Page 18 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

I lie back, settling myself comfortably in the sand as I watch her. She’s lost in her own little world, and she seems happy there. This woman is a complete enigma to me, a question mark in the void.

She’s still singing to herself when my eyes drift shut.

* * *

I waketo the feeling of something wet and cold. It’s a disorienting way to re-enter consciousness, and for a second I’m convinced that a bird has just pooped on me. When that wet coldness is followed by more wet and more cold, though, fat droplets that splat against my skin, I realize it’s raining.

My eyes fly open, and I come to three rapid conclusions:

A storm is at our doorstep, and judging by the size of the rough, choppy waves, it’s too late to return to the main island,

We need to find shelter, immediately, and

Molly O’Malley was made for sleeping on the beach.

She shouldn’t be so captivating, not while she’s just lying there. And yet, I can’t look away. Because she’s got a little smile on her face as she sleeps, the slightest tilt to her lips, and her hair is no longer in a bun on top of her head. It’s loose now, spread out in the sand around her, and her chest rises and falls slowly as she breathes. She’s completely out, apparently oblivious to the trouble we could be in very soon.

“Molly!” I shout, scrambling to my feet.

The clouds on the horizon—muchcloser than when I stupidly fell asleep—are dark and angry, and even as I stand here, they move, the rain picking up.

“Molly!” I shout again, moving toward her with long, tense strides. “Molly, we need to go.”

She finally begins to stir, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back. She sits up slowly and looks around, blinking. I lean down and grab her by the wrist, pulling her to her feet amidst stuttered protests. I tug her behind me, letting go only when she twists her arm away from me.

“I’m coming,” she says, speaking loudly to be heard over the wind and rain. “Chill. I’m coming.”

“We need to get off the beach,” I say. “Come on; quicker. We need to move.”

She picks up the pace behind me without complaint, which I appreciate. “Where are we going?” she says as she scrambles along. “Didn’t you say—”

“I don’t know,” I snap, holding up one hand. “I’m thinking. Hang on.”

The observatory is locked. I know this for sure, and I don’t have keys. They left the island with Carl.

“Okay,” she says, and I jump when I feel her small hand on my arm, pulling me to a stop.

“We need tomove, Molly,” I say, rounding on her.

“I know that,” she replies calmly. She pulls her hair over her shoulder as she speaks, her fingers weaving it deftly into a sand-studded braid. “But first we need to figure out where we’re going. So just stop for a second and breathe. You’re too frazzled.”

“No, I’m not,” I shoot back.

Except I am. She’s right. So I suck in a lungful of air that smells like rain, my eyes still on the sky and the waves. I take another deep breath, and then one more.

“All right,” she says, her voice completely conversational. “What are our options? Lay them out for me.”

“There’s a hut,” I say immediately as my mind whirls. “It’s no storm shelter, but it’s a roof. There may be something vaguely cavelike up near the waterfall, but no guarantees there.”

“Whoa. Youliveon this island? In ahut?”

“Of course not,” I say. “I have a place on the main island. We use the hut for storage.”

“And the facility is locked?” she says.

“Yes.” I push my hand through my now-wet hair. The rain is starting to get a little meaner, hitting sharply against my skin.

“How bad is this going to get?” she says, gesturing at the sky.

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