“That’s it? Just…coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“Name?”
“Johann Sebastian Bach.”
“Is that with a ‘Y’？”
“Yes,” I answered.
I watched as she wrote Yohan on the cup and handed it to the ponytailed male behind her. It was clear the name didn’t ring the faintest bell.
Taking my cup outside, I wandered over to Union Point, a park at the confluence of the Neuse and Trent Rivers. It was also, according to the appropriately located historical marker, the site at which a group of Swiss and Palatine settlers founded the town in 1710. The way I figured it, they were likely heading for warmer climates—South Beach, maybe, or Disney World—and got lost, thus ending up here, the captain being male and unwilling to ask for directions and all.
Not that it was a bad location. In fact, it’s beautiful, except when hurricanes come roaring in from the Atlantic. The winds stop the Neuse from flowing toward the sea, the water backs up, and the town starts pretending that it’s waiting for Noah’s ark. My grandfather had lived through both Fran and Bertha in 1996, but when he spoke about major storms, it was always Hazel he referred to, back in 1954. During the storm, two of the beehives were upended, a catastrophic event in his life. That his roof blew off as well wasn’t nearly as important to him as the damage to his pride and joy. However, I’m not sure that Rose felt the same way; she went to stay with her parents until the house was habitable again.
There was a large gazebo in the center of the park, as well as a lovely bricked promenade that ran along the river’s edge. I strolled toward an empty bench with a view of the river and took a seat. The sun sparkled off the lazy waters of the Neuse, which was nearly a mile wide at this point, and I watched a boat slowly glide downstream, its sails billowing like a pillow. At a nearby boat launch, I saw a group of paddleboarders getting ready to hit the water. Some were in shorts and Tshirts, others in short wet-suits, and they were clearly discussing their plan of action. At the far end of the park, a few kids were feeding ducks; another pair was playing Frisbee, and still another kid was flying a kite. I appreciated that people around here knew how to enjoy their weekends. In Kandahar—and before that, while in residency—I worked practically every weekend, the days running together in an exhausted blur. But I was getting better at kicking back and relaxing on Saturdays and Sundays. Then again, I was doing pretty much the same thing every other day of the week as well, so I was getting a lot of practice.
After finishing my coffee, I tossed the empty in a nearby garbage can and wandered to the railing. Leaning over, I admitted that small-town life had its charms. I especially thought so a couple of minutes later, when I saw Natalie meandering in my direction, the basket trailing at her side. She seemed to be watching the paddleboarders as they worked their way toward deeper water.
I suppose I could have waved or called out, but considering our recent encounter in the farmers’ market, I restrained myself. Instead, I continued to study the slow-moving current until I heard a voice behind me.
“You again.”
I peeked over my shoulder. Natalie’s stance and expression telegraphed that she hadn’t expected to find me here.
“Are you talking to me?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m enjoying my Saturday morning.”
“Did you know I would be coming here?”
“How would I have known where you were going?”
“I don’t know,” she said, suspicion seeping into her voice.
“It’s a beautiful morning and a great view. Why wouldn’t I come here?”
She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again before speaking. “I guess it’s none of my business, anyway. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“You’re not bothering me,” I assured her. Then, nodding toward her basket: “Did you find everything you needed at the market?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Just making conversation. Since you’re following me, I mean.”
“I’m not following you!”
I laughed. “Kidding. If anything, I have the impression that you’re trying to avoid me.”
“I’m not avoiding you. I barely know you.”
“Exactly,” I agreed, and feeling like I was suddenly back in the batter’s box, I decided to take another swing. “And that’s a shame.” I gave her a mischievous smile before turning back toward the river.