Life and Other Near-Death Experiences(30)

With seconds to spare, I jumped into the bushes behind me, scratching every square inch of uncovered skin in the process. My pulse whooshed in my ears, and I struggled to breathe. If I hadn’t moved, they would have hit me.

They would have hit me.

There was laughter as the truck spun its wheels in the dirt and turned onto another path, disappearing into the trees.

I remained huddled in the bushes in case the teens wanted to return and finish me off. It seemed appropriate to burst into tears, but I was dry-eyed, which was unusual for a chronic crier like myself. I sat still and stone-faced, not even bothering to fight off the bugs feasting on my flesh.

Then a bloodcurdling scream shot through the park. It took me a moment to realize that it was my own, and it was about to happen again. As a deep and furious anger I hadn’t even known was in me unleashed itself, I screamed again and again, until my chest burned and I was too hoarse to scream anymore.

If this had happened even three weeks earlier, I would have been mortified to make such a spectacle—even in the middle of miles of uninhabited vegetation. But now it didn’t matter. I wasn’t sure anything mattered. I had been a good person who had lived an honest if uninspired life; but in case I’d missed the previous two warnings, the universe sent a bright yellow truck to inform me in no uncertain terms that one way or another, I was going to die—and soon.





SEVENTEEN


A few moronic teens would not be allowed to ruin my vacation; at least that’s what I told myself the next morning as I drove to Isabel Segunda, Vieques’s primary town. Even after a solid night’s sleep and a long shower, the previous day’s shock had not worn off, but I was confident that a good cup of coffee, a baked good or three, and a change of scenery would help soothe my nerves.

Isabel Segunda was larger than Esperanza, and filled with pastel-colored shops, government offices, and more churches than I had ever seen in a single location. After strolling up and down a few blocks, I came upon a blindingly pink café, from which the scent of heaven itself—baked dough and sugar—wafted out. I walked in and sat at one of the bar stools that lined the U-shaped counter.

“What smells so good?” I asked the woman behind the counter.

“Mallorcas,” said a voice.

I did not turn around as I responded. “Really?”

“Yeah, that’s really what they’re called,” Shiloh said, perching on the stool next to me. His hair was damp, as though he, too, had recently showered, although his T-shirt was at least two decades old, and his cargo shorts looked like they might walk off without him.

“No, really as in, you really couldn’t have picked a different place to get coffee?” I muttered, barely looking at him. “Don’t you have a plane to fly into the ocean or something?”

He smirked. “Actually, I’m on leave while the FAA investigates our little incident. So no, I will not be expertly landing a plane next to the beach in order to save your life again anytime soon.” He turned to the server. “Hola, Cecelia. Dos mallorcas, por fa, y tres cafecitos.”

Just when I’d girded my loins, he had to go and speak Spanish. “Mind telling me what you just said?” I asked.

“I ordered you a coffee. You do drink coffee, don’t you?”

“I am to coffee as you are to pelicans,” I said. “I hope you asked for one of those mahor—”

“May-jor-ca,” he said. “And of course I did.”

“Excellent. So, given your spicy accent and knowledge of the local baked goods, I’m guessing you live here?”

He grinned. “I live a lot of places. My company has an apartment that I stay at between flights. The rest of the time, I stay at my place in San Juan.”

“The vagabond life. Interesting choice for a man your age.”

“I’m forty-two, and that’s a pretty judgmental thing to say for a, uh, twenty-nine-year-old woman traveling by herself.”

It was my turn to grin. “My male chaperone wasn’t available this month.”

“I bet he wasn’t. Something tells me that Tom guy would have been happy to escort you here.”

My smile evaporated. I didn’t want to think about Tom, which was proving far more difficult than I’d anticipated. I’d spent six thousand, five hundred, and some odd days with him (not that I was counting). Wasn’t the newfound knowledge of my Lilliputian lifespan enough to banish him from my mind?

“Sorry,” Shiloh said quickly. “I see that that one’s off-limits. No more talk about the guy whose name rhymes with bomb.”

In spite of myself, I laughed. “Thanks.” When I looked up again, those warm brown eyes of his were staring at me again, with no intent of looking away. I felt a jolt of wanton, unsettling excitement, then looked away with relief as the server slid white ceramic plates toward us, each topped with a huge buttered bun dusted with powdered sugar. She placed three small paper cups of coffee between the plates.

“Those are the smallest coffees I’ve ever seen,” I said to Shiloh. “Please tell me you ordered two for me.”

“You’re welcome to them, but I’m warning you, this place has the strongest espresso on the island.”

“If you say so.”

He sipped one, then turned to me again. “Hey, I never did ask you. What brings you to Vieques?”