Tela Beach: The Long, Quiet Vacation

“Where did you get the beer?” his friend Johnson asked in a loud voice.

“Holmes has ‘em,” he answered.

“Think he’ll give me one?”

“He’s so drunk he won’t know who you are.”

“Really?”

“Where’s your girl, Johnson?”

“She’s around. I’m gonna wait till later.”

“You’d better hurry.”

“Why?” Johnson asked.

“I’m taking off,” Ross said. “See you later.”

He was having so much fun, but the thought of having her go off before he had his chance was suddenly bothering him. Ross took the young woman by the hand, and she seemed to agree. They walked down the balcony, doors open, music echoing from two rooms, men and women strangely and suddenly absent.

She looked down while they walked, but every now and then, she would look up with a smile on her face and glance at him. He noticed this, even while he looked ahead, and the sidewalk looked only vaguely familiar, so he worried. But this was his hotel, and even if she had been here a hundred times, that possibility didn’t dawn on him. This was his hotel. And he was the man.

As long as he headed for the back, he figured, he would be okay. He was heading in the direction opposite the beach and away from the town. He was going toward the tall palm trees and the thick vegetation that surrounded the outskirts of the resort.