Page 52 of Still See You Everywhere

The UTV is parked at the bottom of the porch steps, as close as it can get. It’s still a wet, blustery run as we dash down the stairs. The air, land, and sea have seemingly swirled into one heaving mix that’s throwing its entire weight against us. Charlie barely pops into the front seat before his door is slammed shut. I have to scrabble to get a grip on the frame and heave my door open with all of my strength.

“Can we really drive in this?” I shout above the uproar. The storm has definitely strengthened since I’ve been inside MacManus’s lodge.

“Can we, luv? Absolutely. Should we? Now that’s another story. Buckle up. It’s gonna be a ride.”

I grab the roll bar as Charlie punches the gas. For a moment, the UTV simply leans forward, as if thinking about it. Then, it leaps ahead, and we’re off and running, already soaked to the bone. It’s eighty degrees out, but I can’t stop myself from shivering, being this wet again, caught in yet another storm. My mind threatens to ping-pong to other places and scarier times. I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread to keep myself in the here and now.

“This has gotta be a little different from Australia,” I attempt to scream above the wind. “Do you miss it?”

“Ahh, now and then perhaps. But I’m not a hometown sort of bloke. Spend too much time in one place and my skin starts to itch.”

“I don’t have a permanent address myself. But I’ve hardly covered the miles you have. I’ve never even been outside the US. Well, unless this counts. Does it? I’m still confused on the subject.”

I’m hoping he’ll elaborate on the situation, show off his knowledge—always a great way to get people to talk—and unwittingly reveal all his deepest and darkest secrets, including but not limited to his photo-snapping tendencies. But he merely chuckles, taking a sharp turn around a fallen palm, then veering again to avoid a pile of debris. We’re tossed left, then right, earning a fresh blast of rain and salt across our faces.

“Is it just me or is this place wet, wet, and wetter?” I try again.

“Ahh, just wait a few weeks till the first patches of white start growing on your skin.”

“There’s going to be something growing on my skin? Why? What?”

“Fungus. Price to be paid for never drying out. Our packaging is pretty good, luv, but not that good.”

“I’m going be covered in fungus?” I don’t have to fake the horror in my voice.

Charlie flashes a grin. “No worries. Take a bit o’ Selsun Blue, rub it straight on the affected areas. Right as rain after that.”

This conversation isn’t helping me learn anything new, let alone distract me from the current weather pattern. I tighten my grip on the roll bar, anxiety spiking higher.

“You scared of storms?” Charlie asks me as he carelessly zigzags his way around one giant puddle, then another, then another.

I swear to myself I will not vomit, then admit, “I tried to die in a storm once, so not a fan. You?”

“Oh, I love me a good humdinger. Nothing like nature in its purest form. ’Course, cleanup’s gonna be a bitch, but whatya gonna do? Even paradise comes with a price.”

Ahead of us, three palm trees are blowing so hard they’re nearly sideways. I can’t even look.

“Hear you’re from nowhere,” he calls out.

“Yep.”

“East or West Coast kinda nowhere?”

“Lately in the middle.”

“What brought you to our slice o’ heaven?”

“Never been to paradise before.” I grimace against a fresh rooster tail of water spraying alongside my door. “I’m feeling a little misled.”

That grin again. “No worries, luv. By tomorrow morning, that sunrise, now. That sunrise’ll be a peach.”

“Okay.” I peer at him harder as we careen along. His accent tickles at me. Somewhere between Australian and British and something else. His own version of international stew, I guess.

“Hear you and Ronin…” He waggles his bushy brows. Leers at me.

“No,” I say firmly. “Just… no.” I give up on fishing and go with the direct approach: “Hey, didn’t you take a photo of us when we were leaving this morning?”

“Now, why would I do a thing like that?”

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