Boyd had his fill of people and the bus loads of kids that descended on the historical attraction. He preferred to wander around on his own, wondering why the place drew him. In the last months, he’d found himself coming up often, usually telling himself he was just going to take the Harley out for a quick spin. Yet he seemed to end up here too often. For a place that made him uncomfortable in too many ways to define, he still wound up here.

He’d seen the old historical site in the past and usually preferred to take different back roads to explore on his downtime and decompress. But lately, no matter which direction he started out toward, he wound up here. In the past, he’d take a quick turn around the place, settle in a quiet corner, and stare out at the bay. Today, even in his quiet corner he’d felt antsy. There was nothing that he could specifically put his finger on. Just antsy. For a man who finally had his life settled, the trips were a form of mental torture he couldn’t stop or define.

Work this morning at the delicatessen and bagel shop had been busy, as usual, but when he left after the lunch crowd, it seemed like any other day. From his usual vantage point, he saw a woman, her shoulders hunched, sitting on a bench. Crying women were not his forte, and he decided he’d spent enough time there. It seemed no matter which path he took, he kept seeing her.

She had long dark-brown hair pulled back in a braid that ended near her waist. From this distance, he couldn’t tell how old she was, but he decided several things. First, not to intrude on a stranger’s grief. For that was what he decided her mood was: pure grief. Second, not to approach any woman unless she seemed receptive. Third, after finally disentangling from Greta, he was better off alone than with a woman at this time in his life. While they’d started out for fun, she quickly decided she wanted more, like a wedding and children. If he hadn’t specifically started their relationship with the standard speech—“been there, done that already, and not looking to get married again”—he wouldn’t have blamed her. While agreeing to the same current state of mind, like several other women he’d met, she thought she could change him and persuade him she would be the perfect wife for him.

In reality, his first marriage had dissolved easier than some of his quick relationships. They were just too young, and by the time a few years passed, they’d outgrown each other. There were no hard feelings, just realizations that marrying their high school sweethearts at twenty-one hadn’t benefited either of them.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d stayed, leaning on the wall, staring out at the water and the woman. Even from the farthest path, he watched her blow her nose and straighten her posture. Then he noted the throngs of children making their way to the parking area. She fell in step with one of the groups and disappeared into a large yellow school bus. “God bless you, lady. No wonder you’re crying. The noise would drive me crazy too.” He waited until he saw them leaving and headed directly back to his bike. It was his day to close the store, and even though he paid people to do exactly that, he still liked to drop in at odd times to keep his staff on their toes. It also prevented the occasional call about how to handle something.

* * * * *

Nola tried to wipe her face and dry her eyes before the children got back to her location. As a part-time history teacher, she’d taken the place of another teacher last minute when a family emergency came up. She’d told herself it was the right thing to do for the teacher and her family, and the brownie points wouldn’t hurt trying to get hired full time next year. In reality, she knew she’d never be a full-time teacher in that district. That was fine with her; the cash kept her rent paid and food in her belly and gave her time for her online classes to further her degree.

She’d always been curious about the St. Augustine fort. Castillo de San Marcos, she corrected. Yet she’d never managed to make the trip on her own. The few times she’d considered it, something always came up. Today seemed like the perfect opportunity. But as soon as they neared the park, she became nauseated. Who wouldn’t on a school bus filled with kids with thousands of questions? Once outside, the headache started, along with a feeling of foreboding she’d never experienced before. It was so strong that if she’d been in her own vehicle, she’d have turned and left. Once the tour started, she’d slipped away to the bench outside the fort walls and hoped she’d be away from prying eyes so she wouldn’t have to answer questions.

“Just a headache,” she’d tell anyone who asked. The kids didn’t seem to notice her absence, and the teachers and parents just gave her sidelong glances meant to make her feel inferior for not toughing it out. Right now, she didn’t care what anyone thought. Never in her life had she experienced a headache like the one she got today. The pounding didn’t stop, and she could hear her heartbeat in her head as her vision blurred. Migraine came to mind, and she hoped to never feel that way again. She was embarrassed at her own behavior but couldn’t change it.

As the bus made its slow-motion drive back toward the public school in Gainesville, she started to feel better, lighter. The headache lost its intensity. She was never so thankful to see the parking lot in the distance. Hopefully within an hour or so, the kids would be gone and she could leave too. Her temples were physically sore to the touch, and the aspirin she’d taken at the old fort hadn’t worked. Monitoring the parent pickup line, she managed to choke down two more with the warm bottle of water she carried. Nola hoped that by the time she got home, they would work and she’d feel better.

“One day I’ll go back,” she said to nobody but the hot air in her small economical SUV. She’d never given in to such an overwhelming sense of dread in her life. Usually, she would force herself to continue, to conquer the fear and move forward. Today, she hadn’t and took it as a personal failure. “I’ll go back one day,” she said again as the cool air finally began to circulate in the small space. She decided that as a history major, she needed to do more research so she’d know what to expect. It was probably just the burrito she’d grabbed for breakfast that got to her, she decided. After all, it was supposed to be her day off, and the last minute call to fill in left her scrambling to get to the school on time. It left her out of sync.