Key Lime Pie

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Gayle. Had she called Pete already?

  With a grunt, Sadie rolled onto her side and forced her eyes closed. Morning was coming whether she was well-rested or not, but it would be an easier day if she got some sleep. Still, her stomach remained in knots as she thought about Eric not too many miles away. Should she call him and tell him she was in Florida, even though it was the middle of the night? Was showing up on his doorstep in the morning too rash? Argh, what was she doing? Her brain finally shut off and allowed her to drift into dreamless sleep.

  Sadie woke at eight, then hurried to get ready. She hoped to intercept Eric before he went anywhere for the day. She ordered a good Southern breakfast from room service—biscuits and gravy—and then flung open her curtains to greet the inspiring view of office buildings and streets crowded with the downtown Miami morning commute. Lovely.

  With breakfast on the way, she took a quick shower and was nearly ready by the time someone tapped on her door, announcing “Room service.”

  She wriggled as she sat down at the small table by the window, excited by such an appropriate start to her day’s adventures even if she only had two minutes to eat, but within one bite she found herself less than impressed. She felt sure the gravy had come from a can. The next hotel room she rented would have a kitchenette, she decided. Then she’d make her own biscuits and gravy, which, if she did say so herself, were amazing.

  Not wanting to make the kitchen staff feel bad—she was convinced they checked the plates and based their self-esteem on how much food was gone—she ate about half, but couldn’t force herself to eat the rest. She repacked her suitcase, slipped forty dollars into her pocket for emergencies, and headed downstairs to check out.

  On her way to the rental car, she grabbed a banana and a muffin from the hotel café. When she stepped outside, she was again slapped around by the humidity, which was thicker and hotter than it had been when she had arrived last night. With a little luck, she’d get used to the weather pretty fast.

  Once in her car she turned it on and plugged in the handy-dandy GPS unit she’d bought at Walmart a few months earlier. She and Gayle had gone to Denver looking for this boutique they’d heard carried those darling red-bottomed shoes Oprah wore all the time. After finding themselves lost three times, Sadie had invested in a GPS system; she had no doubt it would be put to good use here in Miami.

  It took her a couple minutes to program the address, and once the map was calculated, she was surprised to find that the city of Homestead was nearly fifty miles away. Living in Northern Colorado for most of her life apparently gave her a warped sense of the word suburb. It was nearly nine o’clock before she was on the right freeway heading in the right direction. She wondered if she’d get to Homestead so late in the day that Eric would already be gone doing whatever it was he was doing. She could only hope that wouldn’t be the case. She also realized she was almost out of time to call and warn him of her arrival. This far in, though, she was worried he’d be mad and she’d feel like an idiot. She decided to take comfort in Gayle’s insistence that it was romantic for her to surprise him. Hopefully the romance would overwhelm anything else he was thinking.

  When she finally pulled up to the address, the butterflies in her stomach had turned to bumblebees. She took a deep breath, hoping it would calm her down, and then wondered how on earth she could have done all the things that had brought her here and not have felt this way until now? Not for the first time she wondered if there was something wrong with her, some neurological breakdown that delayed full consideration of her actions until that consideration was a moot point.

  Taking another deep breath—which didn’t help—she got out of the car and popped the trunk before shutting the driver’s door and giving the house another look while she stretched out her back. A mini-palm tree grew next to the front door and the fenceless yard melted into the lawn of its neighbors on both sides. The grass wasn’t soft like the grass in Colorado, rather it was coarser, with thicker blades. Sadie assumed that had to do with the climate. The mid-sixties temperature was something she could get used to very quickly if not for the humidity that made her feel sticky and in need of a shower despite the fact that it was just past ten o’clock in the morning.

  The small square house was wrapped in peach stucco, with a single carport on one side covering a late-model Ford sedan. There was an Avis sticker on the back window verifying it was a rental car. Eric was here. Sadie’s stomach flipped with the realization that their meeting was only seconds away. What would he say? What would she say? What if he didn’t want her here after all?

  Moving around to the trunk, Sadie gripped the Sunkist box with both hands and lifted it; a twinge in her bad shoulder made her wince. She attempted to shift the weight, which helped, and reminded herself to be more careful. Though healed, her shoulder was certainly still tender and deserved her respect and understanding of all it had been through.

  She had to balance the box on the bumper in order to shut the trunk, and then there was nothing else to do but go to the door and face whatever Eric’s reaction would be. As she made her way up the cracked sidewalk she hoped that her assumption he would be glad to see her was correct and that this trip wasn’t something she would regret.

  Once on the porch, she used her elbow to ring the doorbell, then forced a polite smile as she raised her chin and straightened her back, trying to look more confident than she felt at the moment.

  Footsteps approached on the other side of the door, and then the knob turned, and the wooden door was pulled open, leaving a screen to separate her and . . . the woman standing there. Sadie felt her eyebrows lift, and her explanation of what she was doing there fizzled out on her tongue now that she was faced with a completely unexpected set of circumstances. And then her mind made a connection and her discomfort multiplied by eighty-two.

  Other than the eyes, which were brown, and the lines that, though not prominent, gave away middle-age, this woman looked almost exactly like the photo of Megan Sadie had found in the box yesterday.

  Although she couldn’t be certain, and a large part of her heart really wanted to believe it wasn’t the case, Sadie suspected she’d just traveled two thousand miles to find herself face-to-face with Eric’s ex-wife.

  Super Sausage Gravy

  1 pound ground sage sausage

  1⁄2 cup flour

  1⁄2 teaspoon basil (add more, if desired)

  1 (12-ounce) can evaporated milk*

  2 to 4 cups water

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Brown sausage, breaking up clumps as it cooks; do not drain. Sprinkle flour and basil over the sausage and cook 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Add evaporated milk and 1 cup of water. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, and then lower heat, stirring until desired consistency is reached, adding more water as needed. Salt and pepper to taste.

  Serve over biscuits. (Frozen biscuits work great—just thaw and bake them first.) .

  Serves 6.

  *Can use regular milk in place of evaporated milk and water.

  Chapter 10

  Sadie readjusted her position on the couch, hoping she didn’t look as uncomfortable as she felt. She could smell something cooking in the kitchen, and her stomach, though full, was terribly distracted by it. Chicken, Sadie thought, and barbeque sauce. It was just after ten o’clock in the morning, which led Sadie to believe that whatever was cooking was in a slow cooker; the aroma was too strong to be lingering in the air from last night’s dinner. The spices tingled in her nose and her mouth watered for some home cooking, but Sadie tried very, very hard to keep her focus.

  Layla—that was her name, like the song by Eric Clapton—dialed a number written on a pad of paper on the end table. Sadie took it as a good sign that she hadn’t assigned Eric a speed-dial number and hoped that, like most people, the two were glad to be divorced from one another. While Layla listened on the phone, Sadie took a quick inventory of the woman.

  Layla was a little thick around the middle, but
had dark hair that brushed her shoulders and wide, brown eyes that made her look young and innocent despite her being in her mid-forties. She was wearing a bright turquoise fitted T-shirt, white knee-length shorts, and white sandals. A multicolored beaded necklace hung against her tanned neck. She was very polished and well put-together, but seemed a little disconnected. A little too unattached to the situation at hand. Maybe the stress of all that was happening was overwhelming her emotional responses or something.

  In the minute and a half since Sadie had arrived, they’d exchanged names and established that Sadie had brought the box to Eric. Sadie tried her best to ignore the vise grip in her stomach, not liking the way this encounter had come together. She didn’t have verification that Layla was Eric’s ex-wife because she couldn’t think of a way to ask that wouldn’t somehow come across as adversarial. Sadie was here, in part, because she had a romantic interest in Eric. If, in fact, Layla was Eric’s former wife, then that put them in an awkward situation. It seemed best to leave things ambiguous, but the resemblance between Layla and Megan was impossible to discount. Because of all that, this moment was nothing like the fantasy Sadie had created in her mind, the one where Eric, realizing that she had come to Florida, confessed what was going on and pulled her into an embrace which may, or may not, have ended in that first kiss he’d left up to her. She hurried to blink away the scene so perfectly mapped out in her mind and hoped Layla wouldn’t notice the tint in her cheeks.

  Layla put the phone on the end table next to the recliner where she sat across from Sadie. If she was as curious about Sadie as Sadie was about her, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Layla hadn’t asked about the box that sat on the floor at Sadie’s feet or how Sadie knew Eric in the first place. “He’s still not answering,” Layla said. She picked up the remote and un-muted the TV.

  “Still?” Sadie asked. “Have you been trying to reach him for awhile?”

  “He left early this morning,” Layla said casually, turning to watch The Price Is Right. Bob Barker was the host, which meant that particular episode was a rerun. “He said he’d be back by nine.”

  “Where did he go?” Sadie asked after several seconds without conversation.

  “I don’t know,” Layla said, still watching the TV.

  Sadie glanced at the large clock on the wall behind Layla’s head while Bob Barker introduced the next item the contestants were supposed to price. It was eight minutes after ten. “So, um, Eric left from here?” she asked, trying to be subtle. “Did he, uh, stay here last night then?”

  That was the only reason Sadie could think of that Layla would know he’d left early and expect that he was coming back. Plus, his rental car was in the carport. But she didn’t like thinking these things, didn’t like the implications she couldn’t ignore in her mind. Layla, however, ignored the implications completely. In fact, she ignored everything and didn’t answer, engrossed in watching the newest audience member running for the stage. Sadie’s nerves had no patience for this or the questions that kept bubbling up. Eric could return at any minute and she wanted to know exactly what she was dealing with when he did.

  She cleared her throat. “Did Eric stay here last night?” she asked, louder and bolder than she’d have liked to but in serious need of getting this woman’s attention. Layla glanced at her and nodded, but with such casualness that Sadie questioned herself. Was Sadie jumping to conclusions again? Was she watching too much TV and developing a mind that thought the worst of people?

  She decided to push those thoughts to the back of her mind and keep her focus on where Eric was and when he was coming back. The information would be much easier to figure out if Layla were even a little bit helpful. Eric hadn’t told Layla where he was going, but surely she had ideas; she must have overheard something or noted the way he was dressed.

  Layla just stared at the TV, looking bored and expressionless, but completely absorbed in the show. Maybe a doctor had given her something to help her cope with the information that the police may have found her daughter’s body.

  Sadie decided to wait for a commercial break. Unfortunately, when one came on, Layla seemed just as interested in the Welch’s grape juice commercial. Sadie was sorely tempted to mute the TV altogether, but knew Emily Post probably had some rules somewhere on it being bad manners to turn off someone’s TV in their own home.

  “Do you have any idea where Eric went?” she asked, loud enough to get Layla’s attention. She turned to face Sadie and although the TV was very distracting, Sadie was determined to have a conversation despite the noise. She reminded herself that the game show would be back on soon and she might very well lose Layla again.

  “He didn’t tell me where they were going. He said that they’d be back at nine.”

  Wait a minute . . .

  “They?”

  “Larry went with him.”

  Larry? Short for Lawrence McCallister, the home owner? “And Larry is . . . ?”

  Layla blinked, letting the hanging sentence hang.

  “Is Larry your . . . husband?” Sadie liked the idea that Layla and Larry lived together in this house. That Eric had simply slept on their couch to avoid having to pay for a hotel. She liked that explanation a whole lot.

  But Layla’s answer didn’t give that possibility much room to breathe. “Larry used to be my husband.”

  Sadie was so confused. Layla had to be medicated—or maybe she was mentally ill. Sadie took a breath, no longer concerned with easing her way into getting answers. “So your ex-husbands left together and said they’d be home by nine—nine this morning or nine o’clock tonight?”

  “This morning.”

  “They’re an hour late. You’re not worried about them?”

  Layla’s blank stare didn’t waver. “They told me not to worry about anything.”

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Sadie said, inching forward on the couch. “But Eric was expecting some important information today. It’s surprising he would make himself unavailable.”

  “He said not to worry,” Layla repeated.

  Sadie felt her shoulders fall. This was getting ridiculous. She was running out of ways to make the point that she was worried, and that if Layla knew anything at all she ought to share it.

  “This box is full of Megan’s things,” Sadie suddenly said, going up yet one more level of boldness and pointing at the box. She watched Layla’s eyes go to the box for a few moments and waited for her to make some reaction to Megan’s name. Nothing. “Eric seemed to need it pretty badly.”

  “He said he was waiting for a box,” Layla said casually, letting her eyes dart to the TV where a car commercial raced across the screen. “I’m supposed to sign for it and not open it until they get back.”

  When her eyes came back to Sadie’s they contained no question as to why Sadie had brought the box from Colorado instead of FedEx, but at least Sadie now knew why Layla was here—to receive the package.

  A station advertisement of what was on today’s lineup came on the TV and Sadie feared it would transition to The Price Is Right again at any moment.

  “I’m worried about Eric,” Sadie finally said flat out, talking quickly. “When he called me yesterday he was . . . vague about what’s been going on.” Sadie cringed; she sounded like his mother!

  “He’s always like that,” Layla said, her eyes moving to the TV again. “Larry says it makes him feel heroic.”

  Glancing quickly at the TV, Sadie knew she might only have seconds left before she’d have to give up center stage to a new refrigerator and Barker’s Beauties. Were there any other questions she could ask this woman, unhelpful as she was?

  The opportunity was officially lost when Rod Roddy’s voice introduced the show. Sadie slumped against the back of the couch, reviewing what she’d learned.

  “Megan is your daughter, right?”

  “Yes.” Layla didn’t look away from the TV.

  “So Eric is your ex-husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “A
nd he and Larry went somewhere together?”

  Layla didn’t answer at all this time, her eyes glued to the TV. Sadie was left to ponder on it herself. Where would two men who had been married to the same woman want to go together? Leaving early in the morning meant they probably hadn’t gone to the police station. What else would be important enough to go to together—and leave Layla by herself in the process? Sadie didn’t know what was wrong with the woman, but she doubted it was a good idea to leave her alone for long stretches of time.

  Sadie was pondering the possibilities when she caught movement near the kitchen. She turned slightly and watched a gray cat smooth itself around the corner of the room. Sadie instantly recognized it as the cat from the picture she’d found in the Sunkist box, although it had put on some weight and no longer had the red bow. The cat looked at Sadie for a moment before jumping onto Layla’s lap. Without so much as looking at the animal, Layla immediately began stroking the cat from head to tail.

  Sadie watched Layla’s hand glide over the cat’s body in a rhythmic motion. After only five minutes with this woman, Sadie could imagine Layla sitting that way, petting the cat, for hours at a time while she blankly watched TV. The cat purred loudly enough that Sadie could hear it over the audience applauding the next contestant.

  After waiting for several seconds, just in case Layla realized they hadn’t finished their conversation, Sadie pulled open her purse and dug out her cell phone. She hadn’t wanted to call Eric herself for fear it would appear rather vain for her to expect him to answer her call after Layla had already tried, but she had a feeling that very little affected Layla. She’d opened her contact list in search of his number when she was startled by the ringing of the cordless phone sitting on the end table next to Layla. Layla looked at the phone but made no attempt to answer; she was too busy petting the cat and watching a tiny Filipino woman guess the price on a tube of toothpaste.