Southbound

by Danes, Ellie

  Gage grinned and gestured for me and Roscoe to accompany him.

  The kitchen was an odd fusion of old and new, with classic counters and flooring but a state-of-the-art gas range and a beautiful fridge and stainless-steel dishwasher.

  “I should actually have given you the house tour when you came in,” Gage said, opening the fridge. There wasn’t much in the way of food in it, but he had a case of water bottles and about a half dozen beers with craft-looking labels on them right within reach.

  He grabbed a water and handed it to me, and I took a long sip as Gage grabbed a leash and collar from a peg on the wall.

  “Ready to go, Rossie?” Gage asked.

  Roscoe reared and skipped, obviously more than ready to go on his walk, and I drank down about a third of the bottle of water. In spite of the open windows--and the breeze--it was still quite warm in the house, and I wondered how people who wore much heavier clothes managed during the height of summer, when it would be a constant sweltering heat all around them.

  Roscoe obediently sat long enough for Gage to put his collar and leash on, and I closed up my water bottle. “Let me grab my purse and I’ll join you outside,” I said.

  Once I was outside and closing the door behind me, Gage said, “We should hit up Mallory Square if you feel like it. It’s a great Key West tradition.”

  “I think I remember hearing about that,” I said. “Let’s see how it goes!”

  I had to admit that it was probably a better idea to let Gage--a local--guide me around the area than to just wander aimlessly on my own. Roscoe tugged at the leash, and we were off, headed down the sidewalk. I had to admit, the day was beginning to shape up in a way I never would have expected, given how poorly it had started out.

  Chapter Nine

  Gage

  I hadn’t thought about how it would be to have Aspen in my house until after I’d shown her the guest room, and as soon as she came back downstairs to play with Roscoe, I knew it’d be best to get out, take her around the island a bit--just to get some fresh air and to get out of my head. So I led her out along the road through Truman Annex in the direction of Mallory Square. It was still a bit early in the day, but the performers would probably be out and working the crowds by the time we got there.

  “Gage,” one of my neighbors, Sandy, called in her raspy voice. “Who’s this you’ve got with you?”

  I stopped in the midst of explaining some history of Truman Annex to see Sandy walking her dog, Clicquot.

  “I made a new friend coming back from my last business trip,” I said. “This is Aspen.”

  “Good to meet you, Aspen,” Sandy said, switching the leash into her other hand as she approached and offering to shake with my new guest. Clicquot--a tiny dog whose breed I’d never really known--pranced and played with Roscoe. “I’m Sandy, one of Gage’s neighbors.”

  “Good to meet you, too,” Aspen said, shaking her hand.

  “It’s good to see you with a woman, Gage,” Sandy told me. “I need to get Clicquot in before she gets too worked up playing with Roscoe, but if you’re in town for a while, Aspen, you should come over. I make the best margaritas on the island!”

  She beamed at my guest and I laughed it off because that was all I could really do.

  “Seems like people are friendly around here,” Aspen said as we moved on down the street.

  “Yeah, it’s got the best aspects of small-town life,” I agreed. “Everyone who’s here year-round pretty much knows everyone, but because most of us are misfits or freaks, there’s none of the usual small-town bigotry.”

  “I’ve heard it’s become something of a gay mecca,” Aspen said. “It kind of makes me wonder about how my grandparents would feel if they could visit it again.”

  I chuckled at that image. “Well it’s not like that’s a new thing, you know,” I pointed out. “If they’d visited any time in the last, say, thirty years or so, they would have noticed.”

  “Well my grandfather didn’t visit recently,” Aspen mused. “But Grandma came a while back after Grandpa passed so she must have seen at least a little bit of it.”

  “It’s always been kind of a hedonistic place,” I said. “Not always the same way, but wealthy people and broke people alike have chosen this place as a way to escape from normal life.”

  I explained some of the history of the island as we went along, from how it had been part of the confederacy to how Truman Annex had come to get its name, leading her along the road and taking our time.

  By the time we got to Mallory Square, she’d finished off the bottle of water and quickly found a recycling can to dispose of it in. It was early, but a few of the usual performers were out, including Dominique the Cat Man, so I kept Roscoe on a short leash to make sure he didn’t do anything that might get us into trouble as we wandered around the square, watching people do their tricks and earn their cash for the day. I made sure to put in a couple of bucks for each performer we watched, and Aspen did as well, following my lead. I almost told her not to worry about it--the people we were watching would make a good bit of money later in the afternoon and into the evening as the square filled up--but it would make me seem like a cheapskate.

  “It’s going to start filling up with people soon,” I told her once we’d seen everyone who’d already set up to perform. “Why don’t we get a drink, avoid the crowd?”

  “There’s going to be a crowd?” Aspen glanced around in slight disbelief and I couldn’t entirely fault her. Mid-late afternoon was not the busiest time for the square.

  “Yeah, there’s a whole tradition, a touristy thing, coming to see the sunset on the water,” I explained. “We can come another time if you want, while you’re here--but personally it always feels too crowded for me, especially during season.”

  Aspen considered that and then shrugged. “I could use a bathroom anyway,” she admitted. “And a drink sounds great.”

  We walked a bit away from Mallory Square, and I took her to Captain Tony’s Saloon on Greene Street, one of my favorite places to go for a drink. “This is one of the places Hemingway drank,” I explained.

  “I assume not the only one, given his reputation,” Aspen said, and I chuckled.

  “I’ll take you by his house tomorrow, if you want,” I suggested. “Or whenever--it’s a nice place, and they’ve kept it exactly the way he lived in it, complete with the cats roaming the grounds.”

  “I’d definitely love to see it,” Aspen said.

  A waitress approached us. “What can I get you two?”

  I glanced at Aspen. “I think we should go with the classics, don’t you?”

  “I put myself in your hands,” Aspen said.

  “We’ll take a couple of old school daiquiris,” I told our waitress.

  “Hemingway style?” The waitress gave me a grin.

  “Let’s start with the normal ones first, and then if we stick around we’ll have the Hemingway style the second round,” I suggested.

  Aspen left to use the restroom, and I patted and scrubbed behind Roscoe’s ears while I waited for her to come back.

  “So, tell me what a classic daiquiri is, and how the Hemingway daiquiri is different,” she said when she sat back down across from me.

  “Well classically, a daiquiri is lime juice, simple syrup, and rum,” I explained. “Hemingway made his a double and added bitters to it.”

  “Sounds like a good drink for a hot place like this,” Aspen said, and as if on cue, our waitress arrived with the first round of drinks.

  “He liked those, and of course martinis, and some people claim he loved mojitos too, but that doesn’t seem likely,” I explained. “But the daiquiri is a tropical classic.”

  We clinked our glasses and took our first sips.

  “Oh wow--that is good,” Aspen said, setting her glass down.

  “It’s one of those perfect drinks,” I agreed. “Don’t drink it too fast, though--they do make them strong here.”

  “Oh, I can definitely tell,” Aspen s
aid, but she grinned. “I think that seems to be a feature in this area.”

  “Yeah, usually they start strong and then cut them a little later on--don’t want people to get too drunk too fast,” I told her.

  We chatted over our drinks, playing the usual small talk game. To avoid having to tell her too much about my life, I kept pressing for details on hers--where she was from, what she’d been up to before coming to the Keys. We finished our first drinks and started in on the second ones, along with glasses of water.

  “So, I came here because Grandma wanted me to do some traveling, and because she wanted me specifically to come here,” Aspen explained.

  “It sounds like she really lucked out in the Keys,” I pointed out, “finding a husband and all.”

  Aspen smiled and I could tell she was starting to get a bit tipsy. Her body seemed more relaxed, and her smile was easier.

  “Where are you going after this?” I asked.

  She laughed, and I thought to myself that while I’d heard more than a few buzzed women laughing, not many of them sounded as adorable, as sweet, as Aspen did just then.

  “I have no idea, actually,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m kind of at loose ends now.”

  “No idea?”

  “I sold Grandma’s house just before I came here,” she explained. “I found an estate buyer, and I only kept what I couldn’t bear to part with.” She laughed again and I thought it sounded sad--and not just because she was at loose ends. “I didn’t really have much of a reason to stay.”

  “I thought you said you were working on a graduate degree, before,” I pointed out.

  “I was--actually, I should be finishing the program this year. I should have been working toward finishing my MFA. But…” She knocked back the last of her daiquiri and grimaced. “I shouldn’t be getting so personal with someone I barely know.”

  “Getting drunk and personal is practically tradition here,” I said.

  “I sort of...lost it a bit, I guess,” she said with a sigh. “A few days before my grandmother died, I went to surprise my boyfriend and found him…” She grimaced again. “He was in the middle of having sex with a friend of mine from work.”

  I had not been expecting that, and looking at the cute, sweet woman in front of me, it was hard for me to believe that any man could even think of cheating on her.

  “How could he do that to you?” I felt my shock turning into something like anger—Aspen was clearly more hurt by what her boyfriend had done than she wanted to let on; after all, she’d sold everything she could, interrupted her degree, and threw herself to the winds.

  “I don’t know,” Aspen said, smiling sadly. “But as you can see, once I do find the spot where my grandma and grandfather met, and I fulfill her last request, well…I don’t really know what I’m going to do after that.”

  “I’ll help you in any way I can,” I told her. “I’d need to check up on the legality of what you want to do, but depending on where you need to scatter her ashes, it might be something we can swing without having to dodge the police.”

  I grinned at her to try and cheer her up.

  “I hadn’t even thought about the legality of it,” Aspen admitted, giggling a bit and looking a little happier.

  “Well, we’ll double-check that aspect once you find out where the spot is, and then I’ll find out what we need to do to make it legal for you to go through with it,” I promised, finishing off my own drink.

  “I’m just now thinking that Grandma might have broken the law when she spread Grandpa’s ashes,” Aspen said, shaking her head. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and her eyes were bright, and it looked to me as if she’d forgotten her sadness. She giggled again and I thought it was probably time to move on--I didn’t want to get messy drunk, and I doubted Aspen did, either.

  “Why don’t we go get something to eat? There’s a bunch of great places not too far from here,” I suggested.

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” Aspen said. “Let me just pay for the drinks and we can go somewhere.”

  “You don’t need to do pay,” I said. “I invited you here, I’ll pay.”

  Aspen shook her head, trying to look serious, but her lips twitched with the start of a smile.

  “I just told you I sold ninety percent of everything I owned or inherited,” Aspen pointed out. “I can afford it. Besides, you’re hosting me--I should do something to show my appreciation, and paying for a few drinks is the least I could do.”

  “You’re my guest, so I should pay,” I said.

  “No--please let me pay for drinks,” Aspen insisted. “I would feel bad if you put me up in your house and paid for drinks too.”

  I held her gaze for a moment and thought about insisting that I would cover it; if she thought that the amount she’d gotten from selling her grandmother’s house and possessions was plenty of money, she had no idea. But then I figured that if it made her feel better, it was worth it.

  “If you insist, you can buy drinks,” I said, and raised one hand, my forefinger up, to stall her from saying something. “But only if you let me buy dinner. You’re staying at my house, I consider it my job to keep you fed.”

  Aspen hesitated for a moment but then nodded.

  “It’s a deal,” she said, and I signaled our waitress to bring the check.

  Chapter Ten

  Aspen

  The next day, I decided it was high time to start actually conducting the research I needed to find out where my grandma wanted her ashes to be scattered. I had breakfast with Gage and Roscoe and spent the morning consulting my notes and my grandma’s journals, and comparing what she described with what I could look up. A little after lunch time, I told Gage that I was ready to head out.

  “Where are you thinking of browsing?” he asked.

  “There’s a couple of places that Grandma talked about,” I said, grabbing a bottle of water. “It’s actually kind of exciting, thinking about visiting the places she met with my grandfather.”

  I’d been able to hear Grandma’s voice in my head while I read her journals, and I’d been able to see the excitement in her writing. “Ran into him at the Turnbulls’ place, near where Hemingway’s place was. Invited him for pie and coffee at Tracy’s.” “Saw him leaving the boat going to and from Fort Jefferson, and put myself in his way. Won an invitation to have shrimp at Sloppy Joe’s.” It was obvious from Grandma’s journals that she’d been head-over-heels for Grandpa from the very beginning, and that he’d been just as into her.

  “Make sure not to get a sunburn while you’re out there wandering around,” Gage said.

  I laughed and took a hat out of my purse, tugging it down over my head to protect my face and the back of my neck.

  “I’ve got more sunscreen on me than I have skin, I think.” I opened up the bottle and took a sip.

  “Let me give you my number, in case you get lost--I can get you back in the general neighborhood,” Gage suggested.

  “Oh! Yeah, that would be a good idea,” I agreed, and I gave him mine as well before finally stepping out of the house.

  I had no idea where Grandma’s friends on the island had lived; she hadn’t written any addresses. But I wandered around to the different places I had been able to track down. She’d mentioned the Conch Republic Seafood Company--which at that point had been an actual seafood company and not a restaurant. I decided to grab lunch there, since my stomach had started rumbling. I ordered peel-and-eat shrimp, thinking about Grandma and Grandpa sitting at a table not that far from where I was and doing the same thing, with the local snapper filet and the rum punch to wash it all down with.

  The restaurant was doing brisk lunch business and I looked around, enjoying the local color while I ate shrimp and looked at the notes I’d brought with me on my phone. I’d managed to find the pier where Grandma had seen Grandpa getting off the boat, which was helpful; apparently it had been relatively close to where they’d met, but I still hadn’t found that particular spot. It’s early on in
the search, you’re still finding out where everything is, I reminded myself when the snapper came to the table. I sipped my rum punch and water and checked some of the other entries. Apparently, she’d had friends who had lived near the Hemingway House, and Gage had mentioned it as well--according to him, it was well worth visiting.

  I decided that since it was close to his place, I’d swing by there on my way back to the house before the worst heat of the afternoon, which a local had told me was closer to two than to noon. I finished off my lunch, paid my bill, and started walking in the direction my GPS app told me would take me to the Hemingway House.

  “Aspen!” a male voice called.

  I looked up to see Gage and Roscoe. “Hey!”

  “How’s the sightseeing going?” Gage asked.

  “Not bad,” I said. “I’m headed to the Hemingway House now, since one of Grandma’s friends on the island lived not too far away from it.”

  Gage caught up with me and I reached down to pet Roscoe, who seemed as happy to see me as he was to be outside in general.

  “Mind if I come with you? I can’t bring Roscoe inside, but the yard is nice, too,” Gage said.

  “Sure thing—I could use the company. If you don’t mind waiting outside for me while I tour the house?”

  Gage grinned. “Not at all--I’ve done the tour around the inside a few times.”

  He insisted on paying for my admission, and since it was only fourteen dollars, I went along with it, leaving him and Roscoe outside while I wandered around the inside of the house. It was full of 1930s-era touches, from the old-fashioned stove in the kitchen to the antique furniture, and I breathed in a smell that reminded me of Grandma’s house. It was a scent composed of dust, cleaning products, hardwood wax, and old fabrics that just seemed to come along with older places. It was a smell I’d always loved, and I felt my eyes stinging with tears as I thought about Grandma and the fact that by my own choice, I’d never be in her house again.

  You knew you’d miss it, but remember why you decided to sell—you needed to get away. It was what she would have wanted. I took a quick, deep breath and finished out the tour, stepping outside onto the porch where Roscoe and Gage waited.