Page 11 of Bourbon Girl: part 4 of 6
"Bernadette!" Naomi called out with genuine warmth. "Come sit with me. I've been hoping we'd have a chance to chat."
She patted the seat beside her with an inviting gesture that felt more like a command than a request. Part of me wanted to retreat to the back, but her smile carried the kind of magnetic pull that made refusal seem churlish.
I settled beside her, stingingly conscious of my barmaid costume. Next to Naomi's polished presence I felt like I was playing dress-up.
"So how are you finding Kentucky?" she asked, adjusting her position to face me more directly. "It must be quite different from Arizona."
"It's been terrific," I said, grateful for a safe topic. "Everyone's been so welcoming. Jett's been great about introducing me to the local culture—small town festivals, community events. We went to a Bigfoot Festival a few weeks ago, and to a storytelling event. I had no idea Kentucky had such unique traditions."
I caught the subtle shift in Naomi's expression, the way her eyebrows lifted slightly as she turned to meet Jett's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Bigfoot Festival?" she repeated, her voice carrying a note of curiosity that felt sharper than casual interest.
In the mirror, I watched Jett's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. He looked away, focusing on the road with sudden intensity. It was enough to suggest he hadn't mentioned this particular outing to his girlfriend.
"It sounds fascinating," Naomi continued smoothly, though her attention remained partially divided between me and Jett's carefully neutral profile. "I'll have to ask Jett about it later."
The moment passed quickly.
"I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday," she said, "about your search for your father. I really admire your courage in pursuing that kind of personal journey."
Her words caught me off guard. I found myself studying her expression, looking for signs of the journalistic calculation I'd sensed before, but her dark eyes held what appeared to be authentic curiosity.
"It's not really courage," I said carefully. "More like stubbornness."
She laughed, a musical sound that filled the bus. "Sometimes they're the same thing. What have you learned so far? Have you made any progress?"
The questions felt pointed enough to trigger my defensive instincts.
"This is completely off the record," she added quickly, as if reading my hesitation. "I'm asking as someone who understands what it's like to dig for information that matters."
Her clarification should have been reassuring, but something about the distinction felt rehearsed, like a line she'd used before to encourage reluctant sources to open up. Still, the opportunity to talk about my search with someone who might actually understand the process was tempting.
"I've had a couple of leads that turned out to be false positives," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Men who knew my mother around the right time, but who couldn't be my father for various reasons. Now I have another potential lead, but I'm not sure where it's going."
I deliberately avoided names or specific details, keeping the information general enough that it couldn't cause harm even if she did decide to use it later.
"That must be incredibly frustrating," Naomi said, leaning forward with the kind of focused attention that made peoplewant to keep talking. "All that emotional investment, only to hit dead ends. How do you keep going?"
"What choice do I have? This is the only connection I have to half of my identity. If I give up now, I might never know." I realized in that instant that I did want to know, even if more disappointments lay ahead.
"I'd like to help if I can," she said. "I have research skills that might be useful, access to databases and public records that could speed up the process. Sometimes an outside perspective can spot connections that are invisible when you're too close to the situation."
I hesitated. Accepting help from Jett's sophisticated, beautiful girlfriend felt wrong on multiple levels.
"That's very generous," I managed, "but I wouldn't want to impose on your time. I'm sure you have your own work to focus on."
"It wouldn't be an imposition," she insisted. "And honestly, genealogical research is exactly the kind of puzzle I find fascinating."
I caught myself glancing toward Jett's reflection in the rearview mirror, looking for some sign of how he felt about his girlfriend offering to involve herself in my personal drama. But his attention remained fixed on the road ahead.
"I appreciate the offer," I said finally. "Let me think about it."
Naomi smiled with the kind of patience that suggested she was accustomed to people needing time to accept her generosity. "Of course. No pressure at all. The offer stands whenever you're ready."
As the first customers began boarding the bus, I found myself retreating to my usual professional role, greeting each person with practiced enthusiasm while my mind churned with questions I couldn't quite articulate. Naomi's offer felt tooconvenient, too perfectly timed, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly why it made me so uncomfortable.
October 12, Sunday
