“Can you re-schedule? Or maybe take an hour and come back?”
“I’m not sure.” Deep breath. “That is, I don’t know how long it will take.”
“We really need you.”
“Mr. Smith, I’m sorry. I don’t want to commit and then find out I can’t come back. I don’t want to let anyone down.” She saw in his eyes she already had. “Marty can probably come in. Did you try her?”
“Not yet.” He waited, using the silence to pressure her, but she didn’t give in. “Well, if you’re certain you can’t stay.”
“I’m sorry.” She folded her apron and shoved it under the counter with the bags. A sinking feeling nearly swamped her. It wasn’t fair. She’d done her part. It wasn’t her problem Roger had called in sick.
Singer’s wasn’t going to fail and no patrons would go without milk, eggs and toilet paper because she took a few hours off.
She let Smith walk away, her fingers gripping the chrome partition of her cashier station. She kept her back turned, fighting the need to say she’d stay if they needed her. She’d change her plans. They expected it of her. It was retail, after all. Groceries.
No, it was only groceries.
She held her head up, straightened her shoulders and headed for the door, but she couldn’t throw off the guilt. It tore at her as if she was crossing some invisible barrier from the wrong direction.
Forget it, Ben. I’ve changed my mind. She could tell him and go back inside. Al Smith would be grateful and maybe this job would lead to a better one, after all, diploma or not. Cashier to management? Did she believe that would happen?
Ben’s car idled near the parking lot exit. The engine ran smooth and steady. He slipped out of the car when he saw her approaching.
Cashier to management, never. Even if it did happen, Mr. Smith worked long hours, and for what? Was it about a paycheck? If it was, then it was a poor bargain because the money wasn’t any better deal than the hours.
Ben extended his hand. “I’m glad to see you again.”
“Ben.” She accepted his hand for a quick shake. “What do you have in mind?”
“I know the perfect place for us to discuss this.”
“Where?”
“Trust me?”
She did. She was stupid, a dunce, to trust this guy. But she did. With reservations, of course. She wasn’t entirely air-headed.
He drove them over the bridge to Atlantic Beach, then several miles west until they reached Emerald Isle and his house—the route she’d driven four days earlier. Her pulse rate picked up. Her hands fisted.
He must have seen her tension. “Don’t jump to conclusions, please.”
She hopped out of the car before he could come around and open the door. They walked under the house, to the steps that led up to the crossover, near to where it joined the front porch.
“I’ll wait outside. I want you to see where you’d live. Look everywhere. There are three levels. You’ll see my room on the second floor. You can have your choice of the others.”
She cautioned him. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“I know. Take as long as you like. I’ll be here on the porch.”
Did this seem as strange to her as the rabbit hole had seemed to Alice? She looked at the door, wondering if she was walking into a trap—as Alice had. Alice’s trap had turned into a bizarre adventure. Juli had nothing against a little adventure, but bizarre she could do without.
“I understand your concern. Take my keys. Lock the door behind you. There’s no trick.”
Was her face so easy to read? As easy as his?
She looked out at the beach and to the left and right. House followed house in both directions, but no one was nearby. A partition divided this porch from its twin, the other half of the duplex. Out beyond the dune barrier was a pristine white-sand beach. A boy chased a dog. A couple of people had fishing poles and their cast lines rode the swell of the waves. A family group was building a sand castle.
“Okay.”
He nodded and smiled, anxious, but calm. He walked over to one of the white rockers, sat and stared out at the ocean.
She took him at his word. When she entered the house she locked the door behind her.
From the inside, looking out through the glass panel in the front door, she watched Ben. He continued facing straight ahead, but he’d stopped rocking. She read tension in the set of his shoulders and in the stillness of his hands on the arm rests.
This was important to him. She didn’t get it.
She was drawn to him. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. Substantial, but not putting on airs. He spoke his mind, but wasn’t arrogant or aggressive.