Waiting for Sunrise (31 page)

34

Spring 1964, Cedar Key, Florida

Patsy looked out the front of the Ford Falcon Futura. A town—a little harbor town—was coming into view. Fishermen on a dock. Weathered hands pulling crab baskets from the water and into a boat. The scent of the marsh washed over her.

In spite of its pungency, she liked it.

“Are you hungry, Patsy? I’m ravenous.”

She looked at her husband again, nodded. “Yes. A little.”

The dimple on his cheek returned. “See there?” Gilbert said. “Another good sign.” The car slowed as they entered the city limits. “Let’s get to the cottage, settle in, clean up, and find this place Walter told me about.”

“Sikes’s?”

“Sikes’s Seafood. I’ll bet the food is about as fresh as anything you can get on the coastline.”

Patsy inhaled deeply. She liked a good fried shrimp. And deviled crab. She hadn’t had that in ages. That with a baked potato . . .

———

The cottage was everything it had been touted to be. The cottony-white walls, the dark, rich furniture, the white eyelet curtains and bed linens, and the polished hardwood floors helped Patsy begin to relax. To feel that maybe her life was going to be okay. Even if only for a week.

A week in Cedar Key.

Patsy unpacked while Gilbert showered. When he was done, she took a quick bath, worked the tangles out of her hair, then brushed it until it shone. She worked it into a long braid that snaked over her shoulder, and slipped into a knee-length mint-green A-line skirt with matching sleeveless blouse. She wore no jewelry, no makeup. Only coral-colored lipstick.

The way Gilbert liked it.

“Will you put the top up on the car?” she asked as they stepped from the front porch of the cottage. “It took forever to get the rats out of my hair.”

Her husband slipped an arm around her waist. “Anything for my lady.”

She sighed as he opened the car door for her. Allowed her to get in gracefully. Closed it. She watched him sprint around the front to his side.

He is trying so hard.

Already a line was forming at the front door of the restaurant. Patsy glanced at her watch. Five o’clock. She thought they would have been early enough. Maybe the food really was that good.

She waited at the end of the line while Gilbert gave the restaurant’s hostess their name. He returned a minute later. “Fifteen minutes. That’s not bad.”

Over the fifteen minutes, she found herself drinking in the sights and sounds of Cedar Key. Already she liked it here. It called to her, like an old friend, and made her feel as though she’d been here before.

Seagulls soared overhead. Patsy craned her neck to watch them, then lowered her chin to view them through the glass walls of the restaurant as they dove into the rhythmic waves below.

They inched closer to the inside of the restaurant. Gilbert slapped his flat stomach. “I smell good ole fried seafood. I think I’ll have shrimp. What about you?”

She strained to make the decision. “Deviled crab.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist again and squeezed. “Somehow I knew you’d say that.”

“You know me well.”

“Since you were no more than a pup.”

“Milstrap, party of two?” the hostess, a young woman of about twenty-five and pretty as a blonde Breck Girl, called over the heads of the few hopeful patrons left standing in front of them.

Gilbert raised his hand. “That’s us.”

They entered the restaurant, Patsy behind the hostess, Gilbert behind her. Sikes’s Seafood was all wood and glass. The walls sported lifesavers and nets with shells caught between the yarn. Large mounted fish. Stuffed replicas of tropical birds perched on beachwood. It was typical tropical, and to add to the setting, the Beach Boys sang “Surfin’ USA” from a jukebox
.

The hostess stopped short before turning toward a man in dress casual attire. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said to Patsy and Gilbert. “Just a minute please while I ask my boss a question.” She returned her attention to the man. “Mr. Liddle?”

At the sound of the name, Patsy felt the air suck into her lungs before she heard the intake of her breath. Gilbert’s hands gripped her forearms.

The man stopped. Turned toward them. Smiled briefly. “Yes, Brenda . . .”

“Billy?” The name slipped out of her mouth as though she’d been speaking it her whole life and not just in part.

He blinked at her while Gilbert continued to squeeze her arms, supporting her.

“Are you Billy Liddle? William Watson Liddle?”

He blinked again. “I am . . . I’m afraid . . .”

“Patsy.” If she tried to say another word, she’d die right there in front of the other diners, as the Four Seasons declared “Big Girls Don’t Cry.”

———

Patsy.
The name pulsed through his body as he looked at the woman before him.

Of course . . . those eyes. She hadn’t grown much taller. Everything else had changed with age. But if memory served, and if he could trust his mother’s treasured photos, this was Patsy.

The man standing behind his sister had a firm grip on her shoulders. His right hand released its hold long enough to extend in a handshake. “I’m Gilbert Milstrap. Patsy’s husband.”

“How’d you . . . I . . .” Billy glanced around the room. People were eating without notice or care. And a full house at that, so early in the evening.

He looked to his hostess. “Brenda, please take Mr. and Mrs. Milstrap to the private dining room.” Throbbing shot from one temple, across his forehead, to the other.

“But, Mr. Liddle, it’s been reserved—”

Billy waved an impatient hand. “Just do it, Bren. And then call whomever and tell them a family situation has come up and the room is being used tonight. They can have the room free of charge either later tonight or tomorrow.” His breathing was erratic. The migraine would be in full swing if he didn’t get to his medicine.

“And call my wife.” He looked from his hostess to his sister. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” Just long enough to take his pill. “Be sure to order some sweet iced tea. We make the best here.” He paused. Stared at his sister. This really was his sister. Patsy. “This is amazing.”

Brenda did as he asked, leading the way to the back of the restaurant where a large room jutted over the water. He watched as the three wove their way between square tables. His gaze went to the glass overlooking the gulf. The evening light—even muted this time of day with the sun to the west of Dock Street—still had a piercing quality. Without a word to anyone else, he made his way to his office, opened a desk drawer, and grabbed the prescription bottle kept there. He opened it, shook two pills into the cup of his hand, and swallowed them with a swig of iced tea he always kept close by.

Brenda opened his office door. “Hey, boss . . .”

“Hi.” He waved her in, told her to shut the door. When she stood on the other side of his desk, he asked, “Did you get Ronni?”

“She’s on her way.” She looked toward the open drawer. “Are you getting—”

“Yeah.”

“They’ve sure been worse since—”

“I know.” Billy swallowed. “Listen, Bren . . . what you heard out there . . .”

She took the humble folding chair in front of his desk, sat, and crossed her legs. “I’m not going to tell anyone or say anything to the other staff. You know me better than that. But, seriously. Is that really your sister in there?”

Billy took another swallow of tea, considered, then drained it. “Yeah.”

“My goodness. Like a long lost?”

He closed his eyes and nodded; the headache was lessening, but it wasn’t leaving. “Listen, did you get them some tea?”

“I did. And two orders of shrimp cocktail, though I doubt they’ll be eating. She’s crying all over her husband’s shoulder in there. I don’t know if I ever heard anything quite like it.”

The office door swung open; Ronni rushed in like a gust of gulf breeze off the coastline. “Is it true?”

Brenda stood. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She took a step, then looked to Billy. “What should I do about
. . . them
?”

Ronni had made it to his side. She stood next to him, cradled his head against her abdomen. “Tell them we’ll be right in,” she answered, as though she’d been expecting this since the day he’d told her about Patsy and Lloyd.

Billy breathed in the scent of her. He’d be all right now. “I can’t believe it, Ron . . .”

“God has answered your prayers, baby.” Joy leapt in her voice.

He closed his eyes, sighed. “I can’t believe it,” he said again.

She patted his shoulder. “Come on. Introduce me to my sister-in-law.”

———

It was too awkward and too emotionally draining for Patsy to stay at the restaurant. She whispered to Gilbert even before her brother and his wife walked into the private dining hall that she really wanted to get out of there. When Billy and Veronica finally came in, Gilbert stood, shook hands with Billy again, then with Veronica, and suggested that they’d do best to talk at a later date. Maybe tomorrow.

Veronica seemed to take right over at that moment. To be so young—and clearly she was not much older than a teenager—she certainly had a manner about her for taking charge. Patsy, too weak to even stand when they’d come in, sat idly by and allowed it. Even though this was
her
brother and
her
world that had been tilted not twenty minutes earlier. She just couldn’t . . .

“I say we go to our place,” Veronica said. Patsy glanced up through wet lashes. The dark-haired beauty looked at her husband—Patsy’s baby brother—with wide eyes that implored him to go along with her. “Billy?”

Billy only nodded, raised a hand as though he didn’t know what else to do, then let it drop. He was obviously just as taken aback as Patsy. The only one who seemed to be nonplussed was her husband, and by now, she’d figured he knew they’d find a Billy Liddle in Cedar Key all along. She’d deal with him on that matter later.

Patsy and Gilbert drove behind Billy and Veronica, neither one of them speaking. Patsy sensed her husband wanted to say something. Perhaps even gloat a little. He’d always been so sure of himself; was he this time? Or had he thought this completely through at all? What if, God forbid, things had not gone well.
This
Billy Liddle had not been
her
Billy Liddle. Then what?

While they drove along the narrow streets, Patsy took in what she could of the island. It was nearly dark, but she made out what she could. Many of the buildings were old, some obviously refurbished, others brand-new. She liked what she saw. Everything seemed quaint. It spoke of a simpler time. Kind people. Backyard folk, Gabby would call them.

Within a few short minutes, they pulled up to a small cottage that reminded Patsy of the one she and Gilbert had rented for the week. Veronica practically leapt out of the VW bug in front of them—it was as cute as she—and ran around to the driver’s side, waiting for her husband to open his door. Patsy almost giggled at the girl’s enthusiasm, but she was too worn out already. And for the life of her, she just couldn’t believe that the man getting out of the car was her brother.

“Ready?” Gilbert asked from the driver’s seat.

She nodded, opened her own door, and got out.

Within minutes, the four sat across from one another at the kitchen table. Veronica had poured more iced tea for them. Patsy wasn’t thirsty necessarily, but holding the glass gave her something to do with her hands. Gilbert, on the other hand, sat beside her and gulped every bit of his down. Before he could put the glass back to the table, Billy said, “Let me top that off for you,” while Veronica cut four slices of pound cake. It looked good and smelled even better—butter and vanilla wafted from the plates—but Patsy hadn’t really had dinner. And feared if she ate the sweet dessert on an empty stomach, she’d be sick before morning came.

Patsy cleared her throat, asked if she could use the bathroom. Veronica immediately showed her the way.

Patsy closed the door to the small room and braced her hands on both sides of the sink.

Breathe
, she told herself. Again. Again. She closed her eyes and willed the room to stop spinning.

Steadying herself took longer than she’d liked, but finally the spin digressed to a wobble. She opened her eyes. Rubbed her fingertips under their red rims. Clearly, she’d aged decades in the last year.

She’d do best to splash cold water on her face, she decided, before returning to the others. Eyes closed and water dripping from her chin, she fished around for the hand towel hanging from the round plastic handle on the wall, dried her face, and then looked back into the mirror.

There were the eyes again. Just like Billy’s. So much like his. Not the same color but . . . so close. Except that Billy’s held something she didn’t quite have. A peace perhaps. But from where?

It had to be the lifestyle then. No . . . Billy’d had it just as difficult as she, even more so. Yes, their mother had cruelly sent her away, but Billy had been stuck with the likes of Ira Liddle.

A knock on the door caused her to blink rapidly.

“Pats, you all right, hon?”

“Yes. Just a moment and I’ll be right there.”

She listened as Gilbert’s footsteps faded toward the kitchen. Patsy ran her palms over her hair, squared her shoulders, and gave a nod. The time had come. She had to go back into that kitchen and ask her brother the question that had been on her mind all evening.