Lucky me.
I didn’t spot her until the very last second, a lone figure walking at the edge of the road. I jerked the wheel slightly while my brain processed what I’d seen; I simply couldn’t imagine anyone voluntarily venturing outside in weather like this. To my amazement, I recognized her. Bringing the SUV to a stop, I rolled down the passenger window.
“Hey, Callie. It’s me, Trevor!” I shouted above the din of the storm. “Do you need a ride to work?”
Though she had the hood up, her jacket didn’t appear to be waterproof. Over her shoulder, she had slung a plastic garbage bag, no doubt loaded with dry clothes.
“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.