“You’re right,” I mused aloud. “But how would I find his truck?”
“I’d start with the hospital. Find out who they use for ambulance services. There’s probably a record somewhere of where they picked him up. Depending on where he was found, the truck might still be there. Or it may have been towed, but at least you’ll have a starting point.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She nodded. “And let me know what happens. I’m interested, too.”
“I will,” I said. “Which reminds me—I don’t think I have your cell number. In case I need to call.”
Or wanted to call, which was far more likely.
“Oh,” she said, and I got the impression that she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Not wanting to give her too much time to think, I reached for my phone and activated the contact list. After a moment, she took it—her reluctance was clear—and typed in her details before handing it back to me.
“I should probably be heading back,” she announced. “Early day tomorrow, and I still have to finish some laundry.”
“I understand,” I said. “I have a busy day tomorrow, too.”
“Thank you again for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. It was a pleasure getting to know you better.”
“You too. It was nice.”
Nice? Not exactly the description I’d been hoping for.
“Oh, before you go, let me get the honey.”
I retrieved the jars from my SUV and handed them over, feeling a kinetic jolt as our fingers brushed. I was reminded of the way she’d gently touched my scar earlier. I knew I wanted to kiss her, but she must have read my mind and automatically took a small step backward. In the sudden space between us, I detected a lingering energy, as though she’d wanted to kiss me as well. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I thought I detected a trace of regret in her parting smile.
“Thank you for these, too,” she said. “I’m almost out.”
She turned and slowly made her way to her car. As I watched her go, I thought of something and pulled the phone from my pocket again. The screen was still on the contact page, and I dialed the number. A few seconds later, I heard the faint sound of a phone beginning to ring. She reached into her purse before catching sight of the number and glancing at me over her shoulder.
“Just checking,” I said.
She rolled her eyes before getting into her car. I waved as she drove past and she returned the gesture before reaching the road that would take her back to New Bern.
Alone, I wandered to the railing, watching the ocean sparkle in the moonlight. The breeze had picked up, cooling the air, and I turned my face to it, pondering her reluctance to kiss me. Was it part of her overall hesitation to appear in public with me? Was she really worried about small-town gossip, even this far from New Bern?
Or was it that she was already seeing someone else?
Chapter 7
I hadn’t been lying to Natalie when I’d said I had things to do on Monday. As opposed to most days, when I had time to goof off before taking a break and then goofing off some more, the responsibilities of life sometimes intruded, even if I didn’t have to punch a clock or show up at the hospital or office. For starters, it was almost the middle of April, and my taxes were officially due.
The documents had been waiting for weeks in a cardboard box delivered courtesy of UPS. I used the same accounting firm my parents had used, initially because I knew nothing about finance or accounting, and after that because I assumed that switching to another firm would add unnecessary complications to my life, when things were already complicated enough. Frankly, thinking about money bores me, probably because I’ve never had to really worry about it.
My taxes were complicated because of the various trusts, investments, and portfolios I’d inherited from my parents, some of which had been funded with more life insurance than either of my parents needed. Still, whenever I saw my net worth—my accountants would meticulously prepare a balance sheet for me every February—I would sometimes wonder why I’d been so insistent on becoming a doctor in the first place. It wasn’t as though I needed the money. The interest I collected annually was a lot more than I would ever earn as a doctor, but I think something inside me craved my parents’ approval, even if they were no longer around. When I graduated from medical school, I imagined them clapping in the audience; in my mind’s eye, I saw my mom’s eyes welling with tears while my father beamed with pride at a job well done. In that moment, I understood clearly that I’d rather my parents were alive than to have received the generous inheritance they’d left me. When my statements arrive in the mail every year, I’m always reminded of those losses, and there are times when I’m too overwhelmed to even peruse them.