Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
T he next morning, Kaitlyn awoke to the golden light of the Key West sun streaming through the blinds. She stretched, savoring the gentle hum of the ceiling fan and the faint scent of salt in the air.
The bungalow was quiet except for distant mockingbirds and the occasional shuffle of Ernest's feathers as he conducted his morning inspection of the withered herb garden.
On the kitchen counter, she found a note in Tess's looping handwriting: "Gone to the market—still recovering from Trivia Tuesday! Back soon with stuff for breakfast and lunch. DON'T post those photos from last night! T&L"
Kaitlyn smiled, scrolling through her phone to the unposted documentation of her aunts' first night at Margarita Max's. The images told quite a story—Tess doing her improvised serving ballet through the crowd, Leah's increasingly exasperated expressions at the trivia answers, and the infamous moment when the bachelorette party had started their conga line. She'd promised not to share them online, but they were too precious to delete.
Another notification buzzed—a message from her mother, probably another thinly veiled attempt to discover her whereabouts through questions about job applications and "real world plans." Kaitlyn ignored it, just as she'd been ignoring the LinkedIn notifications and emails from her college career center.
For the first time in months, she felt like she could breathe without the weight of expectations pressing down on her, away from her mother's constant stream of "suggestions" about law school applications and corporate internships.
Through the window, Ernest strutted past, his feathers gleaming in the morning light like he was posing for his own Instagram story. The rooster paused to eye his reflection in the window, adjusting his stance as if practicing for his close-up.
Kaitlyn tossed on a breezy sundress and sandals, pausing briefly to consider if the outfit would photograph well for her social media updates. The dress was new—a graduation gift to herself that had maxed out her credit card, but she'd justified it as an "investment in her personal brand."
Now, standing in her aunts' modest bungalow, the price tag felt slightly ridiculous. Like so many things in her carefully curated life, it was starting to feel more like a prop than a necessity.
Deciding to forgo breakfast, she grabbed her phone and a water bottle and stepped out into the morning heat. Looking left, she could see the streets were coming to life—tourists on bicycles wobbling their way through intersections, shopkeepers setting out racks of brightly colored dresses, and the occasional rooster strutting confidently across the road as if it owned the place.
She remembered seeing a cruise ship the day before and wondered if another wave of visitors seeking their own slice of paradise would descend upon the island.
Instead of immediately documenting everything for her followers, Kaitlyn found herself simply observing. A local coffee shop owner arranged chairs with practiced efficiency, nodding hello to passing neighbors.
The scent of fresh-baked Cuban bread wafted from a nearby bakery. Two women in business attire power-walked past, deep in conversation about restaurant permits and health inspections. This was a different Key West than the one she'd imagined—less party paradise, more real community.
As she wandered, she let her curiosity guide her, snapping photos of quirky signs and tropical flowers. She passed a group of artists setting up their easels for the day, their canvases already alive with vibrant island colors. The morning light caught their palettes, turning simple blobs of paint into jewels.
A chef emerged from a tiny restaurant to water the herbs growing in wooden boxes along the sidewalk, the smell of basil and mint mixing with the salty air. He waved to her, offering a fresh sprig of mint that she tucked behind her ear instead of photographing.
Each corner revealed something new—a hidden courtyard draped in bougainvillea, a tiny bookshop just opening its doors, a cat sleeping in a sunny window display. Her camera captured some moments, but others she just let sink in, like the sound of wind chimes from a second-story balcony or the way the morning breeze carried snippets of conversations in multiple languages.
She turned down a quiet side street, away from the main tourist thoroughfare, and found herself in front of a weathered blue house with a hand-painted sign that read, "Paradise Harbor House: Hope and Shelter for Southern Florida Families." The name sparked a memory of the brochure she'd picked up the day before, the one she'd been studying when exhaustion had finally overtaken her curiosity.
Something about the house drew her closer. It wasn't just the cheerful blue paint or the neat row of rocking chairs on the porch, but the soft hum of voices and the occasional laugh filtering out through the open windows. The garden was well-tended, with neat rows of vegetables and herbs growing in raised beds. Wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze, their gentle music a contrast to the raucous tourist bars she'd passed earlier.
Kaitlyn hesitated at the gate, unsure if she should intrude. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head—"Always have a plan, always make connections that advance your career." This definitely wasn't part of the carefully curated Key West experience she'd imagined documenting for her followers. Her mother would probably say she was wasting her time, just like she'd said about most of Kaitlyn's choices lately.
Before she could decide, a warm voice called out, "Can I help you?"
She turned to see a woman standing on the porch. Mid-forties, with dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail and a clipboard in hand, the woman exuded calm authority. Her clothes were simple but professional, a far cry from the tropical prints and flip-flops Kaitlyn had come to expect in Key West. Her eyes crinkled kindly as she descended the steps to meet Kaitlyn.
"Hi," Kaitlyn said, suddenly feeling awkward in her carefully chosen resort wear. "I was just walking by and saw the sign. I'm Kaitlyn." She resisted the urge to add her Instagram handle, a habit that had become almost reflexive.
The woman's smile widened, genuine warmth replacing professional courtesy. "Nice to meet you, Kaitlyn. I'm Elena Armstrong, Director of Paradise Harbor House. Are you looking for someone?"
Kaitlyn shook her head, her rehearsed social media personality falling away in the face of Elena's direct gaze. "Not exactly. I just…I don't know. This place seemed interesting." She gestured vaguely at the house. "It feels different from everything else around here."
Elena studied her for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she nodded toward the porch. "Why don't you come in? I'll show you around." She tucked her clipboard under her arm, making a small notation before giving Kaitlyn her full attention.
Kaitlyn followed Elena up the stairs. Inside, the house was bright and welcoming, with mismatched furniture that somehow worked together to create a cozy atmosphere. Children's artwork adorned the walls alongside inspirational quotes painted in cheerful colors. The effect should have been chaotic but instead felt intentional—a space designed to make people feel at home.
A few women sat in the living room, chatting softly while folding laundry. Their conversation paused briefly as Elena and Kaitlyn passed, but resumed naturally, creating a gentle backdrop of normalcy. In the corner, a toddler played with a stack of wooden blocks, carefully constructing and demolishing towers with equal enthusiasm.
"Paradise Harbor House provides transitional housing for women and children in the Southern Florida area who are trying to get back on their feet," Elena explained as they walked through the house. The hardwood floors creaked softly beneath their feet, telling stories of countless footsteps before them. "We offer counseling, job training, childcare—whatever support they need to rebuild their lives."
They passed a small library filled with books and comfortable reading chairs, then a computer room where two women were working on resumes. Everything about the space spoke of purpose and hope, so different from the chaos of Kaitlyn's college life.
"That's amazing," Kaitlyn said, genuinely impressed. "How long have you been here?"
"About ten years," Elena said, leading them into a sunny kitchen where the smell of fresh coffee mingled with something baking in the oven. "I came on as director five years ago. Before that, I was in corporate marketing, but…well, life has a way of steering you toward where you need to be."
Kaitlyn caught the subtle shift in Elena's tone, sensing there was more to the story. But something in the older woman's expression suggested that was a conversation for another time.
"Do you need help?" Kaitlyn found herself asking, surprising herself with the offer. "Like, volunteers?" She thought of all the carefully planned content she'd intended to create during her stay—the beach photos, the sunset videos, the carefully staged shots of tropical drinks. Somehow, they seemed less important now.
Elena raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "We're always looking for people who want to contribute. Do you have any experience?"
"A little," Kaitlyn admitted, thinking back to her sophomore year. "I volunteered at a women's shelter in college. It was part of a service requirement for my sorority. I liked being able to help. It felt real, you know?"
Elena smiled, and Kaitlyn had the distinct impression she was seeing past the carefully constructed facade to something more authentic. "That's a great start. If you're interested, we could use help organizing donations and maybe working with the kids. Nothing too overwhelming to start."
"I'd love to," Kaitlyn said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. The idea of doing something meaningful, something that couldn't be captured in a perfectly filtered photo, appealed to her in a way she hadn't expected. "What should I do next?"
"Why don’t I introduce you to a few people here right now. Then, you should come by tomorrow morning to get started," Elena said, handing her a small pamphlet from a neat stack on the counter. "We'll get you set up. The morning shift is usually quieter—good for getting to know the place."
“I will, thank you, Kaitlyn responded. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Ready to meet some compassionate and committed employees?”
Kaitlyn, smiled. “Lead on.”
When Tess and Leah returned from the market, they found Kaitlyn sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through the Paradise Harbor House pamphlet. She'd read it cover to cover twice, drawn in by the stories of people who'd found their way to the shelter and, more importantly, found their way forward.
"You found it," Leah said softly, setting down the grocery bags. There was something knowing in her tone, as if she'd been waiting for this moment.
Kaitlyn looked up, surprised. "You know about Paradise Harbor House?"
"I did some research after we saw it the other day," Leah admitted, exchanging a glance with Tess. "We’ve been living here for over a year, and I don’t ever remember seeing the place before.”
Tess laughed. “I bet we’ve walked by it before but never paid much attention.”
“It seems like they're doing important work there," Leah added.
"They are," Kaitlyn said, straightening in her chair. "I met Elena today—she's the director. I offered to volunteer, and she accepted."
“Really? You want to volunteer? I had no idea. I thought…” Leah didn’t finish.
“You thought all I wanted to do was party, right?”
Leah felt ashamed to admit Kaitlyn was right. “Honey, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to have a good time. You just graduated from college. You have every right to celebrate and take whatever time you need to figure out what you want to do with your life.”
Tess pulled out a chair and sat down, her expression thoughtful despite the lingering effects of Trivia Tuesday evident in her slightly squinted eyes. "That could be good for you, Kaitlyn."
"You don't think it's weird?" Kaitlyn asked, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. "Me coming to Key West for vacation but wanting to do something serious?"
"Honey," Leah said, joining them at the table, "we all need to find our own way. Sometimes it just takes a while to figure out what that looks like." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Does your mother know you're interested in this kind of work?"
Kaitlyn tensed slightly at the mention of her mother.
"Mom doesn't know a lot of things right now." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. "She has my whole life planned out—law school, corporate career. But maybe that's not what I want anymore."
"Well," Tess said, breaking the tension, "I think it's great. And who knows? Maybe while you're helping others find their way, you might find yours too."
Kaitlyn's face seemed to soften at the lack of judgment in her aunts' responses. "Thanks. I start tomorrow morning."
“Great. In the meantime, how about we have a little late breakfast? Do you like quiche?” Leah asked.
Kaitlyn smiled. “Yes, I love it, and I didn’t realize it until now, but I’m starving.”