A Measure of Happiness Read Online Free

tremble, but they both knew that was a lie.
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    Ever since the burglary, whenever Katherine was alone at the bakery, she jumped at every sound. The rumble of a truck passing through the center of Hidden Harbor pooled tears at the back of her throat. Errant Dumpster odors slipping beneath the back door had Katherine checking and rechecking the stockroom and restrooms, in case an unhygienic intruder were hiding, biding his time to wield black spray paint against her walls and booth seating. Every morning, she stepped from her car and race-walked beneath the lamppost, blunt-edged key thrust between her pointer and middle fingers like a weapon. Don’t mess with me, or I’ll what? Scratch you silly?
    And even though Katherine hated guns, her safe concealed the .22 she’d purchased within hours of the burglary, her biggest concession to newfound fear.
    When a stranger broke into your sanctuary, stole, and fouled, nothing was sacred. Everything, no matter how precious, was tentative and up for grabs. And Katherine hadn’t needed her ex-husband, Barry Horowitz, to point out the obvious similarities between the crime and the layers of loss that had upended and toppled their marriage. Katherine didn’t need Barry to sit Celeste down on his chaise—or whatever furniture currently occupied his therapy office—to confirm the shadow of loss that haunted the young woman. Yet here he stood, front and center and Katherine’s first customer of the day.
    Barry set his black coffee on the counter, then dug into his snug jeans pocket and produced a crumpled dollar bill. Katherine smoothed and folded the bill and slipped it into her apron on the pretense she’d yet to open the register. Later she’d add the dollar to the envelope of singles in the safe, all from Barry’s wallet.
    Barry gazed around her, peering over her shoulder and into the kitchen. “Is that Celeste?”
    So Katherine caved. God help her, but the man had a gift for drawing people out of their shells and into the open. Usually that gift didn’t extend to her. Katherine set her palms atop the bakery case and lowered her voice. “Found her in the kitchen when I opened up. Looked like she’d been here for hours. Something’s wrong. She drove all night from New York.”
    â€œShe misses her mother.”
    â€œI’m not her mother,” Katherine said. “I’m not anybody’s mother,” she added, a regret Barry should’ve known, better than anyone save herself. But when he gave her a sad smile, she shook it off. “Besides, Celeste is a grown woman.”
    â€œYou’re mother enough. And you never outgrow needing your parents, no matter your age.” Barry stroked his beardless chin, a cliché shrink joke that hadn’t lost its ability to charm Katherine. Worse, the gesture drew attention to a face—boyish looking at fifty—she still adored and those pale-blue eyes. “Hmm. Come to think of it, you never outgrow the need for your long-lost wife, either.”
    â€œEx,” Katherine reminded him. “And I’m not long lost, I’m right here.”
    Barry laid his hand on hers. “You’re three miles away,” he said, referring to the distance between Barry’s house that had always been too big for two and her apartment on the first floor of a Victorian.
    Celeste wheeled a speed tray through the kitchen doorway, and Katherine snatched her hand away from Barry.
    â€œMorning, Celeste,” Barry said.
    Celeste rewarded him with her first genuine smile of the day. “How’s my favorite gym rat?”
    â€œCouldn’t be better. Bench-pressed two-fifty last night.”
    â€œIt shows.”
    Barry had coped with their divorce by losing the weight that had crept up on him over the course of their ten-year marriage, a pound for each year, giving up his Volkswagen Golf in favor of biking to work, and lifting weights as though he