Tossed

Well, we were in Martha's Vineyard last weekend, despite the whole hurricane thing. We knew the storm was coming, of course. At least I did. I kept asking Jarv the week before if he was sure he wanted to go, given the fact that the forecasters were warning of high winds, dangerous waves and an overpowering undertoe. In short: it wasn't a beach weekend.

But we can't cancel now, he argued. We made these plans months ago. Our friends have made dinner reservations!

And it was true, we'd been invited by some friends to come stay with them at their house. We went last year and had a great time. I was all for it. Except for that pesky hurricane issue.

Bill's not going to hit the Vineyard anyway, Jarv said dismissively.

I didn't think he was quite grasping the point. Despite my warnings, on Friday morning, off we went on the most nauseating ferry ride I'd ever been on. I spent an hour and a half looking out the stern of the boat at the horizon taking deep, steady breaths and trying to pretend we weren't dipping and rocking with every enormous swell.

Once we were "on island" as they say, J seemed to key into the fact that there was an enormous weather event headed just our way. Everyone was talking about it. That evening, after he caught the latest on the weather channel, he took me aside and said he thought we should return home the next morning. There was a hurricane coming, you know. If we thought our ferry ride that morning had been bad, think how awful the crossing would be on Sunday, in the midst of Bill's wrath? We should leave as soon as possible!

Hmm. Some might say he hadn't been listening to me at all the previous five days.

They'd be right.