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Gabe has his life.
This is mine.
I shouldn’t have fallen for him, but it’s clear that I did. Now I have to be like Anita and let him go. Like her, I will survive it.
I rock Rosie so long that she falls asleep on my chest. Only when Lila comes to place her back in her crib do I realize how much time has passed.
“Ensley’s going home,” Lila whispers. “Go say bye.”
I do, and hug her before heading to my own rumpled bed. There’s a text from Gabe on my phone.
Gabe:Sold ten swanky pankies tonight. Mendo has changed his story. There’s no longer a mermaid. Just two lovers on a beach. Miss you.
I type outmiss you, too, and let the tears fall again. When did I become a crier? I never have been before. This was a fling. A few weeks of fun. Not worth crying over.
But I decide to roll with it.
Tomorrow I’ll be tough Tillie again, tossing gross men out of my bar and working long hours in my best boots without complaint.
But for tonight, I’ll be me. Sad Tillie. Uncertain Tillie.
A Tillie who wishes she could be in paradise.
The weeks go by the same way they did before Ensley’s wedding. Lila to work, me watching Rosie. Lila comes home. I go to the bar.
Despite our impossible situation, Gabe and I continue to text. Morrie and Anya have decided they will never be good at cocktails, but Morrie’s been hosting karaoke nights at the hut, and Anya helps take orders when it gets busy. I do have a legacy there, after all. They have more business, more locals, and more fun.
I’m glad. Something good came out of our three weeks.
I’m working at Badger’s bar when I get a text from Gabe that almost makes me drop a bottle of whiskey.
Gabe:There’s a tropical storm headed our way. Don’t worry if you can’t get hold of me for a few days. If it hits, power and cell towers go first. We’ll be all right. The island’s built for this.
My body flashes hot. I back away from the bar and push through to the kitchen, frantically texting him back.
Me:Please let me know as much as you can. Will Mendo and his boat be safe?
Gabe:They’ll take measures. And I will.
Me:When will it hit?
Gabe:If it doesn’t turn, sometime tomorrow. But it could turn.
Me:I hope it turns.
Badger spots me texting. “What the hell are you doing, girl? Get back out there! This isn’t break time.”
“I don’t get any break time,” I shoot back at him.
“That’s how I know it ain’t your break.”
Whatever. I pull up a weather app and switch it from Georgia to La Jarra. And I see it, a pulsing pinwheel, all the potential landfalls marked with dotted lines. Tropical Storm Calinda.
Don’t hit La Jarra,I tell it.Stay away, Calinda.
When the crowd thins, I tell Badger I’m leaving. I really don’t care if he fires me. I listen to weather reports as I drive home, frustrated that they only talk about a potential Florida landfall but nothing about the islands.
As soon as I tiptoe into the dark house, Lila and Rosie sound asleep, I drape myself over the bed with my phone.
