The Heat in Sunshine

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It must have been a hundred degrees when we arrived in Florida. I took off my shirt and used it as a towel to wipe the perspiration off my face. How do Floridians live in this heat? How am I going to live in this heat? Those postcards I’ve seen of people in bathing suits at Daytona Beach must be true because it’s too hot to wear regular clothes.

“As soon as we stop, I’m going to cut these pants and make them into shorts,” Big Al said.

LeAnn smiled warmly at Big Al, and flirted with well-placed hand on his shoulder. “Honey, let me fix ‘em for ya. I know how to make ‘em into Bermuda shorts.”

Marisa rolled her eyes. I popped her on the leg, and shook my finger at her when she gave me the ‘what did I do’ look? I didn’t want another round of Marisa acting like a jealous stepsister.

As Marisa and I sat in the backseat, I looked at the crumpled up roadmap Marisa had pinched at the last gas station by shoving it in her shirt. My finger traced along the route that was leading us south and stopped at Daytona Beach. I looked around the hundreds of miles that lay just next to my fingernail to see what surrounded us. We finally arrived at Daytona Beach Shores, which is situated on a barrier island not far out in the Atlantic. To the west, the other side of the island is on the Halifax River lagoon, which is part of the Intracoastal Waterway. The area seemed undemanding enough, far less intimidating than Detroit, and it was a pleasant change to see blue skies and taste the humid air. I looked forward to devoting some serious attention to the local seafood—no more frozen fish for me. As we continued our drive, I realized that this was really the first time in months that I had been without some kind of tension. The feeling washed over me a...

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...s do when someone farts. His words came at us at a steady pace that sounded like a prepared speech. Marisa shook her head, and Big Al crossed his arms.

“When I’m not doing real estate I’m working on my car or racing on the beach. Boy, those were the days.”

He talked a lot about racing. For hours, it seemed. Yeah, the first couple of hours weren’t so bad. I stopped noticing the stench in the air despite the heavy musk Buster wore.

Big Al’s body uncoiled easily. He looked like a tourist who just wanted to get out of the small room and go to the attractions.

We couldn’t bother listening anymore. LeAnn and Big Al went outside for a breather. I looked at my watch. What mattered was the phone call. That mattered and nothing else. Finally, Buster got Mr. Bugiardini on the line and the four of us were able to stop fidgeting. I didn’t have any more fingernails to bite.

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