Mabel stared. The words hung in the air, her brain refusing to absorb them and their import.
“What?” she asked faintly.
“The store,” Latisha said. “I get to work it tonight. Mom said she’d give me some spending money, too, so I could buy that curling iron I’ve been wanting; she said—”
“Stay here,” Mabel whispered, and rose slowly. She found Gail on the back patio, talking on the phone as usual. When she was finished, she turned to Mabel.
“What?” she demanded, noting the girl’s pale face.
“I want to work tonight,” she said. “I want to go to work. Don’t make Latisha. You said you wouldn’t. You said—”
“Don’t remind me of what I said, you little bitch,” she spat. “I know what I said. But the customers want a fresh face. Don’t worry, they still ask for you; you’ll still make plenty of money. But Marcus and I know what the market will bear. They want fresh, and they’re going to get it, see?”
“I see,” Mabel said, and went back inside the house. Walking to the kitchen, she grabbed a towel and twisted it in her hands, thinking. Finally, she returned to the back yard. Gail sat smoking a cigarette and didn’t turn when she heard Mabel approaching.
“I told you, no more arguments,” she said, taking a long drag. “You weren’t really so naïve as to think you were going to be enough forever, were you?”
“I guess not,” Mabel said, and drove her pocketknife deep into Gail’s neck. The woman let out a shriek, but Mabel muffled it quickly with a kitchen towel stuffed into her mouth. Pulling the knife out with some effort, she drove it in again and again, aiming for the carotid artery, the vessel of grave importance that she had just learned about the previous week in Life Science. The woman gurgled and flailed, but Mabel’s aim was accurate and her passion translated into a pure and perfect strength. It seemed no time at all before Gail slumped onto the patio, a crimson stain spreading quickly across her filthy blouse. Mabel straightened, breathing heavily and stifling sobs, the world red and throbbing along with the rushing in her ears.
She went back into the house and washed her hands and arms. She carefully cleaned the blade of her pocketknife, dried it, and put it back into her shorts pocket. She stripped off her shirt and stuffed it deeply into the trash, crossing the kitchen to go back to her room. She passed the doorway to the den, where the sisters were still engrossed in their play and did not look up. Mabel pulled another shirt from her drawer and threw the rest of her clothes into her backpack. Her mind was a rush of sensations, but it was also strangely clear.
Shouldering the bag, she stepped out the front door, taking great gulps of the thin winter air to calm her racing heart, and looking side to side to see if anyone was around. The street was empty and quiet but for a dog on a chain that barked when it caught sight of her. The sound of the highway could be heard from behind the dilapidated fence that traversed the length of the subdivision.
Mabel ran.
Five
Jake Ennis tied the sailboat to the dock and straightened. He needed a drink, badly. The Florida sun was beginning to set, but the heat of it still penetrated his ball cap and made his head throb. It had not been an easy day on the water, and the customers had been demanding and contrary. Still, he had six hundred and sixty dollars cash in his pocket, and that would have to do for now to soften his ragged nerves.
He crossed the dock to the bar and grill perched on the edge of the water, and ordered a whiskey—neat—from Gina, the owner and bartender. Gina was a middle-aged woman with sun-worn wrinkles from a lifetime of living by the sea, but she had been transcendent in her younger days, and the hallmarks of beauty remained in her high cheekbones, clear blue eyes, and thick dark hair.
She and Jake had an understanding. When he needed company at night, he would leave the door to the cabin unlocked, and she would appear. How she always knew, he could not begin to guess. She brought Jake his drink and leaned over the bar, her generous bosom resting on the aging wooden surface.
“Hard day, Jake?” she asked, reading his face with alacrity, as usual.
“Yep,” he said, sipping the amber liquid and grimacing. The burn that spread across his chest was comforting, and he relaxed a little, taking his ball cap off and setting it on the bar beside him. He ran his hands through his close-cropped and rapidly greying dark hair and sighed. “Lost my first mate again. Not sure why; he just called and said he wasn’t coming back. Am I so demanding?”
“No, I’m sure it’s not you,” she said, her voice soothing.
“Still, I can’t seem to keep them,” he said. “I’m sure it’s the pay; seventy-five dollars a gig isn’t much, but I can’t very well give more. Do you know anyone who needs a job?”
“Nope,” she said. “But I’ll keep a sharp eye out.”
“Thanks, Gina,” he said, draining his drink and motioning for another. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I can sail Stella Luna all right by myself, but I can’t play host to customers at the same time very well. And if I can’t play host to customers, pretty soon I won’t have any, and I’ll have to find a real job.”
Gina nodded sympathetically and patted his hand.
“I’m sure something will turn up,” she said.
He looked around as he sipped his drink and took a few deep breaths, trying to beat down the pessimism that he was feeling. The sun was setting, sending a bright smear of coral across the sky, and as the breeze freshened, the scent of saltwater rose up all around. The palm trees nearby rustled and waved gently above him, and a lizard scuttled across the bar top. He smiled, and felt better in that moment. There was no place more beautiful than Key West, he felt certain, and he was a lucky man to live within its bounds.
Gina finished serving another patron across the room and came back, bringing the mostly-empty bottle of Knob Creek with her and setting it down beside his hat.
“You look like you might just need the rest of it tonight,” she said. “Consider it a gift.”
“Okay then,” he said, gratified. He poured himself another glass and felt happy. Pessimism was not his style, and he didn’t like feeling it. Much better to believe the best.
All he needed was someone reliable, someone who could attend to customers’ needs while he did the heavy work of sailing; someone who would be satisfied with seventy-five dollars cash in their hand for a few hours work. It was simple enough to teach someone the basics of sailing—he was fairly certain he could teach a moderately intelligent monkey—the human interaction was where he needed help.
He got up, taking his bottle with him, and walked across the wharf to where Stella Luna rested. He viewed her with a critical eye, but found little to criticize. She was not a young craft, with dings in her hull and places where a new coat of paint would have served her well, but she was sturdy and fun, a Catalina 35 with just enough room to take out couples and small families who wanted a taste of life on the ocean.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This had always been his dream, after all: to have a charter business that would take him well into retirement. Lila had made him swear that he’d follow that dream, and he didn’t intend to abscond on a death-bed promise, if it was in his power to fulfill it. Without a reliable first mate, however, he might have to go back to truly stultifying work—human resources for soulless megacorporations. The thought was unwelcome, and he shuddered in the humid evening air. No. Something would turn up. He felt it in his bones, and he took another slug of the whiskey. Something would turn up. It always did.
Six
Gina left before daybreak, as was her way, but the memory of her embrace lingered in Jake’s mind as he awoke and stretched in his berth. He felt deeply content. Outside the small windows he could hear the birds chirping and the noises of the wharf coming awake. He had slept later than he intended, but his first gig wasn’t until 11am and he felt it was going to be a good day. He pulled on his pants as he climbed the steps to the deck, taking stock as he went.
Decembe
r 29th. The snowbird season was well underway, and his clientele were mostly retired couples who were escaping the frigidity of the northern states for a few months. This afternoon he had several jobs lined up, including an evening sail to watch the sun set. Romantic. He had promised chocolate-covered strawberries and sparkling wine for that one, an extra $50 in his pocket for the luxury. He’d have to go to the store for that. He made a mental note not to forget.
Opening the hatch in the bow of the boat, he checked to make sure his various pool toys and floaties were in good condition. Sometimes people wanted to swim, and sometimes they didn’t. You never could tell with these older folks. But he liked to have a few things to make it interesting for them, and the pool noodles and toys were welcome, especially for the older set who tired quickly in the water.
His stomach grumbled loudly and he went below deck once more to shower quickly and change into clean clothes. He studied his reflection in the mirror as he shaved. At fifty-four, his hair was still more pepper than salt, although his beard, when he let it grow, was almost completely grey. Some wrinkles were noticeable, but overall his green eyes were clear and he was often mistaken for a much younger man. Lila had urged him to marry again when she was gone, but he had no interest in such an arrangement. Once had been enough, especially when til death do us part had come so unexpectedly quickly to his bride of only eleven years.
Washing the lather from his face, he sighed. Nothing was ever going to fill the hole that Lila’s death had left, and he wasn’t naïve enough to hope for that. But he was essentially a sanguine man, and he knew that his life was pretty damn good, all in all.
Walking to the bar and grill, he ordered scrambled eggs and cheesy grits and drummed his fingers on the table as he waited. Gina smiled at him as she brought him his plate of food, but neither of them mentioned the night before.
“Hot sauce?” she asked, handing him the bottle.
“You know it,” he said.
After he finished, he paid his tab and walked into the parking lot where his battered blue Toyota was parked. He drove to pick up champagne and strawberries, and headed back to the marina. As he parked and got out, a sudden movement in the alley beside the grill caught his eye. At first he thought it was just Gina, emptying the trash, but quickly realized it was someone standing over the bin and picking through it. To his horror, they picked up a wrapper of half-eaten fish and chips and began to devour it.
“Hey!” he shouted, setting his bags on the hood of the car and walking quickly towards the alley. The person looked up from beneath the hood of a grubby sweatshirt, and he could see enough to deduce it was a kid with a dirt-smeared face. Beneath the filth was a look of serious alarm. Grabbing a backpack from the ground, they darted away.
“Wait!” he shouted again, running after them and cursing his knee-jerk reaction.
The kid took a hard left down the boardwalk and tore away from him like a house afire. Jake pursued, but within seconds they had completely disappeared. He stood, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
I gotta start doing some cardio he thought.
Straightening, he retrieved his grocery bags and went to the bar, where he found Gina polishing glasses.
“Hey Gina,” he said. “Have you seen a homeless kid around here?”
“Homeless kid?” she said, a frown furrowing her forehead. “No. But I wondered about a box I set in the alley a few nights ago. Looked like somebody had used it for a nest…newspapers all layered inside of it and such. Did you see somebody?”
“Just now,” he nodded. “In the alley. Eating somebody’s leftovers.”
“Ugh,” she said, shaking her head. “Wonder what we should do. How old do you think they were?”
“Looked about sixteen, maybe. Hard to say. They had on a hoodie and I didn’t get a good look at the face.”
“Well, shit. Haven’t had any runaway trouble here for a while. Was hoping to keep it that way.”
“I know what you mean. Should we call social services?”
“Maybe. Not much to tell them at this point, though.”
“True.”
They were silent then for a while. Gina poured Barkeeper’s Friend on the bar top and began to polish its pitted surface.
“Well, I gotta get ready for my 11o’clock,” Jake said finally. “I’ll see you later, Gina.”
“Later,” she nodded.
The rest of the day was spent on the water with various customers, but the image of the kid scarfing down leftovers from the trash bin would not leave Jake’s head. He didn’t consider himself a sentimental man, but something about the look on the kid’s face had gotten to him. Most of the homeless—and all of the runaways—that he had known over the years had a certain hardness about them, a calloused resiliency that kept them going through the rough times. This kid, though…this kid looked…fragile.
He passed out champagne glasses and poured the sparkling wine for the Michigan couple that was celebrating their 50th anniversary with him that evening. Doug and Sharon were talkative and curious, and wanted to know all about Stella Luna, so he answered their questions and tried to be jovial, but his heart wasn’t in it, and they could tell. Soon they left him alone and sat on the deck, dangling their feet over the side and looking for dolphins while feeding each other chocolate-covered strawberries.
When the sun had set and he was securely moored back at the marina, he thanked the couple for their patronage and pocketed the tip he didn’t deserve. He headed for the bar, crowded and bustling for a Thursday evening, as Christmas break was still going strong. Gina was watching for him.
“Got something for you to see,” she said, over the heads of several patrons as she served them their drinks. “Give me a second.”
He nodded and stood to the side so as not to be in the way. In five minutes Gina reappeared in the crowd and took him by the hand, leading him through the restaurant kitchen and gesturing for him to look through the window of her office. He obliged. Seated at the desk, devouring a very large cheeseburger and fries, was the kid from the alley.
It was a girl, he saw, the hood off her head and her long blond hair hanging around her shoulders in ragged layers. The delicate features of her face were clearer now, and a guarded expression had taken over where the vulnerable one had been. As she ate, she seemed to be having a conversation with someone, her lips moving in the empty air between bites.
“I told her we wouldn’t call anybody yet,” Gina murmured. “Just thought some food would do her good, maybe make her more willing to talk. I haven’t gotten much out of her except she says her name is Jane, and that she’s eighteen. Not sure if I believe either.”
“I see,” he said, gazing at the girl and frowning. She could be eighteen, he thought, but it was hard to say. Her face was old and young at the same time. “Who’s she talking to? Maybe she’s schizophrenic?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s just talking to herself. Anyway, what do you think we should do? I don’t wanna call social services if we don’t have to.”
“If she’s an adult, there’s not much we can do but point her to the homeless shelter. At least she’d find a decent meal and a shower.”
“You sure that’s all we can do?” Gina said pointedly. “I mean, I said I’d keep a sharp eye out. Maybe this is the answer to your employment problems.”
“What? Hire her as my first mate? Are you crazy?”
“I don’t see what’s so crazy about it. Here’s a kid who needs a place to stay, and you’ve got a place. If she can do the work as well, then your worries are over.”
“I wasn’t counting on somebody living with me. I’m quite happy on my own, Gina.”
“Happy as a clam, I know. But maybe it’s not a matter of what you need. Maybe it’s a chance to do her some good.”
“What if she’s a drug addict? Lots of kids on the street are. Or a prostitute? Or a felon?”
“Does that look like a felon to you?”
Jack looked through the wind
ow again. The girl was done eating, and was sitting, hands folded as though in prayer, eyes closed. She looked like an angel, he thought.
“Just go talk to her, that’s all I ask. Talk to her. Tell her what you want about the homeless shelter, but be open to other options, huh?” Gina urged.
“Okay, okay,” he said, opening the door.
At the sound, the girl’s eyes popped open and she scrambled to her feet, grabbing the butter knife and looking at him in considerable alarm.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, putting one hand up and moving slowly, as though she were an exotic animal in a cage. He was glad there was no exit door in the office, or she’d have bolted through it in an instant, he was sure. The look of fear covered her face again, and his heart smote him that he was the cause. “I just want to talk, okay?”
She stood still for a moment, and then, with a barely-perceptible movement of her head, nodded.
“I’m going to sit,” he said, placing himself in the armchair across from the desk. “Won’t you?”
She remained standing.
“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “Suit yourself. I’m Jake Ennis. What’s your name?”
The girl stared at him and he felt a growing discomfort. Her brown eyes were large and inscrutable, and he felt like something pinned to a Styrofoam board beneath her gaze. Finally, as he was deciding to get up and leave, she dropped the knife to the table, and spoke.
“Jane.”
“Just Jane? No last name?”
“Just Jane.”
“Where do you come from, Jane?”
“Oklahoma.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“Didn’t say it was home. Just where I came from.”
He laughed.
“Fair enough. What brought you to Key West?”
“Cars. Trucks. Sometimes motorcycles.”
“So you hitchhiked. That’s pretty gutsy. Dangerous, but gutsy.”
She shrugged.
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