Where Trains Collide

by Amber Stokes

  Mr. Zater finally lowered his menu to the table with slow, jerky movements. His wife placed her delicate fingers on the back of his hand, then smiled at Trisha. “Where are you two traveling today?”

  Her question seemed to encompass both of them—together—as if they were headed to the same destination. Cringing, Trisha recalled that she and Paul were indeed getting off at the same spot.

  Double drat.

  “We’re heading to Eugene,” Paul said, while Trisha was still debating how to respond. She shot him an irritated glance, but he didn’t look her way. “Where are you two off to?” he asked the Zaters.

  Trisha noticed the gentle squeeze Mrs. Zater gave her husband’s hand before she declared, “We’re visiting our oldest son and his family in Portland.”

  Mr. Zater nodded. “Maria—”

  “That’s our daughter-in-law,” his wife interjected.

  “—she got us tickets to see Phantom of the Opera while we’re there. Just like that one time. Remember, hon?”

  “I do.” Mrs. Zater’s voice was as mellow as the early sunlight that broke through the clouds and poured sweetly over the table.

  Trisha couldn’t fathom why the older couple’s interactions made her homesick. But for the briefest moment, she wished the train were weaving through the redwoods, the sun intermittently interrupting the shade of the damp forest, the Pacific Ocean awaiting around the next bend. She traced the curves of Highway 101 in her mind, picturing herself running along the yellow dividing lines between lanes, the wind off the coast urging her along.

  She shook her head when she realized the waiter had returned.

  When the waiter set a little plastic cup of milk in front of her, she immediately grasped it and hid her swirling emotions with a long swallow. After the man asked for the Zaters’ breakfast order, it was her turn.

  “French toast, please. With syrup.”

  The waiter nodded.

  “I’ll have the scrambled eggs,” Paul piped up. “With the potatoes and a croissant.”

  And that was the difference between them in a nutshell: She wanted sweet and he wanted savory. Sugary and salty. Night and day.

  Maybe it hadn’t always been that way, but the differences between them became pretty clear after only being together for several months.

  The odd thing was, Trisha found herself longing to be more like the way she remembered Paul to be, and less like the way she always thought she should be. More carefree, less stressed about the future.

  She took another sip of milk.

  Too fast.

  She coughed, unable to hold back the reaction.

  When Paul patted her on the back, she froze before breaking into another cough. Her face burned hotter, like the warmth radiating from the spot his fingers drummed on her sweater.

  “Jim’s drinks always go down the wrong way.” Mrs. Zater inclined her head toward her husband and offered a grandmotherly smile to Trisha.

  Trisha blinked back the tears stinging her eyes and let her tense shoulders droop when she could finally breathe normally again.

  Somehow, this breakfast was turning out to be far less romantic than she had imagined dining on a train would be.

  She managed to keep it together through the rest of the meal, grateful that Paul carried most of the conversation with the Zaters. Despite his slightly wild side, he had always been so courteous. For the brief time she’d really known him, anyway. He’d listened intently to their pastor’s sermons. Asked thoughtful questions when they ran into his former teachers around town. Chatted politely with the older clerks at the grocery store.

  Trisha had been drawn to that kind side of him, mixed so intoxicatingly with his impulsive nature and big dreams.

  If she were being honest with herself, she was still drawn to him. But she was just like a trout constantly eyeing the bait—even though she knew the colorful stuff was fake, concealing a hook that could pierce her through.

  She shouldn’t think of fishing, though. That reminded her of their summer as girlfriend and boyfriend, and their day trips with her family to Lewiston Lake.

  When Trisha had paid for her meal and received her debit card back, she turned to Paul, ready to push him off the seat and make her escape. He raised his eyebrows as he finished chewing his last bite of potato and egg.

  While she waited for him to do the polite thing and let her out of the booth, she offered a genuine smile to Mr. and Mrs. Zater. “It was very nice meeting you. Enjoy The Phantom of the Opera and your time in Portland.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Zater responded for both herself and her husband. She squinted her eyes at Trisha and Paul, and Trisha thought for a moment that she’d seen the older woman wink. “You two have a lovely time in Eugene. It’s a fun town, isn’t it, dear?” She turned to her husband as she asked, “Do you remember when we went to the Saturday Market with Beverly?”

  The two of them continued reminiscing as Trisha turned back to Paul. She raised her eyebrows when she saw he hadn’t budged an inch. “I’d like to get out now, if that’s all right.” Sarcasm leaked into her tone.

  He shook his head, swallowed, and finally slid off the seat.

  She deflated a little as she scooted past him and left the dining car, the old rivers of hurt flowing into a lake of embarrassment.

  All she wanted was to get back to her seat and bury her nose in her bird book for the rest of the ride. It seemed the only way she could survive several more hours on this train.

  Chapter 3

  The birds pictured in Trisha’s book couldn’t hold her attention any longer. Usually, just thinking about flight and freedom helped her breathe easier and release some of the stress she tended to hold too close to her chest. But not even the mallard ducks with their jeweled feathers could distract her from thoughts of all she’d left behind: the schoolwork, impending tests and papers, and the uncertainty about her future that made her feel nauseous whenever she pondered it.

  And her summer with Paul—the one that started with so much unexpected promise and ended with misery and doubts that tainted every single memory.

  A glance out the window revealed a flock of birds high up in the sky outside the train, black threads shifting on a blue canvas. A desperate desire to return to the observation car prompted her to finally stuff her book back in her suitcase. Why was she even on this train if she was going to spend all her time staring at paper while the whole world in all its colorful glory was zooming past her?

  She couldn’t let Paul’s presence ruin her adventure.

  After settling her bag securely by her seat, she edged toward the aisle. Her seatmate glanced up briefly from her novel as Trisha uttered a polite “excuse me,” prompting the woman to tuck her legs in closer before returning to whatever story she had lost herself in.

  Trisha made her way down the aisle and through the sliding doors between the next two cars, steadying herself with a hand on the backs of the nearest seats and trying not to jostle any of their occupants. When the door to the observation car hissed loudly behind her, she stumbled forward. The clack of the wheels on the tracks as the train wound its way through the wooded hills jumpstarted a steady beat in her own heart.

  Or perhaps it was the sight of Paul sitting on a blue-cushioned bench facing the brightly lit windows.

  He glanced up from his magazine just as the train took a curve, forcing her to grip the back of his seat. She caught Paul’s whisper of a smile before he returned his attention to the pages on his lap. Her gaze followed his, noting a spread full of ads.

  “Fascinating reading material.” A blush accompanied her snarky observation.

  She sensed him lift his head, watching her. But she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

  His voice reached her, low and clear among the murmurs of conversation on every side. “I happen to like ads—especially ones for medication. I like counting the number of side effects. Helps pass the time.”

  She huffed out a laugh, echoed by the door behind her as
it hissed and slid open. The new occupant in a suit and tie stared at her until she took the hint and settled on the seat next to Paul, her face as hot as the glass carrying sunlight into the car.

  To her great relief, Paul didn’t tease her or ask her to leave. For a few moments, they simply sat in silence, indiscernible conversations swirling around them while their two-person seat provided its own sort of shelter. Paul occasionally flipped a page in his magazine, apparently absorbed by whatever article he was reading. For her part, Trisha tried to hide her awkwardness by gazing out the window.

  Eventually, the view transformed from a distraction to a beautiful attraction. The green curtain of trees shimmered with gold and orange highlights. The occasional streak of silver caught her eye and lit her heart with pleasure.

  Waterfalls. They snuck up on her the first few times as they appeared and disappeared through the window in an instant. Short and long—all splashing prettily down the hillsides. She started to watch in anticipation, wondering if another one would be around the next bend.

  After a while, she sensed she wasn’t the only one doing the watching. She stole a quick glance at Paul and found him studying her. His brown eyes searched hers—slowly, deliberately. Boldly. She looked away first, her shoulders relaxing only after she heard another page crinkle under his fingertips.

  A few moments later, he asked, “How have you been?”

  Stressed. Worried. Lost. Those would be the honest answers. But she couldn’t open her heart to him like that. Not again. “I’ve been all right. You?”

  “I’ve been doing well.”

  Why did it send a frisson of hurt through her to hear that? She tore her gaze away from the passing scenery. “You look…” Good? Handsome? More mature? She settled on the cliché response. “Different.”

  He folded the top corner of the page he was on, then closed the magazine. “I guess three years can do that to a guy.”

  Wasn’t he going to tell her she seemed different, too? She imagined his warm eyes glazing with appreciation as he told her she looked more beautiful than he remembered.

  Don’t you dare go down that road. She clenched her hands in her lap and waited for Paul to say something.

  He complied. “I never would have thought to run into you on this route. Especially not during the school year.” He paused. “You are still in school, aren’t you?”

  Why did it sound like there was a slight edge to his tone? She bristled, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her hands in her lap, the paleness contrasting with the darkness of her jeans. “Yes. I’m a senior.” The same age he had been when they’d met at 20 and 17. He could have had a bachelor’s degree or be in graduate school by now, except that he hadn’t gone on to university after high school. A fact he used to be rather proud of. A mystery she still couldn’t quite fathom.

  Lines folded across Paul’s forehead as he considered her. “Is there some sort of national holiday I’m forgetting?”

  Trisha unclasped her hands, then folded her arms over her middle. She mumbled, “Yeah. National I-Need-a-Break Week.”

  For a moment, she expected him to berate her and tell her she was being foolish. But she caught a glimpse of the old Paul in the way his shoulders lowered and the slightest dimple appeared in his cheek. “That bad, huh?”

  She leaned back in the seat and returned her attention to the window. Her reply came out quieter than she intended. “Yeah.”

  “What’s got you stressed, Babe?” His low voice cajoled and teased…but his nickname stole her breath.

  After she had started calling him Paul Bunyan, he had dubbed her Babe—as in Paul Bunyan’s blue ox friend. He had said it was only fair. But it really wasn’t. There was no comparison between nicknaming a guy after a big, strong lumberjack and calling a girl an ox. And a blue one, at that.

  In spite of the potential insult, the nickname used to make her smile every time. To the rest of the world, it sounded like he was a doting, cool boyfriend. Which he had been. Mostly. But to her, the name meant something deeper. Secret. Special. And admittedly, a little bit hilarious.

  When she finally breathed in once again, she couldn’t stop her lips from twitching with the beginnings of a grin. She caught Paul watching her with mock earnestness and innocence.

  Why couldn’t it have stayed this way? Surely he felt it, too—how right they were together. As funny as Derrick could be and as clever as Chloe was, her siblings had never made her laugh as much as she had in that one summer with Paul, when she thought life had finally arrived for her.

  Arrived like a train on a tight schedule—there and gone before she had time to board.

  More than anything, she wanted to bring it up to him. Hear him tell her with this deeper voice of his that he had been stupid to break up with her.

  Because he had been. Incredibly.

  Right?

  “Classes hard?” Paul prompted, his merriment leaking out at the sharp direction her silence had taken.

  Trisha never felt bolder than when she was around Paul, but it still surprised her when she heard herself ask, “What happened to us?” The words came out barely above a whisper.

  Paul’s frame went perfectly still. The light from the windows seemed to dim. Just a passing cloud, surely. But the new shadows settled around her like the old ones she’d been carrying around since that first night at Berkeley and his cold, cruel phone call.

  “College,” she blurted into the awkward quiet, scrambling to bury her mistake, “is more than I bargained for.” As are you. “High school hardly prepared me for pre-med courses.”

  The pity hadn’t left his sticky caramel gaze.

  She bit her lip and twirled the silver feather-shaped ring on her right hand. The scene around her turned harsh, like a manipulated photo with too much contrast. She wanted to stand, to walk away. But she couldn’t seem to move, and to her horror, the longer she frowned and played with her ring, the more unwanted tears gathered in her eyes.

  The pads of his fingers brushed her knuckles—warm and unexpected.

  That was her undoing.

  Hot tears raced down her cheeks as she yanked her hand away from his and tucked her chin into her scarf. Anger and shame both bubbled up within her. She thought she had moved past her stupid puppy-dog feelings for Paul. How was it possible they had been living so close to the surface?

  It was just the stress of school mixed with this unwanted reunion. She recited that to herself as she reached up to brush the backs of her hands over her face.

  She sensed Paul waiting beside her. Could feel his hesitation. But apparently, he had nothing to say. Just like when she’d begged him to give their relationship a chance.

  Using her scarf to dab at the remaining moisture, she finally rose to her feet, stumbling a bit at the rocking motion of the train. Paul followed, the concern etched deeper on his face.

  She hadn’t realized just how badly she needed to get away and try to sort out her life until this moment. If only she had taken care of herself sooner and avoided this breakdown altogether.

  When Paul took a step toward her, she shook her head. “I’m fine.” With one last swipe of her knuckles under her eyes, she sniffed and retreated to her seat a couple cars back, keeping her head down the whole way.

  ***

  The train whistled, signaling their entrance into a populated area. Trisha looked out on a world turned dark by the sunglasses hiding the red around her eyes. Buildings drifted past like ghosts. Never had she felt lonelier. She could only hope that seeing Samantha again would redeem this trip and help her find a way to face the inevitable return home.

  The speakers crackled before one of the conductors announced their upcoming arrival in Eugene. Trisha had feigned interest in the scenery the past hour or two, so she hadn’t taken anything out of her bag again. There was nothing to pack or do but wait until the train slowed in its approach to the station.

  The woman next to her closed her book with a sigh and set it facedown on her lap. She see
med to be rereading the description on the back cover and reliving the story. After a moment, she turned to Trisha. “This was such a great book,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh?” Trisha returned the smile with as much polite enthusiasm as she could muster.

  “I just love these Amish romances. It’s so interesting to read about their way of life.” She brushed her fingers over the pretty filigree surrounding the text on the back cover. “Someday I want to visit Amish country. I told my husband it would make a great anniversary present, and next year’s our twentieth… That’s worth a celebratory trip, wouldn’t you say?”

  Trisha nodded. She wasn’t really that familiar with the Amish, but she was pretty sure a lot of them farmed or took on a family business in their community. And at the moment, she found that incredibly appealing—the idea of being brought up in a career and finding certainty and fulfillment in that. Farming sounded so much more peaceful and enjoyable than the things she’d been learning about being a doctor.

  But how could she not choose such a noble profession? How could she turn her back on the lives she might one day be able to save?

  She looked up to find the woman observing her with a thoughtful look on her slender, slightly sunburnt face. “We never did introduce ourselves, did we? I can’t seem to get my nose out of a book once I’ve stuck it there.” She turned more fully toward Trisha, causing her blond ponytail to swish over her shoulders. “My name’s Ruth.”

  Trisha took her hand, sensing her own smile brightening into something more natural and genuine. “I’m Trisha.”

  Ruth placed her hand back over the book. “Do you like to read?”

  “Some. I generally read mysteries when I have some free time. Or nature books.”

  “Well, that’s perfect!” Ruth held out the book toward Trisha. “This story has a little bit of mystery, and the Amish live off the land, so there you go!”

  The train came to a stop as Trisha glanced from the book to Ruth’s kind eyes. “That’s very generous of you, but I couldn’t take your book. You seemed to really enjoy it.”