He saw boats approaching. They looked old. Almost like pirate ships. In a flash they were gone, and Stefan dropped to his knees and began setting the traps. On the edge of the wheelbarrow sat several sticks of dynamite as well. His clarity was worsening again as his heart thumped faster and faster against the clock, his time running thin. They were on their way whether he was ready or not.
Stefan rolled over in bed to his alarm going off at seven. He recalled fragments of his dream but could already feel it fleeting from his mind’s eye.
The steam shower was invigorating. He came out feeling like a million bucks—wrong figure of speech, perhaps. Letting himself air dry, he gazed out his bedroom window, which was flush with the ground. The tropical trees made him vibrate with giddiness. He grabbed hold of a stylish short-sleeve button-up shirt, but set it aside and put on a sleeveless shirt instead. He tossed his Rolex watch in the drawer and instead put on an old Ninja Turtles digital that he had worn as a child.
He walked down to the beach with flippers thrown over his shoulders, goggles around his neck, and coffee thermos in hand.
The smell of his freshly pressed coffee was intoxicating, not to mention the powder-like sand between his toes and the sun reflecting off the water.
Within minutes, he located a sea turtle. At first, the turtle kept paddling away from him, so Stefan afforded Mr. Turtle his privacy. After about twenty minutes of admiring the variations of angelfish, the yellows and blues, he moved in closer, the sea turtle receptive of his company as if saying, “Yeah, fine. Just a few seconds. Then piss off.”
Walking back on to shore, he spotted Bruce watching him through the trees. Stefan waved, and he waved back.
Trevor Miller could no longer hold it in. He sprung out of his padded seat like he had been shot, scrambling toward the edge of the boat. After a couple of dry heaves, the vomit sprung from his chest, erupting down into the water with a gentle splash. A comforting hand stroked his back, but in the background there was good-natured laughter.
“We’re almost there,” his girlfriend Erin assured him. Feeling the nausea partly subside for a moment, he squinted back at Erin. She was bent over with him, the sun too bright behind her.
Even though they had been dating for almost two years, Trevor was not thrilled about committing to a formal trip as a couple. He had been on the fence about Erin for almost a year now; wrestling with the notion of breaking up, fearing that marriage was firmly in her mind. At times there was maybe something there, other times there wasn’t a single spark to start a fire. It was a pretty big surprise that she was the one pushing for the vacation, somewhat passively that is. Mentioning anything more than once meant it was important to her. This trip… it wasn’t for the fun of it, it was to put a title on their relationship, amp it up to the next level, bridging the gap between dating and engagement.
She continued to stroke his back while the others laughed. He arched his back for round two.
Ashton McEwen, Trevor’s friend who hailed from California, couldn’t get enough of Trevor’s misery. “Ride those waves, brother!” Ashton rose to his feet and was immediately felt up by his girlfriend, Skye. She fondled his package while admiring his gleaming six-pack. Somehow he always appeared oiled. Maybe he was. Ashton was a skinny kind of ripped, rocking the long black hair down to his shoulders. He rushed over to Trevor with a fresh cold beer. He dangled it in front of his face while he was still ready to purge overboard. “For what ails ya.”
Trevor grunted and lifted himself up hesitantly, uncertain if he needed to vomit one more time. Ashton was beaming ear to ear. “Sea legs, dude.” He shook his head. “How am I supposed to go scuba diving and surfing without a spotter? We gotta rock the buddy system, bro. Looks like Aquaman won’t be shredding any crests.” He took a gulp of the beer. “Pukey here will be knocked out in the soup.” Ashton laughed and looked over at Skye, who was enjoying her Corona. She spread her legs to entice him back over. “Should I get you a ginger ale, man?”
“I’m good, Hollywood. I have this strange feeling that you’re all talk. And you live in New York now. NEW YORK, BRA!”
“Why are you like this?”
Trevor spit once more and rose.
“Where we at?”
Trevor looked out over the water, the island sitting in the close distance. He glanced at Erin, who appeared edgy but excited. “Relax, Erin.”
“What?”
“It’s going to be fine, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” said Trevor.
“I wanna do lots of things.”
Skye piped up, having just finished caressing her breast when Trevor and Erin weren’t looking, “I wanna do lots of things too…”
“Yes, we know.” Trevor’s words were stark. Skye laughed it off and blew him a kiss.
Trevor hadn’t seen his cousin Stefan in over a year. They were best friends when they were children. They had a lot in common due to the fact that they both had the benefits of fatherly, prosperous guidance and resources. As they both settled into their twenties, they grew apart. Stefan had become different; a little strange for Trevor’s liking. It was hard to place, but it was a quiet confidence that had developed; like he saw himself as a life coach who had all the answers for only fifty-nine bucks a month. All you’d need was your laptop and a mellow attitude. He was somewhat… cultish? Trevor also wasn’t fond of how Stefan went around him and contacted the rest of the crew about the trip, essentially trapping him in a corner with the inability to say no. However, Trevor was burnt out and, after some consideration, he decided it would be good to recharge—even if it meant adding relationship pressure.
“Oh my God, Skye!”
Erin’s face was beet red, and Trevor turned to see what the fuss was about. Skye’s top was off, and she was oiling her already tanned body. Based on the lovely tinge of orange, it was likely a fake bake she had been working on back home. “What? You should be doing the same, pasty bitch.” She released a cackling, playful laugh. “Come help me?” taunted Skye.
“Yeah, right,” Erin scoffed and laughed.
Trevor glanced back at the guy driving the boat. Arnie was his name. He seemed strung out, bloodshot eyes. Trevor slid over to chat. “So, you work for Stefan then?”
Arnie twitched at the startling sound of his voice. His mind had been elsewhere, possibly in another dimension based on how distant his eyes looked. “Oh, yeah— Well, sort of. More just transit. Part-time caretaker when he’s gone. Basically house sitting.”
“Where do you live?”
“Inland.”
“And what do you do there?”
Arnie’s T-shirt had pit stains that expanded so far it was just one big stain. “What do I do?”
“Yeah, you know… for a living.”
“Oh, I get by. Surf quite a bit.”
“You’re sponsored then?”
He narrowed his brow at Trevor. “No. Not sponsored.” His eyes seemed to focus back in. “You wanna know what I do for money? Well, I work at a burger joint on Ambergris from time to time. Help with scuba lessons on the mainland. We gather up a few resorts at once, typically for a lesson, use a pool over a Starline Resort. There’s a really cool bar out on the water at Blackadore. You should check it out sometime. I bartend there on occasion, and I help Stefan out here.” His eyes remained on the island up ahead.