Chapter 5
Lizzie
Sarah had spent two hours on the tour and then, Lizzie had sat down, reviewing everything. She’d found folders on the computer about previous events and read through those also. There were hundreds of little details she’d have to remember. By noon, Lizzie’s brain was fried.
She found Chrisla at the front desk, checking in a family with three screaming kids and a truly impressive amount of luggage.
“Give me two minutes,” Chrisla mouthed.
Lizzie waited, watching Chrisla work. She had this easy way with guests, smiling through the chaos, making jokes with the dad about how many suitcases one family really needed. The kids stopped screaming long enough to accept lollipops from the jar Chrisla kept under the desk.
Finally the family headed toward the elevators. Chrisla grabbed her purse from under the desk. “Ready?”
“Where’s the employee cafeteria?”
“We’re not eating here. Come on.”
Lizzie followed her outside to the parking lot where a bright blue scooter was parked. Chrisla tossed her a helmet she pulled from a compartment under the seat.
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. Hop on. That’s how everyone gets around in Key West.”
“I’ve never been on a scooter before.”
“First time for everything.” Chrisla swung her leg over and started the engine. “Don’t worry, I’m a good driver.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Just hold on and lean with me on the turns. You’ll be fine.”
Lizzie put on the helmet and climbed on behind Chrisla, gripping the sides of the seat.
“We only have an hour for lunch,” Lizzie yelled over the wind. “Is there even time to go anywhere?”
“The whole island is tiny. You can get anywhere in ten minutes. Did you not explore yesterday?”
“I rode my bike down to the beach. Higgs Beach, I think? Then I went to the grocery store and almost got run over, so I cycle back and decided to look around when I wasn’t tired from travel.”
“I see.” Chrisla said nothing further but pulled into traffic.
They turned left out of the resort, the opposite direction of where the beach was. Soon, they turned onto North Roosevelt Boulevard. To the right, the water stretched, sprinkled with house boats, to the left businesses sat.
They made a right toward a bridge and the scooter wobbled slightly in the wind. Lizzie tightened her grip.
Then they were across and everything changed. The buildings got older, smaller, painted in pastels and tropical colors. Trees lined the streets, draping shade over the sidewalks. People on bikes everywhere, moving slow, looking happy and relaxed like they had nowhere important to be.
“This is Old Town,” Chrisla called back. “The actual historic part of Key West.”
Lizzie remembered this part of town. This was where her shuttle driver had taken her on the detour yesterday.
Her new friend parked on a side street and killed the engine. Lizzie climbed off on shaky legs and pulled off the helmet.
“That was terrifying.”
“You get used to it. Everyone here has a scooter or a bike. Cars are kind of pointless when the whole island is four miles long.”
They walked down a narrow street lined with white picket fences and tropical plants spilling over into the sidewalks. Lizzie couldn’t stop staring. Everything looked old and charming and completely different from Brooklyn.
“Ernest Hemingway lived here,” she said. “He walked these streets.”
Chrisla laughed. “You’re the youngest Hemingway fan I’ve ever met.”
“I wrote my high school senior thesis on The Snows on Kilimanjaro, one of the short stories he wrote here.”
“Of course you did.” Chrisla stopped in front of a small building painted bright yellow with red trim. “Here we are. Cuban Connection. Best Cuban coffee on the island, and that’s saying something because there’s a lot of competition.”
Inside, the place was tiny. Maybe six tables total, all packed. The smell of coffee and garlic and something frying hit Lizzie immediately. Her stomach growled.
They ordered at the counter. Chrisla got them both Cuban sandwiches and cafe con leche. The woman behind the counter, probably in her sixties with gray hair and kind eyes, said something in rapid Spanish to Chrisla, who laughed and responded in kind.
“You speak Spanish?” Lizzie asked as they found a table in the corner.
“My whole family does. My parents are Haitian, but they lived in the Dominican Republic for a few years before coming here.” Chrisla took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “God, I needed this.”
Lizzie tried her own coffee and nearly spit it out. It was sweet and strong and tasted like it could power a small city. “Holy shit.”
“Right? Cuban coffee doesn’t mess around.” Chrisla grinned. “So how was your morning with Sarah?”
“Exhausting. She’s a lot Everything must be perfect and organized, and I can’t tell if she thinks I’m completely incompetent or if she’s just like that with everyone.”
“She’s like that with everyone. Well, mostly. She’s worse when she’s stressed.”
“Is she always stressed?”
“Lately, yeah.” Chrisla lowered her voice even though the restaurant was loud enough that nobody could overhear. “Her husband died last year, as you know She’s fighting his son in court. The board is trying to undermine her. It’s a lot.”
“I guess.” Lizzie picked at her sandwich. “I just feel like she already hates me and I’ve barely been here a day.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She’s just protective of her territory. It’s not personal.”
“Feels personal.”
“That’s fair.” Chrisla took a bite of her sandwich. “For what it’s worth, Sarah’s a decent person. Good at her job. Fair to the staff. She just keeps everyone at arm’s length.”
“Because people think she doesn’t deserve to be GM?”
“Partly.” Chrisla hesitated. “People talk. You know how it is. Rich old guy marries a younger woman, then dies and leaves her everything. The gossip basically writes itself.”
Lizzie thought about Sarah in her beige suit and perfect ponytail, all cold professionalism and clipped responses. She also recalled how she’d mentioned Billy in passing, as though she hadn’t meant to. “I mean, maybe they have a point. She did get the job because of her husband, right?”
“It’s more complicated than that.” Chrisla leaned forward. “Sarah worked her way up through the hotel chain. She earned her position. Yeah, being married to the owner didn’t hurt, but she wasn’t just handed everything.”
“Still though.”
“Still though, she’s doing a good job. The Carlson runs smoothly.
Guests are happy. Staff gets paid on time, and at better rates than anywhere else on the island.
We have a much higher staff retention rate also.
That’s what matters.” Chrisla finished her coffee.
“And anyway, once all these lawsuits are settled, Sarah’s going to run the whole chain as CEO.
That’s if her stepson doesn’t somehow manage to win his lawsuit. Though I don’t see how.”
They finished their sandwiches while chatting about less serious matters and then walked back to the scooter. Lizzie’s head was spinning, partly from the coffee and partly from everything Chrisla had told her. She’d spent the morning thinking Sarah was just a cold boss who didn’t want her there.
Now she realized Sarah was fighting to keep her entire life from being dismantled by lawyers and family drama.
The ride back to the Carlson went smoother. Lizzie was getting used to the scooter, or maybe she was just too full of Cuban coffee to care about dying. They pulled into the parking lot with five minutes to spare.
“Thanks for lunch,” Lizzie said, handing back the helmet. “And for the info about Sarah. It helps.”
“Just give her a chance. She’s not as scary as she seems.”
“I’ll try.”
Chrisla headed back to the front desk. Lizzie went to find Sarah’s office, her tablet clutched in her hand, trying to prepare herself for whatever the afternoon would bring.