“It’ll be an adjustment for sure. It might take some getting used to, but I have a feeling she’s going to be okay.”
“I think so, too. Oh, on another note, your grandfather was a very clever man.”
“In what way?”
“Had he said the name Callie in the hospital room, we might never have found out who she really was. We never would have tried to find a Karen.”
I considered that, realizing she was right. My grandfather never ceased to amaze me.
“Robertson was right, too,” she went on. “When he told us that we could have found the information ourselves. I visited the website for the GBI, and it took all of five minutes to find her once I had her real first name and knew what she looked like. We didn’t have to travel to Georgia.”
“I’m still glad we went,” I said. “Otherwise, I might not have seen you again.”
She stared down at her coffee cup. “I’m going to miss you.”
Me too. More than you’ll ever know. “I think I’m going to harvest some of the honey before I go. Do you want to come over and help? I’ll show you how to spin and filter the combs, and if you’re lucky, I might let you take a few jars home.”
She hesitated, then said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Knowing that you’re leaving is already hard enough.”
“So this is it? Our last goodbye?”
“I don’t want to think of it like that.”
“How do you want to think about it?”
She paused, reflecting. “I want to remember our time together as if it were a beautiful dream,” she finally said. “In the moment, it was powerful and real and completely transporting.”
But then you have to wake up, I thought. “I’ll probably have to come back to New Bern from time to time to check on the house and the hives. Would you like me to let you know when I’m in town? Maybe we could meet for the occasional lunch or dinner?”
“Maybe…” But even as she said it, I had the sense that she would prefer that I didn’t. Still, I played along.
“I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks. When do you think you’ll be leaving?”
“In a couple of weeks, probably. I want to have time to get settled in before the program starts.”
“Of course,” she said.
“And you? Any summer plans?”
“The usual,” she said. “I’ll probably spend a few weekends here and there with my parents at the beach.”
It pained me to hear how stilted our conversation was and I wondered why talking had seemed so much easier only days earlier. This wasn’t the way I imagined saying goodbye, but like her, I didn’t know how to change it.
“If you ever make it up to Baltimore or DC, let me know. I’ll be happy to show you around. We could visit the Smithsonian.”
“I’ll do that,” she promised, even though both of us knew she wouldn’t. As she said it, her lips trembled.
“Natalie…”
“I should probably go,” she said, suddenly standing. “I have to get back to work.”
“I know.”
“I’ll swing by your grandfather’s house while you’re away. Make sure no vagrants break in.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
We left the cafeteria and I walked her to the main entrance, even though I wasn’t sure she wanted me to.
Reaching the doors, I followed her outside, thinking that all of this was happening too fast. Unable to stop myself, I suddenly took her hand in mine. She paused, turning toward me, and the sight of the tears beginning to spill over her lashes brought a hard knot to my throat. Though I knew I shouldn’t, I leaned in, my lips gently touching hers, before wrapping my arms around her. I kissed the top of her head and pulled her close.
“I understand, Natalie,” I murmured into her hair. “I do.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered back, her body trembling against mine.
“I love you, and I’ll never forget you.”
“I love you, too.”
The sun was high and bright, the air sultry with humidity and heat. I was vaguely aware of a man strolling past us holding a bouquet of flowers; an elderly woman in a wheelchair was rolled outside a few seconds later. Inside the hospital, women were giving birth to children who had their whole lives ahead of them while other patients were reaching the ends of theirs. It was an ordinary day but nothing was ordinary for me, and as tears pricked my eyes, I wanted nothing more than to make this moment last forever.