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Any gains Leo had made, he lost at the threshold of her bedroom. The plan was for her to pack for the night. He walked her
up to her door and, at her insistence, left her there.
“I think I’ll spend the night here,” she said.
“Why?”
She offered him a sampler of excuses, including a throbbing migraine, fatigue, and moodiness. “I get so cranky when I’m this
way. I need to change, chill, shower, and sleep it off.”
“Shouldn’t we get dinner?” he asked, trying to stave off a goodbye.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning. By then, for sure, I’ll feel better.”
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“I’m fine.” She touched his cheek, a gesture that did not reassure him. “Don’t worry. I’m not running scared.”
“I am,” Leo said. “Is this because I proposed during golden hour?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Could I get an answer to my proposal, then?”
“I’ll sleep on it.”
Then he found himself on the other side of a shut door and quickly walking away before he knocked it down.
Leo was on his way to his suite to shower, change, and do all the things that July had mentioned when he got a text message from Dr. Flores.
Join us for drinks! We’re celebrating!! Followed by the address of the Cuban spot near Mallory Square.
He wasn’t in a celebratory mood, but he did have a couple
questions for the director. Should I let July know? Leo wondered on his way out, finally deciding against it. She wanted space, peace, and quiet. She wanted to be left alone.
Leo understood that she would not accept his proposal or leave her life in New York for this southernmost city. It was selfish
of him to expect her to. Why had he proposed in the first place? Marriage had never been high on his priority list. Despite
that he’d been engaged for months, he was, at his core, a serial monogamist. That engagement was a trial experience. They’d
agreed to end it as easily as they’d decided to do it. With July it was important that they choose each other and amplify
that choice with vows and witnesses and notarized paperwork. They’d lost everyone and only had each other. If a blood pact
was required, he’d agree to that, too. Anything to keep her. But July was the wind, he realized. There was no catching or
keeping her. She would sweep through his life, strip him of everything, and leave. He could love her until the day he died,
and it wouldn’t change anything.
The restaurant was electric on this Friday night. Dr. Flores, his wife, domino buddies, Amaris, and their spouses, were at
a table on the patio. A live band played salsa music, and couples whirled on the dance floor at a frenetic pace. Dr. Flores
stood to welcome him. “What’ll you have? It’s my birthday. Sky’s the limit!”
Leo gave him a hug. “Happy birthday, young man! I’ll have a tonic and lime.”
“I’ve officially reached retirement age,” Dr. Flores said, a hand to his heart as if to protect it from the elements. “Only
two months before I pass the baton to the younger generation.”
Leo couldn’t accept this. “You’ll miss the institute. It’s clear you love it.”
“The proper order of things,” Dr. Flores declared.
Leo’s drink arrived. He sipped, snacked on chicharrón, and chatted with Amaris and her husband. When the band announced a
ten-minute break, allowing conversation to flow more smoothly, and the director’s wife left for the ladies’ room, Leo went
for it. Pivoting to Flores, he said, “I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
“Please! Anything to distract me from my descent into old age.”
“I’ve learned of an interesting young Black woman who worked at The Aurora back when it was still the Jacobsen residence.
How would I go about researching someone like that?”
“Start with census records,” Flores replied. “Key West recorded the names of every habitant of a household. Beyond their names,
you’ll learn where she’s born, where her parents were born, whether she’s Black, Chinese, Indian, or mixed race. But that’s
it.”
Census records were limited and did not paint a whole picture. “What if she wasn’t around at the time of the census?” Leo
asked. “What if she died?”
“Unless she was exceptional, this young woman ended up in an unmarked grave in the colored section of the cemetery. That’s
how it was back then, segregated even in death. For example, everyone accepts that seven people died the night of the Great
Fire, which would be around the time you’re asking about. But no one cares about the deaths that occurred quietly, in the
weeks and even months that followed, people who died later of smoke inhalation, burns, or other injuries. Only the wealthy
or well-known citizens are ever recorded in history. Everyone else is erased. If Jacobsen was an orderly person, he’d have
kept a ledger.”
A manager arrived with a chilled magnum of champagne. “Tonight we celebrate a beloved patron of the house!” he announced.
“?Feliz Cumpleanos!”
A waiter handed Leo a glass. It would have been rude to turn it down and not toast the man of the hour.
The sparkling liquid twinkled in the fairy lights.
He clinked his glass to the others and took it down like water.
When the band started again, a woman grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor.
What a waste of a warm tropical night if he didn’t dance under the stars with a stranger and shrug off the hardships of the day, forget the questions that nagged him, his ill-timed, ill-conceived marriage proposal, the fear of losing the woman he loved, and the foolish hope that she would fill his hollow soul. What the fuck was he thinking?
The band hit its stride with a cover of a Marc Anthony song, sending an electric current through the dance floor. One glass
of champagne chased with whiskey. One dance led to another. Midnight faded into the early hours of a new day. Dr. Flores exclaimed
it was the best night of his life. Last call, last set, and the party was over. A group of young people splintered away from
the rest and planned an afterparty. They debated whether to explore a new bar in Old Town or a familiar spot nearby. But Leo,
who’d lost his taste for alcohol or adventure, was done. He didn’t care what the night might bring or where it might take
them. He only wanted to return to the inn and check on July. Was it too late for that? Two o’clock. She was sleeping off a
migraine. He should leave her alone.
Leo thanked his host, said his goodbyes, and walked back the way he’d come.