On Friday night, while sitting on the porch, I realized that it had been fifteen days since I’d last spoken with Natalie. Again, I had trouble sleeping, and when I woke in the middle of the night, I decided I was tired of staring at the darkened ceiling for hours. Crawling out of bed, I dressed and noted that it was a little past two in the morning. After a quick trip to the honey shed, I hopped in my SUV and drove to Spencer Avenue. Parking down the block, I walked to Natalie’s property. As I approached, I wondered if she was with the Other Guy right now; I wondered if they were in bed, or if they were out on the town. I wondered whether she was staring at him in the same way she’d stared at me. All of it made it difficult to swallow as I set two jars of honey on her doorstep.
There was no doubt she’d know who had left them, and I wondered what would happen if the Other Guy found them. What story would she tell him? Had she mentioned me at all? Had she even thought about me in the last couple of weeks, or had I already become a half-remembered memory, colored with regret?
Trudging back to the SUV, I heard only the echo of my unanswered questions.
Chapter 14
Another weekend passed, another session with Bowen. I received the inspection report, met with the contractor on Tuesday, and he promised to get me a bid as soon as possible.
Because I hadn’t paid attention to the outside world in days, I had no idea a storm was imminent until heavy clouds and wind began rolling in, shortly after the contractor had departed. My first thought was that it would be a typical late-spring downpour, but after tuning in to the local news, I wondered how concerned I should actually be. Heavy rain and gusting winds were expected, with local schools canceling classes for the next two days. Live reports from Raleigh showed flooded roads, with numerous rescues already underway.
The first drops of rain fell within the hour; by the time I went to bed, it was coming down so hard that it sounded as though I were sleeping in a train station. When I woke the following morning, the storm had intensified to almost hurricane levels. The sky boiled with dark clouds and wind rattled the windows, the far side of the creek reduced to a mere shadow, obscured by the downpour.
For a while, I watched from the back porch, the splashing rain wetting my face. Finally retreating to the kitchen, I used a hand towel to dry off. I was just starting some coffee when I heard steady plinking sounds echoing throughout the house. Sure enough, I found a leak in the living room, two more in the guest room, and still another in one of the bathrooms. There were large circular stains in the ceilings and pieces of drywall were hanging in strips, indicating that the leaks had probably started overnight. How I’d missed them earlier was beyond me, but I backtracked to the pantry and kitchen to grab the mop bucket and three pots. I used the mop to dry the floor after putting the rain catchers in place, but the drips seemed to be increasing in speed.
I sighed. The roof needed a tarp, which meant I was going to end up outside in the deluge, probably for hours. I’d need bricks, too, to hold the tarp in place.
The day was just getting better and better.
Not.
I decided not to do a thing until after coffee. I tossed on an old T-shirt and sweatshirt, returned to the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee. As I took a sip, I saw that my hands were trembling. Putting the cup down, I stared at my hands in fascination. Was it the thought of having to work outside in the rain? The journey upon which I was about to embark at Johns Hopkins? Or was it Natalie?
The answer seemed obvious, but as I stared, I was thankful that the trembling wasn’t as severe as it once had been. Still, it surprised me. Yes, I hadn’t been sleeping well and I’d recently cried for the first time in years. I admitted that I’d also been feeling edgy, but it was hard to remember the last time my hands went bonkers. They hadn’t trembled after my grandfather passed away, nor when I’d moved to New Bern. So why now? Natalie had ended things almost three weeks ago. How could the passage of time make things even worse?
Upon reflection, I knew the answer. My hands hadn’t trembled in the immediate aftermath of my wounds, either—it wasn’t until after all my surgeries that I began to notice various symptoms and that realization brought with it a ray of clarity. The explosion in Afghanistan blew up my future, and on some subconscious level, Natalie’s rejection—which blew up a different sort of future—was manifesting in the same sort of delayed reaction. I had no doubt that Bowen would assure me that I was right on the money. Hadn’t he asked me about it? Almost as if he’d expected them to begin trembling? Of course he had. He knew me so well. As hurt as I was, I still loved and missed Natalie.
I took a few deep breaths, made a series of fists, and little by little, the trembling subsided. Caffeine probably wasn’t a good idea, but so what? I liked coffee and drank two cups anyway. Then I grabbed a rain jacket on the way out the door. If anything, the storm had grown even stronger. The wind had picked up and opaque sheets of rain were blowing diagonally. In the SUV, I wiped water from my face and noted the puddle on the seat I made after getting in.
Water was already six inches deep in parts of the driveway, and the road was only slightly better. Even with my wipers on high, I had to lean over the steering wheel and I kept my speed well below the limit. When a truck passed heading in the opposite direction, it sent a wave over the windshield and I had to hit the brakes so I wouldn’t veer off the road. It was like driving through a blustery car wash, and with gusts shaking the car, I knew that even bricks wouldn’t be enough to keep the tarp from flying to Oz. I’d need cinder blocks, making each trip up the ladder that much more exciting.
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 gus
t 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.
But how had that come about?
I wasn’t sure, but I still intended to speak with her, if only to apologize. Depending on how that went—and what Claude had to say about her—I was still hoping to offer her the job.
Who knew? Maybe she’d eventually decide that she could trust me, too.
* * *
The hardware store was already running low on tarps, but because the house was small and rectangular, I got lucky and found one that would suffice. From there, I found a metal trolley and loaded it up with cinder blocks. There was a line at the cashier, but no one cut in front of me, which was good news for all those involved.
I loaded the car, drove home, and backed the SUV as close to the house as possible. Inside, I emptied the buckets and the pots, then retrieved a ladder from the barn. After that, I began the long process of climbing up and down the ladder, carrying the tarp and cinder blocks to the roof, and then putting it all in place while being lashed by driving rain and wind. There were better ways to spend a morning.
By the end, I was starved and freezing and after a long hot shower, I decided to eat lunch at the Trading Post. The parking lot was fuller than I anticipated, but I figured if I wasn’t in the mood to make a sandwich, it was no surprise that others weren’t, either.
Inside, Claude nodded from the register and I spotted Callie on a stepladder in the back of the store, hanging fishing waders on pegs mounted high on the wall. Frank was in his usual spot behind the grill and there were several men eating at the tables. The seats at the counter were full, so I squeezed between customers while I waited to order a cheeseburger and fries. Rain continued to sheet against the windows and I overheard people discussing the storm. Supposedly, the downtown area and other neighborhoods were already flooding.
After Frank took my order, I pulled a Snapple from the refrigerator and went to the register. Claude nodded toward the windows.
“Can you believe this? It’s spitting serious water out there.”
“Crazy weather,” I agreed.
“What did you order?”
I told him and he rang me up; after receiving my change, I went on. “Do you have a minute? I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about Callie.”
“She’s right over there if you want to speak with her yourself.”
“I was hoping for a reference,” I began, and after I explained what I was thinking, he nodded.
“She’s a great worker,” he said. “She doesn’t complain, doesn’t mind staying late, and she’s never missed a shift, even when she was going through some hard times. She’s really good at cleaning, too—almost OCD about it. I think she’d do a great job for you, but keep in mind she’s a strange one.”
“In what way?”
“She’s worked here for…I don’t know. Ten or eleven months? She came on at the end of last summer, but aside from the fact that she still lives in the trailer park up the road, I swear I don’t know the first thing about her. No one knows much about her.”
No surprise there, I thought. “She told me she wasn’t from New Bern.”
“I don’t doubt it. Until Carl recommended her, I’d never seen her before. It’s like she dropped in out of the sky one day.”
I tilted my head, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. “My grandfather recommended her?”
“That he did,” Claude said. “He drove her here, in fact, and walked her in the door. Asked me to take a chance on her and said he’d vouch for her personally. It was the end of summer and a couple of the college kids that had worked for me over the summer were heading back to school, so I had an opening. I took a chance and I’m glad I did. But it’s a shame you’ll be leaving.”
“I’m sure I’ll be back,” I said. “Thanks for the info.”
“She should be going on break in a little while if you want to talk to her about the hives. Because of the weather, she’ll probably eat in the back instead of by the creek.”
“I imagine so. It’s miserable out there.”
“She was soaking wet when she arrived. Felt bad for her. If her lunch got wet, I’ll probably try to get her something from the grill. If she’ll take it, which she might not. She isn’t real good at accepting favors. But I can’t imagine eating a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
I felt the clicking of a memory, like a bubble slowly rising to the surface, when Claude mentioned the sandwich. Strangely, I felt certain it had something to do with my grandfather, but I couldn’t yet put my finger on it.
“That’s what she was eating when I talked to her before.”
“It’s what she eats every day.”
I raised my gaze. Finished with the waders, Callie was still high on the stepladder, now hanging fluorescent hunting vests. I was wondering again how she’d come to know my grandfather when I heard Frank call out my order.
“You should grab your burger before it gets cold,” Claude said. “A quick question, though. I’ve heard rumors that you’re going to sell the place, so why worry about the hives?”
“I’ve decided I’m going to keep it.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s what my grandfather would have wanted.”
Claude smiled. “No doubt about it.”
* * *
The burger was cooked and seasoned perfectly, and I devoured my lunch in minutes. While tossing the remains in the wastebasket, I heard a sudden crash from the back of the store and saw Claude rush out from behind the register. Other diners jumped up as well, everyone moving in the same direction, and I followed. When I spotted the toppled ladder and Callie’s crumpled form on the floor, instincts kicked in, and I began pushing past people.
“Let me through!” I shouted. “I’m a doctor.”
Claude was already squatting beside her body, his face strained with worry, and by the time I reached her side I was already taking in the scene, the info
rmation coming quickly.
Patient on her side…not moving…pallor almost a grayish white…possible internal bleeding?…blood in her hair and beginning to pool on the floor beneath her head…arm bent at an unnatural angle beneath her body, indicating likely fractures of the radius and ulna…
I gently reached for her carotid while others crowded around; I vaguely heard Claude telling people that he saw her fall from the ladder. Her pulse was thready and weak.
“Everyone step back!” I shouted. “Claude…I need you to call 911!”
It took a second for him to register that I was shouting at him.
Claude dug into his back pocket for his phone and I returned my attention to Callie. Though it had been years since I did a rotation in emergency medicine, I’d seen numerous head wounds, and the blood from her ear was a dangerous sign. While I suspected a possible subdural hematoma, she’d need a CT scan before anything was definitive. I gently repositioned Callie’s body onto her back, while keeping her neck as steady as possible. Her breathing was shallow, the compound fractures visible. Her arm was already swelling and beginning to turn black and purple. She remained unconscious. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I turned on the flashlight and checked her pupils. Thankfully, they dilated with the light, but head wounds always needed to be treated with caution…
I heard Claude on the phone, panic in his voice as he explained the situation before growing silent.
“They’re saying that an ambulance might be a while. There was flooding at one of the nursing homes and emergency services are swamped. They’re also uncertain whether an ambulance can make it here because the roads are so bad.”
In front of my eyes, Callie’s pallor seemed to grow even more ashen, another serious complication. I saw numerous bruises on her undamaged arm; most appeared to be days or weeks old. Gently lifting her shirt, I looked for evidence of internal bleeding but strangely didn’t find anything that would explain her worsening color. She needed to be at the hospital, sooner rather than later. I calculated the odds, knowing that while there was risk in transporting her, there was more risk in waiting for an ambulance that might not be able to make it here at all.
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