4
The pig roast was canceled.
Julio, pool boy extraordinaire, guided Dan, Mara, and the rest of Building B’s stupefied guests back to their rooms with instructions to, well, await further instruction.
Around seven, a staff member delivered dinner—cold tortillas with dry taco beef and clumps of gloopy rice. As Dan and Mara ate in bed, they wondered aloud if the food had been better before the sun exploded or if they’d just been in better moods. After they ate, they had sex because what if it was their last chance. Like the food, though, it was lukewarm, and afterward Mara cried and Dan felt a stinging in the corner of his eyes too, but he disguised it. Mara seized his wrists and told him it was okay, babe, it’s okay to cry when the sun explodes, but men don’t cry, so he held Mara while she did. They showered—what else was there to do?—and Dan told Mara he was sure Raveena was taking care of Ami, and Mara told Dan that his parents and sister would be okay too.
Usually they watched Disappearance Report on Netflix before bed. It was their show, their guilty pleasure, and it was a documentary series about people disappearing under mysterious circumstances. That felt a little too raw now, and the internet was still out anyway.
So they played cards. Mara found a deck above the closet next to the iron, it was missing an ace, and Dan won because Mara’s poker face kept shattering. They drank what was left in the minibar, the airplane bottles of rum collecting on the dresser faster with each hand, and they ate the candy bars to wash the taste of dinner away. When the room began to spin—not spin out of control, more like a lazy carousel—Dan noticed how thin the walls actually were. He could hear their neighbors on either side and down below. He heard the stress-fueled screaming matches and the optimistic packing of suitcases and the thud of something heavy against the wall, hopefully a piece of furniture and not somebody’s head. He heard the wails of a mother crying out for her children, so muffled that it may have been two rooms over, but then he slid open the heavy balcony door and also heard drunken, unrestrained laughter, and someone playing a ukulele in the garden. Whoever it was didn’t know more than four chords, and even those were suspect, but still it was nice.
They lay down, switched off the lamps, and Mara’s breathing became heavy. She was a good sleeper. One of the best. If there was an Olympic sport for sleeping, for drifting off while being subjected to increasingly flamboyant distractions—a marching band, a reanimated tyrannosaurus rex, a bombing—Mara would take home gold for her country so long as there was a pillow on which to prop her legs. And when Dan, proud as could be, was interviewed afterward, he’d say, Well, Bob, she’s been training tirelessly for years, in cars and in planes and in movie theaters and doctors’ waiting rooms. She never gave up the dream, he’d say, and they’d laugh together at his little joke.
Dan wasn’t sure how long he lay there unable to sleep, it must’ve been hours, because the thin walls quit talking and the only sound from the garden was the breeze in the shrubbery. He thought another drink might do it, just one more to cap the end of a fine day—the last day—but he glanced at Mara, and the thought of leaving her alone without the sun made him feel guilty.
She snorted and turned over.
She’d be fine.
He climbed from bed, pulled on some clothes in the dark—he’d have to get used to doing a lot of things in the dark—and slid outside.
He stumbled north along the walkway, staring out at the pools, the lazy rivers, the water blue green under the resort lights and still like ice. It would be ice. Soon. He found the staircase and descended, clutching the railing for balance, careful that his flip-flops didn’t do too much flipping or flopping. Normal people needed their sleep.
He reached the small tiki bar carved into the northern end of the ground floor of Building B, facing the Main Building. No one was there, just as he hoped, and he hopped the bar, flicked the cap off a bottle of rum, and poured himself a generous serving. He knocked it back, felt it ooze down inside of him, pooling in the crevices that needed filling.
This isn’t stealing, right? Tizoc Grand Islands is an all-inclusive resort. So…
Another?
Oh, thank you. Sure.
He poured another, clutched the glass, and just as he was about to slam it back—
“Well, if you’re pouring, what the hell, I’ll take one.”
Dan almost dropped the bottle. It was the man from earlier, his next-door neighbor, the one with graying temples and soap opera face. The man grinned, straddled a stool, folded his hands on the bar. He nodded at the glass in Dan’s hand.
“Take mine on the rocks if we’ve got ’em.”
Dan was the right amount of drunk and the exact right amount of wistful to make friends, a rare occurrence, so he snatched another glass from under the bar, scooped some ice from the machine with his bare hands, and poured the man a drink. The man raised his glass in a toast.
“To the sun. We hardly knew ya.”
“The sun,” Dan said, and they clinked glasses.
Dan shot his back, the man nursed his. He chuckled as Dan steadied himself against the bar.
“Drinking the pain away, kid?”
“I see no reason to disrupt my routine.”
The man laughed and offered his hand. “I’m Alan Ferris.”
Dan shook it. “Ferris? Of wheel fame?”
Dan was entering the silly stage of drunk now, but not so drunk that he didn’t recognize it. Upon hearing his own stupid joke, he forced a mental adjustment, stood up straight. There was something about Alan that made Dan feel young, and he didn’t want Alan to think him young. He had the eyes of a capable man, a man who always knew the next right thing to do. When he was little, Dan thought every adult had those eyes. He knew now that wasn’t true. Those certainly weren’t the eyes that stared back in the mirror.
“I’m Dan Foster. You and your buddy have the room next to us, right?”
“Me and my husband, yeah.”
Wow. Nice one, idiot.
“Where you from?” Dan asked.
“Michigan. Upper Peninsula.”
“Christ. You’re used to cold. You’ll outlive us all.”
“Not in these fucking sandals. You?”
“Memphis.”
Alan nodded, sipped. “Heard nice things about Memphis.”
Dan laughed. “No, you haven’t.”
Alan grinned and shook his head. “You’re right. I haven’t.”
“That’s okay. We like it that way.” Dan sipped his rum now, matched Alan’s pace. “So, Alan from Michigan, we gonna die on this island?”
Alan scratched his stubble, gave the question the consideration it deserved. “I’ll die swimming across the Atlantic before I die on this island, Dan from Memphis.”
“Family back home?”
“Two high school boys. My husband’s sister’s, before she died.”
“Worried about them?” What a stupid question.
Alan raised the glass to his lips, took a longer pull. Just before he placed the glass back on the bar, he paused, smiled at Dan in a way that said, Hey, maybe you have the right idea. He threw his head back and the rest of the drink along with it.
Dan poured him another.
“When I left the military, I swore I was done traveling.” Alan stared into the fresh rum like he might fall in. “But Charles loves the beach. And Facebook knows that, obviously, so they just bombarded him with ads about this place.”
Dan snorted. He could still see the ads now. RELAX, DINE, AND STAY WHERE THE ELITES COME TO PLAY. And ATTN THOSE WHO SET TRENDS: TIZOC’S GATES OPEN SOON. Or his personal favorite, NEW RESORT, NEW YOU. MAKE YOUR DEBUT WITH TIZOC GRAND ISLANDS RESORT AND SPA.
“That Brody guy,” Alan said, rubbing his brow. “You know his deal? Trust-fund baby. Mom was some bigwig. Charles told me all about it. There’s talks of a reality show starring him.”
Brody Sheridan? The sentient lamppost? He wasn’t charismatic enough to carry someone’s luggage, much less a TV show.
Alan sighed. “But, shit, I want to make Charles happy, so I cave. We left the boys home alone for the first time in their lives.” He patted his chest pocket, then his shorts, feeling for something. “Wife drag you here too?”
Dan exhaled. “Girlfriend. And it was my idea. Facebook got me too.”
“Shit.” Alan abandoned his search. “Hats off to the social team. You smoke, Dan from Memphis?”
“Nope.” Should he?
“Me either. Not officially. I bought an overpriced pack from the lounge after the sun exploded. Must’ve left it in the room. I’m out of practice.” He shrugged, drummed his fingers against the bar. “What’s your story? What illustrious career back home in Memphis allows you to enjoy the breathtaking amenities of Tizoc Building B?”
Against better judgment, Dan downed another drink. He burped. He felt it bubbling in his gut, the molecules sloshing to and fro as they morphed into the slurred words he was about to vomit. Dan was talkative—to Mara, to friends, to his steering wheel on the lonely drive to work—but never this talkative with strangers.
“You know, they put me in gifted classes.”
Alan raised his eyebrows, like, oh, yeah?
“Yeah. Starting in, what, third grade. Teacher thought I was quick in class or something, and then they tested me, this small little room with puzzles on the table. Word association. What shape should come next, the opposite of servile is blank, that kind of thing.”
“What’s the opposite of servile ?”
“ Dominant .” Dan poured another, just stared at it. “They meant well, but shit goes to your head, man. When you’re told you’re reading at a tenth-grade level in elementary school, that doesn’t give you much incentive to practice, you know? College hit me hard. I go from this kid who’s expected to do something amazing with his life to a C student who wakes up at noon and can’t read three paragraphs in succession.”
“Smart but lazy.”
Dan waved that away. “That’s a veneer. Something worthless people say to hide from their worthlessness. Turns out I’m the total package, Alan: dumb and lazy. Even dumber than the other kids too because it took me longer to realize it. All because I circled the right fish on a sheet of paper in third grade.” He dialed his glass against the bar top. “The word gifted implies you were given something, so you grow up thinking you owe the world in return. Took me twenty-nine years to realize I don’t have anything to offer.”
He was embarrassed now, because the question had been What you do for a living? not Why are you a useless piece of shit? The end of the world will make a man reflective. Dan pushed the remaining rum away, suddenly disgusted with it.
Alan smacked his lips, clearly uncomfortable. “Don’t score a girlfriend who looks like yours without something going on.”
“Lucked out there.” Dan clutched the bar and leaned backward, stretched his spine. “So I do digital marketing for a midsize regional in-home maid service. I sit in a cubicle all day.” The words felt barbed as they rolled over his tongue.
“Maid company?”
“Marvel Maids. Ever heard of ’em?”
Alan chuckled, shook his head, took a sip.
“‘Marvel Maids. A home so spotless—you’ll marvel .’”
“Oof.”
“ Oof is right.”
They laughed together, Dan grateful that Alan hadn’t feigned interest. His job did suck, no use pretending otherwise. On the rare occasion that Dan shared something about his work at home, Mara acted interested. She was convincing, actually, but she was only being polite. Dan knew deep down she wanted him to quit, move on to something she was prouder to tell her friends about. Maybe actually start writing, something Dan pretended was a passion.
Mara was a nurse. She saved lives. Dan calculated baseboard-cleaning discounts by average zip code income.
A figure appeared on the far-right stool as if by teleportation. Brody Sheridan. He wrapped over the bar like a vine, the messy man bun bobbing atop his head. He sniffed loudly.
“Don’t have to stop ’cause of me, dudes.” Sniff. “I’m just, ah, making my way to Building A, thought I’d stop and sit ’cause, well.” That was the end of the sentence, apparently.
Dan poured him a glass of water from the hose nozzle thing, feeling like a real bartender now, thinking maybe he’d trade the plastic cubicle for a mahogany bar top if it paid well enough. Yeah, that’s it. People respect thirty-year-old bartenders.
Brody downed the glass of water in one gulp, his Adam’s apple working overtime. He examined the glass afterward, like, What’d you just make me, it tastes great, can I get the recipe?
Dan felt compelled to explain why they were there. “We just wanted one more drink, the minibar was—”
Brody leaned over the bar and pressed his praying mantis finger against Dan’s lips. “Shh,” he said, eyelids heavy. Sniff. “What’s mine is yours, dudes. Drink the whole ocean if you want to.”
Alan said, “Nice to see you hard at work restoring communication to the island. Any update on that front, Brody ?” Alan spit out his name like it was something dirty.
Brody pushed from the stool, stood on wobbly legs. “My men”—sniff—“are on it, guy. You rest easy tonight, ’cause I think tomorrow…w-we’ll figure this whole thing out. You know—you know, my mom, she had melanoma. So—so when the sun exploded for like, just like a second, I was like, Yeah. Fuck you, sun!” Sniff. “But no, yeah, I know we gotta get off this island.” He displayed his palms. “You’re in good hands, my dudes. Good hands. But I gotta go to Building A now.”
He turned north. Alan stood, seized Brody’s shoulders, and faced him south, toward the shore and Building A. Brody tapped Alan’s hand as a sign of thanks, sniffed, and lurched away.
“That fucknut is our only ticket off this island,” Alan said, nostrils flared. “And he’s high as shit.”
Dan lost his short-lived aversion to rum. He took a sip and felt like breaking something. “What can we do?”
Alan leaned across the bar, whispered like they weren’t alone. “We can get the fuck out of here.”
Dan furrowed his brow, but Alan only leaned in closer, his eyes even clearer and more capable than they’d been before the drinks.
“Three hangars on that airstrip. You see that when you flew in? Three hangars. You mean to tell me there’s not a plane in one of them? That Dr. Shae. How’s he been coming and going for so many years?”
“I don’t know,” Dan said, honestly not knowing. Does the presence of hangars indicate the presence of planes? That’s not information to which dumb and lazy guys are privy.
“And we won’t know until we look for ourselves. I’m going to the airstrip tomorrow night. Checking it out.”
“Wait for the cover of nightfall,” Dan said, tapping his temple. “Good thinking.”
Alan didn’t appreciate the joke. He looked through Dan now, seeing only his plan, only what he thought needed to be done. Here was a man. Here was a guy who always knew the next right thing to do.
“Come with me. I could use your youth.”
Alan might’ve had twenty-five years on Dan, but he looked like he could bench-press John Goodman. Before the weight loss. He needed Dan?
Dan said, “Say you find a plane. Then what?”
“Air Force engineer for ten years, kid. I’ll figure it out.”
Huh. Still. Felt risky. If they were caught, they’d lose favor with Brody, and what if the planes eventually did come, and Brody decides who boards and who has to wait behind and eat dry tacos, and meanwhile it’s getting colder and colder…
“Man,” Dan said, “I don’t—”
“You just said you spent twenty-nine years of your life not giving anything back to the world. Well, here’s your chance. Help me get home to my boys. And get your girl home too.”
It was a cheap shot.
But it landed.
“I’m drunk,” Dan announced to the ocean, alone, twenty minutes later. Alan had gone back to his room to try and sleep, and Dan said that was where he was going, too, but first he wanted to stop by the vending machines to see if they’d been looted. He liked Crunch bars when he was drinking. He forgot about the candy though and lurched past palatial Building A, ignoring the peculiar amount of activity there. Dan ended up at the edge of the world, sand between his toes, water crashing down like the universe was shouting at him.
He shouldn’t have said all those things to Alan, a stranger. Hell, he hadn’t told most of those things to Mara. About how lately he’d felt worthless and listless and other adjectives that end with -less that he couldn’t think of right now. That wasn’t even the worst of it. The sun had exploded that afternoon. He was going to die knowing he was -less of what he could’ve been, a frozen heap of wasted potential and bad decisions for some alien species to discover in a billion years, a petrified corpse they’d excavate and place in their space museum with a plaque inscribed UNIMPRESSIUS DOUGHY HEINOUS.
There’d always been time to turn things around. Not anymore.
Dan reached into his pocket, seized the rock from his first date with Mara, screamed, and flung it into the ocean. It didn’t skip once, it just hit the water, barely made a dent, and disappeared. He didn’t need a fucking rock with waves on it, he lived on one, and it may have worked really hard to get where it was but pretty soon that wouldn’t mean anything.
He shouldn’t have thrown it though, because, Christ, that was the first thing Mara ever gave him. Dan dove into the water, desperately sifting the seabed through his fingers, but it was already gone, gone, gone.
He sat under the water for a moment, thinking maybe he’d stay gone too, but the ocean spit him back onto the beach and said, Not yet, Daniel Foster. Not just yet.
At least get the girl home to her mother, loser.