“He’ll be here at eight,” said Michelle.

  “Our bus is at ten past,” said Molly.

  “Don’t worry. He’s never late.”

  “But he’s never early either?”

  Michelle straightened her mouth. It was two minutes to. Erin was pacing at the front door. She even had her Uggs on, instead of her flip-flops, to help her get to the bus stop quicker. Her hands gripped the strap of her rucksack. She was up, showered, dressed and make up on before Molly’s alarm had gone off. She’d even got her a coffee from the machine in the lobby.

  “Can’t you give us our deposit back?” asked Erin.

  “Sorry,” said Michelle. “Has to be the manager. But you’re due a refund. Three days.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Molly, checking the time. It was after eight. The bus terminal wasn’t far, at the end of the street, and downhill. They could run it in less than a minute, even with rucksacks, if they had to. But only if they had to.

  Erin looked out front. Molly checked the time again, on the clock on the wall and on her phone, which was charged and in her pocket. The tickets for the bus were on it and she hoped this backwards country didn’t need her to print them out first.

  “We really need to get that bus,” said Molly.

  Michelle raised one shoulder in a sort of half-shrug. “I don’t know what to say, he’s normally here by now.”

  “Shit,” said Molly. It was five past. “Okay, Erin, you go. I’ll wait here.”

  “But what if you’re not there in time?”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Stall him. Drop your bag, spill your belongings, throw yourself in front of it, whatever it takes, I don’t care. Just make sure it doesn’t leave.” What she didn’t say was that the bus tickets had used up the last of her money. All of it. A year of saving, gone.

  “Okay,” said Erin.

  At nine minutes past, the manager finally arrived, ironed polo shirt tucked into his khaki shorts.

  “Good morning,” he said. “You’re early! What can I do you for?”

  “They’re checking out,” said Michelle. “They need their deposit and three nights refund.”

  “They?” said the manager.

  “We’ve got a bus to catch,” said Molly. “My friend is…”

  He checked the computer. “Two days refund. You would have had to notify us before eight.”

  “Sure, whatever, I—”

  “Do you have your keys?”

  “I’ve given them to—”

  “I’ve got them,” said Michelle. “It’s all processed, I just need your authorisation to issue…”

  “Let me have a look at that,” he said, making an open-and-closing claw motion with hands for Michelle to give him the receipt.

  “I really need to—”

  “Not cut out for the banana farms?”

  It was as though he was trying to make her late, for reason she couldn’t quite fathom. Ten past. She had to go.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “I have to—”

  He pushed a button on the till and the cash drawer sprung open. He counted out the money and handed it to her. Molly wasn’t even annoyed anymore, just grateful.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, taking the money and leaving.

  But it was too late. At the bus terminal, out of breath from running, she found Erin, face buried in her knees, rucksack still on, sobbing.

  “What happened? Where’s the bus? Didn’t you manage to—?”

  “It’s gone,” she said. “It was gone before I even got here. Slowed down, must have seen that nobody was waiting. Nobody got off, so it didn’t even stop.”

  Eventually they stooped cuddling and crying and made their way back up the street to the hotel. If there was a storm coming, it was doing its very best to take you by surprise. This was easily the calmest weather they’d had. Not a cloud in the sky, not even the whisper of a breeze. Even the gutters were dry.

  “Back so soon,” said the manager upon their return. Michelle was kind enough not to ask what happened or how long they wanted to stay for. She took the money Molly handed her—their deposit plus two nights’ refund each—and put it in the till. She gave them the same keys to the same room.

  On the TV in the lobby was a weather report showing the path of the cyclone, its circular path animated in undulating waves of white lines and arrows.

  “We’ll be alright,” said the manager to Michelle, and even though Molly wished this was true, right then she’d happily be carried away like Dorothy if this prick could be flattened by a house.

  Cammy was returning to his room with a towel around his waist. He seemed surprised to see them. Molly was surprised by the tattoo of a surfing shark on his shoulder.

  “You two are up early,” he said. Then, noticing their rucksacks, he added, in a voice he couldn’t keep from trembling, “Leaving?”

  “Checking in,” said Erin.

  “You mean you were…?” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  Molly resisted every urge she had to look away. Cammy looked at the well-trodden, stained, filthy and threadbare carpet. When he looked up, he forced a smile, which Molly was grateful for. “Well, it’s good to see you,” he said and disappeared into his room.

  “That did not feel good,” said Erin.

  “No, it did not,” said Molly, unlocking the door to their room. “But we’re here now and tomorrow we’ll either be sheltering from a hurricane or fondling bananas because I am completely out of cash.” She dumped her rucksack on the floor and opened the door to the balcony. “In the meantime, we’ve got a mountain to climb.”