mountain as I did, only a little deeper in the hollers.

  And there he was, at least a decade older than Crystal Worth would have been, still singing the songs she’d sung as she cleaned the redbrick farmhouse where Jesse still lived and helped with the milking. Libby wondered if her mother had ever sat in this row when she came to the Opry. Maybe in this very seat.

  “Dad used to say—” Libby spoke before she knew the words were coming, and they stuck in her throat. She had to clear it before going on, leaning to speak into Tucker’s good ear under cover of the music. “He used to say Mom should have sung at the Opry, that her voice deserved a bigger audience.”

  Tucker took her hand. “He was probably right. Remember when all the churches had Bible school together in the clubhouse at the lake? Your mom always led the singing and she’d get us to sing, too, no matter how bad we were. I still know all the words to ‘Deep and Wide.’”

  Libby chuckled, the weight of old grief lifting a little. “Father Doherty said we created whitecaps on the lake when we sang. I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.”

  Tucker laughed, leaning his head back. She looked at the line of his throat above the sweater he wore and thought how handsome he was. How much she appreciated him holding her hand. And how good that felt.

  Something in the pool of too-intense emotions she was feeling right then warned her that maybe it felt a little too good. It was like sitting where her mother had been, listening to the songs her mother had heard—it was pleasure to the point of pain.