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It wasn’t that long ago. The thing might even start. I climbed in and turned the key. The motor whined at me, complained of being tired, then finally kicked over, coughed, and started.
I idled it for a few minutes, letting the engine get used to the idea of running again. Pretty soon it sounded smoother and I put it in gear.
I drove over to Nancy’s apartment. Her car was not in its parking space. A plastic Winn-Dixie bag had blown into her space. A litter of leaves and gum wrappers sat on top of the bag. I walked around to the front. There was a small clutter of mail sticking out of her mailbox.
I drove out to the hospital on Stock Island. Nancy’s car was in the parking lot. I parked a few rows away, closer to the exit, and turned off the engine. I waited.
I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, more than just seeing Nancy. She was inside, sooner or later she would come out. And then—
What? Force her to reason with me? Keep her from getting into her car until she admitted she still loved me? Show her my winning smile and say, “Let’s start all over”?
Confrontation didn’t seem like any kind of answer. She could either dodge it or win it too quickly. I didn’t want that.
So what did I want? I wanted her to love me, because I loved her. I couldn’t make that happen. And by confronting her I might spoil the last chance of preserving it if she did still love me.
I wanted to see her—but only if she wanted to see me. Again, if she didn’t want to, she could just get in her car and go, and probably that would kill the last chance, too. If there was one.
I knew all that. I had known it for weeks. It was why I hadn’t done this before. So why was I sitting in the hospital parking lot in the hot sun, watching Nancy’s car? Because—I had tried to call her. And there were too many times when she wasn’t home and wasn’t at work.
Where was she?
There was one very good, very simple and logical, answer. I just didn’t like it. So I sat in the car. I found a peppermint and a stick of gum in the glove compartment. I ate the peppermint. It had been in the car so long that most of it clung to the wrapper, a soft and warm mush of sweetness. The flavor was still okay.
I watched people going in and out of the hospital. None of them noticed me. Most people wouldn’t notice a UFO in a hospital parking lot. They’re too wrapped up, thinking about what might happen to their precious, irreplaceable hides, or how they’re going to get through the rest of their lives without somebody who’s slipping away inside, or how they will ever pay for it all.
I’ve always thought that hospitals must know this, know that people won’t notice anything at all beyond the clutter of tubes and shininess, the gurgle of life support machines. It’s a diving board into death, either your own or someone you love, and no one can see beyond that. The hospitals know that. That explains the decor in the waiting rooms.
It was almost dark when Nancy finally came out to her car. A guy came out with her. He was tall and slender and very dark-skinned, almost blue-black. He wore a green hospital jacket with a pocket protector and a stethoscope around his neck. He walked Nancy to her car; a good idea, since even Key West has joined the 21st century. We have crack, and we have rapes, robberies, assaults, smash-and-grabs. I was glad Nancy was being safe and having someone walk her out.
The two of them reached her car, stopped for a minute to say something I couldn’t hear, and then Nancy opened her car door. She turned back and the guy gave her a peck on the cheek. She reached behind his head and pulled his face down to hers. They stayed like that for a long moment. Then the guy took a half step back and stroked her face before he turned and walked back into the hospital.
Nancy watched him go for a minute. He turned once and waved. She smiled at him and climbed into her car.
She drove across Stock Island and I followed her. On the far side of the island from the hospital there is a series of trailer parks. Nancy drove into one of them, not the worst. She parked in front of one of the trailers, took a key from her purse and went inside.
I guess I had known it for a while. I had not admitted it, but the knowledge had been there at the edge of my thoughts, lurking the way something evil lurks under a kid’s bed. Always there, hugging the dark, the thought had just been hiding, waiting to slide out and eat me when the lights were finally all out.
Nancy had somebody else. Of course I had known that. Finding love is easy in Key West. Keeping it may be impossible, but it is always there to be found.
Nancy had found somebody else.
Somebody else. The funny thing was, I felt a sense of relief. Sure, I was hurt, mad, hollow-feeling. But I was relieved, too. Now I knew. Now I was not in doubt, wondering where the relationship was going, wondering if it was even alive anymore.
It was dead. No room for doubt. I was out, the guy in the intern’s coat was in. Ballgame over, no extra innings. Case closed. No appeal.
Somebody else.
I got home and found a bottle of peppermint schnapps somebody had left in my kitchen after a party. I poured a glass. I drank it. It was the traditional thing to do. It tasted awful. I could see why somebody had left it.
It was all I could do to drink the whole bottle.
Chapter Seven
The sun came up in the wrong place. It was supposed to be on the other wall and not so far up. There was something wrong with my neck, too. I wasn’t sure, but I thought maybe it shouldn’t be at that angle. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much.
A weird-looking object squatted beside me. It seemed to be an empty bottle. I moved my head to look. My stomach roared. I had to get on my feet fast. That wasn’t easy. First I had to find them.
I was lying on the floor beside the bed. Most of me anyway. My feet were up, tangled in the sheets. I yanked them free and made it to the bathroom just in time, trailing a stream of bed linen behind me.
