The Last Train to Key West

by Chanel Cleeton

  I wade back into the water, letting out a little whoop as it covers my legs.

  “Elizabeth.”

  I move slowly, turning, the moment drawing out on an exhale, until I’m staring at Sam dressed in another neat suit, his jaw dropped.

  The chemise really isn’t all that scandalous—it’s tattered white cotton, hardly tantalizing silk and lace—but the tic in Sam’s jaw suggests otherwise.

  “What—What are you doing?” he sputters.

  “Swimming,” I reply, the words coming out on the tail end of a laugh. “Having fun. You should try it sometime. It might change your life.”

  My smile deepens at the heat that flickers in his gaze.

  Not so disinterested now, is he?

  Sam shoves his hands in his pockets, stalking toward the water’s edge, his gaze surveying the landscape as though he’s searching for any and all possible threats.

  He stops several feet away from me, the breaking waves licking at the toes of his sensible—boring—black leather shoes.

  “I thought we were supposed to be visiting the camps, not playing around,” he grumbles.

  “I was more than ready earlier. You were the one who was still sleeping. Are you going to join me?” I tease, splashing the water around me.

  He shifts, fixing me with an expression I suppose is meant to be stern. “I thought we’d formed a truce of sorts last night. No flirting.”

  “Oh, honey, flirting is like breathing. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

  A speculative gleam enters his gaze. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Hell if I know. I thought you society girls were demure.”

  “They threw me out, remember?”

  “I can’t hazard a guess why.”

  I sigh. “Fine, let me put you out of your misery. I can practically feel your embarrassment from here.” I walk toward the shore, waiting for him to do the gentlemanly thing and turn around.

  He doesn’t.

  Instead, his gaze rakes me over from head to toe, the damp fabric of the chemise clinging to my legs, a few wet spots where the sea splashed against my torso. Now that I’m no longer in the ocean, my decision to go swimming seems foolish, a hint of salt sticking to my clothes.

  I stop, and Sam bends down, picking up my dress and handing it to me wordlessly.

  There’s a moment when our skin brushes as he gives me the dress, his hand twitching, and I regain control of the situation, but it’s swept away by the curve of his lips, the sardonic smile affixed on his face.

  “You’re going to be wet and miserable all day.”

  “In this heat? I’ll be dry in ten minutes.”

  I slip the dress over my head, the rough cotton dragging over my skin causing goose bumps to rise. When my dress is righted, the buttons down the front redone, I meet his gaze once more.

  “Are you ready?”

  Sam leans forward. His lips graze my ear. “You missed a button.”

  I glance down, and sure enough, midway down my cleavage a button hole gapes open. I refasten it, and by the time I’ve finished and glance up, Sam’s back is already to me as he moves away, leaving me little choice but to follow him.

  We walk up to the inn’s parking lot, to his car, and Sam opens the door for me as I slide into the passenger seat.

  Once he’s seated beside me, the key poised in the ignition, I can’t help myself—

  “I’m to be married,” I blurt out.

  I’ve no idea why I say it, only that it seems like it needs to be said.

  Sam doesn’t respond.

  “Let me guess, you pity the man who would be saddled with me?”

  He turns the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life. “I didn’t say that. And I don’t think it.”

  “Then what do you think?”

  “That he’s lucky bastard,” he says, shocking me. His lips quirk. “And I hope he’s ready for a bit of trouble. More than a bit,” he amends.

  “You think I’m trouble?”

  “You know it. And unless I miss my guess, you like it.”

  Maybe I do.

  “You must love him a great deal to agree to be tied down,” Sam muses. “I wouldn’t have thought you wanted that. You seem like you’re searching for freedom more than anything.”

  Now it’s my turn to be silent, his words hitting uncomfortably close to the truth. And at the same time, there is a loneliness to being wholly on your own that I didn’t anticipate. Perhaps I wish to find the person with whom I can be free.

  Eleven

  Helen

  I wake the next morning before the sun is up, fixing Tom his breakfast before he goes out fishing. It hardly seems like a day to be on the water, a storm threatening, but after last night’s argument, I know better than to further provoke him—the bruises on my wrist are reminders enough of the consequence of his temper.

  After Tom is gone, I set the cottage to rights, scrubbing the spilled bourbon from the floor with salt water, straightening pieces of furniture knocked askew. I’m more tired than usual by the time I walk the two miles to Ruby’s Café, a persistent drizzle and a gray sky my companions along the way.

  Despite the weather and the early hour, business is steady throughout the morning. Every so often, the door opens and a man lumbers in, and I tense.

  Did Tom decide to check on me after all?

  “Thought the weather might put them off,” Ruby comments as I set down my tray with a wince. “They keep coming, though. It’s shaping out to be a busy weekend. Must be that special Labor Day fare the railroad’s running.”

  “Must be,” I murmur, barely resisting the urge to lift my hair off my nape and fan myself. Between the pressure from the baby and the heat, the dizziness worsens with each passing hour. I wore a long-sleeved blouse and skirt today in an effort to hide the bruises, but at the moment, I’d almost rather face the prying stares than suffer another minute.

  “You look terrible,” Ruby comments.

  “I didn’t sleep well last night.” There’s no point in hiding it. My skin is even paler than normal, dark circles under my eyes.

  Sympathy threads through her voice. “It’s hard toward the end. I remember those days and don’t envy you them.”

  The front door to the café opens, and I jerk—

  A couple walks in, smiles on their faces, their cheeks pink from too much sun, eyes bleary from lack of sleep.

  Tourists.

  “You seem jumpy today. You expecting somebody?” Ruby asks.

  “I—”

  The door opens again, and this time I don’t have to turn to the entrance to know who it is. Ruby’s appraising smile and the slight curve of her lips settles the matter for me.

  “Busy day for key lime pie,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes.

  My mouth is suddenly dry, words stuck in my throat. I take a deep breath and head over to John’s table.

  * * *

  —

  I’m waylaid twice before I get there—once with a request for more coffee and the second time because one of my tables’ food orders is ready. By the time I make my way to John, my wrist is smarting again from carrying the heavy tray laden with food, a faint trail of sweat on my brow.

  John is dressed in a clean white shirt and a pair of dark pants, his appearance a marked change from what I’m used to. This morning he looks like he could be sitting in a church pew listening to a Sunday sermon.

  It must be lonely living alone in the camps. He appears older than me, but he’s still young enough that he might want to have a family someday. Does he have a woman down here? Did he leave a sweetheart back home?

  John glances up from the table when I am at his side, his gaze running over me, starting at my face, traversing the length of me, and back to the heavy
tray in my hand.

  “Are you well?” he asks, his voice low.

  “I am,” I lie.

  There are more tourists than locals at the diner at the moment, but I can’t take the chance that someone will mention to Tom that I was speaking to a strange man. Not after last night.

  “And you?” I ask.

  “I patched myself up.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Is there anything else I can get you?” I offer a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “Key lime pie?”

  “Didn’t come here for the pie. I wanted to see you. Make sure you were doing well after everything. I was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Was he there when you got home last night?”

  I glance around the restaurant. Bobby from the bait stand is seated in one of the corner tables. He and Tom occasionally share a beer together after work. Two tables over, one of Tom’s fishing customers is enjoying a meal with his wife. Near the entrance, Tom’s brother’s best friend dines with a friend.

  “I can’t talk.” I lean forward, trying to keep my expression neutral as though I am merely taking a customer’s order. “Tom will be upset.”

  “Then meet me out back.”

  “I’m working,” I hiss.

  “Don’t you have a break coming up?”

  “I—”

  “You convinced me. I’ll have a piece of key lime pie. Thank you,” John says in a voice loud enough to carry to the next few tables. He lowers his tone. “Ten minutes.”

  I don’t respond, heading to the back and giving the cook the order for a slice of pie.

  “He seems chattier than usual,” Ruby says, coming to stand next to me.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Are you going to take your break soon? You seem like you could use it.”

  My gaze flickers to John sitting alone at his table, his back to me. I would be a fool to meet him. I’m grateful for his help last night, but I don’t need someone swooping in to rescue me from my life.

  “Helen. You really don’t appear well.”

  “I’m tired, the baby—”

  “I heard Tom was out drinking last night. Max saw him leave Duval Street looking worse for the wear. Did he cause problems when he came home?”

  “There was some trouble outside the restaurant last night. Two men tried to rob me.” I jerk my head toward the table where John sits. “He helped me. Walked me home to make sure I got there safe. Tom didn’t like it.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  I tell her about the men, about what happened.

  “From now on, you’re not closing by yourself. And if you see them around here again, you tell me.” Her expression darkens. “Tom hurt you, didn’t he?”

  “He—It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “He’s no good.”

  “Sometimes he is,” I say, driven by an irrational need to defend my husband. After all, I made vows, didn’t I?

  For better or worse, in sickness and in health. What’s your word worth if you take back the promises you make? But there were promises Tom made, too, ones that were broken.

  What is this if not “worse”? The man I married isn’t the man I’m married to now. It’s like there’s a sickness inside him, eating away at those good parts I fell in love with so long ago until there’s nothing of the emotions I once felt for him, only fear and regret.

  “He hasn’t been good since he was a boy, and even then he had a wicked streak in him,” Ruby retorts. “You couldn’t see it. Young love, and all that nonsense. He was always a wild one. Thought he could do whatever he wanted and the hell with everyone else.”

  “Things have been difficult lately. Fishing isn’t what it used to be. He’s under a lot of pressure.”

  “Lots of people are under a lot of pressure. And lots of men don’t beat their wives.”

  “I know. When the baby comes—”

  Things will change. They have to. We’ll be a family. Tom will drink less. Things will get better. I’ll stop fantasizing about my husband’s death.

  “When the baby comes, nothing will change,” Ruby replies, gentleness in her voice. “Do you want your child to grow up seeing its mother hurting? Do you want to spend your days worrying that one day he’ll use his fists on them, too?”

  “I would never let someone hurt my child.”

  “Helen. No matter how hard you try, as long as you’re with him, you’ll be in danger. It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

  “It is. But is leaving supposed to be easy? He’ll kill me if I try to leave and he catches me. He told me last night that he’d take the baby away from me.”

  “Oh, honey. You could go to the police.”

  “What will they do? How is Tom different from other men? Do you know how many nights Tom has spent in the jail sleeping one off only to be released in the morning with a smile and a wave? Sometimes he takes the sheriff out fishing, shows him the best spots to catch marlin.”

  “Is there somewhere you could go?”

  “Tom would find me.”

  After all, there aren’t many places I could hide. Nearly all of my childhood friends moved north when things got bad, when tourism dried up and the fishing industry changed and the only money to be had was smuggling booze or running guns.

  “No one can tell you what to do, Helen; you have to decide for yourself. But he’s got you thinking you’re backed into a corner, that you have nowhere to go, no options but him, and that’s not true. You have friends, people who would help you, and most importantly, you’re smart and you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. No one could live the life you’ve been living and not be brave.

  “Before I met Max there were men. Some good, others not so much. The bad ones will make you believe you’re nothing. They’ll make you small because that’s the only way they’ll ever see themselves as amounting to anything. It’s a lie. The second you stop believing the lie is the second you take their power away from them.”

  “I’m having a baby. Tom’s baby. If I leave, he’ll come after us. I’ve seen what he’s capable of when he’s angry—I don’t want to consider what he’ll do. Even if I could leave, if I could escape somewhere, how would I support us?”

  “You’re doing a pretty good job of it now. How much of the money you make here does Tom drink away in a bottle? I didn’t say it was easy, but, honey, nothing about life is easy or ever has been. You got steel in you, and it’s time you believed it.”

  This baby inside me is a ticking clock, and where I’d almost convinced myself this marriage was something I deserved, the vows a promise that shouldn’t be broken, it’s not only me anymore. I want better for my child. I want better for myself.

  “You and the baby can always stay with me and Max.”

  It’s kind of her to offer, but I can’t bring that kind of trouble to their doorstep, and in many ways, Key West is really a small town in its own right.

  “What about your aunt?” she asks. “Your momma’s sister?”

  “We write to each other, but I haven’t seen her since I was a little girl. I can’t bring these problems to her—”

  “Sure you can. You worry about getting safe. The rest will fall into place.”

  My mother passed away seven years ago, and I never miss her more than in moments like these, when I’m in need of advice, comfort. Maybe she would have told me my place was with Tom, that every man gets a little free with his fists when he’s had too much to drink, but whatever words she would have given me, the absence of her is the hardest part. She wasn’t a soft woman, my momma, couldn’t be married to a man like my father if she was, but she loved me, and I wish more than anything that she was still here, to help guide me through this new phase in life.

  But she’s not here.

  There’s ju
st me, and this baby.

  What if there could be something else? Somewhere for the two of us? What if I could be free? I’m scared, but more than anything, I’m tired. So tired.

  “I’ll take my break now, Ruby.”

  Our gazes lock, and she leans forward, wrapping her arms around me, giving me a swift hug—the first I’ve experienced in all the time I’ve known her.

  “You do right by that baby. You do right for yourself.”

  * * *

  —

  The fresh air hits me when I open the back door of Ruby’s, the freedom from the various odors escaping from the kitchen much needed, and I sag against the building’s exterior.

  The sound of footsteps coming around the corner startles me. In the daylight, the back of the restaurant doesn’t seem as ominous as it did last night, but I’ve learned my lesson not to be too lax.

  My heartbeat slows as John comes into view.

  He stops a few feet away from me. His limp is less pronounced in the morning; in all the times he’s come into Ruby’s, I never really noticed it until last night.

  “You’re in pain,” he says, his gaze searching.

  “It’s the baby. It’s uncomfortable.”

  “I worried about you last night. I shouldn’t have let you go into that house alone. I should have gone in with you to make sure it was safe.”

  “That’s the last thing you should have done. Trust me. It only would have made things worse.”

  “It’s not only the baby bothering you. Did he hurt you?” He says the words with a mixture of fury and disbelief, as though he cannot understand how such a thing is possible even though the evidence to the contrary is right in front of him.

  My mind reels from my conversation with Ruby. It’s the leaving that scares me most. I can’t stay in Key West. But leaving is a difficult proposition when you don’t have a car and you don’t have much money. Leaving seems impossible when you’re walking away from all you’ve known, when the stakes are life and death.