L
illian peeked around the door. “Officer Masterson?”
A tanned man in uniform looked up from reading the Key West
The Citizen Newspaper.
“Yeah?”
“I’m Lillian. I called this morning for an appointment.”
Officer Masterson took his feet off his desk and put down the newspaper. “Have a seat right here,” he commanded, pointing to a chair.
Lillian sat down and glanced anxiously at Officer Masterson. She noticed that his hair was graying slightly, but his face was unlined although he had crow’s feet. In the Keys, it was hard to pinpoint one’s age as the sun aged those of European descent more quickly in the Sun Belt. Lillian thought him to be in his mid-forties, but she could have been wrong.
He pulled out an ink kit and proceeded to set it up on his desk.
“What’s that for?” asked Lillian.
“I’m going to take your fingerprints.”
“What?”
“We used to have a machine to take prints and electronically send them out, but I dropped it and it hasn’t worked since. I didn’t like it anyway.”
Lillian cupped her hands. “I don’t understand. Why do you need to take my prints like I’m a criminal?”
“Didn’t Eva Hanover tell you that she was going to do a background check on you?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“This is part of the procedure she wants done. She said you would have access to people’s credit cards and be handling large amounts of cash, so she wants you checked out.”
“I didn’t realize that it would mean taking my fingerprints.”
Officer Masterson looked at her suspiciously. “You got a problem with that?”
“Absolutely not. I just wasn’t expecting it.” Lillian extended her right hand. “Go ahead. I would do the same in her place.”
Officer Masterson gave Lillian an odd look.
“I haven’t worked for over two decades, Officer. I’m just a little behind the times as what to expect in the work force.”
Officer Masterson grunted and grabbed Lillian’s hand in his big paw. He took her fingers one by one and covered them with ink and then smudged them on a form. When he took her left hand, he noticed an indentation where a ring had been.
“Divorced?” he asked.
“If the fates are kind, hope to be.”
He grunted again while inking her left hand. Then he pointed to a very faded bruise on the inside of her left arm. “How that happen?” He gave Lillian a cloth to clean her hands.
“Now you know why I want the divorce.” Lillian always felt ashamed when someone noticed her bruises, but they were fading and in a few days would be a thing of the past.
Officer Masterson nodded. “There’s a support group on Key Largo for battered spouses. Here’s a pamphlet. If you need to vent, there’s no better place. Everyone’s supportive and everything is confidential . . . that is unless you confess that you killed your spouse,” he grinned.
Lillian noticed that he had a nice smile . . . warm and inviting.
“If he were dead, I wouldn’t need a divorce.”
“Quite so. Quite so.” Officer Masterson looked at the clock and stood. He handed Lillian another sheet of paper. “This is where you go for the drug test.”
“Thank you.”
“Good luck with your new life.”
Lillian nodded and hurried out of the office. The heat blasted her face with such intensity that Lillian felt the sun burned away all regrets and sins.
She felt newly baptized and was truly free of the past. Going forward was all that mattered.
L
illian packed her battered suitcase and moved into the manager’s apartment. It took her only a few moments to unpack her belongings. Like the bungalow she had rented, the manager’s space was first-class. Retaining its retro Florida look, the apartment was still upgraded with all the modern amenities, including a bidet, which one did not find unless they were in Europe. But Lillian loved it once she got the hang of how to use it.
Today was her first day of working the front desk. Eva would spend the day training her, and then Lillian had to run to Aussie Jack’s to start the evening shift. It was going to be a long day, but Lillian was energized. With the deal that Eva gave her about the free rental, Lillian could start putting some money away to pay for her divorce.
Occasionally Lillian would feel a twinge of regret over how she had left Bob and her daughter, but she had taken all that she could take from them. She had left a letter explaining her intentions to divorce Bob and not to look for her as she was going to find a new life.
Maybe she should have faced them with her intentions, but Lillian knew how it would be. Her daughter would be incensed and then accuse Lillian of needing therapy.
Bob would yell and lie that he didn’t know that Lillian was so unhappy but he would go to couples therapy if that’s what she wanted. Then, as soon as Bob got drunk next time, he would hit her and the awful cycle would start over.
No. Lillian had done the right thing. Less drama. Less confrontation. She knew they would never understand, as her husband and daughter were never wrong. Lillian’s great regret was that she and her daughter were estranged and that she might never see her grandson again, but that was the price she was willing to pay.
For the first time in many years, Lillian was not lonely. She didn’t have any close friends, but people were friendly and helpful in the Keys. If she wanted company, she just went to the pool area and struck up a conversation with a woman her age. She met many wonderful people that way.
And then there was Eva. Although they were not bosom buddies, Lillian hoped that their relationship would grow into a true friendship over time.
Lillian was determined to plant roots in Key Largo and thrive as Eva had.
L
illian decided to drive to work as it was sprinkling and the weather report said heavy rain in the late evening. Parking in the employee section, Lillian ran into the back entrance of Aussie Jack’s.
She called hello to the cooks and other waitresses who were ordering their meals before the restaurant opened for the evening trade.
A few of the day waitresses were setting up for the evening patrons and waiting on the lunch crowd that still lingered over afternoon drinks in the lounge. They waved to Lillian as she hurried to the restroom to check her makeup and hair.
Lillian waved back and cheerfully sang out hello to them. As soon as Lillian checked her face and hair, she helped the day waitresses finish their tasks, so they could leave before the big storm hit as many of them rode bicycles or walked to work like she usually did.
Gratefully, some of the day waitresses tried to give Lillian part of their tips but Lillian refused. She just wanted to help them get home early before being drenched.
Finally, Jack rang a bell and announced to the few remaining customers that he would be waiting on them for thirty minutes as the evening shift had to eat. It was one of the reasons Aussie Jack’s employees loved him. He made sure all his employees had enough to eat.
Lillian hurried into the kitchen. After making a salad, she poured clam chowder into a bowl while asking one of the day cooks to make some French fries for her. She then took her food to a large table and sat with the other waitresses, busboys, floor managers, dishwashers, bartenders, and evening cooks. They good-naturedly gossiped with each other about the tourists, snowbirds, and some of the regulars.
She listened to the waitresses describe whom they could tell would be a good tipper just by looking at them. Apparently anyone riding a motorcycle was a good tipper as were blue-collar working men. The worst tippers were those who had inherited their wealth. Those who had worked hard for their money and were now retired sometimes gave very big tips if the service was outstanding. It was not unusual for a waitress to make a hundred dollar tip or more with those guys.
Lillian heard thunder and peered through the large plate glass windows that enclosed the back wall. Bolts of lightning lit the ocean from its blanket of darkness. In those brief seconds, Lillian could see the sea was choppy and that many yachts and fishing boats were coming in. There would be no night fishing that evening.
But Lillian was wrong when she thought it was going to be a quiet night. With nothing to do and having nothing to cook, bored families dropped into Aussie Jack’s for an evening meal before heading back to their hotels to finish the night watching TV.
With so many people waiting, Lillian practically ran, placing customers at clean tables, then helping the busboys clean off dirty tables, and running into the kitchen to take finished orders out for the waitresses to serve.
No amount of duct tape was going to keep her feet from getting blisters that night. Around ten, the restaurant was still going strong, but the floor manager was making sure that the waitresses had a break and were drinking water.
Around ten-thirty, the stream of customers started to slack off. Able to catch their breath, the busboys finally got all of the dirty tables clean and the waitresses began checking on the tables’ condiments. Other waitresses sat down and folded utensils in cloth napkins. By eleven-thirty the floors had been swept, the kitchen cleaned, and the restaurant’s two bars had been restocked.
While the waitresses counted their tips and handed in the night’s receipts, Jack made ice-cream cones for everyone, saying that was one of the busiest evenings Aussie Jack’s had ever had. One waitress said she made over four hundred in tips that night. Others did quite well themselves.
Lillian gratefully accepted her strawberry ice-cream cone and devoured it with relish. She was starving, realizing that she needed to eat more if she was to keep her energy up at the restaurant.
At midnight, everyone stood at the back kitchen door and waited for Jack to punch in the alarm code. He and the employees always left together as Jack usually carried the day’s deposit with him. It was extra insurance for Jack not to be robbed while getting into his car.
As it was still raining, everyone squealed as they rushed for their vehicles. Before Lillian got into her car, she noticed that something was wrong with the front light. It had been smashed!
“What the hell!” she cried out, examining her headlight. “Someone smashed this!” She quickly examined her car. To her dismay, someone had keyed the passenger side all the way to the taillight. Lillian felt sick about the damage, but there was little she could do at the moment. Everyone was leaving and she didn’t want to be left alone in the parking lot.
Reluctantly, she unlocked her car and left with the others. But she continued to look in her rearview mirror, seeing if anyone followed her.
Not being able to do anything about her damaged car at the moment, she hurried back to the Last Chance Motel.
Lillian didn’t feel safe until she was in her little apartment and all the locks clicked into place. Click. Click. What a lovely thing a deadbolt was!
“S
omeone sure has done a number on your car,” whistled Officer Masterson, pushing his hat back from his high forehead.
Lillian struggled to keep from crying. “I know. It’s looks awful.”
“Were any other cars bothered?”
“No. Just mine.”
“Did you ask everyone?”
“Yes, and I checked the cars myself. Just mine was damaged.”
“And you’re sure that the car was fine when you left the motel?”
“It was raining, but only guests at the Last Chance. . . I mean the Pink Flamingo would have access to it. But why would guests trash my car?”
“Why does anyone do anything? Bored. Crazy. Revenge.”
“I’m pretty sure it was done at Jack’s by a busboy who used to work there. In fact, I think I was being followed the other night.”
Officer Masterson gave Lillian a dubious look.
“I’m not a hysterical case, Officer. I can assure you that I have two feet on the ground. If I say that there was someone following me home from work, then there was.”
“And you’re one hundred percent positive about this?”
Lillian looked away. “No. Not one hundred percent. A hunch. A strong hunch.”
“What about a surveillance tape?”
“I looked at it, but it doesn’t reach the area where my car was parked.”
“I see.” Officer Masterson rubbed his earlobe. “Well, I can take a report which you can give to the insurance company. You do have car insurance?”
Lillian bit her lip. “Yes, but if I turn in a claim . . .”
“Then your husband will know where you are.”
“Yes. I’m trying to put that off until I file for a divorce.”
“Do you think it’s possible that he already knows where you are and did this to your car?”
“No,” said Lillian shaking her head. “That’s just not Bob. He’s confrontational, but he would never destroy personal property. He’s worked too hard all his life to obtain possessions. That’s not his style.”
“But hitting you is?”
“When he’s been drinking. He wasn’t always like that. Just in the past few years.”
“Do you know what triggered it?”
“He didn’t get a promotion at work and then his father died, giving his brother most of the inheritance. Bob changed after that and couldn’t seem to shake his anger. So he took it out on me.”
“Did you have him arrested?”
Lillian looked shocked. “Heavens no! I didn’t want a scandal like that. I . . . I just learned to cope.”
“Hmm,” responded Officer Masterson, taking pictures of the car. He leaned against it while finishing his report. “Here’s a copy of the report. Do with it as you will. Also give me the busboy’s name and I’ll go talk to him.”
“Jeremy Salvador.”
“That kid! Doesn’t surprise me. He’s been in trouble since he was twelve. I’ll track him down and talk to him.” Officer Masterson paused. “You should go to the battered women’s support group. I think you are in denial about the violence in your marriage.”
“No, I’m not,” protested Lillian. “Why do you think I ran away and want to get a divorce?”
“We have a list of doctors who treat battered spouses. You should get checked out. You might have something wrong and not know it.”