Stiff and out of sorts, I paced the hallways of the hotel for an hour before finally ordering room service. Though I fell asleep early, I woke in the middle of the night and finished an extra-long workout in the gym before anyone else even arrived. I splurged on breakfast, saw three more units for rent on Thursday, of which the second appealed to me. After indicating a strong interest in it, I promised to let the broker know by the end of the day on Friday.
On Friday, two of the three units were also promising, but I was still sold on the one I’d seen on Thursday. I called the broker again, set up a late-afternoon appointment, then signed the lease. Glad that I’d made a decision and taken care of it, I decided to celebrate by eating at the bar instead of ordering room service. I struck up a conversation with a woman who sold veterinary products. Attractive, an engaging conversationalist, and definitely flirty, she made it clear she’d be interested in whatever I happened to propose for later that night. But I wasn’t in the mood, and after I finished my second drink, I said my goodbyes. In my room, I lay on the bed with my hands clasped behind my head, wondering if Natalie was experiencing any regrets.
The aquarium was well worth my time despite the crowd; dinner with my friend and his wife was even more fun. Joe and Laurie had been married three years and had a young daughter at home. Laurie spent part of the evening trying to convince me that she had a friend that I really should meet. “You two would hit it off,” she said. “She’s just your type.” I demurred—I was leaving the following morning, I reminded them—but to Laurie, that made no difference. “You’ll be living here soon,” she said. “We’ll all get together then.”
Who knew? Maybe by then, I might be in a frame of mind to take them up on that.
Right now, I couldn’t conceive of it.
I made the drive home on Sunday. After tossing my dirty clothes in the laundry, I collected the mail that had built up in my absence. Generally, there wasn’t much—assorted bills and junk mail—but I was surprised to find a letter from an attorney named Marvin Kerman in South Carolina, addressed to me.
After tearing open the envelope, I read the letter while I walked, finishing it on the front porch. The attorney, who represented AJ’s Towing, had written to inform me that my grandfather’s truck had been auctioned off for nonpayment of the tow and automobile storage, in accordance with South Carolina law. I was further informed that a letter had been sent to my grandfather’s home the previous December, explaining that unless remittance was made, the truck would be considered abandoned and the towing company would take appropriate action. Toward the end, the attorney stated that unless I stopped harassing the owner, criminal or civil charges would be pursued against me.
More than likely, the original notice had been in the mail that I’d carelessly thrown away when I’d first moved in, and as my instincts had predicted, it had been a stupid idea to threaten AJ whatever-his-last-name-was. Which left me largely at a dead end.
But not entirely.
With the letter, there was one more angle I could pursue, even if I wasn’t sure it would lead anywhere. I had the name and number of the attorney, after all.
*
With my apartment secured, the move to Baltimore felt imminent, even though I still had a month or more before I had to go. Feeling nostalgic, I decided to spend some time with the bees before my session with Bowen.
I suited up, collected everything I needed, and picked four of the hives at random. Pulling out the frames, I noted that honey collection was well underway; the bees had been busy in recent weeks. Though my residency would be in full swing, I made the decision to return to New Bern in early August to harvest the honey. I could do it over the weekend and figured that it was something my grandfather would have wanted me to do. Claude, I assumed, would be thrilled.
In making that decision, I realized that I had no intention of either selling or renting the property. There were too many memories for me to reconcile and while I wasn’t sure what that meant for me in the future, I simply couldn’t imagine someone else living here. I wondered whether my decision was some sort of subconscious desire to be near Natalie but dismissed the idea.
I was keeping the house because of my grandfather, not her. Which also meant that I needed to hire a contractor because the house was in serious need of repairs. It was one thing to stay for a few months; it was entirely another to make the house permanently livable. It still needed a new roof and kitchen floor, I assumed there was termite and water damage affecting the foundation, and if I ever wanted to spend any time here in the future, the house was in dire need of a larger master bathroom while the kitchen needed work, too. For all I knew, there might be plumbing or electrical issues as well, all of which would keep the contractor busy for months. I’d need a property manager, someone to watch over the place and keep the contractor on task while sending me photos of the progress.