The Return(65)

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t need a ride.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m heading in that direction anyway, and it’s dangerous on the road. Drivers can barely see you. Come on. Hop in.”

She seemed to debate for a moment before reluctantly reaching for the handle and pulling open the door. She crawled up to the seat, drenched and bedraggled, her skin the bluish tint of porcelain. She clutched the plastic bag in her lap as I slowly pulled back onto the road.

“Aside from the weather, are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” Then in an almost begrudging tone, she added, “Thanks for stopping.”

“You’re welcome. You can put the bag on the back seat if you’d like.”

“I’m already wet. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m glad I saw you. It’s terrible out here.”

“It’s just water.”

“I take it you have dry clothes in the bag?”

She eyed me with suspicion. “How did you know that?”

“Common sense.”

“Oh.”

I debated asking her whether she’d be interested in watching over the hives, but I still wanted to speak with Claude first. I decided to keep things light.

“How are things going at the Trading Post?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good to hear. Do you enjoy it?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

She didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Glancing over at her, I again thought she looked too young to be working full-time instead of going to school, but I had the sense that she’d shut down if I asked her about it. In that moment, a gust of wind buffeted the car, making it shimmy. I slowed the car to a crawl, navigating the flooded road.

“Have you ever seen a storm with rain and wind like this? It’s like a mini hurricane out here.”

“I’ve never been in a hurricane.”

“I thought you grew up here.”

“No,” she said.

“Your parents don’t live here?”

“No.”

“Then what brought you to New Bern?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Because she wasn’t in school and a job at the Trading Post wasn’t exactly a profession, I wondered if—like Natalie—she’d come here because she was in a relationship with a local. But she seemed too young for that, or any of those things, for that matter. Which, to me, suggested family problems.

“Obviously it’s none of my business,” I offered. “I’m sorry for asking. But I hope things get better for you with your parents.”

Her head swiveled in my direction. “Why would you say that?” she demanded. “You don’t know anything about me or my parents,” she snapped. “Just stop the car. I want to get out. I can walk the rest of the way.”

“Are you sure? We’re almost there,” I protested. The Trading Post was less than a hundred yards away.

“Stop the car!”

Clearly I’d hit a nerve. Not wanting to make things worse, I pulled over, bringing the SUV to a stop. Without a backward glance, she swung open the car door and got out, slamming it shut.

I watched her for a moment, trudging through the puddles. When there was enough space between her and the SUV, I inched back onto the road, feeling bad that I’d upset her. It hadn’t been any of my business, but I thought again about her overreaction. It reminded me of my attempted conversation during her lunch. She struck me as secretive and wary, and I wondered how my grandfather had been able to overcome her defenses. From what I’d seen of her, I couldn’t imagine her volunteering to help with the hives; I felt sure my grandfather’s request would have been rejected immediately unless they’d somehow known each other. She must have trusted him even before he’d asked.

But how had that come about?

I wasn’t sure, but I still intended to speak with her, if only to apologize. Depending on how that went—and what Claude had to say about her—I was still hoping to offer her the job.

Who knew? Maybe she’d eventually decide that she could trust me, too.

*



The hardware store was already running low on tarps, but because the house was small and rectangular, I got lucky and found one that would suffice. From there, I found a metal trolley and loaded it up with cinder blocks. There was a line at the cashier, but no one cut in front of me, which was good news for all those involved.

I loaded the car, drove home, and backed the SUV as close to the house as possible. Inside, I emptied the buckets and the pots, then retrieved a ladder from the barn. After that, I began the long process of climbing up and down the ladder, carrying the tarp and cinder blocks to the roof, and then putting it all in place while being lashed by driving rain and wind. There were better ways to spend a morning.

By the end, I was starved and freezing and after a long hot shower, I decided to eat lunch at the Trading Post. The parking lot was fuller than I anticipated, but I figured if I wasn’t in the mood to make a sandwich, it was no surprise that others weren’t, either.

Inside, Claude nodded from the register and I spotted Callie on a stepladder in the back of the store, hanging fishing waders on pegs mounted high on the wall. Frank was in his usual spot behind the grill and there were several men eating at the tables. The seats at the counter were full, so I squeezed between customers while I waited to order a cheeseburger and fries. Rain continued to sheet against the windows and I overheard people discussing the storm. Supposedly, the downtown area and other neighborhoods were already flooding.