Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
K aitlyn walked alongside Will, their feet leaving parallel tracks in the damp sand. They'd fallen into a routine over the past few days—meeting where the quieter end of the beach offered a refuge from the chaos of their lives.
No cameras, no pretenses, just two people finding comfort in shared silence. A group of early morning joggers passed in the distance, their figures silhouetted against the brightening horizon.
Kaitlyn had barely slept the night before, tossing and turning as memories and possibilities warred in her mind. The weight of her situation felt heavier with each passing day, pressing against her chest until she could hardly breathe. She'd spent hours scrolling through Sarah's Instagram again, memorizing the details of her half-sister's life through carefully filtered squares—volleyball tournaments, coffee shop meetups with friends, family dinners that should have included her.
Will seemed to sense her mood, matching his pace to hers without comment. He'd left his camera behind again, a gesture that meant more to her than she could express.
A small crab scuttled across their path, disappearing into a tiny hole, and Will pointed it out with a quiet smile that made her heart flutter despite her troubled thoughts.
"I have a sister," she said finally, the words tumbling out before she could reconsider. "A half-sister I've never met. That's why…that's why I've been so weird about your documentary stuff. About families and recording everything. It’s complicated."
Will stopped walking, turning to face her. The morning breeze ruffled his hair, and his expression held none of its usual playful confidence—just quiet attention. A seabird flew overhead, its cry punctuating the moment.
"Tell me," he said simply.
So she did. Standing there with waves lapping at their feet, Kaitlyn told him everything—about finding Joanna's Instagram, about discovering her father's other life, about her mother's years of deception. The words poured out like a tide finally breaking through a dam.
"Her name is Sarah," Kaitlyn said, her voice catching. "She's sixteen now. She plays volleyball and loves photography—I can tell from her posts. She has my father's smile. Our father's smile. And she has no idea I exist."
She described the moment she'd first seen Sarah's photo—a casual family snapshot at a beach bonfire, their father's arm around her shoulders, both of them laughing at some private joke. How she'd spent hours comparing their features, looking for shared traits, wondering if Sarah had inherited their father's terrible dancing or his love of spicy food.
"The worst part?" Kaitlyn continued, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Mom knew. All those years when I was asking about Dad, wondering why he traveled so much, why he seemed to disappear completely—she knew he had another family. She knew I had a sister out there, and when she’d finally had enough and divorced him, she just…she let me think I wasn't worth staying for."
Will listened without interrupting, his presence comforting. When she finally fell silent, he asked, "Have you thought about reaching out to her?"
"Every day since I found out. And then I think about what it would do to my mom, to everyone…" She picked up a shell, turning it over in her hands. "How do you tell someone their whole life has a chapter they never knew about?"
"Maybe," Will said carefully, "that's exactly how you tell them. As a new chapter, not a revision of everything that came before."
The insight struck her with unexpected force. She looked at him—really looked at him—and felt something shift in her chest. Here was someone who understood the power of stories, who knew how they could hurt and heal in equal measure.
"I'm scared," she admitted, the words barely audible above the surf.
Will's hand found hers, warm and solid. "That's okay. Fear means it matters."
They stood there as the sun climbed higher, hands linked, watching pelicans dive into the waves. For the first time since discovering Sarah's existence, Kaitlyn felt the knot in her throat begin to loosen.
"You know what's weird?" she said finally. "Working at Paradise Harbor House, seeing all these families trying to rebuild, trying to find their way forward…it's made me realize maybe there's no such thing as a perfect family. Maybe it's all just people doing their best with what they have."
Will squeezed her hand gently. "That sounds like wisdom to me."
"Or maybe just exhaustion," she tried to joke, but her smile felt more real than it had in days.
"Want to get coffee?" Will asked, seeming reluctant to let go of her hand. "I know this great little Cuban place that makes the best café con leche in Key West."
Kaitlyn hesitated, then nodded. Maybe it was time to take a break from the drama and just enjoy her time with Will. There was still plenty of time to figure things out. "Lead the way."
Across town at The Lost Anchor, Leah sat surrounded by grant applications and financial records, Jack's steady presence beside her as they worked. The familiar scent of books and coffee wrapped around them like a comforting blanket, and Leah loved spending time with Jack.
"Look at this," Jack said, pointing to a passage in the guidelines. "They're specifically looking for programs that bridge community divides. Paradise Harbor House’s work with local businesses could be the angle we need."
Leah leaned closer, acutely aware of how his shoulder brushed hers. The contact sent a small shiver through her that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. She'd noticed lately how often these small touches occurred—casual brushes that felt anything but casual, moments of contact that lingered just a heartbeat too long.
"Elena's been building those relationships for years," she mused, trying to focus on the words rather than his proximity. "The job training program with local restaurants, the literacy partnership with schools…"
"Exactly." Jack's eyes lit up with that journalist's spark she was coming to recognize. "It's not just about providing shelter—it's about weaving people back into the fabric of the community. That's the story these grant makers want to hear."
He reached for another file, his hand brushing hers in the process. Neither of them commented on the contact, but Leah felt her pulse quicken. They'd been dancing around this growing attraction for days now, each interaction charged with unspoken possibility.
"You're good at this," Leah observed, meaning more than just grant writing.
"At what?"
"Seeing the story beneath the story."
His smile warmed. "Years of practice. Though lately I find myself more interested in being part of the story than just observing it."
The implication hung between them, delicate as a page turning. A customer approached the counter then, breaking the moment, and Jack stood to help them. Leah watched him move through his bookstore with easy grace, noting how he seemed to know exactly what each browser needed—whether it was book recommendations or just space to browse in peace.
When he returned, he carried fresh coffee and a plate of Cuban pastries. "Brain food," he explained, setting them down. "Can't write grants on an empty stomach."
"You're spoiling me," Leah said, but she reached for a pastry anyway.
"Maybe that's the plan." His eyes held hers over the rim of his coffee cup, and Leah felt heat rise in her cheeks.
Hoping he didn’t see her reaction, she asked, “Can I ask you a somewhat personal question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you smoke cigars? I only ask because I remember my father smoked cigars. Of course, that was a long time ago, but some smells linger.”
“Guilty as charged. I learned to enjoy a good cigar the first year I moved to Key West, and I never looked back. I hope the smell isn’t offensive.”
Leah shook her head. “No, not at all. In fact, I like it.”
They worked through the morning, their heads bent together over budget sheets and program descriptions. Jack's expertise in crafting narratives helped transform dry statistics into compelling stories of transformation and hope. Every so often, their hands would brush, or their eyes would meet, and the air between them would grow thick with possibility.
"Tell me something," Jack said during a natural break in their work. "What made you decide to help Paradise Harbor House? Besides Kaitlyn's involvement?"
Leah considered the question carefully. "I think I needed to believe in something again. After all our failed business ventures, after watching our savings disappear chasing dreams that weren't really ours…" She trailed off, surprised by her own honesty. "Paradise Harbor House is different. It's real. The work they do matters."
"And that matters to you," Jack observed softly.
"Yes." She met his gaze. "Doesn't it to you?"
"More than I expected." His voice held a weight that suggested he wasn't just talking about Paradise Harbor House.
Evening found Tess wiping down the bar at Margarita Max's, the usual Wednesday night crowd settling in.
The regulars had their routines—the retired teacher who always ordered a mojito and worked on her crossword puzzle, the local fishermen who gathered to swap stories about the day's catch, the young couple who came in for one drink and always stayed for Jamie's entire set.
Her movements slowed as Jamie took his place on the small stage, guitar in hand. He'd been playing regularly now, each week bringing new songs that seemed to carry messages just for her.
He’d begin right around dinner time when the atmosphere was more relaxed, leaving just before karaoke began. Tonight, he looked different somehow—more nervous than she'd seen him since his first performance back.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said into the microphone, his voice carrying that slight tremor she'd come to recognize as genuine emotion rather than stage fright. "Got something new for you tonight. Something that's been working its way out for a while now."
He started playing, and Tess felt her breath catch. The melody was gentle but insistent, like waves reaching for shore.
As his voice filled the room, she recognized pieces of their conversations woven into the lyrics—subtle references to fresh starts and second chances, to finding music in unexpected places. There was a verse about a woman who helped someone remember how to smile, and Tess felt tears prick at her eyes.
"New song," Connie commented, passing behind her with a tray of glasses. "Wonder what inspired that."
Tess felt heat rise in her cheeks but didn't respond. She knew exactly what—or who—had inspired it. Just as she knew that Jamie's growing repertoire of original music marked his own kind of healing, his own journey back to the person he used to be.
The song ended, and Jamie's eyes found hers across the room. In that moment, surrounded by the warm glow of neon and the quiet murmur of regulars, Tess felt something settle into place—like a melody finding its harmony.
Later, as Jamie packed up his guitar, Tess approached the stage. The bar had quieted, most customers having drifted out into the night, leaving them in a bubble of privacy.
"That new song…" she began, not quite sure how to express what it had meant to her.
"Yeah?" His smile held a hint of vulnerability she hadn't seen before.
"It was beautiful. Real."
"Been feeling more real lately," he said softly. "Something about the company, I think."
Tess didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t respond.
"You know, I hadn't written anything new in years before…well, before you started working here."
The admission touched something deep in her chest. "And now?"
"Now the music won't stop coming." His free hand found hers, squeezing gently. "Funny how that works."
As she walked home that night, Tess thought about how healing happened in layers—like waves reshaping a shoreline, like music building note by note. Some changes you could see coming, like Kaitlyn's growing trust in Will or Leah's deepening connection with Jack. Others caught you by surprise, like finding your heart opening to new possibilities just when you thought it was permanently closed.
The yellow bungalow glowed welcomingly as she approached, Ernest dozing on his usual perch. Inside, she found Leah at the kitchen table, grant paperwork spread around her like confetti, a soft smile playing at her lips as she read something on her phone—probably a message from Jack.
"Good night?" Tess asked, though she already knew the answer.
"Getting better," Leah replied, looking up. "You?"
"Yeah," Tess said, thinking of Jamie's new song, of the way his eyes held hers as he played. Somehow she didn’t want to speak, instead wanting to hold on to the memory of the last few hours, keeping it to herself. So much changed around them, and much of it felt out of their control but wonderful, nonetheless.
Tess had no idea what tomorrow would bring but for now, in their small corner of Key West, hope felt as steady as the lighthouse beam sweeping across the darkness, guiding them all home.