Angelica
She had left in the wee hours of morning, before the sun was up, before her absence might be noticed, before anyone could try to stop her. She’d gotten in the car, picked a direction, and gone. When her tank ran low she stopped for gas (paid for with cash) and then kept going. She napped in the car when she got tired, stopped for the occasional snack when she felt hungry, and went to the bathroom at a rest stop every few hours. Otherwise, she didn’t even slow down.
Angelica drove until there was more water than land before finally stopping for a hotel. ‘Welcome to Islamorada’ the sign at the start of town had read. “Ok”, she thought. “I can deal with this.”
The first hotel Angelica checks into is absolutely amazing on all accounts. The staff are very friendly, believe her when she says she’s lost her ID but tells them her name is Barbara Woolf, try not to give her suspicious looks when she pays in all cash. They give her a posh room, make sure she’s comfortable, and the bellboy reminds her of all the amenities the hotel offers before leaving her to rest for the night. She doesn’t sleep a wink and checks out the next morning.
The next hotel Angelica checks into is a little ways down the road. It’s quaint, and a little older, but not at all a bad place to stay for a while. The woman behind the desk smiles as though she knows something when Angelica stumbles in, half dead on her feet. “Welcome to Harbor Lights Motel! Room for one?” the woman asks. Angelica puts on her most winning smile.
“Yes, please. Under Barbara Woolf. And I am sorry but I seem to have lost my ID.” Angelica answers, hoping against hope she won’t be turned away like the last six places. The woman nods and types the name into the computer.
“Looks like we have an opening in room two. Would you like me to call J.C. to help with your luggage?” the receptionist asks. Angelica pauses for a moment before nodding and smiling gratefully. “J.C., there’s a lovely lady out here who needs help with her bags”, she says, raising her voice slightly before turning to Angelica with a kind smile. “And please, call me Becca”, Angelica mumbles her thanks as a bright-eyed young man sweeps from the back and picks up her bags.
“Right this way miss!” he all but crows. Angelica follows robotically, allows J.C. to let her into the room, takes her room key, and passes out as soon as the door clicks shut behind her.
When she wakes up, it’s the middle of the night and she’s been gone almost two days. Shit. She plugs in her dead phone and waits patiently for it to turn back on. The flurry of messages and missed calls that flood in once it does are no less than she expects. She ignores them all. Taps out a simple message to Eliza instead. ‘I’m fine.’ it reads. ‘I’m safe. I just need some time.’ She doesn’t wait for a response, opting instead to go shower and get dressed so she can sit in front of the TV until sun up and go explore the town at a more decent hour. Once her phone has mostly charged, she unplugs it and turns it off.
After a couple of old reruns of a show Angelica hadn’t bothered to pay attention to, the sun rose, and she left her room to find out what was around town. The muggy Florida air was still giving her hair, and lungs, hell, but she pushed on in search of . . . something. Beyond perhaps breakfast, she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Eventually, she stumbles upon the Midway Cafe and Coffee Bar. “Good enough”, she thinks and orders an egg sandwich with a coffee. She’s sitting on a bench near the window, halfway through her sandwich, when a familiar face joins her for breakfast on the bench.
“Good morning, Ms. Woolf”, J.C. greets, exuberance for life muted for the sake of others at this early hour. Angelica takes a sip of coffee and smiles.
“Good morning, J.C.”, she replies. He smiles back and they have breakfast in companionable silence. It’s a nice change from her normal routine. She tells J.C. to call her Barbara, and J.C. replies that his name is John Church. They make unconscious plans to meet for breakfast tomorrow.
For the first week, Angelica doesn’t stray far from the motel. She’ll read by the water or poke around establishments nearby. The only routine she has is breakfast with J.C. at Midway. It tends to be the most talking she does all day. Tourists come and go, sometimes bustling by and sometimes moving as slowly and quietly as she is. Something in her understands that the Keys (and perhaps life) are best enjoyed when not in a hurry.
On the Monday of her second week in town, it rains. Angelica has seen thunderstorms before, but Florida storms on the water still strike a little awe into her. She’s not sure what to do for breakfast, figures maybe she will drive to somewhere new to eat, when there’s a knock on her door. Alarm races through her. She’s not ready to face home yet. But when she answers the door, it is a damp and smiling J.C. with egg sandwiches and coffee. She laughs, and his eyes sparkle like the sea on a sunny day at the sound. They sit by the window, watching the waves while they eat, and J.C. tells her about growing up on the beach. He doesn’t ask where she’s from and she is grateful. A few stories later, he goes to work with a smile, and the storm abates not long after.
Just over three weeks into her stay, Becca and Tom, the motel owners, tell J.C. to take the day off. Around mid-morning, he seeks out Angelica in the hammocks near the water. She’s in tears. “Barbara?” he asks. Angelica just cries harder. He carries her to her room and holds her until she’s calmed enough to speak. And when she does, everything comes spilling out.
“My name isn’t Barbara Woolf”, she begins, and over the next two hours, she hiccups out the truth around impending tears. She tells him how she essentially ran away from home, how she needed so badly to just go, how she hadn’t quite intended to return despite her nightly assurances to Eliza that she would soon. He listens, patting her back and being as comforting as he possibly can as the story goes on. She eventually runs out of words, so J.C. speaks up.
“If I may ask you a question,” he half whispers, afraid to break the hushed air of the room, “What is your real name?” Angelica looks up at him for the first time since he found her crying. His eyes are kind as always, though there’s a wistfulness about his usually joyful face.
“You aren’t upset?” she asks, expecting him to be angry with her for lying, for keeping so much from him. He shakes his head.
“Becca knew the entire time you were hiding something”, he says gently. “But she knew it was nothing bad, just personal, so she let you stay.” Angelica’s lips turn up into a small smile.
“My name is Angelica Schuyler”, she says. He pulls her into a tight hug before pulling away to look her in the eye.
“Angelica Schuyler”, he says, eyes boring into hers, “I believe it’s time for you to go home.”
And the next day, she does, but not before leaving a note at the front desk for J.C. when she pays her bill. Underneath her name and address it says, ‘Don’t forget to write.’