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WHERE I LIVE strange men rarely show up on one’s doorstep, maybe a pair of religious recruiters once a year, or a guy running for school board every four. For one thing, we have no sidewalks and some of our driveways only a Mountain Goat could love. Girl Scouts don’t even venture down Beech Tree Lane during cookie season.
So, naturally, I was wary of the man with the clipboard.
He stood about five-ten and had the rounded edges of middle age, but just because he looked marshmallowy did not mean he was soft.
“Ms. Barnes?” he addressed me in a predictably saccharine tone. “I’m John Butler from the Census Bureau.”
“Oh?” I challenged. I’d been thinking “salesman,” but since I’d heard nothing about a census being conducted, “con man” seemed more likely. I selected the front-door key from the bunch in my hand.
“Yes. I need to ask you a few questions. Do you have a few minutes?”
“No, sorry. I don’t.”
“You were chosen specifically to represent this area. Can you suggest a better time?”
How about never! “I’m not comfortable giving out personal information. Can’t you interview someone else?”
“Not really. It won’t take...”
I knew Fideaux often napped in the front hall while I was away, so I deliberately dropped my purse. His startled response was loud enough to induce a heart attack.
“Good-bye, Mr. Butler,” I told the man as I slipped inside. Please don’t come back.
I shut the door firmly behind me.
“Good dog,” I cooed to my happy pet. “Very good dog. Let’s get you a treat.”
After dinner, I checked for lurking men before hustling him into the car. Jack had about worn me out, but Fideaux needed to stretch his legs, and a walk in the woods wouldn’t hurt me either. At least I hoped not. Just to be safe, I opted for the park’s most popular trail along the creek.
While Fideaux trotted a dozen yards uphill to investigate an interesting smell, I thought back on my day. Maybe I should take Jack to the toddlers' story hour at the library, or maybe bring him to play in the creek on a hot day, let him feel a little mud between his toes. I knew of a school jungle-gym that neighbors were free to use when classes were over...
“Charlie! Charlie!” called a male voice as a brown blur sped past my legs. Spotting Fideaux, the blur slowed to a trot. Then a walk. He and Fideaux engaged in the usual sniff routine.
The Hunter, as I mentally dubbed the German Shorthaired's owner, came to a breathless halt six feet away.
This was a test, I decided. Would I allow myself to be rattled by every stranger I met simply because one marshmallowy, self-described census taker surprised me on my doorstep? Or would I disown my jitters and behave like my old, intrepid self?
I lingered while The Hunter caught his breath.
“So do you like it here as much as New York?” I inquired.
“My goodness! A friendly question," he remarked with a sardonic smile. "Are you sure you want to risk your status as a true Philadelphian?"
A few of my minor muscles twitched. “Being reserved doesn’t mean we’re unfriendly.”
One blond eyebrow arched. “Really?”
I’ve always imagined New Yorkers to be smarter, wittier, more worldly, and more ruthless than those who chose Philadelphia as their home, generalizations that are probably no truer than the perception that Philadelphians are slow to accept strangers. His choice of dog aside, had I labeled this stranger unfairly?
Or was it my protective instincts again?
I once read that a male police detective preferred a female partner, “because women are more aware of their surroundings,” historically because we needed to be.
Forget about why I had the jitters. Surrounded by shadows rapidly blurring the landscape, I voted for instinct.
"We better keep moving,” I remarked.
"Don’t let me stop you," the man in the Buddy Holly glasses complained as he signaled his dog to proceed.
Dilemma. If I obeyed my nervous system, I’d be tramping on the Hunter's heels all the way back to my car.
Instead I gritted my teeth, secured Fideaux's attention with two pats to my leg, and proceeded deeper into the woods. The stretch ahead seemed clear for thirty yards. Beyond that I couldn’t say.
Nightfall came on fast. I clicked on my phone’s flashlight app to keep from tripping.
Sensing my fear, Fideaux lifted his ears, and pranced on his toes as if poised to bolt. When an owl's hoot sent chills up my arms, I caved in and turned around.
Now I couldn’t reach my car fast enough, couldn’t wait to secure me and my skittish pet inside something that felt like a fortress.
Thirty yards uphill.
Twenty.
Ten.
I clicked the unlock button on the Acura's remote. The lights blinked in response.
I allowed myself to breathe.