The blue vintage ’68 Camaro approached, and I looked directly
at the driver. Damned if I would be afraid. I put on my meanest-looking Die
Hard face and stared through the tinted windshield. Who the hell tints their
windshield other than . . . Yeah, you got it— Drug runners. What? Melanie was a
safe house for drug smuggling? My imagination was out of control. What was
that? A salute wave from the driver?
Back at my coach, I shrugged off the morning. What will be,
will be. Something wasn’t right about this picture—finding that Melanie lived
within a mile of my camp in a yellow doll house on a private lake, enjoying the
speed of a jet ski and the serene solitude of paddling a kayak. The guy in the
blue Camaro—Who could he be?
I’d find out in a heartbeat. If Melanie wasn’t operating the
espresso machine, Savannah was. I grabbed my keys and remotely started the RAM,
its deep throat rumble stoking my endeavor to get to the bottom of what could
be a trust issue. Yet, I had just met Melanie. Maybe she wanted to break up
with the blue Camaro dude. Did I want to be a ship passing in the night for her
to jump onto?
Trail’s End Coffee & Café was at the end of a road, the
trailhead for a spur to the Appalachian Trail. I suppose a trailhead and
trail’s end can be the same depending on your hiking direction. I pulled up in
front of the hitching post. Back in the day, locals would ride their horses and
wrap reigns on the rail, or was it here just for nostalgia’s sake?
Peering through the paned glass windows of the café’s porch,
I saw Savannah handling the brass and copper vintage espresso machine. Hmmm. My
worries deflated instantly. At least for a reason, Melanie was at her house.
But the guy, blue Camaro dude, who was he? Hey, if it seems I’m a bit insecure,
well, let me tell you about my past. No, I’m not going there, but only to say I
intercepted the messages between my girlfriend and the guy she wanted a rendezvous.
He was married and a pastor, no less. Boy, did I create some fireworks after
that! She broke up with me the day after.
I opened the door, and Savannah immediately saw me and smiled
cautiously.
“I was expecting you,” she said, greeting me at the counter.
“How so? Heard you birthed a colt. How is he or she?”
“A good filly. More for the stallion to mate with.”
“And you were expecting me?”
“Melanie called, quite distressed. I have an explanation.”
“For what?” I played naïve. I wasn’t about to wade into this
female drama.
“Uh, she told you that she was opening this morning.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, uh, she didn’t.”
“So, I see.”
“Yeah, I left her a voice mail yesterday that I was able to
open this morning. The colt is doing fine, the mare’s bleeding has stopped, and
she’s walking. The vet said everything is okay.”
“Oh.” I paused to assemble the new information and said, “I
was hoping to see her here.”
Savannah looked curious, like she couldn’t sort out the
situation.
“But . . . she . . . saw you . . . Well, maybe it wasn’t
you.”
Now, I felt like the doofus. I was caught in my own lie,
acting like I expected to see Melanie here when I had seen her at her house but
not knowing that she had seen and recognized me. What about the blue Camaro
man? Who was he?
“Uh . . . So, where is she?”
“At home.”
The silence between us was like a gorge; no way to bridge the
gap. She knew; I knew, but we didn’t know what we didn’t know.
“I knew her brother was coming into town, and as soon as I
knew that mare and colt were in the clear, I called her.”
Brother? Blue Camaro man was her brother? I quickly recoiled. “Yeah, that’s wonderful that everyone is
alright.” Including me. I feel just alright, right now. “I’ll have a double
cappuccino, wet . . . very wet if you know what I mean.”
“Gotcha.”
Was Savannah flirting with me?
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