by Lee, Rachel
“Time to get out of the water,” she said briskly. “It’s getting dark, and I’m getting cold.”
She felt him follow her, but refused to look back. When, she wondered, was the last time she had dumped on somebody like that? Had she ever told anyone about how she felt about having to take responsibility for Jeff? No, she’d never told a soul because she was ashamed of the feelings. Not even Mel, whom she had once honestly believed she loved.
She turned to look at Chase as he reached her side. “You’re easy to talk to.”
“Maybe that’s because I listen.”
That was true, she realized. He might infuriate her with his arrogant comments on the things she and Jeff chose to do, but he always heard everything she said. That was an unusual trait in anyone.
He threw his towel over his shoulder, and helped her drape hers around herself. “So, you’ve been raising Jeff for the last… fourteen years, right?”
“Basically, yes.”
“You never had a chance to be young.”
His bald statement of something she felt deep in her heart suddenly tightened her throat until it ached, and made her eyes prickle with tears. It was true. Before she’d left childhood, she’d been turned into an adult. A mom.
“Self-pity,” she said finally, “is a loathsome thing.”
“True, but what you’re feeling isn’t self-pity, Callie. It’s hurt. And you’re entitled to that.”
Which only made her throat tighten more, until she couldn’t even speak. He astonished her by putting his arm around her shoulder, and she wondered if the contact comforted him as much as it comforted her. It was getting dark after all, and while she was being assaulted by old sorrows, he was probably being assaulted by his fears. Justifiable fears.
They sky was blazing with red and pink as they climbed onto the veranda. When she invited Chase in, he accepted. In the chilly air-conditioning of the house, however, her wet swimsuit felt like ice, and his couldn’t feel any better.
“Let me get you a blanket or something,” she said.
“You’re going to freeze. Then I’ll make us something hot to drink.”
She dug an old army blanket out of the linen cupboard and gave it to him. Then she went to her bedroom to change. Peeling off the wet maillot was a relief, and she toweled herself briskly. She needed a shower but that would have to wait. She felt uneasy at the idea of bathing with a strange man in the house. About the only way to get really cold in the Florida Keys, she thought, was to go swimming, then step into air-conditioning. Right now she felt so cold that she half expected to see snowflakes coming out of the air ducts.
She pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and headed for the kitchen to make hot chocolate. Chase was already there, standing on his towel with the blanket wrapped around him. “I’m dripping,” he said. “I probably ought to go home before I ruin something.”
But she didn’t want him to go. The thought of sitting here alone as night gathered, waiting for Jeff to come back at some distant hour, didn’t seem at all attractive.
“Maybe something of my father’s would fit you,” she offered impulsively. “I kept a few of his things.” A few that she couldn’t bear to part with. He’d always worn white at home when he wasn’t working, because it was cooler, and she’d saved a pair of his white slacks and one of his loose white shirts. It only took her a minute to get them out of the clothing bag where she’d stored them, and she offered them to Chase.
He took them, but looked at her. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Really, it’s okay. It was silly to hang on to them anyway. And help yourself to the shower.”
They fit well enough. Chase was an inch or so taller, but the pants had been too long for her dad anyway, and he’d always rolled the cuffs up.
“Much better,” he said when he emerged from the bathroom freshly showered “I’m no longer in danger of becoming an icicle.”
She caught her breath and could hardly look away. He had been handsome in swim trunks, but dressed all in tropical white he awakened some long-forgotten romantic image in her heart, especially with that piratical earring. She quickly turned her attention to the cocoa she was making. “I hope you like hot chocolate.”
“Sounds good.”
He’d rolled up his swimsuit in his towel, and he set it on the end of the counter. “What can I do?”
“Not a thing. This is the instant variety.”
The teakettle finally sang out, and she poured boiling water into two mugs, over the cocoa mix. “Marshmallows?”
“Really?” He laughed. “I haven’t had a marshmallow in my cocoa since I was a kid.”
She pulled out a bag of them from the cupboard. “Jeff loves them. Sometimes when we cook over the grill, he still roasts a couple for himself.”
“Did you ever do that? Sit around a campfire and roast hot dogs and marshmallows?”
She put the cups on the table and they sat facing one another. “Sure. Dad used to build a fire on the beach from time to time. He said it was a good way to get rid of the brush he cleaned up from around the house, but we always had a great time cooking over it, toasting marshmallows, singing songs. And he always, always told us the story of the monkey’s paw.”
He smiled. “And the man with the golden leg.”
“Of course! And no matter how many times I heard them, I always jumped and screamed.”
“We used to go camping, and my dad always built fires. He claimed the smoke kept the mosquitoes away, but I think he just enjoyed the fire.”
“I know my dad did. Heck, we all did.”
They exchanged smiles of understanding, and for the first time around Chase, Callie felt herself relax fully. Maybe he wasn’t such a bear after all, she thought. Maybe he just had an unfortunately blunt manner at times.
“Why don’t we go into Key West for dinner?” he suggested suddenly. “Or to that seafood place on Stock Island?”
She found herself hesitating, and only partly because of her own fears of involvement with men. It was getting darker by the second out there, and she wondered how he was going to handle it. But maybe he could handle it better when he wasn’t alone? Maybe this was an opportunity to try to desensitize himself?
A counselor as much by nature as by education, she couldn’t say no to that possibility. She understood being a prisoner of fear, and if she could help him even a little, there was no way on earth she could refuse.
“Sure,” she said. “Just let me change into something cool.” Because no matter how cold she felt right now, it was warm and humid outside.
She pulled on white shorts and a bright blue polo shirt, ran a brush through her drying hair, and added a dab of lipstick.
“I need to get some shoes,” he said, as she rejoined him. “Why don’t we walk around the inlet to my place, and I’ll drive.”
“Sure.”
She left a note for Jeff on the refrigerator and stepped out into the warm evening air. It felt good, humid though it was, after the chill she’d gotten from swimming. The tide had swallowed up most of beach, and was lapping at the seawall now. They walked on the narrow path between buttonwoods and mangroves, guided by starlight. The red mangroves appeared eerie in the dark, with their long roots that looked like thin bowlegs rising out of the water. Since childhood, Callie had fancied that they looked as if they were walking out of the sea.
If the dark was making Chase nervous, he didn’t show it until they neared his house. Until then his strides had been long and purposeful, but now they shortened and became quieter. As if he were trying to creep up on something. Callie watched him with concern, wondering if his fears would overwhelm him.
But they didn’t. They reached his house and climbed the steps to his porch. Chase walked to the door to unlock it, and Callie stepped to the side to stay out of the way. As she did so, she stepped on something soft and slippery, and a startled sound escaped her.
Chase whirled around. “What’s wrong?” His voice was tight wit
h suppressed tension.
“I stepped on something…”
Let me flip on the light.”
He finished unlocking the door and threw it open, reaching inside for the porch light. When it came on, they both blinked. Then Chase swore.
“It’s just turtlegrass,” Callie said, stepping away from it. The same stuff that washed up along the shore in long ridges, looking as if someone had just mowed a lawn. This was green and glistening, still fresh.
“Yeah,” Chase said tautly, “but how the hell did it get there?”
She hadn’t thought about that, but she did now, looking down at the trail of turtlegrass. It led from the middle of the porch down to the seawall, where it apparently ended.
“Somebody put it there,” she said finally. “There’s no other explanation.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but who? And why?”
Slowly she looked up at him, a very unpleasant thought occurring to her. “Maybe you’ve got good reason to fear the dark.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe somebody’s out to get you.”
He almost snorted. “This is a juvenile trick, Callie. If somebody wants to get me, all they need is a gun.”
“Unless they want to prey on you until you go crazy.”
He didn’t answer that. A few minutes later they were driving toward Key West, the seaweed lying unmentioned between them. Callie wondered if Chase had dismissed it completely, or if he was just keeping his thoughts to himself. She didn’t like the idea that someone was actively trying to disturb or frighten Chase, nor could she believe it wasn’t making him uneasy, given his fear of the dark. Denial. This had to be some kind of denial on his part. And there was nothing she could do about that without being obnoxious.
“Let’s go to Billie’s,” she suggested. “Unless you don’t want to drive that far.”
He glanced over to her. “It’s only a few miles farther than the place I mentioned. Besides, it would be fun to walk down Duval Street. I haven’t done that in years.”
“Why so long?”
“I’ve been busy. I only bought the house a year ago, and this is the first time I’ve spent more than a day here. You know how that goes. How much time off do you take to play tourist?”
“Not much,” she admitted. If she had her way, she’d move somewhere as far as possible from the sea, but there was Jeff, there was the house, and there was her job. She couldn’t justify it.
Parking was terrible in Key West, even though tourist season was over. They did manage to find a county resident’s spot available about three blocks from Duval and from there walked to Billie’s. It was a lovely evening with a balmy breeze blowing. People walked the lighted streets everywhere, and the shadows remained at bay in the deep tropical foliage that surrounded many of the old homes.
“I’ve always loved Old Town,” Callie remarked, feeling reluctant to admit that there was anything about the Florida Keys that she actually liked. Awareness of her own contradictory reactions made her feel silly. She did love Old Town. And until she had lost her father at sea, she had even loved living in a tropical climate surrounded by dropouts from mainstream society.
She hoped Key West could always remain this way, but doubted it. More homes were being built every day in the Keys, and they weren’t all being sold to fishermen, musicians, writers, and artists. The conservative mainstream was gradually moving in, and that was bound to impact the lifestyle.
But she could forget all that here in Old Town. Here things moved slowly. People moved slowly. Everyone was out to have a good time, wandering in and out of shops after the sunset celebration at the dock. Tourists and locals commingled up and down the streets and in the bars and restaurants. Mopeds skittered by in huge numbers, as did bicycles. Most people who lived here found it was easier to walk or bike than to try to drive on the west end of the island, and over the last few years, the number of mopeds had grown phenomenally because they could weave through the narrow streets more easily, and be parked almost anywhere.
There were few street signs. Most were marked by painting on the corner lampposts. There were few stop signs, either, and most people cheerfully navigated by yielding to other cars and pedestrians. It was one of the few places in the world where a car or a moped would actually halt without a stop sign to let pedestrians cross the street.
And every time she came here, Callie forgot everything she hated about life and got caught up in the wonderful feeling of relaxed energy.
They were seated immediately at Billie’s. Like many businesses here, the restaurant kept the doors wide-open to the streets while air-conditioning blasted inside, inviting passersby to step into the coolness. Surrounded by windows, they were able to watch the people coming and going from Mallory Square.
Chase ordered a beer, she ordered a margarita, and they both ordered the captain’s platter.
“You know,” Chase remarked, “Jimmy Buffett could walk these streets and nobody would even notice.”
“He probably does. He has a house here.”
“I know. I just mean there are dozens of people who look just like him.”
She laughed; he was right. Shorts and ball caps and top siders were nearly a uniform. “Have you been to his store?”
Chase shook his head.
“I hear there are enough Jimmy Buffett T-shirts and ball caps to keep any Parrothead happy.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Maybe we should check it out after dinner. I’m sorry we missed the sunset party.”
Callie shook her head. “I’m not. We’ve got as good a view at home, and we don’t have to put up with the crap.”
“What crap?”
“The sidewalk performers. Oh, some of them are really good. There’s one musician I really like. But some of them—well, their huckstering is offensive. I happened to stand next to one of them when he wasn’t performing, and trust me, if the tourists heard what he thought of them, they’d probably shove him into the water rather than put money in his duffel bag. And I’ve watched a couple of them get downright nasty when they didn’t collect enough money to suit them.”
His gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “So you’re down on the sunset celebration?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Not really. Just at some of the attitudes. If you want to be a sidewalk performer, that’s your choice. It doesn’t give you a right to demand that everyone pay you as they walk by.”
“So what’s different about the one musician?”
“He plays requests and never asks for a dime. Never. And he’s so nice to everyone. Some of the others could take lessons from him. Of course, to be fair, there are others who are pleasant, too.”
“You’re the first person I ever heard complain about the sunset celebration.”
“Probably because the last time I went was with my ex-boyfriend.” The words were out before she even knew they were coming, and once they emerged she wished she could snatch them back. It suddenly seemed as if there were a cone of silence over their table, blocking out the sounds of the diners around them. God, she didn’t want to go there.
“I take it the experience wasn’t pleasant,” he said slowly, as if feeling his way with care.
“Not very.” She looked away, staring out the window at the colorful parade of tourists and locals. Mel had all but ruined the Key West experience for her, she realized. She hadn’t come back to Old Town in the four years since.
“What happened?” he asked.
His tone was gentle. It wasn’t just a casual or curious question; she could tell by the way he asked. And that was probably what brought it all spilling out.
“He’d been complaining for weeks about my having to take charge of Jeff. I mean, he was all sympathetic in the weeks right after the funeral, but then he started pushing me to find somewhere else for Jeff to stay, someone else to look after him. I refused.” She shook her head and looked down at the table, noting the British coin that was embedded in the acrylic layered over the
wood. It gave her something to focus on, and she stared intently at it, trying to control her breathing, hoping the pressure in her chest would ease.
“I’ll be the first to admit I wasn’t thrilled with the responsibility,” she continued. “But Jeff is my baby brother. I practically raised him myself. I felt as if Mel was telling me to give my child up for adoption.”
“I can understand that.”
“We fought about it.” She shrugged a shoulder as if it didn’t matter.
“And that’s when you broke up?”
“Pretty much. It was an ugly scene. We were here for the evening, and we stopped in one of the bars on Duval. He drank too much. I guess he was feeling pretty rotten that night, because he didn’t usually drink heavily. But he had enough that night that he didn’t really care what he said.”
“It must have been bad.” He reached out and covered her hand with his.
Instinctively, she turned hers over and clasped his fingers. God, it felt so good to have someone hold her hand like this, to feel that comforting contact. His grip was strong, reassuring, and she found herself furtively aware of the warmth of his skin. She had the worst urge to rub her palm against his, but resisted. Instead she forced herself to remember what had happened with Mel because it reminded her of why she wasn’t going to give in to the mixture of almost irresistible feelings Chase awoke in her. Feelings of yearning, feelings of desire. Too many dangerously attractive feelings for a woman who was determined to remain alone.
She spoke, making herself focus on Mel. “Did you ever see Virginia Woolf!”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it was like that. Uglier and uglier. Louder and louder. The dangerous thing about letting someone get too close is that they know what will really hurt you. Mel knew all my buttons, and he pushed every damn one of them. By the time he was done I felt raw to my soul.”
“I’m sorry.” His hand squeezed hers. “Nobody should be able to do that.”
“But they can. If you let them get too close, they can.” Even as she spoke, she knew she was being childish. Wasn’t this the very thing she warned her clients about, the making of rules based on one bad experience, or one bad person? “Of course,” she added, “that’s the risk you have to take to let anyone into your life.”
