The Happiness Cure

By Winslow Eliot

Happiness for sale!

The Happiness Guru offers everyone’s dream... for a price.

For Kairi, he offers even more. Much more.

Will she bite?

Will a charming stranger save her ... or lead her deeper into a trap?

Is love better than happiness?

As whirlwind events escalate, Kairi is plunged into intrigue and danger. She has to determine what happiness really means—for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winslow Eliot
• Release date: Jun 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781939980052

Winslow Eliot

Award-winning author of suspenseful and romantic novels: PURSUED, HEAVEN FALLS, BRIGHT FACE OF DANGER, A PERFECT GEM, THE HAPPINESS CURE. I write a newsletter called "WriteSpa - An Oasis for Writers" which has been compiled into a book (plus WORKBOOK) called "WRITING THROUGH THE YEAR." Another non-fiction book is "WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF THERE WAS NOTHING YOU HAD TO DO - Practices to create the life you want." I teach high school English at a Waldorf school and I also write poetry, read Tarot cards, love belly-dancing, singing, and people.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I’m on my way home.

Tomorrow, that is.

I’m sitting at an outside table overlooking the narrow beach, the grape vines dappling a cool green light on the white tablecloth. I’m treating myself to an espresso and a fine croissant, even though I can’t afford either.

But it’s my birthday, and I only have one more day here on the Bay of Biscay. It’s been a whole year of traveling, and it will be good to be home. Tahton is heading into its peak time of year: the vibrancy of long summer days, the gardens in colorful bloom, the sidewalks crawling with tourists. There’s Tanglewood and the Berkshire Theater Festival and … oh, all sorts of things. I don’t have a place to live there any longer, but I can always stay in the small apartment over Gareth’s Market, at least for a while.

My cell phone, lying on the table by the small white cup, buzzes abruptly, startling me. I glance at the ID.

Unknown number.

I tend not to answer those. Most likely a marketing call. Besides, the phone plan I’m on is one of the cheapest—I’m charged for every call I get. I’d only agreed to it on the urgings of Crista and some friends back in Tahton.

So I don’t answer. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.

The Atlantic laps gently on the rocky beach, the sapphire sparkles mesmerizing.

The phone stops buzzing.

After a few moments, I check: no message.

I stand, stretch, sigh. The early morning sunshine feels good on my eyelids.

Life is good. Really, it is. It’s been a relief to get away, sort things out, recover. I’m stronger now, rested, and ready to start again.

I’m going to spend one more afternoon exploring the megaliths at Carnac. Even though by now I know them by heart, I’ll never plumb their mysteries to my satisfaction, but it’s fun trying. Afterward, I’ll finish packing, and say goodbye to the few friends I’ve made in this small French town. Maybe tonight we’ll go out dancing one last time.

The phone begins buzzing again.

Unknown number.

I hesitate. If I’m going to catch the next tour of the megaliths I need to get going. But it feels like one of those days—a day for surprises, for a shift from the dreamy routine of high summer.

Face it, I realize: you’re lonely.

There seems a breathless anticipation in a sudden stillness, mixing with my longing for something—anything—to lift me from this sense of inevitable return to my old life. What if I haven’t changed? What if grief sucks me in again, once I’m back? What if, by running away, I’ve only made a big loop and ended up where I started?

What if nothing happens again until I grew old, and sick, and die …

Uh-oh.

I shake myself.

The cell phone still buzzes. More to distract myself from the gloom edging toward me than because I want to know who’s calling, I pick it up.

Hello?

Hi, there, Kairi. It’s Bryan. Bryan Fox-Hall. Remember me?

The breezy voice is so familiar—even though I’ve met him only once—that my breath catches.

There’s that damned barbed-wire-in-my-chest feeling again.

tossing a pebble at the window to wake her up;

gazing into the eye of the whale;

hammering the gold.

—Daily Happinesses

Chapter 2

How are you, Kairi? His voice sounds like a wave deep under the ocean, booming loudly.

The year telescopes and I’m standing beside him in the rain, watching the coffin being lowered into a freshly-dug grave. I can’t speak.

Then I rally.

I’m much too curious to end the call.

Hello?

Kairi, I need to see you.

Ha. Sure he does.

I don’t answer. I don’t know how to.

I’m very sick, he continues. I only have a few weeks to live. I want to see you again before I die.

Why? My voice sounds odd, sort of dry and quiet.

I feel remorse. I know what I did seems like a travesty.

A travesty? What a strange word. But, yes, that’s what it was.

I know you believe I took something important that belonged to you. I want to make amends.

It’s too late, I say. Which is true, but I’m still curious about that word ‘amends.’

It’s never too late to learn the secret of happiness. I can hear the smile in his voice.

What a monster.

I realize I’m asking a lot from you, he adds. But I want you to come and visit me.

Yes, he is asking a lot. There’s no way I’m going back there.

Still, I can’t help wondering, what is his secret?

Is there a secret?

What entices thousands of people to flock to his Happiness Center, searching for relief from the heaviness of their hearts? What do they find there?

Even after years of it being so obvious that he’s a fraud, people continue to believe in his power to heal their heart-wound or fulfill their soul’s longing.

I’ll pay for your flight here, and you can stay for as long as you like, as my guest. We’ll work out your heartache together.

You’ve got to be kidding, I say at last.

I mean every word. And there’s more. I have a surprise for you.

I am stunned. So stunned that all the grief I’d been pushing away for the past year comes whooshing back into my lungs and I feel dizzy.

I’m watching myself from overhead, as though I’m sitting on the low branches of dusky dark grape vines shading my table. My voice sounds like someone else’s.

No, thanks. I’m not falling for any of your traps.

It’s not a trap, he protests.

If you have anything to do with it, it’s a trap. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested in your goddamn philosophy of happiness. Goodbye.

swallows in a yellow dawn;

picking the right persimmon;

the sound of violins coming from the woods.

—Daily Happinesses

Chapter 3

The small waves still splash gently on the shiny pebbles and the mid-morning sun sparkles on the blue water. A yellow fishing boat bobs on the horizon.

I see them all in a daze, as though I’ve stood too suddenly and bumped my head hard on a low beam.

I put my cell phone carefully in my purse, and go inside the café to pay. I’m looking forward to going home again. I have dozens of friends—Gareth and Crista will be glad to see me back home. Maybe I can go back to helping out in Kate’s jewelry store. I’ve picked up hundreds of ideas for designs during my travels, and I’ve sent several boxes back to myself, which Crista promised to store: rare ebony, Egyptian gold, Iranian amethyst—it’ll be fun to unwrap them all.

But back at the small pension, I discover confirmation of an electronic plane ticket to Heathrow has already been delivered to the front desk. It seems surreal. With this simple bit of paper I might learn the secret to Bryan Fox-Hall’s famous ‘happiness cure.’

Just too crazy.

Is everything all right? Claudette asks from behind the desk. I haven’t realized I’m still standing there, staring dazedly at the plane ticket. Claudette’s the receptionist at the pension and we’ve hung out a few times—gone to some local bars and she tried to set me up with some friends of hers while I’ve been staying there.

Oh, yes. I look up. Just thinking.

Dreaming, you mean. Why you are smiling?

I’m not exactly sure. It isn’t just the strange phone call, it’s something more. It’s the realization that things are starting to happen.

Change is in the air.

I got the strangest call from a man I used to know, I tell her. His name is Bryan Fox-Hall. Have you heard of him?

She nods. The Happiness Guru? Of course. Were you—are you—a follower?

There are lots of things she doesn’t know about me.

No—someone close to me was, though. It’s still just too hard to talk about it.

Is he the one who sends you the plane ticket? Claudette asks.

Yes, he wants me to visit him in England. I look at the ticket again. Tomorrow.

Have you been to England yet?

I nod. A year ago, yes, I was in England. That was the start of this long, strange trip that is almost over.

There’s no way I’m going back there.

Thankfully, Claudette changes the subject.

What are your plans today?

I’m going to explore the stones one last time.

Have some fun, Claudette says. I must work for now, but later we talk, okay?

Tucking the ticket into my purse, I say goodbye and leave. The lavender shirt-dress is cool and comfortable, and my pony-tail makes me feel young and bouncy. I am free—I don’t have to do anything I choose not to. And that includes going to England on my way home.

At the buzzingly busy Internet café off the main square of the town, I stop for another coffee and to check emails. There’s one from Crista, telling me that Erin is looking forward to helping me unpack the boxes they’ve been storing for me. Her tone is warm—she sounds as though she misses me.

It will be nice to see everyone again.

I type my message: Can you believe this: Bryan Fox-Hall called!!!!! He wants me to visit him in England. Of course I said no. See you the day after tomorrow! Can’t wait.

It’s still the middle of the night back in Tahton—Crista won’t get this for several hours. But I know she’ll be the first one to tell me this: Stay away from Bryan Fox-Hall.

And she gives good advice.

I log off and go back out into the bright summer morning.

Yes, it will be good to finally be home again.

a thousand faces before you;

moonbeams solidifying;

doing it slowly.

—Daily Happinesses

Chapter 4

I join the tourists grouped around our tour guide at the main entrance to Carnac’s stone circles, but once we’re inside I strike off by myself, wanting to be alone as I explore the ancient megaliths. The place continues to astonish me. It’s located on a unique latitude, where the summer and winter solstice suns form a perfect Pythagorean triangle. This 3:4:5 triangle is the first of the mystical (to my mind, anyway) Pythagorean triangular set, and the pure mathematics of it intrigues me. Sometimes I think if there ever was a formula to experiencing happiness it would be some form of mathematics. There’s such absolute truth in it.

Oops—sorry!

Someone bumps into me as I round the base of Grand Menhir Brisé—the great rock once used as a lunar calendar. The guidebook flies out of my hand and I look up in surprise.

A man has already dived for the book, and he hands it to me, apologizing profusely. I didn’t see you! His dark hair is shaggy and unkempt, his accent American.

It’s all right, I reassure him, tucking the guidebook into my sling purse. I know I’m supposed to stick with the tour guide.

Me too. The stranger flashes a lopsided grin. Are you okay? He’s about my height, with thick eyebrows, friendly brown eyes. He’s looking at me with such appreciation that I have to admit I feel flattered. Also … do I know him from somewhere? Have we met before? He seems vaguely familiar.

I smile back. It really is okay.

He hesitates, then asks, Have you walked up to the Gavrinis mound yet? I’m headed that way.

My earlier loneliness dissipates like dew. The morning sun is climbing high in the sky, and it feels like one of those midsummer mornings when everything is in perfect harmony: the birdsong, the wild poppies and daisies growing in the meadow on the far side of the mysterious structure, and, best of all, encountering a stranger with a smile.

I feel I’ve seen you somewhere before, I say as we begin walking side by side along the grassy path. Have we met? I’m sorry if I don’t remember.

He regards me frankly. I’d definitely remember.

Flustered, I take out the guidebook again. There’s so much information—I want to find out more and more.

I know. I’m off to the West Country of England after this. More stone circles. Stonehenge, maybe to Avebury …

I feel envious.

Bryan’s estate is in West Sussex. Should I take advantage of the ticket in my purse, stay—for free!—on his gorgeous estate, and venture over to Stonehenge while I’m there? There’s no other way I could afford a trip to England before returning to the States.

Tempting.

Here’s the Gavrinis mound, I say, my nose is in the book again. The passage entrance is oriented to the winter solstice. It’s interesting that solstices and equinoxes were so significant, don’t you think? And we’re talking three or four thousand years ago.

And we hardly notice now.

It says that the last section of the Kermario alignment is in line with the winter solstice sunset and the summer solstice sunrise.

We both squint at the mound in the far distance.

Too far, he says out loud what we’re both thinking.

We pause on the dirt path, and it’s as though the green is greener than it has ever been, and the sky more blue than seems possible. A fragrance of mint and the Atlantic ocean wafts past. We stand in silence, gazing around, and then our eyes get tangled up and he says,

Want to grab lunch? How’d you get here, anyway?

Tour bus. I don’t know where the others are. I’d love some lunch. I didn’t realize how late it is.

After all, I’m nearing the end of my voyage. I may as well enjoy every last minute.

We head back to the parking lot.

I’m Nick, he says abruptly. From Brooklyn.

I’m Kairi. I’ve been traveling for the past year, but I’m headed back to the States in a few days.

Really? He sounds disappointed.

I was—but … I hesitate. Should I tell him about Bryan? It seems a bit raw to talk about it with a stranger. Still, the lure of Stonehenge and Avebury is strong, and this might be my only chance to see those places in this lifetime. Who knows what’ll happen when I return to Massachusetts?

He looks at me encouragingly. Yes?

I got a call from a man I used to know, inviting me to spend a week or two at his house in Sussex.

A man? One of his dark eyebrows lifts curiously. Romantic?

I give a derisive laugh. Hardly. I despise him.

being hugged by a mother bear;

waiting for your frog;

the sky shedding its clouds.

—Daily Happinesses

Chapter 5

He doesn’t say anything while we wend our way through the throngs of tourists to his rental car: a small Citroën with the top down. As he holds open the passenger door, I’m strangely exhilarated.

So, Nick says as we drive away, are you going to elaborate?

I settle back into the soft seat, enjoying the breeze on my face. His name is Bryan Fox-Hall. He’s the Happiness Guru.

Oh. I see. Are you … one of his …

No, I say hastily. Never. Someone close to me was, though. It—didn’t end well.

Nick glances at me, but my eyes are filling and he doesn’t press me. I take a deep breath.

I can’t believe he called me. He says he’s sick, he’s dying, and he feels remorse.

Remorse for what? he asks.

Maybe just for being alive! I try to say lightly.

Intriguing. His voice is neutral.

By this time we’ve entered a small town I don’t recognize, and a restaurant with tables out front overlooking a smallish square beckons. How does this look? Nick asks.

Great. It’s almost two o’clock.

He pulls up in front of the restaurant, then jumps out to open my door before I’ve even reached for the handle. It’s too hot and sunny out, or maybe we just want to be more alone, but anyway we both agree to go inside. It’s fairly quiet—most people have already had lunch. The waitress seats us.

Drinks? she asks.

We