Jake's Story: A Christmas Key Novella

by Stephanie Taylor

  Maybe England was right—maybe he would be broken by the city that had raised him. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for violence, but he was still cut out to serve and protect. Maybe there were people he could help even if he couldn’t protect Mrs. Ochoa from the bad guys, even if he couldn’t shut down the drug trade in one of the most dangerous cities in the country…even if he couldn’t protect his own partner.

  And so he’d applied.

  “I should hear back soon,” he said at the dinner table now, watching his mother’s face from the corner of his eye as he pushed his pasta around with a fork. “It might be a good move. We’ll see how it goes.”

  Chapter Four

  “Do you get to patrol in your swimming trunks?” Officer Smithson (better known as Smitty) joked as he and Jake changed from their uniforms into their street clothes in the locker room. “Wait—are you gonna be doing mouth-to-mouth on all the hot tourists who get sucked into the undertow while we’re stuck pulling sweaty commuters over on I-95 and hoping they aren’t carrying?”

  “Yeah, I bet it’ll be like Baywatch, but with a badge and gun.” Drummond, Smitty’s partner, made a mildly obscene hand gesture after miming pulling a gun from a holster.

  “I didn’t get the job yet, guys,” Jake said. “It’s just an interview.” He bent over to set his work shoes in the bottom of his locker. “And I’m pretty sure the locals aren’t going to look like Pamela Anderson. I Googled the place, and the women in the pictures are all about eighty. They’ll probably be wearing knee-length bathing suits.”

  Drummond pulled a face. “That’s not sexy.”

  “Nuh-uh,” Smitty said. They closed their lockers in unison. “Dude,” Smitty said to Drummond. “We’d better leave this gig to Zavaroni. If you ever need someone to fish your pool noodle out of the ocean, he’s your guy. I’m not about that life.” Smitty slapped Jake on the back and stepped over the locker room bench. “See you mañana, bud.”

  “See you later,” Jake said, watching them as they joked and shoved each other on the way out of the locker room.

  They were probably at least half right: if he got this job, his future was going to be poking snoring senior citizens on the sand and reminding them to roll over before they burned. If he got lucky, a busy day might include breaking up a scuffle at the afternoon canasta game, or maybe driving someone home from the bar after too many piña coladas. Any hope of stopping crime or making a difference in a community that really needed it would have to be shelved—at least for the time being.

  Jake grabbed his bag from the locker and slammed it shut. The metal shivered on its hinges as the door latched firmly, and he spun the dial to lock it.

  Outside, the morning sun was beating down on the pavement of the parking lot, and Jake could feel the heat through the soles of his dress shoes. Working nights had been hard to get used to at first, but now the only thing about it that still surprised him was coming out of the building after he’d clocked out and showered to find the bright light of morning reflected off his car’s windshield.

  Morning traffic on I-95 meant that he’d be crawling along on his way to the interview for the Christmas Key position. The lady who’d called to set it up had kindly offered to have him come in first thing in the morning, directly after his night shift, rather than asking him to either stay up all morning or wake up after just a few hours of sleep to come in. Jake leaned back in the driver’s seat of his second-hand Jeep Cherokee, resting his right wrist on top of the steering wheel. His hair was still damp from the shower in the locker room, and he ran a palm across his temple and over the sides of his hair, smoothing it as he glanced in the rearview mirror. Could he really picture himself anywhere but in a big city? He’d always appreciated the thrum and the excitement of a city like Miami, and he’d even loved the buzz of living in the state capitol when he was in Tallahassee. The thought of a tranquil island surrounded by the endless blue glass of the ocean felt…calm. And a little stifling.

  But the more time he spent at the desk, typing reports and following up on the leads England dumped on his desk everyday, the more Jake realized he was desperate for a break from the darkness of Miami. The trauma of seeing Ariella gunned down in broad daylight when there was nothing he could do to stop it, and the fact that her own cousin was responsible for her death had been like an emotional kneecapping.

  Jake had thought being benched and sidelined—relegated to night shift and desk duty—would have given him time to regroup and get his wits about him again, but every report he filed about another dead body in the streets, every picture he thumbed past in a file that showed another black-and-blue face, its lips and eyes puffed out from the crunch of knuckles against tender skin, made him sick to his stomach. Every time Jake recoiled from the horror of what was going on all over Miami on a daily basis he realized that he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to protect anyone. And his mother’s reminders of how much Mrs. Ochoa was counting on him to save the world weren’t helping.

  He spun the wheel as he turned onto Broward and approached the Fort Lauderdale Police Department. Even though the Christmas Key position was technically in Monroe County, Ft. Lauderdale PD had agreed to scan the applicants and do the first round of interviews.

  There was an open spot in the visitor’s lot between a canary yellow convertible Corvette and a shiny black Range Rover. Jake pulled into the spot easily and checked his hair in the mirror one last time as he shut off the ignition and pulled the emergency brake. He tossed his bag onto the floor of the passenger side and locked his ten-year-old Jeep behind him.

  A small, grassy island with two tall palm trees stuck in it like flags stood in front of the police department. Jake stopped and looked up at the building, wondering who would be interviewing him. Would his time at the desk the past month be a mark against him? Was there any way they could ignore the fact that, as green as he was, he’d already been through a major trauma while on duty? The tinted windows of the building stared back at him, reflecting the cars in the lot and the white clouds in the sky. Like a blank face, the windows revealed nothing about what went on behind them.

  Jake took a deep breath, nodding at a fellow officer dressed from head-to-toe in black tactical gear as he exited the building. The man had the words STREET CRIMES UNIT ironed across the back of his fitted black t-shirt, and he returned Jake’s nod, snapping a piece of gum between his jaws as he climbed into his SUV cruiser.

  Well, here we go, Jake thought as he approached the sliding doors that led into the lobby. A blast of cold air hit him as he stepped onto the shiny linoleum and walked up to the reception desk with a smile.

  Chapter Five

  The backyard of the Zavaronis’ suburban house was full of friends, family, and neighbors. Jake’s sisters had wrapped the trees in ropes of all-season outdoor lighting and placed a piñata and a keg on the covered porch. His mother had hung balloons everywhere and draped streamers from tree to roof to fence, turning the yard into a mash-up of a kids’ party and a fraternity blow-out. Jake ambled around the yard in a pair of plaid shorts, hands in his pockets. He smiled at his cousin Patricia, who stood barefoot in a kiddie pool with her skirt hiked up while she watched her two little boys splash around happily. Mrs. Ochoa was there too, holding court on a picnic bench next to Aunt Sheila, whose wheelchair was parked nearby. He waved at both of them as he made his way over to the keg.

  “Good music, huh?” The voice came from behind him as he bent over to pour a thick, malty beer into his plastic cup. He let go of the tap and turned around. Natalie. “I heard there was a party,” she said, shrugging. Her summer dress slipped off her right shoulder suggestively, revealing smooth, tanned skin.

  Rather than saying something he might regret later, Jake put the cup to his lips and took a long swig of beer. A remix of a popular Rhianna song thumped from a speaker next to his parents’ house, and Jake’s niece and nephew bounced up and down to the music, dancing with abandon. He watched them for a few seconds before turning back to face Natalie.<
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  “Where did you hear about the party?”

  “Your sister,” Natalie admitted, reaching for a cup and handing it to Jake without words. She took his own full beer from his hand and held it patiently while he filled her cup. “She sent me a message on Facebook.”

  “Of course she did.” Jake tipped the cup over the grass and dumped some of the foam out before handing the beer to Natalie. “She can never resist the urge.”

  “What urge?” Natalie asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Any of them.” Jake took his own beer back and sought out his younger sister, Marielle, with his eyes. He found her over by the fence, talking to Mrs. Ochoa’s son. Marielle wiggled her long, manicured fingers at her big brother, a mischievous smile on her face. Jake sighed.

  “After you unfriended me, I kind of lost track of what you were up to,” Natalie said, taking a step toward Jake and bridging the distance between them. When they’d met in college—Jake as a senior on the basketball team, and Natalie with another year of her undergrad left before she could even think about law school—the attraction had been instantaneous.

  “Well, you unfriended me in real life, so it only made sense to dump you on social media,” he said defensively, ready to end the conversation and let her know that she’d made the trip down from Tallahassee for nothing.

  The mosquitoes buzzed loudly as the sun set behind the houses on the west side of the street, and Natalie slapped at her bare arm, scratching a fresh bite. “Jake,” she said softly, leaning into him. “Can we go inside or something? I want to talk to you.”

  Jake wasn’t proud of it, but he hesitated; for a second he was actually considering taking Natalie into his old childhood bedroom, closing the door, and hearing her out. He could already imagine the familiar feel of his ex-girlfriend in his arms. He’d been lonely, and Ariella’s killing had left him longing for someone to come home to.

  “Nat,” he said firmly, putting a hand on her bare shoulder. “I’m leaving in less than a week, and this is my last chance to see my friends and family. I should mingle.”

  She pursed her lips, confusion at being turned down passing over her lovely features. “But I drove down from Tallahassee, Jake. I know everyone else wants you, but I want to see you, too.” She lowered her voice suggestively. “I miss you.”

  Jake pulled her over to the corner of the yard. They stood under a palm tree next to the house, and he kept his back to the crowd to hide the annoyance he knew was written all over his face.

  “Fine. You drove down here. We haven’t spoken in—what? A year?—and now you’re in my parents’ backyard. So talk.” He took an angry sip of his beer, his stance impatient, unyielding.

  “Jake,” she said pleadingly as she glanced around the yard. This conversation was clearly not going as she’d imagined it would on her seven-hour drive down from Tallahassee. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For everything.”

  Jake took a step back, ready to walk away from her. Natalie had been his first real girlfriend. The girlfriend from high-school—the one who’d started out messing around with heroin at parties and ended up haunting the streets of their neighborhood in a drugged-out haze—that relationship had been kid stuff. Homecoming, football games, weekend dates. But what he had with Natalie had been real. They’d spent six years together, navigating Jake’s first post-college job and Natalie’s LSAT, sharing a rented apartment near downtown, and scraping together enough to pay their student loans. They’d had fun hitting the food trucks and listening to live bands around town, reading together in bed until the middle of the night, and taking walks around St. Marks lighthouse.

  This wasn’t the time and place for him to talk to Natalie about their break-up, and he didn’t want to hear her apologize and make excuses for sleeping with one of the partners at her law firm. There was nothing she could say that he’d want to hear in the middle of a party that was supposed to be a happy occasion. But now she was here, looking up at him pleadingly. Her hair fell in frizzy, golden waves in the humidity of the late summer evening, and her eyes were the color of green olives. Jake bit back all the things he’d felt and thought over the past year, instead forcing himself to count to ten in his head before saying a word.

  “Nat,” he said, looking her in the eye. “I’ve been through a lot in the past year.” Mrs. Zavaroni approached them with a concerned look on her face, and Jake gave her a small nod to let her know things were fine. “I’m exactly where I need to be, and so are you. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Natalie looked at him with watery eyes. She blinked fast a few times, her cheeks reddening with the approaching wave of emotion that Jake knew was coming.

  “But if it helps you to hear it, then I forgive you.” It took everything in him to say the words that he wasn’t even sure he meant yet, but Jake knew that giving Natalie forgiveness would set her free, and that, in turn, he would also be setting himself free. “I want you to be happy.” Jake put a hand in the pocket of his shorts, the other hand still holding his beer. “Thanks for coming, Nat.”

  Jake turned and walked over to his mother, who put a protective arm around her son’s strong back. Mrs. Zavaroni cast a glance at Jake’s ex-girlfriend before steering him over to a knot of people who were waiting to talk to him.

  “What’s going on there?” Mrs. Zavaroni asked without mincing words. “Who invited her?”

  “It’s fine, Mom. She just wanted to wish me luck.” He shot his younger sister another look across the yard, and Marielle gave him an impish grin in return. “I think I’m really ready to go now,” he said, meaning it. Whatever Natalie had hoped for in coming, he’d been the one to gain something from her visit.

  Mrs. Zavaroni pulled him close and he caught the scent of her familiar perfume mixed with the smell of the steaks she’d spent the afternoon tenderizing and marinating in her small kitchen. “I’m going to miss you, mimmo,” she said softly, resting her warm head on his bicep. She hadn’t called him mimmo in years, and it made Jake feel small again—young and loved.

  “I’ll miss you too, Mama,” he said, kissing the crown of her head. Jake waved at Lieutenant English and his wife as they chatted with his dad on the patio, and the crowd slowly gathered around Jake, calling for a toast.

  Chapter Six

  The boat left Key West at ten o’clock on Friday morning. Jake had packed two large suitcases with all of his clothes, and had shipped several boxes ahead of him that he hoped to arrive and find waiting on Christmas Key. The house he’d been assigned to was being paid for by the department as part of his salary and stipend for living in an underserved area, and while the photos he’d seen looked decent, he was dubious about his future living situation. The house was furnished with an unremarkable sofa and chair, it had a television (though not the large flat-screen he was accustomed to), and a king-sized bed in one of the two bedrooms. He’d been promised that the kitchen was stocked with the essential cookware and dishes, so he’d put most of his belongings into storage and packed up for this new adventure.

  The captain of the boat shouted at Jake intermittently as they bounced across the choppy waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Most of the captain’s words were lost in the wind, but Jake nodded and smiled jovially, giving a thumbs-up every so often to let the captain know he was hanging in there. The sun was climbing high as they traversed the open waters, warming Jake’s dark hair as the wind ruffled his t-shirt. He squinted out at the horizon from behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses, holding tightly to the railing of the boat as he tried to stay steady on his feet.

  He’d left home before of course, but somehow this felt different. In terms of distance, the travel time to Tallahassee was about the same from Miami as Christmas Key was, but this felt more remote. More distant. Jake swallowed hard, not sure whether he was trying to push down his own nerves, or if he was about to be sick from the motion of the boat on the waves.

  A landmass took shape in the distance, and Jake got his first glimpse of his new home. From afar it looked
like nothing more than a clump of dirt with trees floating in the middle of the ocean, but as the captain dropped the speed and brought them to a slow crawl, Jake could see a small dock jutting out into the water. Standing there on the weathered wooden ramp was a tall brunette wearing a blue baseball cap. She waved her arm back-and-forth enthusiastically like a castaway flagging down a rescue crew, and in response, the captain blew his boat horn three times.

  “That’s the mayor, son,” the captain shouted over the waves that slapped against the hull of the boat. “Welcome to the most bizarre and wonderful place you’ll ever see.” With a sun-browned hand, the captain turned the wheel of the boat, sliding them toward the dock with ease.

  Jake looked at the woman with interest. The mayor was a leggy beauty in what he could now see was a Yankees hat. She approached the boat in a pair of flip flops and a sundress, bending at the waist easily and grabbing the rope that the captain threw in her direction. With a practiced motion, she wrapped the rope around the boat cleats on the side of the dock, securing them tightly so that Jake and the captain could jump off.

  Once he’d heaved his suitcases off the boat and the captain had helped him carry his boxes up to the waiting golf cart (bright pink with a cheerful fabric on the seats, he noted), he took his first look around. A paved road met the sand at the top of the docking area, and at the start of the road he could see a string of shops and businesses. The first place on the street had an awning with ‘Mistletoe Morning Brew’ spelled out in a script-like font. Little bits of holly and mistletoe decorated the lettering, and three small bistro tables with matching wrought-iron chairs sat outside the shop.

  Across from the coffee shop was another small building with large windows that looked out onto the main street. The sign above this shop said ‘North Star Cigars,’ and a man with wispy white hair and a colorful bird sitting on his shoulder stood in the doorway with a fat brown cigar between his lips. He raised a hand in greeting and the bird squawked loudly.