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But I shake my head. Downtime has never been good for me, especially when I’m in this kind of mood. Keeping busy is a far better approach. I take a deep breath, exhale, enjoy a few more sips of cocoa.
Then I peer at my friends from over the rim of my mug. “Can you show me the way to the owner’s lodge?”
CHAPTER 15
TRUDY DOES THE HONORS OF fetching us a UTV; in this weather we’re going to need it. That affords me the opportunity to dash back to my cabin for my raincoat and umbrella. I also hang up Vaughn’s sweatshirt to dry, leaving my arachnid roommate with instructions not to touch it. Wolfie doesn’t bother with a reply, not being one for daylight.
I’m learning to love my new plastic/rubber/resin—whatever the hell they’re made of—Crocs. Splashing through mud, pounding through wet grass, everything rinses right off. And no blisters, which, given the endless wet, is an accomplishment.
When I return to the rear of the mess hall, Ann is armed with a mop and bucket of cleaning supplies. She lists off the contents, then hands them over.
“Clean sheets and towels are in the closet at the lodge. May have to run them through a quick refresh cycle in the dryer, however. The damp makes everything smell musty.”
“MacManus has his own laundry room?”
“And kitchen and bathroom. Money has its privileges.”
“So does ownership,” Trudy calls out, arriving in our glorified golf cart and gesturing for me to climb aboard. Apparently, Ann is staying behind. I pull my hood over my head, then dash out, cleaning supplies in hand.
The rain hasn’t relented at all. If anything, it might be coming down harder. The noise of it, thundering against the building, the trees, the ocean, is enough to make me miss the birds.
Trudy hits the accelerator, and the vehicle leaps forward aggressively. She peels out, roaring down the crushed-coral path as water sprays and hermit crabs scamper. I grab the roll bar.
“Do I want to know where you learned how to drive?” I ask.
“Boston.”
“Never mind.”
We race past the dock, where I spy another raincoat-covered soul working on covering the boats. Charlie looks up as we zip by, slapping both hands against the sides of his face in a dramatic display of horror. Trudy flips him off. He roars with laughter, turns back to his tarp.
“Do you have to throw a coin in the swear jar for that?”
“Maybe. Want to know a secret?”
“Sure.”
“Poker night.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Every other Friday. We generally play for can tabs, but sometimes Vaughn will break out rolls of pennies. He seems to know when our pockets are getting low.”
“You like him as a project manager?” What I want to ask is do you think he’s trustworthy and/or not dangerous, but I’m thinking I should warm up to the serious stuff.
Trudy shrugs, swinging us around a corner. We’re still blazing along the water’s edge but are now out of sight of the base camp. The path is rough, up and down and all around. Best not to be prone to motion sickness around here.
“He’s better than most, strikes a solid balance between leaving us to our own devices while periodically reining us back in. It’s not easy managing a bunch of antisocial introverts. If we played well with others, most of us would have real jobs and permanent addresses. Instead, we do this.” Trudy slides me a glance.
“Instead, we do this,” I agree. I definitely work best on my own. And yet in a project of this scale, there’s gotta be some semblance of overarching strategy and teamwork or the ultimate goal wouldn’t be achieved.
Trudy finally slows, approaching an outcropping that affords a two-hundred-and-forty-degree ocean view. In other words, the perfect location for deluxe accommodations. “You ever work with Vaughn before?” I continue to press.
“Nah. But Ann and I often overlap. We like several of the same locations and work well together. Once we got on the same six-month contract schedule, easy enough to apply to the same places for the same term.”
“What about Charlie? And is it just me, or is he always snapping photos?”
“True that.” Trudy laughs. “I don’t actually know Charlie that well. Sounds like he’s a regular at McMurdo while I’m more a tropical gal myself. Personally, I think he can be an asshole, and yeah, he does seem to be skulking around half the time, but Ann likes him. And he works hard. Matters in these kinds of places. The bigger the challenge, the happier he seems to be. Something to be said for that.”
