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Here’s another taste from Send Lawyers, Guns, and Roses:
Tropical storm warnings have been issued for Saba, and Hunter and Alex discuss whether they should leave….
Hunter sighed heavily and put his forearm across his eyes. “What constitutes rough weather here?”
“Not snow,” Alex said and Hunter laughed. “Heavy rain and wind. No worries.” Alex rummaged through the beach bag until he found Hunter’s sunglasses and floppy olive green fishing hat and handed them to him. “It is hurricane season, but historically it’s a little early yet.”
Hunter put the sunglasses on and sighed again. “That’s the side facing into the wind, right?”
“Yeah, the storms go east to west, starting out on the African coast. Have you heard of a Saharan dust storm? Did you read anything I gave you?”
Hunter peered over the top of his sunglasses at Alex. “I like it when you tell me. You’d make a good teacher.”
Alex suffered a twinge of guilt at that, because, yeah, he would. Once it had been his life’s ambition, the one his mothers whole-heartedly approved of. “When the Europeans arrived in the islands, they planted sugar cane and tobacco and that all got wiped out periodically. The natives had subsisted on root crops before that. Those didn’t get blown away. You don’t see a lot of tall buildings here. And in a hurricane, the wind goes in a crazy circular pattern, so both sides of the island would feel the brunt of it.”
“When was the last one?”
“Gonzalez in 2014. Category three, I think, and Saba came through it fine.”
“I’m honestly not worried. We don’t get hurricanes in the North Country, and though they’ll come as far as Boston, I haven’t been in a bad one. Have you ever been through a hurricane?”
“No. Earthquakes, and a tornado once.”
“Really, a tornado? What was that like?”
Alex would rather have talked about the earthquakes back home in Santa Cruz than the tornado that had nearly caught him on the road and out in the open in the Midwest. He’d run like hell and sheltered in the basement of a church, having no other choice, and the stink of repentance and foxhole conversions lingered with him. He knew an awful lot about the sinners in one little town in Kansas.
“Terrible,” he said. “Out of control, like an earthquake. The wind screaming blue murder is barbaric. It threw trailers, trees, and cars into the air like toys, and the crash as they fell back down to earth horrified me. I thought I was beyond shock before that.” The human devastation had driven Alex to silence for weeks afterwards. “I tried to help, doing things like moving debris, searching for survivors, and helping with the food trucks when they finally arrived.” In the end, he had walked away, exhausted and heartsick, afraid of the media attention and that Nick would find him that way.
Hunter wiggled his fingers into Alex fisted hand, and he loosened up enough to grasp them tight.
“Maybe we should think about leaving? Catch an early flight out?”
“That’s a little….” Alex almost said premature, but remembered whom he was talking with. In the ER, they prepped for every contingency and the worst-case scenario. “No. Way. A little wind and rain isn’t going to scare us away from Saba, mon.”
“I’m sure it’ll just be that—wind and rain. We’ll have to think of something else to do, stuck in our room with no television and no internet.” He bounced his hips suggestively.
“Yeah, well, I guess I had it confused with the Kama Sutra.” Hunter blushed. So. Cute.