Danita and Molly chatted quietly in the front, Molly at the wheel. Santiago followed behind us in his car. Angel and Cassady were passed out in the back, Cassady’s body slumped over Angel’s knees (Danita had already snapped several photos) after a long night of Coronas, cigars and poker.Samuel and Caroline were settled in the bench across from me, his arm resting along the seat behind her, her creamy coffee face nestled in his shoulder. His iPod lay in his lap as his head lolled back. I was sorely tempted to crank up the volume on that thing and scare him with the force of the apocalypse. His legs stretched out in front of him, his calf occasionally bumping mine.At least most everyone was getting in a few hours’ rest before the dive.I leaned against Hector—who was also asleep—and tucked up my knees.“Oh, Sweet Kaye, shoes off the upholstery,” Molly sang in her best “Cassady” voice, eyeing me in the mirror. “Hippie has issues with dirt in his Campervan.”“Then he’s not a real hippie.”
