Goodbye to You (4 page)

I had a blast with the early morning parasailing group, a few families and one newlywed couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

I’m not comfortable with chitchat, but today was different. The endorphins from last night are still churning through my body, and my enthusiasm stems from the anticipation of spending time with Thea again.

I stop at home for a quick shower, and then backtrack to Paddy’s, arriving early. My uncle’s inside prepping for the lunchtime opening, and he slaps me on the back as I approach.

“Hey Paddy.” I scratch at my chin. “Can I, uh, fix something for me and a guest?”

He snorts. “Don’t mind at all as long as the guest is the little blond lass from last night.”

The bells attached to the door jingle and a warm breeze blows inside. Thea is prettier than last night. She’s pulled her curly hair back, showing off her long, pale neck.

She wore a long skirt last night, but today she’s wearing dark shorts, showing off a pair of pale, graceful legs. Her white vintage concert shirt, despite a high neck, does nothing to hide her breasts.

Even with the distraction, I wave and choke out, “Morning.”

“Hey!” She sounds more energetic than I feel. I’m usually invigorated by the early morning fresh air and sunlight, but I’m dragging butt without my normal eight hours of sleep.

Thea appears refreshed, like she got great sleep and had time for a relaxing bath before meeting me.

The image of her naked and soapy and slippery in a bath makes me swallow. Hard.

I put my hand on the small of her back, leading her to the bar, grinning when she relaxes into my touch. Her reaction signals that last night was not a liquor-induced fluke.

She takes a seat and slings her oversized purse across the back of the stool. I go behind the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

She shrugs. “A diet pop. Whatever kind.”

I lay napkins on the bar for the frosty drink glasses. “Eggs, bacon, and toast? Unless you want something else.”

Paddy doesn’t open until lunch, but he keeps enough of the makings—eggs for salads, bacon for burgers, and bread for sandwiches—to make a decent morning meal.

“Mmmmmm, sounds terrific. I haven’t eaten a home-cooked breakfast in a while. Most of the time, it’s a Pop-Tart and coffee to go.”

I head to the kitchen, and she follows, soda in hand. She leans on the window while I pull stuff from the fridge.

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled. With onions and peppers, if you got ‘em.”

I wash my hands in scalding water and then hunt around in the fridge, finding and chopping the requested vegetables. “Cheese?”

“Oh goodness, yes. I love cheese. Cheddar if you have it.”

Even if Paddy didn’t keep cheddar in stock, I’d run to the store to get the cheese to make her happy.

“As you wish.” I’m not sure why the line from one of Mom’s favorite romantic movies pops into my head, but it’s appropriate.

The near-euphoria on Thea’s face makes me glad I learned my way around the kitchen from Mom since Da married her fifteen years ago. Yeah, she’s technically my step-mom, but she’s never treated Mac, Liam, or me like step-children. She’s been my mother longer than the woman who gave birth to me, Rose.

And the woman I call Mom never tried to crash her car with me and my brothers inside, like Rose. I rub the thick scars on my arm incurred in the accident. My physical reminder of what can happen when mental illness goes untreated.

My shoulders tighten the way they always do when I think of my birth mother.

The accident happened so far in the past, though, and this moment … may not be my future, but it’s my now. I should enjoy each minute before I head to med school and am drowning in books and cadavers.

I shake all thoughts of Rose from my head, thankful for my happy family, and elated by this gorgeous girl standing in front of me.

I’m one of the lucky ones, I decide as I plate our breakfast.

I hand Thea the plate, and she grins at the bounty of food.

“And you cook.” She shakes her head, her voice quiet as though her words weren’t meant for my ears.

“What?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, wondering what you can’t do. Drive a boat, get into medical school, cook.”

I laugh. “Not impressive unless I cooked it well.”

We move back to the bar and Thea digs in, cutting off a piece of omelet dripping with gooey cheese. I hold my breath. She chews the egg, her delicate jaw moving.

“Mmmmm. Mmmmm.” I expect her to spit the egg out into the napkin, but I breathe a sigh of relief when she cuts off another bite. “Wow. So good. A check in the ‘can cook’ column for you.”

She grins, and another layer of my anxiety melts away. I’m off the rest of the day, and I’d love to spend it with her. She’s more than a random body, and I want more than meaningless sex. I like her, and she seems to like me too. “What’re you and your friends doing today?”

She chews and swallows some buttered toast. “Oh, same as yesterday and most of the other days. Lie out at the pool, sip a fruity drink, and read a book. I’d love to visit a few attractions, but Bennie’s been here before and doesn’t want to be a ‘tourist.’ I’m not sure I can stand another day of lounging around the pool though.”

There’s my in. “I’m off the rest of the day. I’d be happy to show you around.”

She lays her delicate fingers on my arm, and the hairs there stand at attention. “Goodness, yes. Where do we start? Hemingway Home? The Lighthouse? The cemetery?”

“Whoa, hold on. How much longer are you in town?”

“Four more days.”

My heart drops. Not enough time to spend with her.

“We can visit so much in four days. Let’s make a plan.”

She pulls out a stack of glossy brochures from her purse for the popular tourist attractions.

“I want to go here for sure.” She hands me a brochure for the Hemingway Home.

“We can do that. What brings you here? To Key West? Other than vacation, of course.”

“Bennie, one of my friends from last night, her uncle lives here, but he’s out of town. I pulled money out of savings for the flight since the accommodations were cheap.” She grins.

“What’s next?” I stack the dishes and pour us both another soda. “What are you doing for the rest of your life? When you head back to the real world?”

She purses her lips. “I took last semester off for family matters, and this coming semester too. But I’m pursuing my teaching license.”

Her voice catches, making me think I hit a sensitive spot.

“Wow, awesome. What grade?” This isn’t small talk. I care. I want to know more about her. I want to know everything.

It’s scary but exhilarating. Her smile leaves me as breathless as any extreme sports adventure.

“Elementary school. No grade yet. I’ll take whatever grade I can find a job in once I graduate, but I adore the little kids, so I’m hoping kindergarten or first grade. Those first few years in school, they’re enthralled and eager to learn. Like they’ve discovered a new world. I can’t wait to be the one to show them all the new things.”

Her enthusiasm is magnetic. A few outstanding teachers gave me encouragement in my early years when I struggled with Rose’s death and my injuries. Without them, I may not have reached my goals.

“You will be an amazing teacher.” I don’t know her, but somehow believe this is true.

Her head falls to the side. “And you? Medical school.
That
is impressive.”

“I’m impressed I survived undergrad to get there. Miami was tough.” I stuff my hands into my pockets. “Do you need to get anything before we head out?”

She pats her giant lime-green bag. “Got everything I need right here. Camera, sunblock, lip balm, and water bottle.”

“Terrific. Let me get this . . .” I pick up the dishes, and she follows me into the kitchen where Paddy and his head cook, Manny, are prepping for lunch.

Paddy takes the plates and silverware. “I got this. Go enjoy yourselves.”

He gives me a thumbs-up behind Thea’s back. What he suspects may happen won’t in the bright daylight of our outing, but that’s okay with me.

Whatever happens, today will be, and I don’t use these words much, freaking awesome.

It’s not even noon, but it’s already an incredible day. We stroll down Whitehead Street. First on our list: The Hemingway Home and Museum. Dense foliage hangs across the fence, scenting the air with a blend of sweet and spicy tropical perfume. I love the old houses, painted in brilliant colors or whitewashed, and most decorated with ornate trim. A vast number of the houses are tiny. Shay explains how many of the smaller homes were cottages used by the workers who staffed the cigar manufacturing plants a hundred years ago.

“How do people today live in such little houses?” The home I grew up in was modest, but nothing like these.

“Most people spend their time outside since the weather’s fantastic year-round. If you look closely, the newer residents in these houses added on to the back or built an extra floor.” His hands warm my skin as he turns me to face the side of one of the homes. “My parents built a garage and put an apartment above it. I stay there when I’m home from school. We still live more compactly than people in other parts of the country though. Unless you’ve got serious cash, your house is around twelve hundred square feet, give or take.”

He takes my hand again, the brush of his work-roughened hands sparking bolts of electricity through my body. We walk in comfortable silence on our way to the Hemingway Home. I stop and chuckle at a plaque attached to a stone wall in front of one of the houses.

I read the plaque out loud. “Passion Pistol House. Established 1900. Outstanding.”

His face flushes. “Yeah, people love to name their houses. This is one of the more, um, colorful ones.”

I stop and take a picture, and he pulls out his phone and snaps a photo of me pointing at the sign.

“Oh, Daddy will be proud. Maybe I’ll leave this off the digital slide show I make for him.” While of course Daddy still wants to think of me as “sweet and innocent,” the innocence faded away in high school.

Not just sexually, but I matured fast when Mama got sick. Daddy worked the swing shift as a police officer, and I would care for Mama when I got home from school. Then when she passed away, I took on many of the household chores she’d done, and watched as Daddy withdrew from the world. He tried, but was overwhelmed by sadness and was unreachable. He’s doing better, but I can see the strain in his face from trying to help Jen with her kids, Kyle and Josie.