Blink

Then: Hitting the Water

The sun was still out, glaring in full force, as my eyes attempted to adjust. In addition, the temperature had risen exponentially, to the point where my hair was sticking to the back of my neck and my face was turning an unseemly shade of red.

"Remind me again how long it's going to take to get there?" I asked, my voice tinted with whine. "I'm literally roasting."

"It's right up there," Celia huffed, pointing with one hand, and shielding her eyes with the other. 

Indeed, the restaurant was. The twins had decided, since they'd skipped breakfast in favour of a swim, that getting a meal was our priority. Since they bribed me with air-conditioning and a Sprite, I'd agreed readily. It sat, squat and wooden, like a whorled stump on the ocean front, almost blending in like a piece of drift wood. "It's a good idea to get out of sight for a while too," James had said. "You know, in case they start looking for you. And wouldn't be that hard, considering how small this island is. Hopefully no one will ask the waitress if we've been by."

I shivered a little, imagining the lecture that was surely impending. "And I'm sure our dad will know we had something to do with it," Celia added. "He knows how badly we've been longing for company, not to mention we're gone from the tour too. But that could be a plus. He'll know you're in good hands, maybe that'll stop your mom from looking for you."

"It doesn't matter anymore," I moaned, happy to forget, even if only temporarily. "Right now, I couldn't care much less. Air conditioning, please?" 

In pursuit of cooler air, I started running, and burst through the restaurant's automatic door with the force of a small tornado on steroids. Cold air rushed over me in a most delightful tsunami, and I sighed contentedly. A bored-looking hostess jerked out of her reverie at the whizz of the opening doors, and gave me an odd look, no doubt merited by my pink face and fish-like gasping. James and Celia staggered into the wood panelled room behind me, and a flash of recognition passed across her face.

"Möchten Sie einen Tisch, James und Celia?" she asked, uninterested, still leaning on the wall. A stained glass lamp illuminated her disdainful expression, obviously directed at us since all the tables were totally void of customers. 

James nodded to her and smiled (receiving a scowl in return), while Celia hissed under her breath at me, "She asked if we want a table."

I rolled my eyes as we followed the waitress through the rickety maze of booths and haphazardly placed bar stools, zig-zagging. "I've always hated that. A table? What? No, bitch, carpet for three."

Celia snorted quietly, and, if possible, delicately. The waitress glanced at her. She spun around quickly and plopped onto a red vinyl bench that extended along the far side of the closest table, staring out a conveniently situated window. I followed her lead, and accepted a dog-eared menu the waitress distributed, without making eye contact. She sauntered away into the semi-darkness without further acknowledgement.

I flipped the menu open with a thumb, only to stare at it blankly, with what I'm positive was a bewildered expression on my face. Of course. What did I expect? It was in German. The twins left their's untouched, and I found them both staring at me expectantly when I flicked my gaze back up, confused.

"You don't understand of a word of it, do you?" James said, cracking a condescending smile.

I smacked a fist down on the table, flattening the offending menu where it sat. "You know the answer to that question. I'll just have whatever you're having."  Tipping backwards luxuriously, I relished the cool plastic against my back, and smiled contentedly. "Plus that Sprite you promised me."

"Excellent choice," said Celia, nodding. "We've been coming here for a while, and just recently discovered that everything on the menu is bloody awful, and the safest bet is the salad."