“That does sound like paradise when you put it that way,” he says.

“Don’t you ever get lonely?”

“I do and I don’t. I had friends, good friends, before I went off to war. And when I was there, there were men I considered to be brothers, men I would have sacrificed my life for. I miss that, I suppose. There are good men down here. But I told you, I’m not in a place to be much of a friend to anyone.”

“What utter nonsense. What is this if not evidence of you being a good friend? You helped a complete stranger when many would have looked the other way—when many did look the other way.”

“Not a complete stranger. I saw you at Ruby’s for months.”

“We never spoke about anything besides me taking your order.”

“Maybe not, but you smiled at me. At others. It was nice. You always brightened my day even if you never realized it, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who felt that way.”

Tom always said I talked too much to my customers, that I was too friendly with them, too familiar, but the truth is, I like talking to people, learning about their lives. You can live a fair share of adventures in other people’s stories.

“I like waitressing,” I admit. “It’s hard work, and you certainly get some rude customers, but I enjoy being around people. It keeps things interesting. It’s easy to get involved in your customers’ lives. I actually met a girl this weekend and told her about the inn. She’d come down on the railroad and planned on traveling up here and visiting the camps. I wonder if she ever made it.”

“The camps aren’t any place for a young girl.”

“I told her that, but she seemed pretty intent. Hopefully, Aunt Alice was able to help her out.”

“Is your aunt your mother’s sister or your father’s?”

“My mother’s. My mother and Alice didn’t really get along,” I confess, feeling guilty for talking about my family like this, as though my mother is sitting in the car with us, capable of overhearing my words. “Alice did as she pleased. Mama believed the highest duty a woman could serve was to God. The second highest to her husband.

“They loved each other, of course—I mean, they were sisters—but they couldn’t have been more different. Alice owned the Sunrise Inn with her husband, and when he died young, she took it over. There were rumors about Alice during Prohibition. You get some smugglers in these parts, and I suppose Alice offered them lodging when they needed it, didn’t report them to the authorities.”

“I take it your mother didn’t approve.”

“Hardly. Alice doesn’t care much whether anyone approves of her, though, which only bothered Mama more. Alice has this way about her—she’s lived life on her own terms. I admire that about her.”

“And you never thought about confiding in her?”

“It’s complicated,” I reply.

The truth is, I’ve considered coming to Alice a hundred, thousand times. Every time I found a reason not to.

But now there’s the baby.

John slows the car, pointing up ahead. “That’s it.”

The Sunrise Inn is on the southern side of Islamorada, past the point where the highway crosses Mr. Flagler’s railroad track. It’s nothing fancy, and in her letters, my aunt has mentioned that many guests prefer the larger Matecumbe Hotel.

I have the vaguest memory of the building—my impressions of our visits here are more sounds and textures and the sensation of sand beneath my toes. It’s a pretty enough structure—a bright white that suggests a recent coat of paint and cheerful blue shutters a few shades darker than the color of the ocean. The inn is two stories tall with an inviting front porch; chairs are arranged to give guests a place to sit and converse. There’s no one sitting out there now, only two cars out front.

The baby is awake and kicking my belly as John parks the Plymouth and helps me out of the passenger seat.

I stop in front of the inn’s entrance, doubt gnawing at me. “I haven’t seen her since I was eighteen, since my mother’s funeral. Now I show up like this. What will she think?”

“It sounds like she loves you from the way you talk of your time here with her. She’ll want the best for you.”

I stare up at him for a moment, overcome by emotion. “You know how to be a good friend. Don’t ever think otherwise. Thank you for what you’ve done for me. For us. I will never forget it.”

His cheeks flush. “It was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

I give him a shaky smile and we walk up the steps to the inn’s entrance, John trailing behind me.

The inn’s interior doesn’t appear as new as the exterior, but it’s neat and clean, the living area also doubling as a reception space. A man stands behind a desk near the staircase. I don’t recognize him from my earlier visits, but he greets me as I walk toward him.

“Do you need a room this weekend?” he asks.

“Actually, I’m looking for my aunt. Alice Jones.”

“You’re Alice’s niece? I can’t believe it. You must be Helen, then. She told me all about you. I’m Matthew.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Is she here? She wasn’t expecting me.”

“She is. And she’ll be so excited to see you. Alice!” he hollers in the direction of the staircase.

Moments later, a petite woman walks down the stairs.

Her blond hair is cut below her chin, her dress a shade of blue that reminds me of the color of the shutters. She holds a bundle of linens, her head bent as she fusses with an errant string, her free hand trailing down the banister.

“There’s no need to yell, Matthew. I’m not so old that my hearing has gone.”

Alice glances up as her foot hits the bottom step, and she stops in her tracks, her eyes widening at the sight of me. Despite the years since we’ve seen each other, I have enough of the look of my mother for my identity to be clear. While I shared my pregnancy in one of our most recent letters, no doubt the sheer size of my stomach and the realization that I am so close to my due date is alarming. Not to mention John standing beside me.

Her lips curve into a deep smile. “We have some catching up to do.”

She opens her arms, and I walk into them, and I’m home.

* * *

—

John and I say a quick good-bye under Alice’s watchful eyes with the promise he’ll return tomorrow to check on me. He walks away, his tall frame ambling out of the inn, the limp in his leg more pronounced now that the day has worn on, and Alice takes me back to her private apartments on the ground floor.