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“You might have to.” He glances down at my feet. “Good, you have shoes. There’s a lot of sharp debris around.”
I survey the landscape. The bathroom hut is a pile of broken bamboo. Great. I’m going to have to pee in the trees. But then I see the other building. “Hey, the kayak shed has a roof. Have you checked it out?”
“Not yet.”
The two of us tromp over, sinking in the wet sand and skirting the random kayaks lying around. The doors are thrown wide.
We step inside, and it’s bliss to be out of the rain for a moment. It’s mostly empty, the space kept open to roll the racks back in between visits.
“They must have left in a hurry to leave all this out,” I say.
Rhett grunts.
On the back wall, there’s a counter with supplies and tools, presumably to work on equipment that needs repair. Rhett moves toward it. “There’s a toolbox,” he says. “That might come in handy.”
For what, I don’t know, but I guess it means we’re one step evolved from smashing coconuts on rocks.
More life jackets, many of them faded, are piled in a corner. But they’re dry.
“We can sleep on those, I guess, if we have to,” Rhett says.
I look at the pile with doubt. “I think I’d rather pull a lounge chair in here, if we can find any unbroken ones.”
“Now that’s a good idea,” he says.
I resent the rush of good feelings that come over me when he says it. I don’t want to associate him with anything but bull-headed ignorance.
“I’ll go start looking.” It’s as good an excuse as any to get away from him.
I regret my choice almost instantly when the rain pelts me again. It’s a lot cooler than it was before the storm, and I’ve been wet for what feels like days.
But I spot a contender—a lounger folded up in the sand. I approach it and work to tug it open.
No dice. It’s missing half of the middle section.
The next three are similarly useless, but then I find one almost wholly intact, only a few of the stretchy bands holding it to the frame unraveled.
I fold it up and start lugging it back to the equipment shed.
Rhett is still there, arranging tools on the counter.
I shake my head at him. I’m thirsty, hungry, and wrung out from stress, and he’s sorting screwdrivers. I unfold my lounger and plop onto the seat, ready for a rest.
But the moment my weight hits the canvas surface, the bands quickly unwind from the frame.
My butt hits the floor as I fall straight through with an “oof.”
Rhett turns around, and I don’t need to see his smirk to know it’s there.
My feet are in the air, my body folded in half like a taco. My arms are trapped on either side of my body, shoulders wedged against the frame.
I wiggle and shift, trying to get out, but I only seem to get more stuck.
Now Rhett can’t control himself, and his barely suppressed chuckle fills the space.
Oh, sonowthe stern boss man learns to laugh.
He approaches. “Need a hand?”
