by Jade Kerrion
A week later, 1,500 miles away from Manhattan, Phil Casteen drew a deep breath as he stepped into the cottage—cabin, he corrected mentally. Cottage was hyperbole for what was a hut on the edge of a cluster of trees. The furniture in the living room looked to be at least a decade old, judging from the patterns on the cushion covers, but were in excellent condition. The refrigerator, microwave, and stove in the kitchenette were newish, and the dishwasher, according to his manager, had apparently just been installed the previous week.
“Looks decent enough, but it won’t win any awards from Architectural Digest,” a voice behind him said.
Phil turned around and found himself staring into the eyes of a man about his age, casually dressed in a white T-shirt and denim jeans.
The man extended his hand and offered a friendly smile. “Rio Loren. I’m the permanent inhabitant of Dawn Cottage.”
Phil had heard about the reclusive writer who had put down roots in Coastal Escapes, a laid-back but exclusive resort on the eastern side of Key West. “I’m Phil Casteen, the new caretaker.”
“Yeah, Sophia from the front desk said you were starting today. How’s your digs?”
“Looking pretty good.” Phil swept his hand across the living room. “Bigger than my Brooklyn apartment, that’s for sure.”
Rio held up a six-pack of beer. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thanks.” Phil accepted it. “I didn’t know resort guests brought around gifts for the staff. Are you gay or something?”
Rio burst out laughing, displaying white, straight teeth. “Wow, you New Yorkers don’t hold anything back. No, I’m straight, or at least I was the last time I checked.”
“When was that?”
“Last night, when I picked up a chick at Spotlights.”
“That’s the club on Flagler Avenue.”
Rio nodded. “I’ve got a running tab there. Maybe we could go check it out sometime.”
Phil made a snorting sound. “You always move this fast?”
“You’re the only male staff here at Coastal Escapes.”
“So?”
“Sometimes, I want some rational conversation, and the girls at the front desk or in housekeeping aren’t the ones to provide it. Besides, I’ve been a guest for so long, I’m practically part of the crew.”
“Except you don’t do any work.”
“Work’s overrated.” Rio grinned again. He mimed typing on a keyboard. “I do plenty of work, just nothing that breaks a sweat.”
“Well, would be a shame to waste ice-cold beer, so why not?” Phil handed Rio a can and took another for himself. Both men strode out of the cottage to stand on the sand-blown porch. “Not much of a sunset.” Phil observed the darkening sky.
“We’re on the wrong side of the island for that,” Rio pointed out. “The sunrise is pretty amazing, though you’ll have to wake up for it.”
“I’ll probably be up and about pretty early,” Phil said. “Got to get some yardwork in before the day gets stupid hot.”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
Phil snorted. “What’s there to get excited about? The sand gets everywhere.”
“Not much of a beach bum, are you?”
Phil shook his head. The beach—Key West, in particular—had been more of Marie’s thing. What am I doing here?
He knew exactly why he was here—where he had never wanted to be. It came down to the sealed envelope his lawyer had handed to him before he boarded the plane. His divorce papers, signed and finalized. It was a done deal. His marriage was over. Marie would have her fresh start and he had his, here, in Key West, where she had wanted to be, where he could hold on to that part of her that still dreamed happy dreams.
It was the only way he could still be close to her.
Marie would have loved it—the endless sounds of waves and overlapping harmonics of the seagull cries, the salty breeze in her face, the wind tugging at her hair. He could almost see her smile, soft and sweet, the subtle curve of her lips infused with love.
Pain twisted in his chest.
Yes, she was here, in spirit.
It was nothing like having the real her—the girl he had loved since he was a boy—but it was the safest way, the only way. He couldn’t risk hurting her again. He loved her too much for that.
Sometimes, love separates instead of brings together—and it’s the right thing.
Phil’s mouth twisted into frown. He needed counseling, partly for his own long-term sanity, but mostly because he owed it to Marie. Psychiatrists abounded in New York City like grass in Central Park, but here in Key West— He snorted and wondered if he could trust the man, his new neighbor, who had come bearing beer and wearing a smile. “You know of any good therapists around here?”
“Physical therapists?” Rio asked.
Phil’s frown turned into a smirk. So, Rio had noticed his now-awkward movements. The bullet he had aimed into his skull hadn’t killed him as he had intended, but it had slurred his speech and saddled him with permanent nerve damage and the occasional tremor in his limbs. He needed physical therapy too, but it was out of his budget. Paying Marie’s alimony didn’t leave him with much. He’d have to make a choice on what kind of help to get. “No, not physical therapist. I meant counselors.”
“What kind?”
The kind that could teach him how to get a grip on his nightmares and memories. The kind that could show him how to control the powerful urge to strike out at the ones around him, especially the ones who loved him most—those who still looked at him as if he were a great hero instead of a broken soldier.
He couldn’t live up to what Marie wanted him to be. He couldn’t deal with the expectations, the pressure. Couldn’t deal with life.
Phil stared down at his fisted hands and then looked up. Rio was watching him without any apparent concern or fear. Phil drew a deep breath. He needed help. He needed to start somewhere, and why not here—with someone who had reached out in friendship and who hadn’t yet run away.
The story tumbled out, bits and pieces of it—the war that invisibly scarred him, the PTSD that turned him violent, the eventual divorce. Phil couldn’t bring himself to say Marie’s name, not yet. It lodged in his throat like a fish bone turned sideways.
Rio listened in silence before speaking, his tone as relaxed as if he were talking about local restaurants “I know of at least one—Dr. Biles—and I’m sure there are others. I’ll ask around and let you know. There are lots of other support groups in the area, although I haven’t heard of any specifically for war veterans. Most people just hang out at the local Alcoholics Anonymous chapter. They’ve turned into a catch-all for people who need emotional support and tough love.”
Phil nodded and took a slow sip from the bottle of beer. Emotional support and tough love. Just what I need. It won’t bring Marie back, but she deserved far better than she got. I owe it to her to be the hero she sent off to war, not the asshole who came back, even if there’s nothing left for me to come back to.
Six weeks later, Marie sat in another lawyer’s office, much like Nicole’s, but on the other side of the oak table was a heavyset man with jowls like a bulldog. He turned the page of the legal document on the table and pointed in three places. “Initial here and here, then sign here to acknowledge you’ve received the check.”
Her heart pounding rapidly, Marie scribbled her initials and then signed her name.
“Congratulations,” the man said in a monotone more suited for a funeral as he slid a check across the table.
She stared at the numbers on the check, scarcely believing the number of the digits printed on it. The lottery ticket she had purchased to commemorate the end of her marriage had turned into a million dollars—well, seven hundred thousand dollars and change, since she had opted for the amount up front instead of over thirty years. Regardless, it was far more money than she had ever had at once, ten times her annual pre-tax salary as a teacher.
Later that day, she sipped iced coffee at a café
, across from Nicole, who was not just Marie’s lawyer but also a pivotal friend through the eventual collapse of Marie’s marriage. “What are you going to do with all that money?” Nicole asked.
“Well, after the tax men take their share—” Marie wrinkled her nose. “—what’s left is going to bolster up my shaky savings account.”
“Really? That’s it? You’re not even going to give yourself a special treat to celebrate?”
Marie winked wickedly. “Well, I’ll buy drinks this time around.”
Nicole laughed and raised her glass of iced coffee to Marie. “Big spender.”
“But you’re right. I should do something for myself.”
“You’ve earned it.”
Marie nodded. Most days, it was a struggle holding her head upright and keeping her back straight. The stress knotted in her neck and shoulders were literally bowing her over, wrecking her posture and appetite in the bargain. She had lost ten pounds since her divorce, and not intentionally.
The divorce shouldn’t have affected her as badly as it did. Phil had moved out months earlier while their divorce was being finalized. It wasn’t as if the physical change had been jarring. Yet the emotional change from “separated” to “divorced”—Marie bit down on her lip. She hadn’t been prepared despite all the books she had read and websites she had browsed for advice on how to go about her newly single life.
“I could use a good holiday.” Marie stirred her iced coffee with a straw. “Though it’ll have to wait until the summer.” She wrinkled her nose again, a bad habit she had been trying to break for years. “Can I wait that long, or will I lose my sanity in the eight months between now and summer?”
Nicole chuckled. “How is work?”
“It keeps me busy.” Marie managed a weak smile. “I took on extra responsibilities, including after-school tutoring. It helps.”
Nicole nodded. Her gaze was sympathetic, and Marie knew she did not have to explain further. Keeping busy was the most important thing now; it kept her from thinking too hard or feeling too much the emptiness of her home and of her life.
Nicole reached for Marie’s hand and squeezed gently. “It’s going to get better.”
Marie nodded. “I know. It takes time, like everything else.” She forced gaiety into her smile. “It takes time to plan a fabulous vacation too.”
“Where are you going to go?”
She thought for a minute. There was one place she had always wanted to visit, but Phil had never been keen on it. My fresh start. I’ll go on my own, and by then, eight months from now, I’ll be ready. Marie grinned at Nicole across the table. “I want a beach vacation. A summer fling. I’m going to Key West.”
Chapter 2
The eight months of the school year had dragged painfully for Marie, but she finally set them behind her—the memories dissipating like fog in the blaze of Florida’s eternal sunshine. She grinned as she unlocked the door of Sunrise Cottage, which overlooked the broad swath of sand and surf owned by Coastal Escapes. The first thing she noticed about her little cottage hideaway was the tiled floor—smooth, sparkling white, and not a shred of carpet to be seen, except for the brightly woven bathroom rug. Makes sense. She chuckled as the sea breeze whipped the scent of salt through the open windows. The French doors opened out into a shaded patio overlooking the beach and the ocean. The sand—the vast, endless expanse of sand—probably got everywhere.
Her cottage was one of several owned by a wealthy entrepreneur who had come to Key West for a vacation and never left. Scattered around his several-acre property, the guest cottages were secluded enough to provide the privacy that Marie sought, yet were connected by paved stone paths to offset the sense that she was entirely alone.
The living area included a sitting room, dining room, and kitchen. The other half of the cottage was a cozy nook of a bedroom, dominated by a large king-sized bed and a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. The tiled floor was cool beneath her feet as she walked across the bedroom, hanging up her clothes and arranging her toiletries in the bathroom.
Marie jolted when she realized she was humming, her soft, rather off-key voice sounding loud in the otherwise empty cabin. Jeepers, I’m like Snow White, singing as she cleans her cottage. What next? Animals and birds hanging out by the window, enjoying the show?
Nope, no animals or birds had chosen to linger, although several seagulls swooped low over the breaking waves. She couldn’t blame them for staying away; singing had never been her forte. Of course, it had never deterred Phil. He had sung along, as off-key as she.
No, no, no. She wasn’t going to think about Phil, not when she had made so much progress and come such a long way in building a life without him. Key West was her holiday—the one he had never wanted to take with her. For the past eight months, she had been surviving, nothing more. Her work kept her busy, but living in the apartment she had shared with Phil—where he had shot at her, and then shot himself—made it hard to physically, mentally, and emotionally start over. Everywhere, reminders of him assaulted her. The subtle dent in his favorite couch; scuff marks on the wooden floors where he had paced at night, tormented into wakefulness by the demons that had followed him home from the war; the bed that had been their marriage bed and where, toward the end of their marriage, she had slept alone more often than not, waking up in the middle of the night, listening for and oddly comforted by the sound of him pacing the corridor. At least he was home, with her. At least he had chosen to stay.
Until that one horrifying, terrifying day when their lives had fallen apart at the sound of two gunshots.
After that, silence.
The silence piled in around her, but here in Key West, it did not have the same oppressive quality it did back home in Brooklyn. Nicole was right. I needed to get away.
Marie stared at the wedding ring she still wore on her finger. It was loose; no surprise, considering the weight she had lost. I’m here—where I’ve always wanted to be…where Phil refused to take me. It’s the best place, the only place, for my fresh start. She tugged the ring off her finger and tucked it into her toiletry case.
She couldn’t believe the stabbing ache in her chest. Her divorce was months in the past. No one said it would hurt for so long.
Marie drew a deep breath, bracing herself as she had done on every day of her now solitary life. It was time to get out there—emotionally and physically. She had sandals, but ignored them in favor of walking barefoot on the beach. The sand was so soft; it sank with her weight. She giggled and spun a pirouette. It was almost easy to look graceful. Giving in to a sudden bout of schoolgirl giddiness, she whirled through a few turns and laughed as she spread her arms to embrace the sun.
A low chuckle caught her off-guard. She twisted around sharply, lost her balance, and landed on her butt.
“Oh, damn,” a deep voice said. Motion blurred behind her, and she found a pair of lean, muscular arms around her, supporting her back and holding her waist. The man helped her to her feet. He sounded as if he were suppressing laughter. “I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to distract you. I was just enjoying the dance.”
“If you can call it that,” Marie said. She dusted the sand off her sundress before turning around to face him. He flashed a relaxed and friendly grin, but the alertness in his brown-eyed gaze belied his good-looking and seemingly nonthreatening appearance. Marie judged him to be in his late thirties, probably no more than five years older than she was.
He let her go when it appeared she had regained her balance. “Hi, I’m Rio Loren, your next-door neighbor.” He nudged his head toward his cottage, the closest one to hers.
His voice was like the molten core of a liqueur truffle—rich, deep, and impossibly sexy.
Marie bit down on her lower lip, but the little nibble of pain did not settle the sudden flutter of butterflies in her stomach or slow her accelerating heartbeat. “Marie Vargas. How are you?”
“You just checked in today, didn’t you?”
“Minutes ago, which I
hope explains my giddy reaction to the beach.”
“The last person I saw this enthusiastic about being at the beach was a three-year-old toddler.” He grinned. “It’s great seeing that much joy in an adult.”
“Well, I’m feeling a bit overdue for some joy. I’ve been planning this vacation for eight months.”
“It’s a long time to wait, but you’ve picked a good time to be here, if you can handle the heat.”
“What do you mean?”
“The height of tourist season in Key West is around spring break and winter break. The crowds thin out in the summer. It’s too hot; the people flock back up north with the birds.”
It didn’t feel too hot to Marie. In fact, it felt perfect. “You sound like you’ve been around this circuit a couple of times.”
He grinned at her. “I’m a regular out here.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a writer.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? What kind of writing?”
“Crime and techno thrillers.”
“Wow, that’s cool. I’ve never met a real life writer before. Are you famous?”
He laughed. “Enough to pay the bills.”
Marie looked around at the spread of the beach. “How could you possibly get any criminal inspiration out here? It’s too beautiful, too peaceful.”
Rio chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll be surprised. Besides, the internet makes the world a much smaller place. Some of the best research is literally a Google search away. I travel often, but I’m always glad to return here.”
“We all need a place to call home.”
“True.” His gaze flicked to the horizon. For a moment, Marie glimpsed something distant and sad in his eyes, but it vanished when he smiled. “So, what do you have planned for your long-awaited vacation?”