Page 4 of Never Been Matched
Even in the darkness of the truck, with snow blowing across the empty road like some kind of dystopian horror, he brightens at the question. “Did you know there are over one hundred types of squash, and they are categorized as winter or summer since they can grow in various climates?”
Before I can comment on that, he continues.
“I’m working on a farm delivery service, like those weekly boxes you can deliver to paying customers, but right now I only have a small greenhouse, so I can only do about a dozen boxes each week. But one of my customers is Graham Deadwyler. Have you read his books?”
“The name is familiar.”
“He’s wicked famous. Most famous person I’ve ever met, anyway.”
Ouch.
“He doesn’t talk to anyone, ever, but he likes my squash because he’s into eating local produce. He wants to help me with my farm and always says I should follow my dreams and I think he’s right. He would know after all because . . .”
I half pay attention, happy to give a break to the weakened part of my brain that forgot how to socialize. It’s been too long since I’ve had to converse for more than a few minutes. I would leave my condo occasionally to run errands or go to the doctor, but always with a hat and sunglasses that hid most of my face.
Impatience thrums in my veins. I think I’ll just be a little late for the appointment with the attorney, if an hour is considered a little. I will see if Noah can drop me off at the attorney’s office after we leave my car at the mechanic, just in case he’s there by then, or someone is.
The drive to town is interminable and filled with vegetable talk, punctuated with calls on Noah’s radio. It’s a busy night out in this storm. I count three different stranded drivers. But Noah just gives our status and keeps talking about gourds. At one point, he reaches behind my seat and hands me a mini pumpkin gourd as a gift, also referred to as Cucurbita pepo. It’s the smallest pumpkin I’ve ever seen. It can’t be more than ten centimeters wide.
I stuff it in my jacket pocket.
It’s over an hour later, after we’ve dropped off my Honda Accord at the mechanic’s, when he finally rumbles to a stop in the parking lot of the attorney’s office.
But no lights are on.
I jump out and knock on the front door, peering into windows, but there is no answer and no movement.
I get back in the truck, rubbing my hands together. “No one is there.”
“I can’t leave you here if you can’t get inside.”
Now what? Maybe I just need to get a room for the night. “Can you take me to the inn?”
The Surrender Inn is only a couple blocks down the road.
But the vacancy sign is dark.
There’s no way they are full on a night like this.
“Stay put for a sec, I’ll check it out.”
I nod. I am not complaining.
Noah returns seconds later. “They have the out-of-office sign on the door, and no one is there, but it’s not locked. Prudence might be over at the elementary school for the Valentine’s play.”
Valentine’s play. The source of the Valentine’s Eagle? Maybe the attorney has kids or something, and he’s helping out.
Anxiety winds through me. Noah’s radio crackles again. He has other people to help, other drivers stranded around town.
“No worries. I’ll stay here and wait it out.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s fine.”
He scratches his head. “I don’t know. I don’t want to leave you alone. I’ll come back and check on you after my next call. Or I’ll get someone out to check on you.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Someone will show up eventually.
