Vacation Therapy (22 page)

"Sounds like where I want to be, right at ground zero for that storm."

"Hurry up. You're going to miss all of the fun.” Sergio ran a comb through his hair, making it stand straight up on end. He slipped on his sandals and opened the door.

I finished changing into a clean pair of Levi shorts and T-shirt.

"What are you waiting for? All the food will be gone, besides, I want to be
there
, when the storm hits."

Walking into my sandals, I followed, grabbing my tote bag and camera. “I need to be down in the lobby by seven a.m. sharp anyway, or I'll miss my taxi to the airport."

"What?” Sergio said, stopping in his tracks.

"I'm leaving the resort. Mike called and set up a ride for me to the airport, along with a flight home."

"But why?” Sergio whined.

"Do I need to explain this to you? Where have you been? Haven't you seen what's been going on around here?” I waited for him to say something.

He didn't.

"Besides, I don't belong here, and you know it."

"But you'll miss all of the fun. Besides, you can't leave me here alone with the killer. Molly would never forgive you if anything happened to me.” He stomped his foot like a two-year-old and pouted.

"A hurricane's fun? I think I can live without that excitement, and I want you to come with me, so you'll be safe."

"I don't want to go, and I'm staying to weather out the storm and find the killer, with or without you.” A smile broke out across Sergio's mouth. “I doubt you're leaving,” he laughed. “I'll bet Mike didn't even call for the flight or the taxi.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It's not like a cab would venture out here if a hurricane was coming, anyway. Right?” Sergio closed the door to the bathroom.

Truer words were never spoken.

The sky was gray with tints of pink and green. The ocean breeze had intensified overnight. A constant gust blew and blew. Usually, the wind would let up at times, but now instead of slowing, there were surges of harder wind. The lowering atmospheric pressure pushed on my eardrums while an electric hum seemed to fill the air. The hair on my arms and legs stood straight up. I caught sight of my reflection in a hallway mirror. The hair on my head was even standing on end. I had never seen wind like this before.

As we entered the dining room, it buzzed with excitement. Nervous energy propelled people around like ionized particles, everyone picked up speed with each encounter. The bar was open with the longest line I've seen so far. No waiting for coffee or tea. I guessed caffeine wasn't needed today.

We walked down the buffet line and picked up a plate. At the end, all I had was a scorched pancake and two slices of slimy bacon. On the last table stood a wooden bowl of hard rolls. I tossed two in my bag, but before I moved on, I stepped back and threw a dozen more in. It didn't look like there was a run on buns, at least not when the bar was open.

Bottled water lined up on another table. Picking up two bottles, I added them to my tote bag. Sergio might need these when the storm hit, and I doubted he'd think to stock up, not in this frenzy. My bag was starting to dig into my shoulder, so I turned to scan for Sergio.

He waved me over to a table, and I walked through the maze to join him. Two men who I hadn't seen before sat with him; both were speaking in excited French. They smiled as I pulled my chair out but continued with their conversation.

I looked up from my bacon and my pancake, which was black on the outside and soggy on the inside. I eyed the candle sitting in the center of the table. Glancing at the guys, I slipped it into the tote bag while neither one noticed. A lighter lay on its side next to the guy with a crew cut and the Euro-chic glasses. As I stood up to leave, I slipped the lighter into my pocket and nodded “goodbye” to them.

Sergio followed me, and the French men quickly returned to their rapid speech, all the time motioning toward the ocean with their hands.

Sergio poked me in the back. “I saw that,” he said. “Smooth."

"Must be all the fine motor coordination exercises I do with my patients at work."

"You could easily live a life of crime.” He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"Gee, thanks. I'm glad you think so highly of me.” We walked back to our room and I unloaded my tote bag in the bathroom.

"What did you take all of this stuff for?” He picked up a hard roll and a bottle of water.

"I figured you may need them, once the storm hits.” I finished emptying my bag.

"What about you?” He set the bottle back down on the counter.

"I'm going home, remember?"

"Do you really think that cab is going to pick you up?"

I hated to admit it, but that same sinking feeling had been plaguing me all morning. I thought I might have waited too long to go home. I tried to push that thought out of my mind, but knowing my luck, a hurricane was heading straight for this resort.

The same resort with a snake-throwing killer running around loose. A resort filled with gay men and horrible, inedible food. And I was trapped in the middle of it.

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I sat in the lobby on my suitcase for two hours, but no taxi came. As my butt became numb, I watched the traffic in the parking lot. No one arrived, only left, like rats from a sinking ship, but that seemed like an exaggeration. I'm sure they were only the night crew going home. But it looked like the
entire
night shift and day shift, every shift. But why wasn't anyone coming
in
for the day shift? Did they know something we didn't?

As each staff member loaded up in his or her car, I wished my Spanish was good enough to hitch a ride to the airport or at least into town. But no. Luther L. Wright High School had only offered French, and this wasn't Gay Paree. Well, at least part of that was correct.

As the time went by, the sky grew a deeper and darker gray. The morning was completely overcast. No rays of sun broke through the dense cloud cover. What was really amazing was the intensity of the wind. It kept increasing with each passing minute.

As someone departed, they would walk into the wall of wind, which was starting to shake the whole resort. And the wind never let up. Where was all of the wind coming from? In Sioux Falls, the wind would blow and let up, but this was a constant gust. In my mind, I pictured a huge fan far out at sea, blowing and blowing. And someone had forgotten to turn it off.

The lobby's clock rattled and tried to chime off nine, but the hammer seemed to keep missing the chime.

While contemplating going back to my room, I turned to look over my shoulder. Sergio approached, shaking his head. “That's the same place I left you hours ago. Haven't you gone yet?” He stretched his hand out and pulled me to my feet.

"I think they forgot me."

"It's their loss. Just be thankful I'm still here with you.” Sergio said and patted me on the shoulder.

"Oh yeah, I feel so much better already."

"The cab isn't coming, but the hurricane is. So much for believing Mike; you were an idiot to have trusted him. Did he even call for a cab or your plane ticket? I'm sure it's too late to find out. You missed your flight, and we're here for the duration of the building storm."

I picked up my carry-on.

"Come on. This will be fun.” He reached over, picked up my suitcase and hoisted the strap over his shoulder. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to our room. “Just think of the stories we're going to be able to tell Molly and all of our friends back at home. It's not every vacation that you get caught in a hurricane."

And what were the odds of that? I didn't even want to think about it.

As we left the lobby, the wind whipped down the stairway, howled, and blew us backward. We took a step back, regained our footing, and then leaned forward and pressed into the tempest. We braced ourselves by squatting and spreading our legs as we used the handrails to pull ourselves to the fourth floor.

Standing on our landing, I wondered. Was the top level the safest place to be? Wouldn't the roof be blown off first? Or would the foundation crumble from the waves that pelted the beach? Maybe I should've been a civil engineer, instead of an occupational therapist. Then I would've known the answer.

Sergio smiled as we approached our room's door and inserted his key.

Then the thought struck me. He was really enjoying this. Maybe it was a good thing the cab never came. Someone had to keep an eye on him and keep him safe. And I doubted that anyone at the resort would.

Besides, Molly would kill me if anything happened to Sergio.

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An hour later, Sergio and I leaned against the railing of our balcony, watching hundreds of men surround the beach bar to watch the storm approach. The sky had darkened to a steel gray, and the wind had picked up, even more than I thought it could. The palm trees swayed at sharp angles, threatening to snap. Low clouds raced overhead. Every once in a while, a gust would rattle the whole building.

I looked over at Sergio. He pleaded with me.

"I know you want you to go down there and join them, but..."

"But what?” he whined. “It's not like this storm is a tornado. Well, it is, but we have time. Look,” he said, pointing down to the beach. “It's open down there. It's not like we can't see it coming."

He was right. Since we had received the storm warning, the sky had darkened and the wind had intensified, but that's about it. No rain or anything else. Besides, once the storm hit the resort, we would be confined to our rooms. And with all of the covered walkways connecting the buildings, we should be safe getting back to our room...if we'd leave as soon as the weather took a turn.

"I guess we could..."

And Sergio had me down on the beach in the center of everything. He walked to the side of the bar and opened up the cooler. He held up a Tecate and a Bud Light.

I shook my head.

He reached in again and held up a 7-Up.

I nodded. Why not be responsible and social at the same time?

He pulled out two for me and took two Tecate for himself.

"I thought we weren't supposed to drink alcohol during a hurricane,” I said as he approached. “Wasn't that on our list of things..."

A man in a Club Fred shirt with a picture of the model John flipping his wet hair back from his face glared at me. He took a long drag on his beer and turned his back to us deliberately.

Sergio handed me the cans of 7-Up and popped open one of his beers. He took a big sip. “Try and stop them.” He motioned toward the crowd, bellying up to the bar.

A hush descended on the crowd as Mike walked through the melee. He held up his hands and motioned for everyone to be quiet. “Listen up! A hurricane is coming, and everyone needs to be back in their rooms in thirty minutes."

A chorus of “Ah's” arose from the crowd.

"You don't have to be in your
own
room. I don't care
whose
room you pick to be in, but you need to be in
a room
in thirty minutes."

A few catcalls and suggestions responded to his announcement.

"No, seriously. It's for your own safety. You all need to be back in your rooms in thirty minutes."

"All right, all right, thirty minutes, just pass me another beer,” someone yelled.

"Beer! Beer! Beer!” rose as a chant against the gale.

I walked away from the shelter alongside the bar, and a wall of wind pushed me back. “Wow. That wind is getting stronger."

Sergio followed and stepped back to maintain his balance. “I see what you mean. I wonder how many miles an hour it's blowing?"

On the beach, white-capped waves beat the shore. The storm loomed in the distance. Wind whipped at my clothes and hair. Living in Sioux Falls, we saw many days of wind, but nothing had prepared me for this. I was having a difficult time comprehending the wind's force. I spread my arms out to the side. The pressure felt like I'd stuck my arm outside my car window going sixty-five miles an hour on the interstate.

"Twenty minutes!” Mike yelled into the wind, but no one seemed to pay any attention to him. Another wave of bottles appeared on the bar as soon as the other ones emptied. The stream of drinkers strolled by. The supply of bottles amazed me just as much as the wind.

Suddenly, a thundering gust struck me. Sergio grabbed me before I fell off the deck. The entire beach bar rumbled underneath our feet. The melee paused for a second and everyone was quiet. The rattling stopped, and the party resumed as if nothing had happened.

Sergio downed his first beer and opened the next one.

"Take it easy on those,” I shouted.

"That's why I brought you along, you're the designated walker.” His voice battled against the wind.

"I don't mind if you have a drink or two, just don't overdo it."

"I won't, Mother!"

Another hour passed and the wind continued to blow. The endless supply of bottles had slowed a little, but they kept coming, just like a magician's handkerchief. Mike was still yelling “ten minutes,” but no one was paying any attention to him. And Sergio wouldn't listen to my pleas to get to our room.

"Look at that.” Sergio pointed directly above us. A flock of gray pelicans hovered overhead in a long line that strung out along the beach. No wing movement could be detected. They just faced into the wind and hung there, overhead, waiting, watching.

The pulsating vibe seemed to be growing around us. I could almost see the static electricity building between each man. It forced all the hair on my arms and legs to stand and seem to extend out to whoever was next to me. It was hard to tell if it was from the wind or the storm's electricity.

"Cool,” Sergio said, as the swarm of birds moved closer. They hovered above; their black eyes vacant and unblinking, boring into us.

"What are they waiting for?” I asked.

"Supper,” he said. “I wonder which one of us is on the menu tonight?"

Mike's voice fought the wind's roar. “Five minutes, guys, five minutes."

A group of guys ventured out on the beach and waded into the crashing surf. Even without the sun, they were enjoying the day.