by K A Moll
“Another?”
“You bet,” Keegan answered. “And this time, make it a double.”
*
Willow’s eyes fluttered open. “Are you okay?” she called out, getting out of bed, and moving to stand outside the bathroom door that connected her bedroom with Nicole’s.
“I’m fine,” Nicole answered, her voice gravelly from gagging. “I think that fish was spoiled or something.”
“I ate it, and I feel okay.”
“Okay, so maybe it was the vodka that didn’t settle.”
“But you’re okay, right?”
“Yes, Willow, I’m okay. Go back to bed.”
“Leave both doors open, so I can hear you.”
“I will, don’t worry. I’m fine. Really, I am.”
“Okay,” Willow said, crawling back into bed, her thoughts returning to Keegan. She’d fallen asleep, thinking about her, and she was once again on her mind. Her body buzzed, remembering details, things that she wasn’t accustomed to noticing—her breasts, small, harnessed by a sports bra; her curves, barely noticeable, yet noticeable; her sleeves, pushed up, displaying muscular forearms; her scent, like a lazy day in New Orleans. She felt the stirrings of attraction, momentarily alarmed. She had no problem with being gay, her gay friends being exhibit one; but she wasn’t gay, she was straight, so whatever this was had to be something else. “You still okay?” she called out, reacting to another round of gut-wrenching sounds.
“I’m fine,” Nicole yelled. “Stop asking me how I am.”
“Okay,” Willow responded, her thoughts returning to Keegan, this time trying to sort out what it was that was most familiar about her. She caught her breath, knowing. It was her eyes, an unusual color, a dark smoky brown with golden highlights. Okay, good. Now, figure out where you’ve seen them before. Figure that out, and you’ll figure out how you know her. It wasn’t the hospital; she knew that for sure. School of Social Work? Maybe she spoke to your class or something. Willow shook her head, staring at the ceiling. Come on, Willow, think. Where do you know her from? She rolled over, drifting off, dreaming of a train from childhood—of wild animals, rails, and tall fences; of first arousal; and of smoky brown eyes, sparkling in a ray of sunlight. She caught her breath, experiencing a kiss like no other, a kiss from the depths of her subconscious mind, a kiss, never forgotten. The train swayed with her stomach. “Oh my God,” she breathed, “Keegan is Keegs.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Willow opened her eyes, remembering a girl on another train. Almost the same age, thirteen and fourteen, they’d come to know one another in the span of two hours. Funny, how with some people—the knowing—took no time at all. Her stomach fluttered, realizing that the distinctive coloring of her eyes had connected the dots. She’d wondered about her, worried about her, but hadn’t had a way to contact her because she hadn’t known where she was. She’d prayed for her, that night, and the nights that followed. But as the years passed, she’d moved on—getting pregnant, marrying, losing a baby, and divorcing—with only fleeting thoughts of her. And in all that time, she’d told no one, not one single person, about the girl who’d left her mark—not her grandparents on the drive home; not her mom, although they did sometimes talk; not her husband, though he’d had the right to know; and not Nicole, definitely not Nicole. Her eyes prickled with tears, realizing that the girl on the train had become a woman, a handsome woman, a woman to whom she found herself attracted. And with that, she got up, slipping on her robe. “Good morning,” she greeted, emptying a pouch of coffee, and pushing brew.
“Morning.”
“You feeling any better?”
“Better than last night, that’s for sure.”
“Good,” Willow responded, stepping closer. “What are you working on?”
“The new case. The defendant slipped off without being served. I’m trying to see what I can do to help locate her. The more dinking around the process server has to do, the more it costs for service.”
“But if you win, that comes out of the defendant’s pocket. Seems to me you could let the process server do it. Unless, of course, he’s on vacation too.”
“He’s not, but that’s not how it works. The defendant pays only if we win.”
Willow scrunched her brow. “But if you’re not confident that you’ll win, why file a lawsuit?”
“Because there’s a good chance that the hospital will roll over and pay up regardless of wrongdoing.”
Which is exactly why poor people can’t afford medical care. Willow stepped off, choosing not to debate the topic. “You gonna be ready to head down for breakfast before too long?”
“No, I think I’ll skip it this morning, but you go on. Just bring me back a box of cereal, Special K if they have it, and a carton of one percent milk.”
“Okay,” Willow responded, unbothered by the fact that she’d be starting day two of their vacation by eating alone. “It might be a while before I get back.”
“No problem. I’m not really hungry.”
Willow put on makeup and dressed in her blue floral sundress. It displayed cleavage, had a drop waist, and adjustable straps. “Be back in a bit,” she announced, slipping on a lightweight sweater.
Nicole looked up, scrunching her brow. “You’re eating at the expensive restaurant?”
“No, of course, not. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re all dressed up.”
“I’m not that dressed up; I just like sundresses.” She failed to mention that this was the nicest one in her collection. She caught sight of Keegan on her way to the casual dining car. She’d been cornered by the woman with the runs. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” Willow greeted with a smile. “Time got away from me.”
Keegan held her gaze, relieved. “No problem. It gave me a chance to become better acquainted with Mrs. Pilister. Hilda, have you met Willow Lord?”
“No, I don’t believe I have. Pleased to meet you.”
“Okay, so I suppose we should get going,” Keegan said, touching Willow’s shoulder.
“Yes, I suppose we should.”
“Nice talking with you, Mrs. Pilister,” Keegan said. “And be sure to check in with your primary care physician when you get back.”
“Oh, I will,” Hilda responded, “and I’ll also cut back on my fiber supplements as you suggested.”
“Excellent,” Keegan said, releasing a breath as they moved beyond earshot. “Take a fiber supplement at four times the daily dose,” she muttered, “and I guarantee you’re going to have diarrhea.”
Willow chuckled. “That’s funny. Old people are funny sometimes.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Keegan answered, enjoying that they chatted about nothing as they walked toward the restaurant. She wanted to invite Willow to join her for breakfast, as a thank you for the rescue, but didn’t because doing so wasn’t appropriate.
Willow started to say something, paused, and then said it. “Care to join me for breakfast? I hear they have killer cinnamon-glazed French toast.”
Keegan held a breath, releasing it.
“Unless you have other plans. If you do, it’s okay.”
“No, no other plans. I just, uh, I just didn’t want to be a third wheel.”
Willow rolled her eyes. “No worry about that, Nikki’s working this morning.”
Keegan smiled. “Then, I’d be delighted to join you.”
“Would you like to see a menu,” the waitress asked. “Or will you be enjoying our all-you-can-eat breakfast bar?”
“Leave menus,” Keegan answered, “but I believe one of us has already made her decision.”
“I have, but who knows, after looking at the menu, I may change my mind.”
Within a few minutes, the waitress appeared to take their order, disappearing into the kitchen.
“I figured you for something healthy,” Willow commented.
“And nine out of ten times, you’d have been right,” Keegan responded. “But this morning, that cinnamon-glaz
ed French toast looked too good to pass up.”
Again, Willow started to say something, stopped, and started. “So, I think I know where we know each other from,” she blurted out.
“Don’t forget what you were about to say,” Keegan interrupted, watching Humphrey come toward them.
“Don’t worry; I won’t.”
“See,” Humphrey greeted, “I told you our paths would cross many times on the train.”
“Yes, you did,” Keegan responded, chatting politely for a few minutes without inviting him to join them. She met Willow’s gaze as he stepped off, propping onto an elbow. “You were saying.”
“That I think I know how we know each other,” Willow responded. “I can’t believe it took me so long to figure it out. You have such a unique accent, a blend of New York City and the South.”
“That’s me,” Keegan responded, “a hybrid.” She’d done her best to rid herself of all things Southern—collard greens with bacon, religious fanaticism, and saying ‘ya’ll’—but that damn accent hung on.
“Your accent should’ve been my first clue,” Willow continued, “but it was your eyes in the end that gave you up. You’re from Alabama, right? I’m not sure what town, but a small one near the water, with shrimp boats, and a fishing village.”
“That’s right,” Keegan responded, their gazes locking. “Mae, is that you?”
“It’s me,” Willow said with a soft smile. “Mae’s my middle name. For some reason, my family always called me by it. But as an adult, I’ve always gone by Willow.”
“Oh my God,” Keegan said, wide-eyed. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that after all these years, our paths are finally crossing—twice upon a train.”
*
Willow walked from the dining car to her cabin, continued to the end, turned around, and came back. Her heart was floating on a cloud, seeing Keegs again, knowing that she was alright, that she’d done well. But her head, it was in a fog. And her emotions, they were raw. How could a person be freaked-out and overjoyed at the same moment? She’d told herself that being attracted to a woman wasn’t a big deal, but saying it didn’t make it so. And it wasn’t just any woman; it was Keegs, a woman she wouldn’t hurt for anything in the world. You don’t have to worry about hurting her if whatever this is never goes anywhere. And you have to admit, leaving it lay solves a lot of potential problems. You wouldn’t have to deal with Nikki, mom, and dad, or grandma. You’d just go on as you are, see her from time to time, and send her a Christmas card. But times were different. Gay marriage was the law of the land. The culture had embraced the fluid nature of sexuality. Nikki watches shows with gay, trans, and bisexual characters. Maybe telling her wouldn’t be so bad. She took another lap, knowing that it would be. And with her next breath, her thoughts returned to Keegan—her intellect, what a great surgeon she must be; her eyes, smoky brown magnets; her biceps, sleeve-ripping pythons. Her belly quivered, envisioning her at the gym. You don’t know her, don’t know that she’s into women. They’d had a leisurely breakfast, refills on coffee, but she hadn’t had the courage to ask her. How many of your straight girlfriends’ stare at your breasts? You know that she is. She took a breath, unable to believe what she was considering. But she could be in a relationship. She paused outside her cabin door. Yes, and she probably is. A good-looking surgeon, what’s the chance that she’s not? And what does it matter anyway? You’re not a lesbian. She stuffed her feelings inside, blowing out a breath. “Nikki, I’m back,” she called out, reaching into her purse for the cereal and milk. She called out again, this time louder. “Nikki, I’m back.” She walked in, through her room, coming to a halt outside the bathroom door. “Nikki, are you in there?” When she didn’t answer, she announced that she was coming in. “Nikki, aww poor baby, you’re sick again.”
“It’s a bug of some sort,” Nikki responded, holding her hair away from her face, and wiping her mouth. “Stay back; I don’t want you to get what I’ve got.”
“Can I get you anything? Do you need to see a doctor?”
“Of course not.”
“I just happen to know that one’s on board,” Willow continued. “You know the woman at the travel agency? Well, it turns out I knew her as a kid. Anyway, she’s a doctor.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You should go back to bed.”
“Willow, stop clucking, I’m fine. It’s a bug of some sort, that’s all.” She lifted off her knees, rinsed her mouth, and returned to her laptop. “We’ll be in Chicago before long. You should get off; see Union Station.”
“I hate to leave you.”
“If you go, I’ll take a nap.”
Willow smiled, stroking the back of Nicole’s hair. “You talked me into it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Keegan stepped off of the train, reading the brochure she’d been provided on Union Station. Smaller than Penn Station, it was said to handle one-hundred-forty-thousand passengers on the average workday. She passed a line of people moving in the opposite direction. Periodically, an armed agent would single one out, directing him to a security area. As he was frisked, his bags were scanned for explosives and weapons. One passenger seemed irritated at the inconvenience, but most complied without comment. If it happened to her on the way back, she wouldn’t mind, appreciating the railroad’s efforts to make travel safe for everyone. She looked around, noticing a sign: Union Station: Chicago’s most iconic structure. The building was said to reflect the strong architectural heritage of the city, and she had to admit that the Great Hall was impressive. But the rest of Union Station struck her as no more than a narrow, twisty maze. The food court was on the Mezzanine level, and she located a restaurant that served Chicago dogs without difficulty. Her dog was served on a poppy seed bun and topped with white onions, bright green relish, a dill pickle spear, tomatoes, mustard, and sport peppers. With her tray in hand, she surveyed the seating area, catching sight of Willow at a table for two. She scanned the lines at all of the establishments before moving in her direction, pleased that the redhead was nowhere in sight.
Willow met her gaze, her bite smearing mustard on her face, causing her cheeks to flush.
“Not just anyone could wear that look so well,” Keegan greeted with a slow smile, noticing that when she was near Willow, thoughts of the new two-hundred-million-dollar lawsuit and all of her other worries vanished.
“Sweet of you to say so,” Willow answered, using a fresh napkin to clean up the mess.
“Mind if I join you?” Keegan asked.
“Of course not. I want to see how you handle mustard.”
Keegan laughed. “Watch closely; I’ll show you how it’s done.” She took a bite, another, and another while holding her gaze. “Voilà.”
“Not too bad,” Willow responded, suppressing a smile as she lifted her napkin to dab the corner of Keegan’s mouth. “Just one little spot.”
And as their gazes locked, Keegan imagined what it might be like to touch her, this time as a woman, remembering what it had been like to touch her as a girl. Stupid, that she’d let on as if she’d done it before as if she’d known what to do. Stupid, that she’d led her to believe she’d been with someone else when in actuality it had been the first time for both. And then to have it end the way it did—with her dad storming in, ripping them apart, and dislocating her shoulder; with him dragging her off the train, crying, Daddy, stop, you’re hurting my arm; with she and Willow never having had an opportunity to talk, not about the experience, nor what happened afterward. She’d wanted to at breakfast but hadn’t mustered the courage to bring it up.
Willow bit her lip, studying her. “What are you thinking about?”
Keegan shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Something I think,” Willow responded, gently touching her arm.
“Well, I’ll be darned,” Humphrey called out, coming toward them. “Look who I found.”
Keegan held Willow’s gaze for an extended moment. “I’m sorry.”
; “There’s no need to be,” she responded, her tone softening. “I don’t think he has anyone else to talk to. Ask him to join us.”
“He’ll dominate the conversation.”
“I don’t care; we should do the right thing.”
On any other day, Keegan would’ve felt the same way. But not today. Not when the redhead had stayed back on the train. Yet, she invited him anyway—and he stayed—and stayed—and stayed—stayed right with them—walking between her and Willow as they made their way back to the train.
“Thanks for having lunch with me,” Humphrey said, going his own way.
“Our pleasure,” Willow and Keegan responded in unison.
“Okay, so I need to check on Nikki,” Willow continued. “She’s got some kind of stomach bug or something. But later, do you want to have dinner?”
“No, I’d better not,” Keegan said. “Thanks anyway.”
Willow tilted her head, studying her. “So, you have plans, then?”
“No,” Keegan answered, amused by her level of persistence, “I’m just concerned that I’d be a third wheel, that I’d butt in on your alone time.”
Willow frowned, initially puzzled. “Oh my God, you think we’re together?”