# Read the first page of Stormy Weather by Carl Hiaasen

Read the opening of Stormy Weather by Carl Hiaasen free, no signup. After a hurricane, honeymooners and con artists collide in south Florida.

- Page: https://uncovered.ink/read/stormy-weather-carl-hiaasen
- Genre: Comic fiction
- Year: 1995
- ISBN: 9780525431787
- Read it blind (cover and title hidden): https://uncovered.ink/?b=9780525431787&s=read-page
- Buy: https://bookshop.org/a/125786/9780525431787
- Borrow: https://search.worldcat.org/search?q=9780525431787

## The opening

On August 23, the day before the hurricane struck, Max and Bonnie Lamb awoke early, made love twice and rode the shuttle bus to Disney World. That evening they returned to the Peabody Hotel, showered separately, switched on the cable news and saw that the storm was heading directly for the southeastern tip of Florida. The TV weatherman warned that it was the fiercest in many years.

Max Lamb sat at the foot of the bed and gazed at the color radar image—a ragged flame-colored sphere, spinning counterclockwise toward the coast. He said, “Jesus, look at that.”

A hurricane, Bonnie Lamb thought, on our honeymoon! As she slipped under the sheets, she heard the rain beating on the rental cars in the parking lot outside. “Is this part of it?” she asked. “All this weather?”

Her husband nodded. “We’re on the edge of the edge.”

Max Lamb seemed excited in a way that Bonnie found unsettling. She knew better than to suggest a sensible change of plans, such as hopping a plane back to La Guardia.

Her new husband was no quitter; the reservations said five nights and six days, and by God that’s how long they would stay. It was a special package rate; no refunds.

She said, “They’ll probably close the park.”

“Disney?” Max Lamb smiled. “Disney never closes. Not for plagues, famines, or even hurricanes.” He rose to adjust the volume on the television. “Besides, the darn thing’s three hundred miles away. The most we’ll see up here is more rain.”

Bonnie Lamb detected disappointment in her husband’s tone. Hands on his hips, he stood nude in front of the TV screen; his pale shoulder blades and buttocks were streaked crimson from a day on the water flumes. Max was no athlete, but he’d done fine on the river slide. Bonnie wondered if it had gone to his head, for tonight he affected the square-shouldered posture of a college jock. She caught him glancing in the mirror, flexing his stringy biceps and sizing up his own nakedness. Maybe it was just a honeymoon thing.

The cable news was showing live video of elderly residents being evacuated from condominiums and apartment buildings on Miami Beach. Many of the old folks carried cats or poodles in their arms.

“So,” said Bonnie Lamb, “we’re still doing Epcot tomorrow?”

Her husband didn’t answer. “Honey?” she said. “Epcot?”

Max Lamb’s attention was rooted to the hurricane news. “Oh sure,” he said absently.

“You remembered the umbrellas?”

“Yes, Bonnie, in the car.”

She asked him to turn off the television and come to bed. When he got beneath the covers, she moved closer, nipped his earlobes, played her fingers through the silky sprout of hair on his bony chest.

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