Page 25 of Key West Promises

As if on cue, Leah's phone buzzed.

“It’s Kaitlyn,” Leah said. “Just checking on us to see if we’re all right.”

“That’s sweet,” Tess said, the weight of family obligations reminding her of their difficulties. For just a moment, looking into Jamie Carter's warm eyes, Tess felt like maybe there was room for more than one kind of healing in Key West.

"You should play again next week," she found herself saying. "The regulars would love it." She paused, then added more softly, "I would too."

His smile turned contemplative, a spark of something like hope in his eyes. "Maybe I will. Especially if the audience is this appreciative."

The way he looked at her made it clear he wasn't talking about the whole crowd, and Tess felt warmth spread through her body.

Maybe Leah was right—sometimes time was all you needed to find your way back to the music. Or maybe sometimes you just needed someone to remind you how to listen for it.

Leah, Tess and Kaitlyn went about the next two days feeling numb and unwilling to talk about what Gretchen had done. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to talk about it further, but rather, just as Kaitlyn had told her mother, they each needed time to process.

Tess was feeding Ernest leftover corn kernels when leah walked into the room.

“Did Kaitlyn go to the shelter?” Leah asked.

Tess shook her head. “Nope. She said she was going to take some quiet time at the beach. I think it will do her a lot of good. I think she finally realized how stressed she is.”

Leah nodded. “She’s wound so tight, I’m afraid she’s going to do something drastic.”

“Drastic?” Tess asked.

Leah sighed. “I’m as angry at Gretchen as Kaitlyn is, but I don’t want to sever my relationship with my sister because of it. Kaitlyn needs her mother, and heaven help us, we’re going to have to help her realize that.”

Tess nodded. “I feel the same way. Sooner or later, though, we’re all going to have to confront Gretchen, and I can’t wait to hear what Chelsea is going to say about all this. She’ll be furious.”

Leah laughed. “It won’t be the first time our oldest sister has been angry at Gretchen.”

“Or us, for that matter,” Tess added.

“Well, for now, let’s let tempers cool. I’m headed to the shelter. I need to talk to Elena about something I’ve been thinking about,” Leah said.

“Ciao!” Tess responded.

Leah found Elena in her office, surrounded by stacks of paperwork. Through the open door, they could hear children's laughter from the backyard, punctuated by the occasional adult voice giving gentle direction. A half-drunk cup of coffee sat forgotten among the papers, probably cold by now.

The walls of Elena's office told their own story—photos of successful transitions, thank-you notes written in careful handwriting, children's artwork preserved in dollar-store frames. A bulletin board overflowed with community flyers, business cards, and what looked like a carefully maintained calendar of appointments and deadlines.

"Do you have a minute?" Leah asked, noting how Elena's desk calendar was covered in scribbled notes and reminders. Red marks in several squares caught her attention—probably bills coming due.

"For you? Always." Elena gestured to the chair across from her desk, pushing aside a stack of donation receipts to create eye contact. "Kaitlyn's been telling me about your business background. Says you're some kind of financial wizard."

"I was hoping to talk to you about that, actually." Leah settled into the chair, trying not to disturb the precarious paper piles. "I've been looking at your website, the programs you offer. You're doing amazing work here, Elena."

"But?" Elena's smile was knowing. She'd clearly heard praise followed by suggestions before.

"But I noticed something. Have you ever considered applying for grants?"

Elena's pen stilled. She set it down carefully, like she was buying time to form her response. "Of course. But running this place…" She gestured at the paperwork surrounding her. A report had slipped partially off the desk—Leah caught the words "monthly expenses" before Elena tucked it away. "There's barely time to keep up with daily operations, let alone learn grant writing. And hiring a professional grant writer?" She shook her head. "That's a luxury we can't afford."

"But you have connections all over Key West," Leah pressed, thinking of how many local business owners seemed to know and respect Elena. "Surely someone?—"

"Could help?" Elena's smile held a touch of weariness. "Yes. But asking for help means admitting how precarious our funding is. That could scare away donors, make residents worry about our stability." She met Leah's eyes. "Most of these women have already lost everything once. I can't risk them thinking they might lose this place too."

Understanding dawned. "So you've been handling it all yourself."

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