Bayou Born(6)

She rolled her eyes remembering the strange exchange, but she was all too familiar with small-town dealings where business was done because somebody knew someone related to somebody else. This job was even more special because she’d done it all on her own.

Her destination waited down the hall. Florescent lights cast a greenish tint on the white cinder-block walls and speckled linoleum floor. Inside the bookstore, a strategically placed sign on a worn counter by the cash register announced, “Back in fifteen-minutes.”

That gave her time to wander around with no one to intrude on the sacredness of the moment. Tingling excitement made her giddy. The same kind of giddiness as the first time she hooked her seatbelt for her first ever rollercoaster ride on the Scream Machine at Six Flags over New Orleans.

She quickly located the section that housed the textbooks for her class. An identifying sign listed her name and the course number.

“I’ve done it. I’ve really done it,” she whispered as she stroked the cover of the book. Textbooks for her first official job as a college instructor. She was a full-fledged faculty member. Savoring the success, she committed each detail to memory.

Voices drew her attention. Two people entered the bookstore. She leaned to look between the bookshelves. A young woman stood behind the counter, she guessed her to be a student—a colorful one. Blond hair tipped with pink and green made the young woman look like a flower blossom, even in the gray-on-gray camo shirt. On the other side of the counter, a man tapped a pen, re-enforcing a point in their conversation.

She couldn’t help but overhear their chatter about their weekend plans. Hers—a party at Dub’s on Saturday night before classes started on Monday. His—a date with a new massage therapist in town.

“Hello,” Branna called. It was bad manners to eavesdrop. Making her presence known was the polite thing to do. “I’m looking for an umbrella.”

“You’re gonna need one in this weather.” The man walked in her direction. His sneakers squeaked against the linoleum. “Though with wind, not even an umbrella will keep you dry.”

“Maybe I need to buy a tarp?” she asked.

“Or just ride out the storm in here,” he said. He stopped beside her and glanced at her name on the shelf.

“Branna Lind? Did I get that right?”

“Yes, that’s me.” She smiled and noticed his nametag. Brian Murphy. Bookstore Manager.

“Checkin’ out the supply?”

Something about his tone made her feel like a school kid getting caught doing something naughty. Warmth flushed her face. She hated when she blushed. “I wanted to see the books on the shelves.” She shrugged. Was she acting like a college freshman rather than a new faculty member?

“Are you comin’ to the potluck Friday evening? Mrs. Westcott usually does a nice job of it. We’re a friendly bunch.”

“Yes. Looking forward to it.” Her voice sounded far calmer than she felt. Meet the entire faculty at President Westcott’s home? Nerves clamped down on her giddiness.

The. Entire. Faculty.

She waited when Brian stayed glued to the spot beside her as if he intended to say something more. When he didn’t continue, she dropped her gaze to avoid his stare, observing his golf shirt with the college’s logo.

“Well...is there...anything I need to know about, for the pot luck?” she finally asked.

“Oh, let see. Lots of stuff. But I don’t want to frighten you off. We’re happy to have you join our ranks. You’re not the only first-timer here...” his voice trailed off. She followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of Dr. Brown, the Vice President, walking through the door.

“The umbrellas are over there.” He pointed to where one wall of tinted glass met another to form a corner.

“Excuse me, please?” Brian turned and went to greet Dr. Brown.

She made her way to the corner and watched the storm raging outside. Would it rain like this before the Westcott’s party? If so, what would she wear? She feared meeting so many people in a short amount of time. Face after face with names she’d want to remember. It couldn’t be worse than being a human mannequin at a shop on Canal Street in New Orleans, could it?

Would she finally meet the faculty member Dr. Brown assigned to mentor her? The evasive Dr. Newbern clearly had a busy schedule. He was a “no-show” at the luncheon. Would he consider his mentoring duties akin to babysitting?

She pictured an older man in a tweed jacket with suede patches on the elbows. Dr. Brown hadn’t said much about her mentor, except that he was very qualified, a student favorite, and very trustworthy. With that recommendation, she vowed to keep any interaction with the man strictly professional and necessary. No wasting his time. She was a quick study when she enjoyed her work. Maybe one day, Dr. Brown would make similar glowing remarks about her.

Nearby, a rack of blue-denim shirts with the school’s logo on the front pocket stood ready for the on-slot of students arriving on Monday. Maybe one of those shirts would work with black jeans. Picking one up, she laid it across her arm. Where did Brian say she would find umbrellas?

“Hi. Brian sent me over. Do you need help?”

The young woman’s pink and green-tipped hair fascinated Branna. Self-expression had always been discouraged by her mother. “Respectable” was the family hallmark for the Keeper.

“Thanks, I’m good. I’ll hunt around while I’m waiting for the storm to rain itself out.”

“Cool. But the umbrellas are over here.” The young woman walked to a spot and pointed down.

Branna discovered the umbrellas tucked beside a tall bookcase. The selection ranged in size from long golf ones to the micro version, small enough to fit inside a backpack. Just the size she wanted. “This one will do.”

“I’ll carry it up front, and it’ll be waiting for you. Give me the shirt, too. Take your time. I don’t have anything else to do. Happy to help.”

“Thank you.”

Branna paused by a shelf of folded cotton-knit jackets. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers. Softness. Setting her purse down, she unzipped the garment and tried it on.

Ah...warm.

Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She would wear it home.

She picked up her purse and glanced outside at the Commons, the park-like area bordered by the college’s buildings. On the opposite end from the bookstore was the parking lot, though due to the darkness and deluge, it remained invisible. Safe and protected inside the store, she watched the ferocity of the storm. Streetlights around campus glowed eerily, though it was only afternoon.

Out of the corner of her eye, something white moved in the downpour. She stepped closer to the window. With condensation covering it, the view appeared like a wet-on-wet watercolor painting.

In the rain, a brave soul eased his way along the sidewalk in front of the bookstore under the building’s eaves. The man appeared in no particular hurry. A small black umbrella protected him from the overflowing gutters.

A quick flash of light made her breath catch.

Danger! Her brain screamed.

Lightning zigzagged.

Thunder boomed, then echoed.

The windows rattled.

She flinched, scrunching her neck like a turtle retreating into its shell, and closed her eyes.

When the rumbling lessened, she opened one eye first, and remembered the man. Pressing closer to the window, she rubbed a spot in the condensation. Had he made it to safety?

Another slash of light brightened the sky. The hair on her neck stood up. She jumped back and shivered. As though in slow motion, a jagged flash of light struck a pine tree in the Commons. Sparks flew. The trunk exploded. Steam, a visible cloud in the rain, drifted over the remaining stump. Most of the toppled tree blocked the sidewalk between the Student Union and the Administration building.

Trembling, she looked again. Where was the man?

She spotted him off to the left, under the shelter of the deep doorway, the front entrance of the Student Union.

He moved to stand directly on the opposite side of the glass from her. Water splattered as he shook his umbrella.

Thunder rumbled again. A streak of jagged light raced across the sky. She hesitated to move closer to the window, yet, something about the man drew her. She stepped so close to the glass, her breath fogged a spot. Any sane person would have backed away, but fascination held her captive.

The rest of the world was dark and gray—he was in living color. His long sleeve, white shirt looked crisp as though laundered and starched, not just pulled from a dryer. His dark denim jeans looked new. He didn’t appear wet, or even damp, although water still dripped from the tip of his umbrella and formed a small puddle near his pristine leather cowboy boots.

About a foot away, with only glass between them, he appeared to be staring at the damaged pine tree. A stray lock of dark brown hair fell over his forehead. He pushed it aside, but stubbornly it fell again. Was he a student? He looked older than the usual twenty-something, but that didn’t mean anything. She had students of all ages in the adult education class she’d taught before.