“You’re welcome.” With a curt nod, I turn back to the woman at the desk, whose name tag reads Anastasia. “So what now?” I ask.
“I suggest you get a ride to the dock as soon as possible,” she begins, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. “With the way the rain is coming down, there’s a chance they haven’t left yet.”
“Okay.” I swipe a hand down my face, willing my heart rate to level out. There’s no point in panicking yet.
“You should probably call the cruise line to let them know,” she adds.
I turn to Hot-Pink Bikini Girl. “Can you call the cruise while I take care of transportation?”
Wetting her lips, she nods and unlocks her phone.
“Do you have taxis available?” I ask Anastasia.
“Of course.” She picks up the phone and speaks in Greek again.
When she hangs up, she instructs us to wait outside for the car she’s arranged. With a quick “efcharistó,” I nudge Hot-Pink Bikini Girl through the sliding glass doors.
“I can’t believe this fucking happened,” she mutters.
“Yeah, me neither,” I agree. “Did you get a hold of the cruise line?”
The woman shakes her head. “It just kept ringing, and there wasn’t an option to leave a message. Do you think we’ll make it back in time?” She has to crane her neck to look up at me. The top of her messy bun is barely level with my shoulder.
“I hope so.” I shrug. “I’m Cameron, by the way.”
“Josefine,” she replies, just as a black car with TAXI printed on the dash pulls up.
“To the port,” I call to the driver once we’re both situated in the back seat. “As fast as you can, please. We’re in a rush.”
Without a word, the driver tosses his cigarette out the window, letting the rain in as he does, and takes off.
“Where are you from?” I ask Josefine while I dig a portable charger out of my bag.
“California. You?” She uses the fabric of her giant beach bag to wipe the rain from her face.
“New York,” I answer. “Are you here alone?” I ask, remembering the dude following her earlier.
The woman got into a taxi with me, a stranger, and I have the audacity to ask if she’s here alone. Jesus, it’s like the beginning of aCSIepisode.
Josefine picks at the skin around her thumbnail. “I am now.”
Frowning, I work to decode that statement but come up with nothing.
She eyes me, her lips pursed, then continues. “I came here with my boyfriend, but—” She drops her head back against the seat. “I caught him cheating on me last night.”
“The fuck?” I practically shout. “That’s shitty.”
“Tell me about it.” Her words are soft and her eyes are closed, like maybe she’s holding back tears.
Before I can ask her what she’s going to do, the car jolts so violently I almost hit my head on the headliner. “What the?—”
“Malaka!” the driver shouts, motioning to a car speeding by.
“What happened?” Josefine’s eyes are wide open now, and she’s sitting ramrod straight.
The driver doesn’t pull over. He puts the car in park and gets out to survey the damage. He walks around it once, being pelted by rain the entire time, before he climbs back into the driver’s seat.
“Tire’s broken,” he says, his voice flat. “Pothole.”
