“I’m not from around here.” Her response is oddly curt.
“That part I already know. For one thing, you don’t have the local accent. Second, never heard of any Baums, and I pretty much know every family in Green Valley. Third, I’d remember if you grew up around here.” The last statement is both a compliment and my attempt at flirting. I tell my heart rate to settle.
I’m trying out being a gentleman and I’m not sure if I’m succeeding. Took all my effort not to lift her onto the counter and have sex. She wanted it. I sure as hell wanted it. Yet … we didn’t, because I stopped us. Clearly, I’m an idiot. That line about dessert? Pulled it out of nowhere when I saw rejection creeping into her eyes. I meant the part about savoring her, but I sounded like a pompous chef.
After a long moment of silence, I clear my throat before speaking again. “You didn’t answer my question. I’m excellent at evasion, so I’m an expert at knowing when someone is avoiding talking about something.”
“Does it matter? We moved around a lot, mostly in the northwest before my parents settled in Idaho. I left as soon as I turned eighteen.”
“For college?”
“Sure.” Her voice is flat and she doesn’t add any more to her response.
That’s a strangely vague answer, but I don’t say anything. Sometimes the best way to encourage others to talk is by remaining quiet.
“I guess you could say I ran away. Although, technically an adult can’t be a runaway, can they?”
This information surprises me. As a rule-loving, law-abiding ranger, she doesn’t seem the rebel type.
“You never went back?” My voice lifts with disbelief. “Did your family ever look for you?”
“If I ever left, I would be dead to them. That’s what my father told me.”
“What about your mom?”
“My mother cried, begged me to believe him. She always took his side, never mine.”
“Harsh.” Sounds like an abuse situation. I’m torn between wanting to know more and not wanting to have to drive to Idaho to kick her father’s ass and end up in jail.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to them since.”
“You were on your own at eighteen?”
“Pretty much.”
I didn’t expect to have this in common with the straight-laced ranger. In my head, I’d created a whole narrative about her perfect family life growing up, full of love and support. I should know better. Both assumption and bias have “ass” in them.
“Were you homeless?” I hate the idea of Daphne alone in the world. As much as my family annoys the ever-loving shit out of me ninety percent of the time, I know at least a couple of them would show up if I needed them.
“In a way. I stayed with a friend. We grew up together and he always said I would have a place with him if I needed one.” Her eyes close for a beat or two before she shakes her head as if clearing away an old memory.
He.
“Are you still close?”
“Yes, but we rarely each other. After I started traveling for seasonal NPS jobs, he moved to San Fransisco, and then New York. He loves cities. I’m happier away from concrete. Did you know people can have an allergy to concrete? I think I’m one of them.”
He.
I assumed the friend had been a girl. Maybe even the woman who was with her at the farmers’ market.
“Boyfriend?” I blurt before I get a hold of my thoughts.
She laughs. “Depends on who you ask.”
Next time someone accuses me of being cryptic, I’m going to introduce them to Daphne. “I guess I’m asking you.”
A small line appears between her eyebrows before she gives me a bland smile. “It was a long time ago. Isaac is off living his life and I’m living mine.”
Daphne’s ability to avoid giving details about herself is impressive—and really annoying. Why do I care if she had a boyfriend in high school or college? She’s right about it being in the past. If I open up this topic, do I really want to talk about my past “relationships”? Hell and no. What’s done is done and better left to fade away into memory, or be forgotten altogether.
“Why does it matter?” She raises a good point.
“I’m curious what teenage Daphne was like. I’m trying to imagine a younger version of you. Were you always this self-assured and determined?”
With a shake of her head, she dismisses my words. “No, not at all. I don’t think I’m either of those things even now.”
“No? Funny how we rarely see ourselves as others do.”
“What was it like growing up in the Smokies? Are you happy to be back?”
The answers to those questions are complicated.
“Have you heard of someone being dirt poor?”
“Of course.”
“Growing up, I used to think the expression was invented for my family. The only thing we owned of value was our land, handed down eight generations over three centuries. Turns out, the expression has something to do with dirt floors in old England. Since some of the older Hill homesteads have dirt floors in their cellars, I think it still applies.”
Soft understanding in her eyes, she squeezes my hand. “We didn’t have much either. I never realized how poor we were until I left home and saw how other people lived. Is your current house from your family?”
“Sure is. Samson Hill used to own property all around these mountains. Most of it wasn’t worth much—too steep or inaccessible for farming—except a few parcels, one of which is where I’m living now.”
“During dinner you mentioned moving back to save yourself. Why not keep traveling?”
“Even with leaving after high school, moving to Atlanta and then New York, traveling the world, I could never fully escape Green Valley. I was sitting on a piazza in a small town in Tuscany, enjoying the cool hours of a summer morning with a cappuccino and a flaky cornetto pastry when Duane and Jessica Winston sat down at the next table.”
“Small world.”
“Has it ever happened to you? Seeing someone from home far away from Idaho?”
She thinks for a moment. “Once or twice.”
“It’s the strangest sensation to have your past show up in your present. I took it as a sign. I’d been traveling for a while when I ran into them. I think they’d just moved there, and we recognized each other the way folks do when they see someone from their hometown in an unfamiliar context. Like identifies like. Seeing their faces and hearing their accents sparked a yearning for the Smokies I hadn’t felt in years. Guess I can partially blame Duane and Jessica for why I moved back.”
“I know there are half a dozen or more of the Winston siblings, but I can’t keep them straight. The sister is married to Dr. Runous the game warden,. Beau’s the one who owns the garage with Cletus, right?”
“He does. You should talk to him about the Highlander. If anyone could bring a vehicle back from a bear attack, it would be them.”
“In my head I’ve put it on a Viking funerary raft and pushed it out to sea. The park is going to use is as a warning to campers.” She rolls her eyes. “Can we not talk about it? I’m still in mourning. Back to Duane and Jessica—were you friends growing up?”