“Let him iron all he wants,” I said.

I pulled open the driver’s door of the EOD truck and climbed onto the vinyl seat.

The cab smelled of ocean mist and damp dog.

Kenneth slid into the passenger side and pulled his seat belt across his chest until the buckle clicked.

“He thinks you’re still stuck on the beach waiting on a tow truck for the bomb team,” Kenneth said.

“He texted me at ten o’clock,” I said.