Birdy slapped the steering wheel excitedly. “What brings you home?”
This is not my home. I swallowed the first answer that popped up, instead blurting out, “Just visiting!” I hoped it sounded genuine, but judging by the look on his face, I’d failed.
Word traveled fast in a town like this, and soon, people would be waking up to the breaking news of the day.
Charlotte Bishop has returned to Hope Lake.
It sounded like the opening line of a mystery novel.
Would my reappearance make the front page of the small-town paper? From what Gigi and my dad have told me, Birdy had a tendency of treating town gossip like it was a campy eighties television drama. The more salacious, the better.
Would people park themselves outside my father’s office trying to sneak a peek at the girl who had never returned? So much for blending in and not drawing attention to myself.
Birdy widened his eyes. “How did you get here? Do you have a car? Does your pop know you’re here?”
Was he interrogating me?
Why did my first official conversation with someone in town have to be with a cop who noticed everything?
Because you have no plan.
“Whoa, okay. Slow down,” I said. “I haven’t slept in a while. Bus to Mount Hazel. No. Uber to here. Not yet.”
He was on a roll. “Why didn’t your dad let us know you’re coming?”
“Us?” I asked, wondering exactly whom he was referring to.
He laughed, jolly, like a small-town Santa. “Us is everyone! The town. Why didn’t he let the town know you were coming? We could have done something special.”
Like what? A parade? I thought, trying to keep myself from laughing at the notion. I would have to practice my wave. Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist.
“How long are you staying? Those are a lot of suitcases.”
What’s with all these questions?
I held up a hand. “Honestly, I can’t keep up. I’m storing some stuff here since there’s no room in New York. Where I live. Home is New York, but, you know, New York apartments are shoeboxes and all. No, I’m not staying. He doesn’t know I’m here. Surprise.” I laughed awkwardly, realizing I’d said New York three times in twelve seconds.
Am I trying to convince him or myself that I’m not living here more than the next couple of months?
I turned to wave my arm toward the suitcases behind me to reiterate that I was just storing things temporarily, but my arm, and purse, swung out … and made contact with someone.
Turning, I saw that I had hit a well-built man around my age, give or take a year. He was lying on the ground, with one of his hands cupping his nose. Thank God, no blood was spouting out, but judging by how tightly his eyes were squeezed closed, I must have really done a number on him.
“Oh my God!” I shouted, kneeling beside him on the damp sidewalk. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you. You’re so quiet for being so big!” My hand throbbed from where it had connected with the man’s face, but it was nothing compared to what he must be feeling. I supposed that I knocked the wind out of him because he wasn’t answering. He just kept squeezing his nose and moaning. He was lying on his back, looking a bit dazed when he finally opened his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of blue, like the clear sky that appeared right after a summer storm. There was something so comforting about them.
When I stepped forward to help him up, he was just about to roll over.
I stumbled, my foot connecting with his lower half. He howled in pain this time, a sound far worse than when I hit his nose. He rolled away from me, with his legs curled up to his chest, maybe to help him breathe through the pain.
The man now lay in a small puddle, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He wasn’t crying, but there was a shallow, whimpering noise coming out of his mouth that made it quite clear how badly I hurt him. He was breathing deeply—deep breath in and then a cleansing breath out. I found myself mirroring it in the hope of calming down.
“Birdy, help!”
Birdy was out of the cruiser in a moment and kneeling beside the injured party, whispering to him.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry!” I apologized again frantically.
I bent down to help him and gently touched his sweaty shoulder. His once-light-gray shirt was soaked through from either the earlier rain, sweat, or both. He was facing away from me, angled toward the office stairs that I so desperately wanted to run up so I could disappear behind the door and hide.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. He whimpered again, sounding a bit like the animals I had encountered at the bus stop. “I’m here less than an hour and I’m wreaking havoc. Do you need ice? A warm towel? Flowers? I don’t know what to do for this type of ailment!”
Great! My bright idea is to offer him a bouquet for the pain.
The exhaustion was getting to me. I felt a sense of delirium mixed with embarrassment and a nice heaping spoonful of guilt. The perfect blend of why I didn’t want to come back here in the first place.
“Should I get my dad?” I asked Birdy, not knowing how to care for a stranger who had been both knocked down and unintentionally kicked in the balls. “I mean he’s a doctor and can, I don’t know, help with manly business problems?”
Oh my God. Stop talking!
“Henry, son. Is everything okay?” Birdy asked, gripping the man’s shoulder. “You know, down there?”
I snorted.
Glancing up at me, Birdy scowled lightly. “It’s not funny. You’ve hit a man in the worst possible place.”
I grimaced. “I think I broke his nose, too.”
Birdy looked scandalized, but also a touch eager. “Well, you’re certainly bringing the excitement on your first day!”
My hand flew to my chest. “Oh, no, no, no!” I rambled, knowing that gossip-loving Birdy was probably salivating over sharing this news. “No one needs to know about this.” The last thing I needed, or wanted, was a slew of attention on day number one.
Nodding faintly, he still had a glint of mischief in his eye, and I had a feeling the town would know about this by lunchtime. Birdy turned back to the man he’d called Henry. “Are you okay, son? Need Doc Bishop?”
Henry shook his head slightly, whispering something that I couldn’t hear. I hoped it wasn’t “Arrest her for assault”—that would have been the icing on this already lousy cake.
“Charlotte,” Birdy said, and I felt the man’s body stiffen under my hand. I hadn’t even realized I’d kept it there. “He said he’s fine. Son, are you sure? The doc is right there.”
He nodded again but made no motion to sit up. I pulled my hand away briefly, and he exhaled loudly as if he was relieved that I’d moved it.
“I’m so sorry, Henry,” I apologized again, his name feeling strange in my mouth. “Do we know each other?” I asked, his chest seizing up again.
“Charlotte, maybe you should go ahead inside, give ol’ Henry here a little bit of room to pull himself together a bit,” Birdy said, patting ol’ Henry on the shoulder.
I shifted away from them and stood. Staring down at him, I could see that he was very well-built, clearly a runner, but I knew he must do more than that. Football? Was there a sport where you needed to be even beefier than that? Something where you tore trees from their roots and tossed them?