“Well, we don’t have to be back on the ship for another hour, and we’re only ten minutes away, but it looks like everyone else has gone already.”
“Meh, don’t worry about it,” I say, being uncharacteristically cavalier. Usually, I’m Mr. Uptight when it comes to punctuality. “There were only a couple of groups from our ship here. Maybe they just got too much sun or something.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Penn says. “But I have a weird feeling. Maybe we should start heading back, just to be safe.” Hisbrows are furrowed as he begins grabbing things and throwing them into his backpack.
“Okay, sure,” I say amicably, yawning and stretching like a cat as I sit up. A few minutes later we slide our feet into our flip-flops and head toward the path leading back to the parking lot.
Penn’s hustling so fast I almost have to break into a jog to keep up with him. I guess he’s concerned we're the only people left on the beach. I’m not worried at all, but it seems I’ll do anything to keep a smile on his gorgeous face, so I follow along. When our driver dropped us off, he assured us there would be plenty of minibuses at the parking lot in time to get us back to the ship. Apparently, the locals always keep on top of the ship schedules since there are plenty of dumb tourists who don’t bother paying attention. At the time, it made me laugh since that meant the beach was clearly not the locals’ hangout we had requested.
Penn’s well ahead of me, but when he reaches the top of the path, his “Oh, motherfucker!” reaches my ears clearly.
Jeez, my guy needs to chill…Wait, my guy? What the hell?
Reaching the top of the path, I suddenly understand why he’s cursing. The parking lot is completely deserted. Not a car, a bike, or a human being in sight.
He shrugs off his backpack and immediately rummages through it, coming up with the daily newsletter our cabin attendant leaves in our room that has the ship's schedule printed on it. Penn runs his finger down the list of events until he gets to one that says “Back On Board,” and right underneath that, it says “Gangways Up. Ship Departs.” He looks at his watch. “Holy motherfucking shit balls,” he bursts out, his face a mask of panic. “Oh my god, I read the schedule wrong. I thought the ‘Gangway Up’ time was the time we had to be back on board! They’re going to pull the gangway in ten minutes!” His eyes are round with panic. “We’re ten minutes from the dock, and there’s no taxi here! We’re never going to make it!”
He’s clearly freaked-out, but I’m not. Feeling pretty smug about how completely unpanicked I am, I try to soothe him. “Oh, it’ll be fine, babe.”Babe? Since when do I call Penn Thompson “babe”?“I’m sure this happens all the time. I’m sure they’ll wait for everyone to be on board before they actually set sail.” I’m confident in my privilege, apparently.
Penn shakes his head emphatically. “No, dude, they willnotwait. Haven’t you ever watched those YouTube videos of people running down the pier for their ship as it sails away? They leave people behindall the time!”
“What? They do? Seriously?” I’m beginning to understand why normally carefree, happy-go-lucky Penn Thompson is looking awfully stressed-out.
He’s already holding his phone, dialing the local taxi company whose phone number was on the ship’s newsletter.
“No, I can’t hold,” he barks out in a high-pitched voice when someone picks up, but they put him on hold anyway, and he swears again. I grab my phone quickly opening the Uber app and praying for service. Sure enough, the little map of the island that pops up is dotted with rides. It takes me a second to figure out how to plug in the cruise ship dock as our destination, but then I get the little message that pops up:
Your driver, David, is one minute away in a white Toyota Corolla.
I flip my phone around to show Penn the screen just as a white car turns into the parking lot from the far end.
“Oh, thank fucking fuck,” he says. “You’re a goddamn genius.” He zips up his backpack and grabs my hand, pulling me along as we run toward the little car, jumping and waving like idiots. As ifthere’s any chance of missing us. We’re literally the only people here.
The car screeches to a halt right beside us, the driver wearing a big smile on his handsome face.
“Come on, come on, get in!” he says urgently, still smiling. His bright white teeth stand in sharp contrast to his dark black skin. The guy is hot as hell. “You’re late, you know!” he scolds us, his eyes twinkling as we pile quickly into the back seat together. He’s already hit the gas before I can pull the door shut, and he does some kind of Grand Theft Auto–type maneuver, which swings the door shut. Then, he does a fast 180-degree turn, the little car’s tires squealing in protest, before gunning it out of the parking lot at top speed. All three of us are laughing, though I think the laughter coming from Penn and me is more hysterical than David’s.
“Fuck, I totally messed up!” Penn says. “I read the stupid schedule wrong!”
“No problem, no problem. I get you there. You just hold on, yeah,” David says, laughter in his voice. In the rearview mirror, his eyes are sparkling with amusement, while I’m sure my entire face is a mask of panic.
“Um, what do we do if we miss the ship?” I ask Penn.
His knuckles are white where he’s clutching the back of David’s headrest as the little car flies over the bumpy, pothole-filled road. “I don't know, it’s never happened to me, but I guess we’d have to find a way to meet the ship at the next port. But I didn’t bring any of my ID or my passport or anything, so I have no idea how that would even work,” he says, chewing on his lip.
Given that the ship’s next port of call is in Jamaica, a totally separate country, I’m betting the process won’t be simple for either of us since I left all my IDs except for some cash and my Ship ID card back on board as well.
“Okay, well, I’m sure we’ll make it,” I say, hoping against hope that I’m right.
David keeps up a steady stream of conversation for the entire ride, although neither Penn nor I are participating much, probably since we're both concentrating pretty hard on freaking out. Personally, I’m also using up quite a lot of mental bandwidth trying not to need a change of underwear because David’s driving is… intense… The island roads are narrow and winding, and to make matters even more stressful, they drive on the left-hand side of the road, which only enhances my feeling of being caught in some kind of hilarious bad dream. Apparently, road maintenance is not a big priority on St. Croix because he keeps up a constant, jerky zigzag motion to avoid the many potholes.
By some miracle, he drops us off at the end of the long pier at exactly the time our notice says the gangways will be pulled up. Penn and I thank him profusely, and I shout over my shoulder that he can expect a large tip once we’re back on board. David just laughs and shouts, “You call me if they leave without you, yeah?” as we race toward our boat.
We take off down the pier at a full sprint, dodging and weaving around passengers from other ships who seem hell-bent on taking up the entire width of the pier while walking as slowly as possible. After a minute of this, Penn pauses to kick off his flip-flops, grabbing one in each hand before he takes off running again, this time yelling at the top of his lungs, “Coming through! Excuse us, coming through right now!”
I would laugh, because this whole situation is completely ridiculous, but my chest feels like it might actually explode since wind sprints aren’t exactly part of my regular workout routine. And seriously, is this damn pier getting longer? Because I feel like I’ve been running for ten minutes, but I’m no closer to our ship than I was at the start.
In the distance, I see a couple of crew members from our ship step onto the pier in their white uniforms. One of them is holding a clipboard, and they’re looking in our direction. Fuck, I hope they’re looking for us. Penn is a few seconds ahead of me; clearly, in much better shape than me, and he starts waving frantically and yelling. “We’re here! We’re coming!”
