They turned left out of the resort, the opposite direction of where the beach was. Soon, they turned onto North Roosevelt Boulevard. To the right, the water stretched, sprinkled with house boats, to the left businesses sat.
They made a right toward a bridge and the scooter wobbled slightly in the wind. Lizzie tightened her grip.
Then they were across and everything changed. The buildings got older, smaller, painted in pastels and tropicalcolors. Trees lined the streets, draping shade over the sidewalks. People on bikes everywhere, moving slow, looking happy and relaxed like they had nowhere important to be.
“This is Old Town,” Chrisla called back. “The actual historic part of Key West.”
Lizzie remembered this part of town. This was where her shuttle driver had taken her on the detour yesterday.
Her new friend parked on a side street and killed the engine. Lizzie climbed off on shaky legs and pulled off the helmet.
“That was terrifying.”
“You get used to it. Everyone here has a scooter or a bike. Cars are kind of pointless when the whole island is four miles long.”
They walked down a narrow street lined with white picket fences and tropical plants spilling over into the sidewalks. Lizzie couldn’t stop staring. Everything looked old and charming and completely different from Brooklyn.
“Ernest Hemingway lived here,” she said. “He walked these streets.”
Chrisla laughed. “You’re the youngest Hemingway fan I’ve ever met.”
“I wrote my high school senior thesis on The Snows on Kilimanjaro, one of the short stories he wrote here.”
“Of course you did.” Chrisla stopped in front of a small building painted bright yellow with red trim. “Here we are. Cuban Connection. Best Cuban coffee on the island, and that’s saying something because there’s a lot of competition.”
Inside, the place was tiny. Maybe six tables total, all packed. The smell of coffee and garlic and something frying hit Lizzie immediately. Her stomach growled.
They ordered at the counter. Chrisla got them both Cuban sandwiches and cafe con leche. The woman behind the counter, probably in her sixties with gray hair and kind eyes, said something in rapid Spanish to Chrisla, who laughed and responded in kind.
“You speak Spanish?” Lizzie asked as they found a table in the corner.
“My whole family does. My parents are Haitian, but they lived in the Dominican Republic for a few years before coming here.” Chrisla took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “God, I needed this.”
Lizzie tried her own coffee and nearly spit it out. It was sweet and strong and tasted like it could power a small city. “Holy shit.”
“Right? Cuban coffee doesn’t mess around.” Chrisla grinned. “So how was your morning with Sarah?”
“Exhausting. She’s a lot Everything must be perfect and organized, and I can’t tell if she thinks I’m completely incompetent or if she’s just like that with everyone.”
“She’s like that with everyone. Well, mostly. She’s worse when she’s stressed.”
“Is she always stressed?”
“Lately, yeah.” Chrisla lowered her voice even though the restaurant was loud enough that nobody could overhear. “Herhusband died last year, as you know She’s fighting his son in court. The board is trying to undermine her. It’s a lot.”
“I guess.” Lizzie picked at her sandwich. “I just feel like she already hates me and I’ve barely been here a day.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She’s just protective of her territory. It’s not personal.”
“Feels personal.”
“That’s fair.” Chrisla took a bite of her sandwich. “For what it’s worth, Sarah’s a decent person. Good at her job. Fair to the staff. She just keeps everyone at arm’s length.”
“Because people think she doesn’t deserve to be GM?”
“Partly.” Chrisla hesitated. “People talk. You know how it is. Rich old guy marries a younger woman, then dies and leaves her everything. The gossip basically writes itself.”
Lizzie thought about Sarah in her beige suit and perfect ponytail, all cold professionalism and clipped responses. She also recalled how she’d mentioned Billy in passing, as though she hadn’t meant to. “I mean, maybe they have a point. She did get the job because of her husband, right?”
