Sex in a Sidecar by Phyllis Smallman Page B

to her and said, “Screw it, let’s just get out of here.”
    Now that the rain had started it came with a vengeance. The suddenness of it was shocking. Torrents, buckets, cats and dogs, whatever you wanted to call it, it came down on us, curtaining the windows and obscuring everything outside the car. “Get going,” I yelled.
    The taillights of Miguel’s van disappeared into the sand and rain. A car appeared through the haze of grit to our left and was gone after Miguel.
    Still we sat at the exit to the parking lot. Gina reached out and turned on the windshield wipers, giving us visibility for brief seconds.
    I reached out and shook Gina to get her attention. I jerked my thumb to the right; north in the direction Miguel was headed. “Get going,” I yelled. The wind rocked the Audi, the only motion.
    â€œGo,” I screamed, nudging Gina’s arm. She sat frozen over the wheel and I thought she couldn’t decide when the road was clear, afraid to pull out into traffic. I jabbed her shoulder hard. Gina turned to me. I smiled at her and waved my hand to the right. “It’s okay. We’re probably the last people out here.” She didn’t smile back, didn’t respond.
    â€œGo,” I screamed, frustrated, scared and getting mad, desperate to escape.
    Gina’s lips moved but I couldn’t hear her words over the noise of the rain drumming on the roof like a dozen men with hammers.
    I raised my hands palm up and wailed, “What?” Her lips were moving, I leaned closer, our heads touching now. I could smell shampoo. I heard fragments, “…my sister…police…I know…I didn’t…courage…need you.”
    I pulled away so I could watch her lips, clutching her shoulders to keep her close to me. “What?” I shook my head in a frantic attempt to show I didn’t get it. “What are you saying?”
    I leaned in to her. “He’s gone…” That was clear enough but what followed was lost. What in hell was she talking about? Who was gone? I grabbed a handful of her denim dress, jabbed a finger north screaming, “Go! Go! Go!”
    She nodded and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. The car shot forward. But it was the wrong direction.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” My heart was beating a hole in my chest; adrenalin was bouncing me off the seat. This couldn’t be happening. The world had swung madly out of control.

Chapter 16
    Gina turned south. The closest bridge off the island was a mile north. Eight miles south into the storm was the next bridge. “Why?” I tugged her sleeve. The stupid bitch! This was no time to go back for some trinket or her favorite pair of canvas shoes. Whatever she’d left behind could be replaced and I’d be happy to do it in triplicate if she’d just get us off the friggin’ island. Being from the north, she surely had no idea about falling trees and banks of sand that would grab your tires and not let go.
    Both of her hands were welded onto the steering wheel. She hunched forward, up over the wheel, staring through the brief rabbit hole the wipers made into the driving rain and sand. Visibility was only about a car length and drifts of sand already spilled onto the road, slowing the car and throwing it sideways as we hit into them.
    â€œGina,” I screamed. “Turn around.”
    She kept her eyes locked on her tiny view of the world over the dash.
    â€œAll right,” I screamed. “But hurry!” The clock said forty-four minutes after twelve. How long did we have before Myrna really hit? One hour? An hour and a half? Sure as hell not enough time for a leisurely drive.
    At the south bridge I got another shock.
    â€œLeft! Turn left,” I screeched at her. I reached over and tried to pull the wheel towards the bridge. Gina yanked just as hard to the right and straight-legged the gas.
    We shot past the turnoff, past safety.