Chapter 20
Lizzie
The next day, they drove through Old Town past the cemetery. Lizzie’s arms wrapped around Sarah’s waist, the closeness feeling natural now.
Sarah pulled up in front of a house with a sign that read “Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum.”
Lizzie gasped. “Seriously?”
“You’ve been here almost three weeks and haven’t visited yet. That’s a crime.”
“I’ve been busy.” Lizzie was already off the scooter, staring at the house. “Oh my god. This is really happening.”
They paid for tickets and walked through the gate. Immediately, cats appeared. Dozens of them. White cats, orange cats, tabby cats. Some with six toes.
“The six-toed cats,” Lizzie whispered like she was in church.
She dropped to her knees and a large orange cat walked over. She held out her hand and it rubbed against her fingers.
“Hi baby. You’re so pretty. Are you a descendant of Hemingway’s cats? Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”
They toured the house. Lizzie was reverent, touching nothing but looking at everything. The furniture where Hemingway had sat. The dining room where he’d entertained. The bedroom where he’d slept. Then they reached the study up a narrow staircase.
Lizzie stopped in the doorway. The room was separate from the main house, built above what used to be the carriage house. Hemingway’s desk sat by the window overlooking the garden. A typewriter. Books. Everything preserved exactly as he’d left it.
“He wrote here.”
She walked to the window and looked out. Sarah stayed back, giving her space.
“I want this,” Lizzie said. “To write things that make people feel the way I feel when I read his work.”
“You’ll have it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you have the drive. And you won’t let anything stop you.”
Lizzie turned. Her eyes were wet. “You really believe that?”
“Completely. Also, I read one of your short stories.”
Lizzie stopped short. “What?”
“I googled you and saw your website. They’re good. You’re good.”
Lizzie felt her cheeks turn tomato red. She’d never been good with compliments.
“Thank you. I hope they’re good. I’d like to make a living out of it.”
Sarah squeezed her hand. “You will. I know it.”
They left the house an hour later. Lizzie bought a postcard in the gift shop. Sarah bought her a book about Hemingway’s cats.
“Where to now?” Lizzie asked.
“Beach?”
They drove to Fort Zachary Taylor Beach inside the Truman Annex. It was quieter than the main beaches, less crowded. The water was impossibly blue.
They spread out towels and Sarah pulled off her cover-up. Lizzie was already running toward the water.
“It’s perfect! Come on!”
Sarah followed. The water was warm and clear. They swam out past the breaking waves and floated on their backs, looking up at cloudless sky.
“I want to show you the Truman Little White House museum,” Sarah said. “It’s here in the Annex. I love history. Sometimes I feel like I’m an old woman in a young body. Or maybe not young anymore.”
“You’re not old.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“So?” Lizzie swam closer. “I think you’re perfect.”
They swam further out, away from the people at the beach and kissed there in the water.
“People might see,” Lizzie whispered.
“Not so far out. But we do have to be more careful. When we get back, let’s sit at the far side of the beach. And maybe try to act professional. At least until the lawsuit is over. You understand?”
Lizzie smiled at her and placed another kiss on her lips. “I do. I want to be open with you. I want people to know. But I also know that you need time to sort all of this mess out.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said.
“I should tell you, Chrisla knows.” Lizzie pressed her lips together. “Sorry. I was mad.”
Sarah took a deep breath but then nodded. “It’s ok.”
After swimming, they dried off and lay in the sun. Sarah dozed while Lizzie read her book. The heat was making Lizzie drowsy too. She set down her book and looked at Sarah sleeping peacefully, hair spread across the towel, face relaxed.
“I’m getting ice cream,” Lizzie said. “Want some?”
Sarah mumbled something that sounded like agreement.
Lizzie walked barefoot across the hot sand to the small concession stand near the parking lot. The line was short. She ordered chocolate for Sarah, strawberry for herself.
“That’ll be eight dollars.”
Lizzie pulled out her wallet and heard a familiar laugh behind her.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the Carlson’s star employee.”
She turned. Cynthia stood there in a designer bikini that probably cost more than Lizzie’s entire wardrobe. Emma was with her, looking uncomfortable.
“Cynthia.”
“Enjoying your day off? Must be nice getting special treatment from the boss.” Cynthia’s smile was sharp. “Although I guess you’ve been getting pretty special treatment all along, haven’t you?”
Lizzie took her ice cream cones from the vendor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh please. The help getting awfully friendly with the boss? I saw you two on the island. Going into that storage room. Locking the door.” Cynthia stepped closer. “You came out twenty minutes later looking thoroughly ravished. Both of you.”
Lizzie’s face went hot. She glanced at Emma, who was staring at her sandals.
“I was helping her get supplies.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Cynthia laughed. “Would be a shame if it came out that she is getting it on with the help.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just making observations.”
Lizzie had spent two years putting up with Cynthia’s bullying. Two years of snide comments and casual cruelty. She was done.
“You know what, Cynthia? If you say one word about what you think you saw, I’ll tell everyone at NYU about what happened on the island.”
Cynthia’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about?”
“The iguanas. The crying. The fact that you peed yourself like a toddler.”
Beside them, Emma gasped while Cynthia’s face went white. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
“I could ruin you. One phone call to the right person—”
Emma shifted her weight. “Cynthia, maybe we should just—”
“Shut up, Emma.”
“Don’t talk to her like that.” Lizzie stepped closer to Cynthia.
“You know what your problem is? You’re a bully.
You’ve always been a bully. But I’m not afraid of you anymore.
So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to keep your mouth shut about what you think you saw.
And I’m going to keep my mouth shut about what I know I saw. Deal?”
Cynthia’s jaw was tight. Her hands were clenched into fists.
“You’re making a huge mistake.”
“No. The mistake was letting you push me around for two years. I’m done with that.” Lizzie pushed past her. “Enjoy your spring break, Cynthia.”
She walked away with both ice cream cones, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped them. Behind her, she could hear Cynthia saying something to Emma in a harsh whisper.
By the time Lizzie made it back to Sarah, she’d gotten her face under control. Put on a smile. It didn’t fool Sarah.
“You okay?”
“Perfect. Why?”
“You look upset.”
“I ran into Cynthia. That’s all.”
Sarah waited.
“She made a snide comment about us. Called me ‘the help getting awfully friendly with the boss.’”
“What did you say?”
“I told her if she didn’t stop, I’d tell everyone about her crying over iguanas and peeing herself on the island.”
Sarah tried not to smile. “She what?”
“On Carlson Island. Never mind. In any case, she did see us at the mansion. Going into the storage room.”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide. “Did she threaten to tell anyone?”
“Kinda. I told her if she did, I’d tell everyone about her peeing herself. Maybe I could have handled that better.”
“You handled it perfectly.” Sarah sat next to her. “Cynthia won’t say anything. She has too much to lose. And even if she does, we’ll deal with it.”
“You’re not worried?”
“I’m terrified. But I’m starting to get really tired of feeling like this. I’d like to have a relationship that doesn’t require looking like friends when out in public, having to swim further out just to kiss my girl in the water, or sitting on the far side of the beach. Don’t get of this, please.”
Lizzie kissed her. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”
They stayed like that for a long time and Lizzie knew that in due course, their secret would be revealed. But not right now. Right now, they had this.
And this was enough.