Jake's Story: A Christmas Key Novella

by Stephanie Taylor

  “Coming right up. On the house today for the two of you, in honor of our new officer’s first visit to Mistletoe Morning Brew.”

  Jake gave Carrie-Anne a nod and a smile of thanks and followed Ray to a table by the window as the opening notes of ‘Peggy Sue’ started to play. Real record albums had been strung from clear fishing wire, and they dangled from the ceiling at varying heights, spinning and swaying in the breeze every time the front door opened and closed.

  “Ah, Buddy Holly takes me back,” Ray said, pulling out his chair. “Millie and I are from Pittsburgh originally. I worked as a radio DJ for years—my whole garage was filled with stacks of 45s. Sold the whole lot when we moved down here. I had Sinatra, the Beatles, Beach Boys, Carol King, Mott the Hoople…you name it, I probably owned it at one point.”

  “Mott the Hoople?” Jake asked, looking up at Carrie-Anne as she delivered their coffees.

  “Oh, I loved the sixties,” Carrie-Anne said wistfully, resting one hand on the back of Jake’s chair. “I was quite the vixen at Woodstock.” Her smile was faraway and dreamy. “Knee-high suede boots, a mini-skirt, and this long, long hair you could put into two braids like a Native American girl,” she said, swinging her head around like she still had waist-length hair.

  “You were at Woodstock?” Jake took a drink of his coffee.

  “Oh, yeah. Woodstock was a blast. I also saw the Beatles play Shea Stadium, and I met the Stones at CBGB in the 70s. When you get to be my age, you’ve kind of seen it and done it all.” She patted his shoulder twice before heading back to the counter to greet a new customer.

  “Lost of life experience around here,” Ray said, reaching for the jar of sugar to stir some into his plain decaf. “None of us know much about Cap Duncan—”

  “The guy with the bird?”

  “That’s the one. He’s a little mysterious, and I think he likes it that way,” Ray said, putting his coffee to his lips. “Ahhh, hot coffee. I do miss the caffeine, but the wife wants me to keep the old ticker in shape, you know?”

  Jake smiled, though he didn’t really know. Natalie had never made any real demands and she’d never tried to mother him, although she had once gone through a kick where she thought they should only drink locally-brewed beer and buy their fruits and veggies at the neighborhood farmer’s market. It hadn’t lasted long.

  “Sure, yeah,” Jake said. He bobbed his head along to the music for a few seconds. “So tell me more about the islanders. I got to meet a bunch of people at the Ho Ho this weekend, but it was kind of loud and I didn’t get much backstory.”

  “You were at the Ho Ho, eh?” Ray nodded approvingly. “Out mixing with the locals right off the bat. Solid choice, my friend.”

  “Everyone’s been great so far.”

  “We’re a friendly bunch,” Ray agreed, sipping his coffee loudly. “Well, let’s see…Joe Sacamano owns the Ho Ho. Tall, thin, he’s got curly white hair and a real ugly face—did you meet him?” Ray asked, his eyes twinkling. In truth, Joe was an incredibly handsome man, and clearly everyone knew it.

  “White mop-top, face only a mother could love? Yep, I met him,” Jake said, running with the gag. Ray laughed heartily, slapping the wooden table-top with one hand.

  “Sacamano was a pretty well-known guitarist in the seventies. He toured with some of the biggest bands, and hobnobbed with the big boys. It doesn’t take much convincing to get him to take out his guitar on a weekend and give us a show at the Ho Ho. Did he play for you when you were there?”

  Jake shook his head and set his coffee cup on the table. “No, he never took out a guitar. There was music playing, but he was busy mixing up some new drink he wanted everyone to try.”

  “Did he brew a new barrel of rum?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Key lime?” Ray asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his meaty arms across his chest.

  “Coconut. He made us something he called a Cuba Libre, which tasted like a coconut version of a rum and Coke to me. But it was amazing.”

  “Sounds about right,” Ray said, looking out at Main Street. “So let’s see…we’ve got Maria Agnelli—I suppose you’ve met her.”

  “I’m already invited to her wake,” Jake said.

  “Oh, good. Wouldn’t want to miss that,” Ray smiled indulgently, his fondness for Mrs. Agnelli apparent. “She makes a mean ziti—at least she used to.”

  “What happened?”

  “She started confusing stuff like salt and sugar, or whipped cream and sour cream. One time she even rolled her chicken cutlets in some kind of apples and cinnamon oatmeal instead of bread crumbs, and then she dumped marinara over the whole thing. A real shame,” Ray said, making a disapproving sound with his tongue. “I miss her ziti.”

  “That’s too bad,” Jake said. “I could use some real Italian cooking, and I was kind of looking forward to her wake—no disrespect—”

  “None taken.”

  “—when she said there’d be lots of food and wine. I’m used to Sunday dinners with my family, and my mom is famous for her Italian dishes.”

  “Of course: Zavaroni! Does Mrs. Agnelli know you’re a paisan yet?”

  “She does. And I’m pretty sure she wants to adopt me.”

  Ray threw his head back, his big, booming laugh filling the coffee shop again. “And adopt you she might. But the one you need to worry about is Miss Bonnie Lane,” he said confidentially. “It might seem like she wants to adopt you, son, but we’re talking about a man-eater of the first order right there. A real fine gal—don’t get me wrong—but Bonnie Lane never met a man she didn’t fancy at least a little bit…”

  Through the wide front window, the view from Main Street into the coffee shop was of two friends, one stout and on the far side of middle age, the other young, solid, and handsome, sharing a cup of coffee and some laughs. Behind them, Ellen had come through the back door and joined Carrie-Anne to help with coffee prep, her own hair pulled into a ponytail, the sleeves of her pink satin jacket pushed up to the elbows. People moved around the coffee shop, getting their cups refilled and selecting pastries from the glass case.

  As Jake tipped his head back, laughing at something Ray had said, he knew that it was going to work out; Christmas Key was starting to feel like home already.

  Chapter Nine

  “I see it! There it is!” shouted Bonnie, the flirtatious redhead Ray had warned Jake about. She shielded her eyes with a manicured hand and looked out at the boat on the horizon.

  Jake examined the small crowd standing around him at the dock; there were probably fifteen other people waiting for the boat to deliver his police golf cart. Could this possibly be the most interesting thing happening at noon on a Monday?

  “You’re going to look so handsome driving that big, imposing cart, sugar,” Bonnie said, sidling up to him and purposely bumping his arm with her shoulder. “Now, will you be writing tickets? Because if you are, I’m going to have to practice using my feminine wiles to get out of them.”

  “ANDDDDD, we’re done here,” Holly said firmly when she appeared at Bonnie’s elbow. She tried to steer her away from Jake. “Let’s not overwhelm Officer Zavaroni with your ‘feminine wiles’ just yet.”

  “But it’s been so long since I’ve seen an officer of the law,” Bonnie said, her face rapturous as she pulled the word ‘law’ out like a piece of taffy with her thick, Southern drawl.

  “Hey, did you get those rooms booked for your sons?” Holly expertly shifted the subject, bringing Bonnie back to the fact that her kids and grandkids were coming to the island and that they needed to be scheduled in at the B&B where Bonnie acted as Holly’s assistant.

  “Oh, sugar, I didn’t do that yet.” Bonnie’s face clouded over. “I need to get on that. And I need to type up that list of items for the next village council meeting. I should really go.” Bonnie looked up at Jake regretfully. “I’ve gotta run, Officer, but I look forward to seeing you out there, making our streets safer and more handsome at the same
time.”

  Holly and Jake watched Bonnie wiggle her way back up to Main Street and past Mistletoe Morning Brew. Her walk had the unmistakable shimmy of a woman who was used to being assessed from behind.

  “So what exactly am I making the streets safe from?” Jake asked with comical confusion.

  “Dangerous redheads,” Holly said, turning to him with a smile. “And battles between residents for the parking spot closest to the coffee shop.”

  “Sounds a lot like my official duties in Miami.”

  “Minus the coked-out supermodels,” Holly said, turning to face the water next to Jake.

  The boat neared the shore, angling for the dock as the captain worked to align the boat’s drop-down ramp with the spot he wanted to access. Finally, to the good-natured cheering of the islanders, he released the ramp with a loud, metallic thud, and the boat’s alert system beeped like a truck backing up as the ramp lowered slowly and landed on the edge of the dock.

  “I want to see it!” Emily Cafferkey said excitedly. She was standing next to Holly, watching with anticipation.

  Holly turned to her. “Hi, Em,” she said, wrapping an arm around the shorter girl’s shoulders. “Have you met Jake?” Emily shook her head, eyes wide as she looked at him.

  “Officer Zavaroni, this is my oldest friend in the world, Emily Cafferkey. Emily, this is Jake.”

  “Isn’t Maria Agnelli your oldest friend in the world? I’m only twenty-six,” Emily said, her face serious.

  “Good point, Em. Jake, this is Emily,” she said, starting over. “We’ve been friends since we were both young enough to believe in mermaids and to daydream about NSYNC getting shipwrecked on Christmas Key.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jake said, reaching across Holly to shake Emily’s hand. It wasn’t lost on him that Emily looked somewhat starstruck.

  “Okay, I’m going to find my mom,” Emily said.

  “See you later, Em.” Holly brushed the straight, blonde hair from Emily’s shoulder protectively, smoothing the strands on her back before Emily walked away.

  “You met the Cafferkeys on Friday at the bistro,” Holly said.

  “Oh, right—the owners. From Ireland, right?”

  “Mmhmm,” Holly said, watching the boat captain as he secured the ramp and then disappeared from view into the storage hold of the boat. “They’ve been here since Emily was eight and I was about ten. They were both lawyers in Dublin, but they thought paradise was a better place to raise a little girl with Down Syndrome, so they moved here with Emily and opened up the bistro.”

  “And then you two spent your formative years together dreaming about Justin Timberlake?” he asked, the laughter barely hidden in his voice.

  “Actually, I liked Justin and she liked JC. We had to be sure we wouldn’t fight over the same one when they washed up on our shores.”

  “Oh, of course,” Jake said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “That would have been embarrassing.”

  The captain drove up to the edge of the boat on a black and tan golf cart, its tires bigger and more rugged than the ones of the other carts on the island. Across the top of the plastic windshield was a sign that had the word POLICE spelled out in large letters.

  “I guess the PoPo is here,” Jake said wryly, taking stock of the aggressive-looking size of the golf cart.

  The boat captain pushed down on the accelerator and carefully moved the cart onto the ramp, driving forward as slowly as possible so that he wouldn’t overshoot the ramp and run the cart into the water.

  “It does make a certain statement…” Holly trailed off, watching as the cart’s tires met the dock. The captain cranked the wheel, adjusting his course.

  “I never even imagined writing tickets here,” Jake said, almost to himself. “Now we need a courthouse so people have a chance to show up and dispute them.”

  “Oh, please don’t ticket Bonnie for lewd behavior,” Holly begged, turning to him and gripping his upper arm pleadingly. “It’s just who she is.”

  Jake laughed. “I’ll take that into consideration before I issue any citations.”

  In another thirty seconds, the captain had rumbled across the boards of the dock and driven up onto the sand to the loud applause of the crowd.

  “Want to take the first ride?” Jake asked, leaning in to Holly.

  Holly paused, hands pressed together in front of her as she clapped. “Me? Yeah. Sure.” She smiled shyly.

  Jake stepped forward to thank the captain and take over the driving of the cart. He slid in behind the wheel, waving at everyone like the guest of honor at a parade would wave at the crowds from a float.

  But before Holly could get to the cart, Emily raced up to the driver’s side and said something to Jake. His eyes sought out Holly’s as Emily climbed into the passenger seat and waved at her mother. Jake could tell by the protective, caring way Holly treated Emily that she wouldn’t mind giving up the first ride to her friend, and sure enough, she winked to let him know that taking Emily for a ride was totally fine with her.

  The crowd dissipated in the golf cart’s wake as Jake and Emily drove off. A handful of bystanders headed into Mistletoe Morning Brew, but Holly walked up the sidewalk to the B&B. Jake watched her in his rearview mirror all the way down Main Street, following Emily’s directions to take the fork in the road at Cinnamon Lane and drive toward the beach.

  *

  “Haven’t seen you in a couple of days,” Holly said when Jake opened his door on Thursday night. She was holding a glass dish covered with foil in her hands, and peering up at him from under her Yankees hat.

  “Oh, hi,” Jake said breathlessly. He should have thrown on a shirt before answering the door, but he’d been in the front room putting together a small bookshelf when he heard the knock. “Come on in.” Jake stepped aside and let her enter his cool, air-conditioned bungalow.

  “I brought pasta salad,” Holly said, thrusting the dish in his direction. “I don’t cook much or very well, but boiling pasta and then throwing it in a bowl with some olives and parmesan and Italian dressing doesn’t really count.”

  Jake looked down at the dish. “Thank you. Pasta salad sounds great.” Holly followed him into the kitchen and stood in the doorway as he slid the salad into his refrigerator. “And you haven’t seen me much because I’ve been busy the past couple of days talking to the Coast Guard and figuring out the shipping routes around here.”

  “Excellent,” Holly said, nodding. “Already figuring out how to protect us from bad guys who might approach by sea.”

  “Totally,” Jake said, reaching into his fridge for a beer. “Want one?”

  “Sure.” She took the brown, long-necked bottle from him. The glass was cold against her warm skin. “Thanks.”

  “And I’ve had some long phone calls and Skype sessions with the Monroe County PD to figure out how they want me to break the island up into a grid.”

  “You’re going to turn us into a grid?”

  “I need to turn you into a grid,” he clarified. “I have to make a solid plan for how I’ll respond to emergencies and how I would direct any emergency services that we might call out to the island.”

  “Why would we call emergency services out here?” Holly let Jake reach over and pop the cap off her beer with a bottle opener.

  “Fire. Intruders. Health epidemic. Fatalities.” Jake counted the potential calamities off on his fingers.

  “Oh. Those things.” Holly sipped her beer. “This is good—thanks.” She tipped her bottle in his direction. “September is still really hot here.”

  “It is Florida,” he said, tipping his beer back at her.

  “So, fire, huh? I’d never even thought of that…” Deep concern lined Holly’s face as she pondered the different catastrophes that could potentially befall Christmas Key.

  “Sure. I mean, lots of things could happen, but I’m here to make sure that they either don’t happen, or that we have a plan in case they do.”

  “R
ight. Of course.” Holly bit her lower lip. “It sounds dumb,” she said after a pause, “but I was so fixed on getting a police officer here because it seemed like the ‘next step’ towards being a legitimate place, that I guess I didn’t consider the fact that we might really need you.”

  Jake laughed softly. “I hope you never really need me, but if you do, I’m here.”

  Holly nodded and took another drink. “Good. That makes me feel safe.”

  A pronounced silence wrapped itself around them as they stood not even ten feet away from one another in the kitchen, Jake shirtless, Holly with a damp white tank top clinging to her stomach. She took off her baseball hat and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist.

  “Hey, want to go for a drive in the golf cart? I never got to take you the other day,” Jake offered, taking a step backwards so that he could lean against the counter next to the stove. Jake propped one bare foot on top of the other, his muscular legs visible from under the hem of his black basketball shorts.

  “We could take December Drive all the way around the island,” Holly suggested. “And for the record, I’m glad you took Emily the other day. I’m sure she had a blast.”

  “She did. We drove over to Pine Cone Path, and she showed me the way to your house.” As they walked through the front room, Jake picked up a t-shirt from the pile of clean laundry on his couch. “That sounded really creepy,” he said, realizing that knowing where Holly lived might come across as weird. “I’m sorry.”

  Holly laughed. “It’s cool. You would have found me sooner or later.” She averted her gaze as he pulled the shirt over his dark head. “Besides, you need to know where I live so you can put me on your grid, right?”

  “Aaaaahhh,” Jake said, nodding and pointing at her. “That’s true. Very true. I need to know where everyone lives for safety reasons.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And also because I know that pasta salad is going to rock my world,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the kitchen. “So I might need to come knock on your door and ask for seconds.”