Page 76 of Bad Saint

Just as I’m about to go searching for her, Saint emerges and grips my forearm. “We have to go. The storm is coming.”

“I can’t. Harriet Pot Pie is missing,” I exclaim, shrugging from his hold.

“Ah???,” he warns, but I shake my head stubbornly.

“I can’t leave her out here.”

Saint pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “When did you see her last?”

Shrugging, I hunt our surroundings. “About ten minutes ago, maybe. I found this and got distracted.” I quickly pass Saint the green leafy plant and continue my search.

He smells it and touches it to the tip of his tongue. “It’s Molokhia. It’s rich in anti-inflammatory properties and speeds up the healing process. Good job.” He yanks out a few handfuls, placing them into his backpack. “But we really have to go.”

The thought of leaving Harriet Pot Pie out here has tears stinging my eyes.

Saint reads my distress and steps forward, placing his palm to my cheek with a wavering touch. I instantly turn into his palm. “She’ll be okay. Animals are resilient. She survived on this island before you. She probably sensed the storm is coming and went to find shelter.”

He’s probably right.

“Okay,” I agree, reluctantly. He runs his thumb over the apple of my cheek before severing our connection.

“Let’s go.” He gestures with his head that I’m to follow.

We race through the wilderness, a thunderclap or lightning bolt following each step. The cave was Saint’s thing, and I didn’t want to intrude on his sanctuary, so I have no idea what I’m walking into. I am slightly claustrophobic, so I can only hope it isn’t too small.

I follow Saint as he sprints up a rocky slope. “It’s just up here,” he shouts over his shoulder, heading toward the right.

Just as we’re a few yards away, the heavens open, and a downpour drenches us. The ground soon becomes muddy and slippery, and I almost lose my footing. Thankfully, Saint reaches for my hand and helps me into the cave.

The mouth is quite large which helps put my claustrophobic mind at ease. The ground is rocky, so I watch my step as Saint leads me deeper into the cave. His grip has not loosened on my hand, so I have no other choice but to follow.

The farther we venture, the darker and colder it becomes. I’m thankful when I see our things a few feet away. Saint lets go of my hand and drops to a squat. I have no idea what he’s doing until he begins to build a circle of large rocks. When he places twigs and leaves into the center, I realize he’s making a fire.

I am so cold, my teeth chatter, so I walk over to my dry pile of clothes. I reach for a yellow sundress, wishing I had a pair of jeans and a warm sweater. Saint’s back is turned, though it wouldn’t matter after everything that happened last night, and I strip, slipping into the dress.

I feel remotely better, but a chill still rocks me. Rubbing my arms, I watch as Saint gets the fire going by skillfully only using sticks. He builds it up, and before long, it’s blistering brightly. I don’t realize I’m still shivering until he stands and reaches into his backpack.

“Here.” He offers me his only remaining long-sleeved shirt. When I hesitate, knowing he’s probably cold too, he unfolds my arms and gently slips it over my head. I help him by lifting my arms and allowing him to dress me.

I’m swimming in it, but it instantly thaws the chill to my bones. “Thank you.”

He nods before stripping out of his T-shirt and standing in front of the fire to dry off. “I’ve left the empty bottles of water and the waterproof box outside to gather as much rainwater as we can.”

The wind rattles around us, and my thoughts instantly drift to Harriet Pot Pie. I hope she’s okay. I sit down on the sleeping bag which Saint has laid out and lean up against the rocky wall. I have no idea how long we’re supposed to wait it out, but being locked away with Saint in such a confined space already has me feeling nervous.

Saint puts on a T-shirt once he’s dry and takes a seat around the fire. I notice him flinch like he did earlier today as he tries to get comfortable, but I don’t have time to question it because the tension between us is suffocating. “How long do you think the storm will last?” I ask, breaking the silence.

Saint shrugs. “I don’t know. The last time we were caught in one, it went on for hours.”

I gulp.

Hours? What are we supposed to do for hours? Saint hardly looks like an I Spy kind of guy.

Drawing my legs toward my chest, I hug my knees, thankful Saint’s shirt is long enough to drag over my legs. I watch him closely, unable to hide my smile when he digs out his tattered sudoku book.

“What?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Nothing,” I reply, biting back my laughter.

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