Chapter 11
Lizzie
Lizzie stood by the hotel vans checking her phone for the tenth time. Fifteen spring breakers were supposed to meet here at five thirty. It was five twenty-eight and only half had shown up. More importantly, Chrisla hadn’t shown up yet.
“Looking for someone?”
Lizzie turned. Sarah walked across the parking lot in khaki shorts and a white linen shirt, her hair down for once instead of in that sleek ponytail.
“Where’s Chrisla?”
“Sent her home. She was throwing up in the staff bathroom.” Sarah pulled keys from her pocket. “Food poisoning, probably. She ate gas station sushi someone brought her.”
“Oh no. Is she okay?”
“She will be. But she’s not driving a van full of college kids tonight.” Sarah unlocked the driver’s side door. “I’m taking you instead. You were only supposed to shadow her anyway. I’m not throwing you to the wolves on your first run.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to.” Sarah looked at her over the roof of the van. “But I’m going to.”
The rest of the spring breakers trickled over. Cynthia and Emma arrived last, both wearing sundresses that were so flimsy a stiff breeze would probably rip them right off. Cynthia’s face fell when she saw Lizzie.
“Seriously? You’re our babysitter tonight?”
“Tour guide,” Lizzie corrected. “And if you don’t want to come, feel free to take an Uber.”
“Whatever.” Cynthia climbed into the van.
They loaded up. Sarah drove while Lizzie sat in the front passenger seat going over the itinerary in her head. An hour and a half at Mallory Square. Optional ghost tour that probably no one would sign up for. Return shuttle for anyone who wanted it.
She secretly hoped nobody would because that meant she could explore the town on her own for a bit. Or with Sarah. Which would be preferable.
The drive downtown took fifteen minutes. Sarah navigated the narrow streets with easy confidence, pointing out landmarks as they passed. The old cigar factory. The cemetery. Hemingway’s house with its white walls and tropical garden.
They parked the car and the group filed out. Sarah gave them an overview of the place. A few, those who’d just arrived, appeared genuinely thankful. Others, like Cynthia who’d been here a few days, rolled their eyes.
Mallory Square opened up ahead of them. Two massive cruise ships were docked at the pier, white behemoths that dwarfed everything around them.
Tourists swarmed everywhere. Street performers had claimed spots along the walkway.
A man juggled fire. A woman painted herself silver and stood motionless like a statue. Someone played saxophone badly.
“There’s a ghost tour starting at eight. Remember, if you want a ride back, let us know now or you will have to wait for the shuttle to drive back if you use the on-call service later.”
“Ghost tour?” One of the guys laughed. “Pass.”
“Same,” someone else said.
No one signed up for the ghost tour, but two timid girls requested the ride back to the hotel after dinner.
The kids scattered immediately, heading toward the street performers and souvenir shops. Cynthia lingered, fixing her makeup in a compact mirror.
“Must be nice,” she said to Lizzie. “Getting to babysit other spring breakers so you can pretend you’re having a real vacation.”
“Must be nice,” Lizzie fired back, “being on academic probation for being a lazy bum.”
Cynthia’s face went white. “That’s an old hat by now,” she hissed.
“Come on, Cynthia.” Emma tugged her friend’s arm. “Let’s go look around, leave her here.”
They left. Lizzie exhaled, her hands shaking slightly.
“You okay?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah. She just gets under my skin.”
“I noticed.” Sarah locked the van. “Come on. Let’s walk.”
They headed toward the water. The sun was starting to drop behind the horizon. The light was breathtaking. Yachts and sightseeing boats were visible in the distance, a smell of fried food hung in the air.
Sarah pointed at a vendor selling chocolate-covered Key Lime Pie on a stick. “You want to try one?”
“Are they good?”
“At this shop? Overpriced and mediocre.” Sarah kept walking. “Follow me.”
Half a block down, she ducked into a small restaurant that looked like someone’s house converted into a business. The sign read Matilda’s Pies.
Inside, an older woman with gray hair looked up from behind the counter. “Sarah Barnes. Haven’t seen you in months.”
“I’ve been busy, Matilda.”
“Too busy for pie? That’s just sad.” Matilda grinned. “What can I get you?”
“Two on a stick. And can you dip it an extra time for me?”
“For you? Sure. Coming right up.”
“Oh, and one to go. A pie, I mean. Can you put it on ice? I might be a bit before I can get it in a fridge.”
“Of course, dear,” Matilda replied.
They waited while Matilda prepared the order. The restaurant was tiny. Photos covered the walls. Key West through the decades. Black and white images of fishermen and cigar factories and streets without tourists.
“How do you know her?” Lizzie asked.
“Billy and I came here years ago. When we were negotiating the deal on the Carlson.” Sarah leaned against the counter. “He spent all day in meetings with Stavros and the previous owners. I was bored so I walked around exploring. Found this place completely by accident.”
“And you’ve been coming back ever since?”
“When I remember to.” Sarah accepted the pies from Matilda and paid. “Come on. Let’s eat by the water.”
They walked back toward the pier, a plastic bag with the pie dangling from Sarah’s wrist. The cruise ships looked even bigger up close, towering over the smaller boats in the marina. Lizzie bit into her pie and nearly moaned. It was perfect. Tart and sweet and rich.
“This is incredible.”
“Told you.” Sarah ate hers with more care, trying not to get chocolate on her shirt. “The day after I found Matilda’s we visited Carlson Island for the first time.”
There were three islands visible off the island. One that apparently belonged to a rival chain, one owned by the government–curiously called Christmas Tree Island even though there was not a singular pine tree visible–and a third one, further out. Carlson Island.
“That’s where the party is, right?”
“Yup, next week we’re heading out there for the annual event. It’ll be like a festival type thing. It’s all planned out, you just need to help out setting everything up.”
“Chrisla said people sleep in tents?”
“That’s right. It’ll be a real adventure. We did it last year and it was great. Even the board agreed. We have been sending supplies over for a couple days now. I’m just a bit worried about the weather.”
“The weather?”
They’d had nothing but sunshine for the week she’d been here so far.
“Yeah, there’s a chance of some tropical activity in the next few days.” Sarah grimaced with concern.
“Like a hurricane?” Lizzie had seen what those things could do on the news.
“No, we don’t get those until June. It’s more like a bad, unseasonable storm. But we don’t know if it’s coming or not. Could just dissipate again, or it could go north. Or south. Who knows?”
She shrugged. “I see.” She paused for a beat. “I can’t imagine you in a tent, you know.”
“Ah, Billy’s brother Joel took us camping every year until he died six years ago. I’ve been in plenty of tents.”
“You really loved him. Billy. I can tell when you talk about him,” Lizzie said.
Sarah looked at her. “I did. Just not the way people assumed.”
“What way then?”
“He was my best friend. My mentor. The person who believed in me when no one else did.” Sarah’s voice went quiet.
Lizzie tried to process that. The arrangement made sense on paper. But the way Sarah talked about Billy, the softness in her voice, suggested something deeper. Something Lizzie didn’t quite understand.
“Did you ever wish it was different?” Lizzie asked. “Like a real marriage?”
“It was a real marriage. Just not a conventional one.” Sarah started walking again. “People think marriage has to be about passion and romance. But there are lots of ways to love someone. Lots of ways to build a life together.”
“I guess I just don’t get how you could spend years with someone and not want more.”
“I had everything I needed. Security. Respect. Someone who accepted me completely. He was by best friend. And I was his. You know, he never stopped sleeping with a photo of his late wife by his bed? I’d hear him talking to her sometimes. It was cute. And heart breaking.” Sarah glanced at her.
They got up and walked in silence for a while. Tourists flowed around them, taking photos and eating overpriced food from the vendors. A street performer was doing a magic show. Kids gathered around him, laughing.
“You think I’m lying,” Sarah said. “About loving him.”
“No. I just think maybe you’re not telling me the whole story. Like why he picked you as his wife. Why he chose to help you. There’s more, isn’t there?”
Sarah shrugged. “There’s always more to every story.”
She wasn’t going to tell her more. And for right now, Lizzie had to accept that.