by Abigail Keam
“I would have to agree. You don’t have to keep looking back here. I’m not peeing on your seats.”
The cabbie shook his head and muttered, “I get all kinds.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing, ma’am. Be there soon. You’ve missed the rush hour.”
Eva settled into the back seat and stared out the window.
Unlike New York with its cold gray shadows and dark alleys, Miami was flooded with brilliant sunlight that danced off glass skyscrapers. New York was a concrete jungle, but Miami was the Emerald City. Everywhere were vast expanses of deep turquoise water, white sails, expensive cars zooming here and there and sun-drenched mansions.
Suddenly it was too much for Eva. She felt overpowered by the immense glass city, which resembled a mirror. It made her feel raw inside, too exposed.
“Listen,” she said throwing a hundred dollar bill into the front seat. “I’ve changed my mind. Get me out of here.”
“Where you want to go?”
“I’m not sure. All this glass and sun. It’s too hectic. I need something calmer.”
“The Everglades?”
“Goodness, no! The last thing I need is to encounter an alligator. I just got rid of one reptile in my life.”
“Depends on what you’re looking for. How about the Keys?”
That was a possibility. Things were slower in the Keys, weren’t they? And she didn’t know a soul in the Keys. Not a one.
“I just want to rest. Relax.”
“Then Key Largo.”
“Key Largo,” murmured Eva, thinking of the Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart movie. “Yes, take me there.”
“Where in Key Largo?”
“Just a nice hotel.”
“How nice?”
“A hotel with a nice pool. I like to swim.”
“Motel okay?”
“No. I want a hotel. One that will have a concierge.”
“You got more money?”
“YES! Just get me to Key Largo.” Exhausted, Eva fell back against the seat. “Please, no more talk. Just drive.”
Sulking, the driver changed lanes and made his way to Highway 1 heading for the Keys.
Two hours later, the driver stopped in front of an expensive chain hotel. “This okay, lady?”
Eva looked out the car window and nodded. “It will do for now.” She paid the driver the exorbitant fare plus a two hundred dollar tip.
He no longer thought Eva was crazy but merely eccentric. Rich people were never crazy, just different. She would make a great story for his family over dinner.
Eva motioned for the hotel valet to open the cab door and help with various packages.
She had stopped at a mall on the way and had purchased some casual outfits. As soon as she stepped out of the cab, the silky breezes of the Keys enveloped her.
Eva took a deep breath.
The salty air smelled like home.
She felt the pain in her broken heart dull a little.
Eva no longer felt that she was going to die.
Perhaps with a little luck she just might recover . . . even flourish.
5
For the next several months, Eva swam in the hotel’s expansive heated pool, lay under the shade of ancient palm trees, read Stephen King novels, and ate meals in her suite.
The only people Eva talked with were the maids who brought fresh towels and changed the bed sheets. If anyone approached, she acted as though she didn’t understand English or fled like a frightened bird.
Slowly Eva began to heal in the heat and isolation. She dressed each day in clean clothes, ate healthy food, and began to take an interest in her surroundings. She didn’t bother anyone and no one bothered her. Even old friends couldn’t contact her. Eva made sure of that by throwing her smart phone into the ocean.
Eva had walked out on her job and friends when she finally received her money from the divorce settlement. As far as Eva was concerned, all bridges had been burned. And she didn’t care.
What she wanted was a fresh start with no strings or reminders of the past.
Bored and lonely, Eva began taking walks navigating Key Largo’s torturous pathways and sidewalks. After all, how many more Stephen King novels could she read!
She loved peeking over fences into overgrown lots that might house a rundown trailer surrounded by battered banana trees with the owner happily ensconced in a nylon hammock sucking on a Budweiser. Next door could be a huge mansion with extensive security and manicured tropical gardens. Eva loved the diversity of residences as she tramped through the neighborhoods while listening to the ocean slap up against the island.
On Eva’s explorations, colorful lizards scattered before her as pink flamingos flew overhead. Once in awhile she would spy an osprey diving into the ocean for fish, competing with flustered pelicans.
Dogs were everywhere, happily sharing their guardians’ adventures, whether it be jogging, boating or fishing. Eva, who had never had a pet, learned not to fear these friendly and curious animals as they rushed her to be petted. She even enjoyed their cold wet noses against her legs and bought some dog treats to carry in her pocket. The dogs gave her an excuse to make small talk with their owners. Over time she learned a great deal about Key Largo’s inhabitants and history from these impromptu gatherings.
And on every walk she passed a dilapidated Mom and Pop business that was for sale–the Last Chance Motel.
It was a vintage 1940s court motel with individual bungalows overgrown with vegetation and a weather-beaten boat dock half-fallen into the bay. But it had a small beach with a zero entrance into a turquoise lagoon. Not all properties could boast such an entrance into the Gulf.
It would take a small fortune to reclaim it. And Eva knew nothing about the hotel or tourism industry.
But each day, Eva lingered just a little longer, gazing over the locked fence, wondering.
Could she? Should she? Did she dare?
6
One afternoon Eva spied a classic red Cadillac convertible with white leather interior while peeking through the fence overgrown with vegetation of the Last Chance Motel. She could make out that several people were talking in what seemed to be the office of the neglected motel.
Slowly pushing open the rusty gate with the No Trespassing sign, Eva gathered her courage and ventured onto the property. Standing near the entrance, she counted ten bungalows of various shapes and sizes. The Florida Bay sat at the end of a sandy driveway with part of the beach engulfed in newly sprung mangrove trees. She noticed the banana, hibiscus, and bougainvillea plants were in sore need of attention and heard lizards rustling in the palm trees. At least she hoped it was lizards and not rats.
Against the buildings lay rusty tools and overturned picnic tables. Worn-out hoses, rakes, and other gardening implements littered the ground. Paint was peeling off the buildings and some of the doors to the bungalows were ajar or missing altogether.
“I’m sorry, honey, but we’re closed.”
Eva looked over to where a middle-aged woman with bright, brittle blond hair wearing white plastic hoops and necklace stood. She replied, “I saw a For Sale sign.”
“What?” asked the woman, readjusting her white vinyl purse on her arm. She sashayed over to Eva as fast as her white pumps could convey her plump body on the loose gravel. “Are you interested? We’re getting ready to put the motel up for auction.”
Eva looked around. “How much do you want?”
A tall, sunburned man walked out of the office and strode over to them.
“This is Mr. Burton. His parents owned the Last Chance Motel. You are . . . ?”
“My name is Eva . . . Hanover.”
“Eva, my name is Muriel Pruitt. I’m the realtor for the Last Chance Motel. Glad to meet you.” Muriel put out her hand.
Eva shyly shook hands with both Muriel and Mr. Burton.
They stood politely waiting for Eva to explain what she wanted.
“I’ve been told by the locals that this p
roperty has been vacant for several years.”
“Four to be exact,” stated Mr. Burton. “My parents built it in 1948, after the war. My father had been in the European Theater and wanted nothing to remind him of the horrors of combat, so he packed up my mother and three kids from New England and moved here.”
“It must have been a culture shock,” said Eva.
“They loved it as did we three kids. They never left Florida for fifty years after that, except for one trip to Italy and another to the Southwest,” Mr. Burton reminisced. “After they passed, my sister ran it until she got sick with cancer. It’s been sitting empty ever since. I have my own business and don’t have time for it. My other brother, who was going take it over, passed away. A drunk driver hit him.”
“I’m so sorry,” Eva sincerely murmured.
“So am I,” replied Mr. Burton sadly. “He was a hell of a fellow.”
Muriel interrupted, “May I ask what is your interest?”
“I’m from up North. I was a design architect but retired now. My job was to turn large industrial spaces into living and working areas with all the modern comforts without compromising the integrity of the building. This place interests me. I’d like to restore it.”
Mr. Burton and Muriel looked at each other.
“Gee honey, you’re so young to be retired,” commented Muriel.
“I’ve come into some money lately and want to make a change in my life.”
Mr. Burton shook his head. “As much as I want to see this motel restored to its original glory, this is too big a project for just one person. I take it that you are single,” he questioned while glancing at her left hand.
Eva smiled, realizing that Mr. Burton was old school. “I’m very good at restoring things, Mr. Burton, but if I need help I can always hire experts. And surely I could call on you for advice. You have pictures of the motel in her glory days, I assume.”
Mr. Burton puffed up. It had been a long time since a woman asked for his help. It was welcoming. He nodded to Muriel.
“The auction will be next month. We can contact you then.”
Eva shook her head. “Give me a figure now.”
Mr. Burton took off his Captain’s cap and scratched his bald head. “Well, my sister and I want two million for the place.”
Eva tried not to scoff out loud. “Is the plumbing and wiring updated and up to code?”
Mr. Burton shook his head.
“And have the buildings ever been flooded?”
Mr. Burton shifted his feet before answering. “To be honest . . . several times during the last fifteen years.”
“I thought so. The bungalows should really be lifted up several feet. Were the floors replaced after the flooding?”
“I don’t think so,” Muriel murmured.
“So there is probably a mold problem with the buildings as well.” Eva started walking toward the dock. “I’m sure the property will be purchased for the purpose of tearing down the Last Chance Motel to build a soulless condominium community.”
“I sure would hate that,” growled Mr. Burton. “This was my parents’ dream. People still call and ask if we have reopened. They want to come back.”
Muriel interjected, “Be that as it may be, the land is everything here in the Keys. Precious and hard to come by.”
“Maybe on the ocean side, but this is the bay side of Key Largo. Less desirable,” stated Eva.
Muriel countered, “More protected from the storms.” She wanted to earn her commission.
“I’ve checked with the PVA office. There are unpaid taxes on this property,” Eva replied.
She felt like her old self, as negotiating was one of her strengths. She had gotten the brownstone for a song, but Eva shook that memory out of her head. She didn’t want to remember those days.
“We’re in a sorry state, that’s for sure,” announced Mr. Burton. “I’ve got bill collectors nipping at my heels. My parents would roll over in their graves if they could see what has happened to their dream, but I’ll be honest with you. We just couldn’t compete with the big hotels in the area. During the last five years before we closed, we were lucky if the motel was filled fifty percent and that was during the busy season. Times just changed with what people expected in the conveniences.”
Eva picked up a stick and scratched a figure in the sand.
Mr. Burton and Muriel leaned over to see it.
Muriel had to get her glasses out of her huge purse to see the markings clearly.
They reared back and looked questioningly at each other.
Eva continued with her pitch. “With an auction, you always take a risk that it will be rigged by the big boys in the audience and you might get much less than what you’re asking plus you have to pay thirty percent in auction fees.” Eva faced them. “I can have a certified check for you tomorrow if you have the papers ready to sign. You will know exactly how much you are getting. No risk with auction, plus cash money in your hands. I’m sure you have already had the land surveyed and the inspection done. A good lawyer can pull the title in the morning.”
“Well, I don’t know,” sputtered Mr. Burton. “This is so sudden. A total change of plans.”
Eva wrote a phone number in the sand along with her hotel’s name. “This is my lawyer’s number in New York. He can verify any information that you might need. I’m staying at this hotel. Call me tonight if you’re interested.”
“I’m interested all right,” declared Mr. Burton, “but why do you want this old motel? I don’t want to dump something on you that you might regret.”
“I need to make a change in my life. A new project. And this motel is the right size for me. Really, I know what I’m doing. I look forward to hearing from you.”
“It’s been nice talking to you, Miss Hanover. I’ll think on it.”
Eva gave Mr. Burton a big smile. “You do that, Mr. Burton. Goodbye.”
For the first time in months, Eva felt good. In fact, she felt so good that she walked over to a local salon and had her hair done. A new hairdo to go with a new life.
7
Eva didn’t hear anything for the next several days. She thought Mr. Burton had decided to pass and go with the land auction. Although she had lowballed the offer, it was a good one, considering the work that needed to be done to restore the Last Chance Motel. Still, that didn’t dampen her spirits. Every day Eva felt lighter, less depressed. Sooner or later a project would happen along that she could sink her teeth into. She hoped it would be as fulfilling as restoring a Mom and Pop iconic motel. Those motels were almost a thing of the past, and the past was Eva’s specialty. But Eva was sure something else would come along if the deal with the Last Chance Motel fell through.
So she was surprised when she walked into the hotel lobby and saw Muriel waiting for her.
“You’ve cut your hair!” exclaimed Muriel. “I almost didn’t recognize you. It’s so different.”
“Thank you,” replied Eva, not really knowing if Muriel’s compliment was sincere.
“Can we talk somewhere private?” asked Muriel, looking around.
“Sure,” answered Eva, pointing to the outdoor café.
They settled on a table by the pool and Eva ordered raspberry iced tea for the both of them.
“I hope you have some good news for me,” prompted Eva.
“Mr. Burton has decided to go with your offer. He heard a rumor that a developer in town was going to get his buddies to come to the auction . . . bidding even lower than what you offered.”
“You could do a reserve auction.”
Muriel shook her head. “I thought of that, but the bank said no. Too much is owed on it plus the taxes. They want to get rid of it regardless. Of course, I can’t blame them. They want their money like everyone else.”
“I saw that there was a lien on the property.”
“It’s a shame that Mr. Burton and his sister are not going to make a fortune off this sale. I’ve known them since childhood and the entire Bur
ton family worked their butts off their entire lives.”
Eva shrugged. “Life can be a bitch at times. I know what it is like to work hard on something and then lose it, but fortunately there will still be a profit for the Burton family after the sale is completed.”
Muriel took a sip of the tea and then rose. “Can we expect you at the bank tomorrow at 2 p.m. with a certified check?”
Eva sensed hostility in Muriel’s voice. She wondered if she had spoiled Muriel’s plans for the property. Maybe Muriel had her hand in the cookie jar with the developer. Eva rose and shook hands with Muriel. “I will be there. Rest assured.”
“I’ll tell Mr. Burton. He’ll be thrilled. He didn’t want the motel torn down anyway . . . if what you said is true about restoring it.”
Refusing the bait, Eva smiled and said, “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we.”
8
Eva unlocked the gate and walked onto the motel compound with her small bag of toiletries and clothes. She had checked out of the hotel and was determined to live on the property. But as she looked at the dilapidated buildings, she wondered if she had made the right decision. Not only did the compound look and smell horrible, Eva began to worry about the safety of the buildings. Hopefully she would find a building where she could at least lay her head that night.
The entire morning was spent having the electricity and the water turned on plus getting needed construction permits. Dumpsters were to be delivered that afternoon and tomorrow a landscaping crew was scheduled to come. But first she needed to inspect the buildings.
With a legal pad in hand and wearing safety glasses and a hardhat, Eva unlocked the door to the office and living quarters for the owner.
The strong mustiness caused Eva to sneeze. “Lots of mold in here,” she mumbled. “Dear, oh dear.” But as she looked around, Eva liked what she saw. The office walls were covered in knotty pine. The paneling looked in very good condition. Even the counter was of knotty pine with an old rotary phone on it.
