by Marisa Logan
And maid. John and I joined the cafeteria crew and started sweeping up the mess the kids had left. The museum was understaffed, with only one full-time janitor on the payroll. He usually had his hands full with the bigger tasks, like polishing the brass fixtures on the displays, waxing the floors, and cleaning the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the length of the lobby and several other rooms. Until the museum could afford to hire an assistant janitor, little tasks like sweeping the cafeteria and cleaning the bathrooms fell on John and me.
I set about the mundane task, thinking to myself that this was what a master's degree in art got you, and wondering how little TJ was doing. I found myself looking forward to seeing him and his dad this weekend. Though I still had to wonder just what had happened on the train ride that had upset him so much.
Chapter 2
I was pretty worn out by the time I got back to my apartment that night. It was a small place, filled mostly with the same furniture I'd had in my college apartment over a decade ago. I still had the bunk bed my old roommate and I had shared, though these days the top bunk was mostly a repository for laundry I hadn't gotten around to folding yet. The walls were decorated with my own paintings, works I'd done over the course of many years, from my earliest abstract pieces that had mostly been experiments in color balance, to the tigers and panthers I'd painted when I was going through my “wild animals” phase, to depictions of mechanical contraptions covered in brass and gears. These last pieces were part of the steampunk phase I'd been in for the last few years. I had even sold a few at some steampunk conventions, though my favorite pieces I kept for my personal collection at home.
I changed out of my professional work clothes and into pink polka dot pajama pants and a tank top. Also known to my ex-boyfriend as “clothes a heavy girl can't pull off.” I'd stayed with him far longer than I should have before I woke up and realized how toxic he'd been for me. Some of the things he'd said still stuck with me.
When I logged onto my computer to check my email, I found a Google Hangouts message waiting from my mom. I sighed and checked the message to find out, surprise surprise, she wanted to chat. Ever since my mother had discovered video chat a few years ago, it was her preferred way of keeping in touch with me. Especially when she was babysitting my niece and nephew.
I was still pulling my hair up into a scrunchie when Mom called. As usual, the video took a few moments to connect, though I could hear the sounds of Mom moving things around on her desk. When the video feed finally connected, I saw Mom had company. My little niece Gracie was sitting on her lap.
“Hi, Amy,” Mom said.
“Hiiii!” Gracie said, waving enthusiastically.
“Hey, guys.” I waved, missing the days when video calls were a thing seen only on the Jetsons and Star Trek. Then I wouldn't have felt so self-conscious about my appearance.
“Gracie and Travis are spending the night with me,” Mom said. “And they were so eager to talk to their Aunt Amy!”
“Aww, that's so sweet,” I said. I forced a fake smile. I knew how this video call had really come about. Mom had no doubt asked the kids if they'd be excited to chat with me, and of course she had gotten them all worked up about it. She couldn't just call me because she wanted to. No, she had to show off my sister's kids. It was the modern grandmother's way of hinting that it was past due time for me to give her some grandchildren as well.
“How are you, Gracie?” I asked. As much as I could resent my mom for using the kids as a way of guilt-tripping me, I did miss my niece and nephew. My family lived in Eastern Pennsylvania, a good two-hour drive from where I now lived and worked. I usually didn't get the chance to see them except for on the holidays. Video chat helped us close that gap.
“I have a girlfriend,” Gracie said.
“Oh?” My eyebrows went up. I was as liberal as they come, though when my niece was only six years old, I had to wonder whether she even knew what the word “lesbian” meant.
“Oh,” my mom waved a hand dismissively, “her and this little girl in her kindergarten play at being girlfriends. Annabelle gave Gracie some flowers, and Gracie gave Annabelle a...what was it?”
“A Shopkin,” Gracie said with pride. “I gave her my favorite one.”
“Shopkins, that's it,” Mom said. “You know those little things she loves so much.”
“I remember,” I said. “But wait, what happened to that boy you were telling me about a few weeks ago? Jeremy?”
“I don't like him anymore,” Gracie said. “I only liked him because I thought girls had to like boys, so I picked him cause he has a bicycle. But then Mom told me about Ellen, and said that she had a girlfriend, so then I thought it would be okay if I did too.”
“Ellen from TV?” I asked.
“Uh-huh! I like her. She dances a lot.”
I laughed. I only caught Ellen's show every now and then, but I did remember the dancing.
Gracie soon got bored with the video chat and climbed down off Mom's lap. When she was away from the camera, I asked, “Does she know that Kimmy is gay?”
“No, I don't think so,” Mom said. “Well, it didn't come up. But at least now we know the conversation will be easy when she asks about it.”
“Easier than it is with Grandpa,” I said. “Or Uncle Joe. Or Uncle Phil.” A lot of my extended family didn't know my cousin Kimmy was a lesbian. Though I think a lot of them knew, and just kept themselves in denial. Kimmy kept up a certain image with my mom's side of the family, bringing male “dates” to family gatherings every now and then, just to keep our more conservative family members from harassing her. Dad's side of the family accepted her just the way she was, and so did I.
Mom and I talked for a little while about work, and how Gracie and Travis were doing, and that sort of thing. Though it didn't take long before she finally got around to what I was sure was the real reason she'd called.
“So,” she said, “Easter is coming up.”
“Yup,” I said, holding back a scream of frustration. “Just like it does every year.”
“We're having the picnic at the same place as always. You know the one.”
“Yeah, Mom,” I said. I sighed. “We've been going to Cardell Park since I was Gracie's age, I know.”
Sometimes I wished Mom would just come right out and say what was on her mind, instead of dancing around the subject like this.
“Well, your Aunt Teresa wants a head count. I told her I was definitely coming, and I know Dana is coming with the kids. And Peter, obviously. And Edward's even flying in this year.”
Here it came. I could almost taste it. “That's great, Mom. I'm sure everyone will be happy to see Edward.” My brother lived out in Seattle now, working for a big computer software firm. He came back to see the family even less often than I did.
“And the thing is, Edward sent me an email the other day. He said he's bringing a girl.”
Bingo. There it was.
“That's great,” I said. “Is it something serious?” I clenched my teeth, but forced a smile onto my face. Mom bringing up my brother's new girlfriend could only mean one thing.
“I think so. Well, I'm not sure. He didn't really say. But how long has it been since he brought someone to Easter? Anyway,” she waved a hand, “that makes eight from our clan, counting you. Unless you're bringing someone, too?”
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, trying to hold in my frustration. I hadn't really dated in almost two years, since I broke up with my ex. My mom kept asking me when I was going to find someone new. I kept telling her it wasn't that simple, but she wouldn't listen.
“I haven't met anyone, Mom.”
“Have you tried looking online?” she asked. “You should go on Match.com. My friend Regina met a guy on there last year, and they're so happy together.”
“I'm not really interested in doing any more online dating.” I'd done the e-dating thing before. I usually ended up finding someone who lived 700 miles away, which was a recipe for heartbreak. I'd
actually tried a long distance thing for almost two years, just after college. It had ended when he wanted me to move to Georgia to be with him, and I wasn't willing to leave my life and my career behind to do it. And of course, he'd been shocked at the very suggestion that he might be the one to move up here for me.
“Well, I'm just saying—”
“I really need to get going, Mom,” I said. “I've got a lot of work to do tonight. The Steampunk World's Fair is coming up in a few months.”
“Oh, it's good that you're still doing your art. You were always so talented.”
“Doing my art” was what Mom had started calling my painting when I'd told her to stop calling it a “hobby.” Even though I sold several paintings each year, it didn't count for her unless I could make my living off it.
“Good night, Mom,” I said. I didn't have the patience to get into another debate about my art with her so soon after getting into another debate about my love life.
“Good night, dear. Oh, and don't forget about the banner!”
“I won't, Mom. I promise.”
I ended the call before she could fit in another word. I made dinner, then settled into the cramped corner of my apartment that I called my “art studio.” It was really just a desk, a bookshelf filled with art supplies, an easel, and an old, rickety stool. But it was where I worked my magic.
I still had to get started on the banner for this year's Easter picnic. It was my contribution to the gathering every year. Sometimes I wished I'd never volunteered to do it that first time when I was eight years old; once the family had seen how artistic I was, it had become my burden at every Easter since. And not just Easter, but Christmas and the Fourth of July, too. Each year's banner had a different theme and style, though I was about tapped out on ideas. There were only so many years in a row I could paint eggs, bunnies, and a cartoon Jesus before it got stale, so for years now I'd been trying out different ideas to keep things fresh. Last year's Steampunk Jesus and his Brass-Goggle Bunnies had been a hit with the younger kids in the family, though Mom had simply called it “an interesting choice.”
I decided to put off work on the banner for now and start a new painting instead. I started with pencils, sketching out the framework for the scene I pictured in my head. Then I used my black paints to add in some shading, giving the designs depth and shape. Slowly, the image of a little clockwork doll formed on the canvas. She had stringy red hair like a rag doll, and her chest was ripped open, but instead of stuffing, she was filled with bent and broken gears, cogs, and springs. She sat slumped in a corner, lost and forgotten, a child's toy waiting to be loved again.
I went to bed with the painting still incomplete, which made my little clockwork doll look all the more sad and lonely. She'd have to wait for another day before I could bring her to life.
Chapter 3
I was organizing a tour group Saturday morning when I saw Tom and TJ enter the museum. I waved them over with a big smile on my face. “Hey, guys,” I said. “How've you been doing?”
“We're good,” Tom said. “Right, Teej?” He tousled the boy's hair.
“Yeah.” TJ brushed his dad's hand away and looked up at me bashfully.
“We're just about to get started,” I said. I turned to the rest of the tour group and spoke up so the people in the back could hear me. “Okay, everyone, let's get started. Our tour will begin in the Dawn of Locomotives.”
I led the group through the museum, stopping first at an exhibit on the very first steam locomotive built by Richard Trevithick, then continuing through the expansion of rail throughout the United States and other countries. The tour group was mostly small families with kids, so I made sure to spend a lot of time at the kid-friendly exhibits. It made me smile when I saw TJ joining some of the other kids as they climbed over one of the larger model trains and explored the various cars.
“He seems to be getting along better with other kids today,” I said to Tom as we watched the kids play. “I'm glad his experience the other day didn't spoil him on the whole museum.”
“He's a resilient kid,” Tom said. “He's had it rough, but we make it work.”
“How long ago did you and your wife get divorced?” I asked, hoping I wasn't prying too much into his personal business.
“The divorce isn't final yet,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “It's...complicated. We split up two years ago, but the legal aspects have been a hassle.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.” I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He looked genuinely concerned for his son's well-being. It was a shame when kids had to go through such trials.
At lunch time I led the tour group to the cafeteria. I usually took my meals in the employee break room, but on days when I was running tours it was easier to stay with the group so we could pick up where we'd left off after lunch was finished. As soon as I sat down with my lunch, a ham and cheese hoagie and chips, TJ and his dad came over to sit with me.
“Mind if we join you?” Tom asked. “TJ said he wanted to ask you something.”
TJ kept his head down while he talked. I got the impression that he wasn't very comfortable expressing himself. “I got confused in that book you gave me when it said something about 'ghost trains.' Like, I thought it was talking about real ghosts, or at least, what people think is maybe real ghosts if they're dumb and believe in them.” He shrugged, still keeping his head down. “But then it started talking about trains that just run without people in them, and I didn't get it.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Well, there's no real ghosts on those trains,” I said, thinking briefly of the “Phantom Train” from one of the old Final Fantasy games. “Not that I know of anyway. No, it's kind of a legal loophole thing.”
“Legal loophole?” Tom asked. “Are there some kind of weird train laws I don't know about?”
“Oh, you'd be surprised,” I said. “This is a British thing. The way I understand it, they've got something like fifty or more train lines that only run for the sake of appearances. Some of them only run a few times per week, they don't advertise them, and even the people who sell tickets at the train stations don't know these are lines that actually exist. No one rides them.”
“Why?” TJ asked. He was looking up now, no doubt curious about the “ghost trains.” I know I was the first time I learned about them.
“Apparently, they have to go through this whole big hassle when they want to shut down a line. There's appraisals of how it will affect passengers and the economy, a report has to be published to the press so the people know what's going on, then they need to wait months and months through consultations, hearings, and so on. It takes so much time and costs so much money to go through the red tape that they decided to just keep some of these trains running with no passengers. It's apparently cheaper to keep them running than to shut them down.”
“Wow,” Tom said, snorting and shaking his head. “And I thought our government was bad. It's ridiculous the kinds of things that happen because of dumb laws.”
I laughed. “Tell me about it. Though at least it makes for good stories. I read online that there's 'ghost train hunters' who go exploring sometimes, trying to find where these trains run so they can catch a ride. They don't advertise the schedules for them anymore, so it's apparently quite the challenge.”
“Well,” Tom said, “I guess I never knew trains could be so interesting.”
He smiled at me and caught my eye. I smiled back, looking into his eyes for a moment. They were a soft, deep blue. He wasn't what I would have called ruggedly handsome or anything, but he was cute, and his eyes certainly were nice.
After lunch, we finished the tour, then the families broke off to explore the rest of the museum on their own. TJ and his dad lingered in the lobby, looking over the map of the building to see if there was anything left to check out. I watched them for a moment, chewing on my lip. I still felt like I needed to do something more to make the little boy's experience more magical. I'd had a lot of bad school fiel
d trips as a kid, I knew what it was like to have divorced parents, and I guess some part of me felt like I owed it to my childhood self to make sure TJ had the best experience I could offer him.
I walked over to them with my hands in my pockets, looking around to make sure none of my coworkers overheard me. It wasn't like what I was planning was against the rules, really, but it would certainly be frowned upon. “Hey, guys.” They both turned and looked at me. “Want to see something no one else gets to see?”
“Yeah!” TJ said. He bounced on his toes a bit.
“Something secret?” Tom asked.
“More like...something we've been keeping tucked away.” I winked at them. “Come on. Special treat, once in a lifetime opportunity.”
I led them across the lobby to a set of stairs with a chain strung across the front. A sign hanging from the chain read “Employees Only—No Entry!” I unhooked the chain, let TJ and Tom head up the stairs, then hooked the chain back up behind us.
“Why is this off limits?” TJ asked. He stalked up the stairs like we were on a ghost hunt. “Is it condemned or something?”
“No,” I said. “Nothing dangerous. Just some stuff that needs some maintenance and repair work. We've been keeping it for storage for years, because the museum can't afford to get it fixed.”
The stairs curved as they climbed higher into the building. I stopped us at one of the windows on the east side and pointed outside. “See that clock tower? Notice anything funny about it?”
TJ climbed up on the broad window ledge to peer out the window. He cupped his hands on either side of his eyes and pressed up close against the glass. “The hands aren't moving,” he said.
“The hands are painted on,” I said. He turned to me with a confused frown. I smiled and pushed my glasses back up my nose with one finger. “A little bit of history most people don't know. This building wasn't always a museum. It used to be city hall.”