Page 33

Twenty-Three

Huck

Ted’s monstrous hangover costs us an extra day. We make it into Key West a day late, just as the sun is setting into the sea, fiery red and massive.

“Red sky at night,” Teddy hollers, hopping onto the pier to catch the line.

“Sailor’s delight,” Stella calls back. I try not to think about how close she and I were in the kitchen and how gently she pressed the hot towel to my jellyfish sting.

She kills the ship’s engine, and I launch into action tossing the rope to Ted.

Over the last few days, I’ve kind of been getting the hang of being at sea.

I picked up the lingo quickly, helped Stella and Ted with maintenance and navigation, and even took a shift at the helm.

I’m nowhere near the level that they are, where being at sea feels natural, but I’m not a liability anymore.

My scopolamine patch is doing its thing, the jellyfish stings are healing up nicely, and Stella and I haven’t had another moment like the one in the galley, which is for the best. I’m okay with being tolerated by her; anything more than that would only make my heart hurt, I suspect.

We’ve settled into a kind of semi-comfortable cordiality that is only a little awkward and mostly pain-free, except when the wind lifts her hair off her neck, or she walks by in her bare feet and her baseball hat, or I think about any one of the things on the list that reminds me of what could’ve been, what was then and isn’t now…

the sound of the ocean waves, stars in the dark sky, pizza, waterfalls, notes written on maps, sleeping bags, Amelia Earhart, silk camisoles, Vikings, poppy seeds, and sheep, and now ointment and hot towels and galley kitchens, cowgirl boots and lacy underwear.

The list is long, and the situation is as imperfect as I am, but I think it would be fair to say this is progress.

Once everything is squared away at the docks, we head over to the crew’s favorite Key West restaurant, where we’re supposed to meet Zoe and Gus.

El Meson de Pepe is in Mallory Square and apparently is famous for its amazing Cuban food.

I’ve had Cuban cuisine in New York that was pretty fantastic, but this place has been here forever and we’re so close to Cuba that I imagine it’s super authentic.

Mallory Square is brimming with people, some walking on stilts, others juggling illuminated bowling pins, and the odd illusionist drawing a crowd. “What is this?” I ask.

“Sunset Celebration!” Ted cheers, and zips off into the throng.

“They have this every night,” Stella fills in. “Lots of performers come and do stunts and magic or tell stories. It’s such a cool event.”

“Where did Teddy run off to in all that chaos?” I ask.

“Probably to see if he can find the cats that jump through the flaming hoops. We saw it once several years ago and he was hooked.”

I grin. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“Why would I do that?”

“That doesn’t sound like a thing. Cats and flaming hoops? What if their tails catch on fire?”

“I don’t think any felines are harmed in the Sunset Celebration.

Besides, where’s your sense of adventure?

It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience.” Stella jogs after Teddy, and I sprint to catch up with her.

We weave in and out of the crowds watching sword swallowers, acrobats, and other acts, and pass by the guy on a super tall unicycle silhouetted against the darkening sky, while snippets of songs sung and played on guitars and steel drums fill my senses.

It’s magical here. I can’t deny it. Stella has come alive, her light hair streaming out behind her.

My chest squeezes a little. We find Ted watching an acrobat act.

“No cats?” I ask him.

“Apparently, Dominique the Catman retired, and, get this, they don’t even allow fire anymore at the Sunset Celebration. No more flying housecats or flaming hoops. I’m devastated, guys, I really am.”

“That’s too bad. But it means we can go to dinner now, right?” Stella asks. “And—”

“Let me guess, the picadillo habanero is calling your name,” Ted says.

“Oh, good choice! But no, I was going to say that Zoe and Gus are probably wondering where we are. I texted them before we docked, and they were already at the restaurant.”

Luckily, the warehouse-like building that houses El Meson de Pepe is only a couple of minutes’ walk from the celebration.

There’s a live salsa band playing, a healthy crowd milling around the patio bar, and a few brave chickens wandering about looking to get lucky with some dropped food.

We manage to find Gus and Zoe, lounging at a round table on the patio.

Zoe is wearing a flowy maxi dress made of bright coral linen and Gus is in full Tommy Bahama wear; they have the easy happiness of contentment.

Stella tackles Zoe, envelopes her in a hug that is halfway to a mixed-martial-arts takedown.

Beside them Gus and Ted do an elaborate handshake that has more steps than I’ve ever seen.

I lift my chin at Gus in greeting and he reaches out to shake my hand.

“Nice to see you again,” I say.

“Glad to see you made it down here in one piece,” he says, handing me a glass of beer.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Ted chimes in.

“With Stella?” Gus grimaces for effect. “A little bit, yeah. Honestly, Zoe was kind of worried that she might send Huck here into the drink and keep going.”

I sputter on the sip of beer I’ve just taken.

“Are you starting some shit over there, babe?” Zoe calls. She steps around her chair to embrace Teddy. “You promised me that you were going to be on your best behavior.”

“That was pillow talk, it’s inadmissible.”

“Don’t try to ply me with court lingo. You know what that does to me.”

“Here we go,” Stella says and groans, but she’s smiling.

“Don’t listen to a word Gus says,” Zoe tells me. “My actual wording was that I wouldn’t be surprised if she fed you to the sharks. Less drawn out.”

“Thanks for that,” I say. “Very generous. I would appreciate avoiding any sort of protracted torture.” I don’t add that this past year has been its own kind of torture. “Glad to see that your sharp wit is the same as it was in Iceland, and that your hair recovered from the Lagoon incident.”

“Now, Huck, we don’t speak of that tiny unfortunate event. Though maybe we should—I won the shit out of that case. Maybe the extra minerals soaked into my scalp.”

“Your hair looks gorgeous, Z,” Ted says. “And you were partially right. Stella did knock him into the salt marsh when we were over at Peg’s Place.”

I glance over at Stella to see if she’s heard Ted’s announcement, but she’s stepped away to get an extra chair.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Zoe does a little twirl before she settles back into her seat.

“I need to know more about this alleged Salt Marshing, but first let’s sit.

I’m beat from a full day of exploring while you three dillydallied your way down to us.

” We grab menus from the center of the table.

The offerings all look mouth-watering. “We already ordered a pitcher of beer and some apps,” Zoe tells us. “Conch fritters and coconut shrimp.”

“I was thinking it’s a good night for mojitos,” Ted says.

“Count me in for mojitos,” Stella says.

“Those starters should be coming right out,” a server says as she passes by.

“Tell us about the trip down. How’d it go?” Gus asks. “No one got fed to a shark, I see, so already we’re in a better place than we expected.”

Stella casts a glance at me, and I take another sip of my beer.

Is she thinking of our hands brushing against each other in the water before the jellyfish had given us a stark reminder of the dangers of getting too close, or maybe of later in the galley when she’d smoothed the ointment on my vulnerable skin and we were so near I worried she’d hear my pounding heart?

“Teddy got shit-faced and sang the entire fucking soundtrack to Hamilton ,” Stella says, directing the conversation away from me and her.

Gus clinks his glass against Teddy’s. “Respect.”

“And Huck and I got stung by a bunch of jellyfish in South Carolina. Otherwise, totally uneventful. What about you guys? What’d you do today?”

“We went to Hemingway House, of course,” Gus tells us.

“Are you guys Hemingway fans?” I ask.

“You’d think that would be the driver for these two intellectuals,” Stella says, “but you’d be wrong. They go for the cats.”

I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t know anything about Hemingway and cats, so I nod.

But Zoe, who I’m learning quickly is amazingly adept at reading people, seems to recognize my ignorance.

She generously gives me the history. “The story goes that some old ship captain gave Hemingway a white six-toed cat. The house now is a home to all its descendants. Apparently, they all carry the trait. It’s a really neat place.

They have these special fences so that cats are safe to roam free on the grounds. ”

“Very cool,” I say.

“There’s sixty of them,” Zoe adds. “It’s beyond cool.”

“Zoe loves cats even more than Teddy does,” Stella explains.

“Speaking of, did you know the Catman isn’t doing shows anymore?!” Teddy asks.

“Yes, we were at a café and someone there knows Dominique. They said he’s retired. I’m so disappointed. It’s truly the end of an era,” Zoe says.

The server drops off the heaping plates of fritters and shrimp.

We order our main dishes and a round of mojitos, and then we all dig into the food while it’s still hot.

The conversation shifts to everyone’s favorite local delicacies—the ladies and Ted favor the Key lime pie at Kermit’s, while Gus can’t decide between the lobster pizza at Seaside Cafe or the Papa Dobles cocktail at Sloppy Joe’s—before we move on to the treasure hunt, which will officially start tomorrow at sunrise.

Between mouthfuls, Stella shares the link between the text I’d found detailing the fruitless recovery operation and their planned search-and-salvage site.

I can’t help but grin at everyone’s reaction, but mostly I’m happy that she seems to think I’ve made a valuable contribution to their expedition.

Even though it’s killing me that I can’t change what happened and I can’t go back and fix what I did, I still am going to make the best of this opportunity and do whatever I can to help Stella reach her goal and find the Heart, especially now that I know what this means to her.

Ted raises his glass. “To an amazing adventure with the best people I know,” he toasts.

“To treasuring this time together,” Gus says, and gives Zoe a squeeze.

“I see what you did there,” Stella says with a grin.

“Hear, hear,” Ted says.

“My turn?” Zoe lifts her water glass a little higher. “To fair weather, fantastic friends, and finding what we came here for.”

It’s down to me and Stella.

“Can’t do better than that,” I say. Everyone nods in agreement.

Stella smiles and pulls in a breath before she makes her own toast. “I’ll just add to holding history in the palms of our hand and becoming legends in our own right. To finding the San Miguel with the best people I know. I love you guys.”

I know that last part isn’t meant for me and I don’t deserve it in any way—not then and not now—but it still fills me with a helium feeling. I float through the rest of dinner and barely sleep that night.