Николас Спаркс - The Return

“Transfers?”

“Prisoner transfers. To and from court appearances.”

“You do that?”

“All deputies do.”

“Is that scary?”

“Not usually. They’re in handcuffs, and most of them are pretty agreeable. Court is a lot more pleasant than jail. But every now and then, one of them will make me nervous, the rare psychopath, I suppose. It’s like something elemental is missing in their personality and you get the feeling that right after killing you, they could wolf down a couple of tacos without a care in the world.” Peering into her basket, she made a count before turning to the vendor. “How much?”

At the vendor’s response, she pulled a few bills from her handbag and handed them over. I held mine up as well and fished the cash from my wallet. As I waited, a brown-eyed brunette in her thirties waved at Natalie and began to approach, all smiles. As the woman weaved through the customers, Natalie stiffened. When she was close, the woman leaned in, offering Natalie a hug.

“Hey, Natalie,” the woman said, her voice almost solicitous. Like she knew that Natalie was struggling with something I knew nothing about. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Natalie responded as the woman pulled back. “There’s a lot going on.”

The woman nodded, her gaze flicking in my direction, then back to Natalie again, her curiosity evident.

“I’m Trevor Benson,” I offered, holding out my hand.

“Julie Richards,” she said.

“My dentist,” Natalie explained. She turned to Julie again. “I know I need to call your office and set up an appointment…”

“Whenever,” Julie said, waving her hand. “You know I’ll work around your schedule.”

“Thank you,” Natalie murmured. “How’s Steve doing?”

Julie shrugged. “Super busy,” she said. “They’re still trying to find another doctor for the practice, so he’s booked solid all week. He’s on the golf course right now, which I know he needs, but thankfully, he promised to bring the kids to a movie later so Mom can have a break, too.”

Natalie smiled. “Cooperation and compromise.”

“He’s a good guy,” Julie said. Again, her eyes flashed momentarily to me, then back to Natalie again. “Soooo…How do you two know each other?”

“We’re not here together,” Natalie said. “I just happened to bump into him. He just moved to town and there was an issue at his house. Legal stuff.”

I could hear the discomfort in Natalie’s voice, so I held up my purchase. “I’m here to buy potatoes.”

Julie turned her attention to me. “You just moved here? Where are you from?”

“Most recently, Florida. But I grew up in Virginia.”

“Where in Virginia? I’m originally from Richmond.”

“Alexandria,” I said.

“How do you like it here so far?”

“I like it. But I’m still settling in.”

“You’ll get used to it. There are a lot of great people here,” she said, before focusing on Natalie again. I half listened while Natalie and Julie continued with a bit of additional small talk before their conversation finally wound down. Toward the end, Julie leaned in for another hug.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to scoot,” Julie said. “The kids are with my neighbor, and I told her that I wouldn’t be gone long.”

“It was good seeing you.”

“You too. And remember that you can call me anytime. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Thank you,” Natalie answered.

As Julie wandered off, I noted a trace of weariness in Natalie’s expression.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Natalie said. “It’s fine.”

I waited, but Natalie added nothing else.

“I was hoping to pick up some strawberries,” she finally said in a distracted voice.

“Are they any good?”

“I don’t know,” she said, beginning to come back to me. “This is the first weekend they’re being offered, but last year, they were delicious.”

She moved ahead toward a table filled with strawberries, sandwiched between the table with birdhouses and the one displaying straw dolls. Farther up, I saw Julie the dentist speaking with another young couple; I figured Natalie must have noticed her as well, though she gave no indication. Instead, she sidled up to the table of strawberries. When I came to a stop beside her, Natalie suddenly stood straighter. “Oh, I forgot I needed to get some broccoli, too, before it’s all gone.” She took a step backward. “It was nice chatting with you, Mr. Benson.”

Though she smiled, it was clear she wanted to extricate herself from my presence, the sooner the better. I could feel others’ eyes on us as she continued to back away.

“You too, deputy.”

She turned around, heading back the same way we’d just come, leaving me alone in front of the table. The vendor, a young lady, was making change for another customer, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Stay here? Follow her? Following her would probably come across as both irritating and creepy, so I remained at the strawberry table, thinking they resembled the ones I could find in the supermarket, except less ripe. Deciding to support the local farmers, I purchased a container and made my way back slowly through the crowds. From the corner of my eye, I saw Natalie browsing near a stall selling apple butter; there was no broccoli in her basket.

I debated heading home before noting again the beauty of the morning, and decided that a cup of coffee would hit the spot.

Leaving the market, I walked to the Trent River Coffee Company. It was a few blocks away, but given the pleasant weather, it felt good to be out and about. Inside, I listened to customers ahead of me order their half-decaf mocha chai lattes, or whatever it was people ordered these days. When it was my turn, I ordered a black coffee, and the young lady at the counter—sporting an eyebrow piercing and a tattoo of a spider on the back of her hand—looked at me as though I were still living in the 1980s, the decade in which I’d been born.

“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 T-shirts, 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.