by Vanessa Vale
It was beautiful. A perfect day for a scenic train ride. If I wasn't hungover.
It was already warm, soft with humidity, and I was ready to strip off my blue hoodie for just my T-shirt. I figured the jeans and sneakers look was the uniform for an Alaskan train ride. My hair was still damp and pulled back in a ponytail. I'd even swiped on some eyeliner and mascara and shoved the lip glass into my shoulder bag with my camera.
As we worked our way down the hillside from the house toward town, I could see the water in front of us.
“That's Cook Inlet. It leads out to the Pacific,” Mike said, as if reading my thoughts.
I gave a head bob of understanding.
“I'm sorry you didn't know what we were doing today. We're taking a sightseeing train to Seward. The town's toward the bottom of the Kenai Peninsula. You, me, Goldie, my mom and dad are taking the train down now. Uncle Bob—”
“Jubal.”
Mike sighed. “Jubal, the twins, Banks, Trish and Alex will drive down later, meet us for lunch, and take the train back tonight. We'll drive their cars back. Our cars will be at the train station waiting for them.”
“That's pretty complicated, but I think I got it.”
“Oh, um...Susan's joining us on the train.” He did not sound enthusiastic.
Yippee. “How'd Susan get included in this little family outing?”
Mike looked grim. “While we were out last night, she stopped by. My mom invited her along.”
Susan, Goldie, Mrs. O, hangover from hell. Moving train. It was going to be great. “Nice. This is going to be lots of fun.”
Mike glanced at me, probably trying to gauge if I was being sarcastic or not.
Minutes later, we pulled up in front of the station. It was wide, white and three stories tall with windows spaced symmetrically down the length. It looked dense and solid enough with its concrete construction to handle even the worst of arctic weather.
We parked next to Mr. O's rental car, which happened to be a full-sized model, in the lot across the street from the station. We must not have been too far behind, or Mr. O was a slow driver, because they were still in the car. I could hear Goldie chattering away even with the doors closed. Susan was in the back with her and didn't look too keen on the seating arrangement. I had a feeling she wanted to be riding with Mike.
More like riding Mike himself.
They all piled out, greeted us both with squeezes and air kisses. Susan aimed her kiss for Mike's mouth but he turned his head at the last second, her lips brushing his cheek instead. He quickly stepped away as if they were in elementary school and she had cooties. Turning my way, she gave me a wicked smile.
She was a total bitch. I didn't use that term very often because I like to think the best of people, but she was. She knew it, and didn't care. Wearing teeny shorts that barely covered her rear end with a stretchy, scooped neck red T-shirt, she left little to the imagination. Wedge-heeled sandals made her at least four inches taller than normal. Her hair was long and sleek and she didn't need make-up to look good. She was drop-dead gorgeous in a slutty way. Even before seven in the morning.
I, on the other hand, felt like roadkill. At least I wasn't slutty roadkill.
I lifted my left hand up, gaudy ring and all, pretending to run my hand over my hair, flaunting what she didn't have.
Her eyes flared in anger at the glaring reminder of Mike's relationship status before she stomped off.
I inwardly grinned.
“Women are ruthless,” Mike whispered, shaking his head. “Nice one.” His cell beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and read the display. After typing a quick reply with his thumbs, he put it back.
Mr. O gave my arm a little squeeze along with a smile as he passed, heading toward the building, ready to go. That small gesture was Mr. O being friendly. In comparison to his wife and Goldie, he was a mute. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, wore jeans, running shoes, a fleece pullover. His sunglasses perched atop his white hair.
“Violet, so glad you're here today. It's something you'll never forget,” Mrs. O said as we followed behind. She had a slouchy cloth bag over her shoulder, most likely filled with all kinds of motherly things like tissues, a compact and Band-Aids. It wouldn't surprise me if she had some brass knuckles and mace in there as well.
Goldie tugged on my arm and stopped me, letting Mrs. O go ahead with Mike. We stood on the sidewalk in front of the station, tourists swirling around us.
“I didn't think you had it in you,” she said.
I lifted my eyebrow in question.
She mimicked the move I’d made across her own hair, her own bling sparkling in the sunlight. “Honey, that was the cattiest thing you've ever done. I'm so proud of you.” Goldie beamed at me as if I'd just won first place in the spelling bee, not acting like a possessive woman claiming her man-turf.
She didn't seem to be bothered by the early hour, bright and fresh in her black Capri pants, fuchsia top with a boat neck collar and walking sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that curved gracefully down her neck. She had big chandelier earrings that were completely out of place for Alaska, but looked perfect on her. A handbag the size of Texas was thrown over a shoulder.
“Thanks. Now you can see why Mike called for reinforcements.”
A voice blared through a hidden speaker announcing the boarding of the train to Seward.
“Don't worry. I've got your back.”
My mouth fell open. “Um, Goldie, I think we can—”
I was going to tell her Mike and I could handle it, but she was gone, through the automatic doors in a cloud of rose scented perfume.
Chapter 12
Mr. and Mrs. O had splurged on tickets for everyone in the first-class car, with our seats beneath a viewing dome capping the double decker train car. At the back, there was a covered viewing area where you could stand outside without windows in the way of the scenery. Mike and I took seats on the left, Susan and Goldie across from us, Mr. and Mrs. O directly in front of us.
Within minutes, the train rolled out of the station. So did my stomach. The pills Mike had given me earlier hadn't done a thing. My stomach was sour, queasy and I was more than a little nauseous.
“Oh God,” I moaned softly. I buried my face in Mike's shirt. He was warm and smelled like soap and was a comfort to my misery.
He put a solid arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close. “I like hearing those words from your lips, babe, but not like this.”
“I'm practically dying here and you're thinking of sex?” My words were muffled by his hard chest.
Mr. O got up, held out his hand for his wife. They stood in the aisle. “We're going out to the covered area.”
“I'll join you,” Goldie said. “Susan, why not come with us?”
Susan wasn't given much choice. She looked longingly at Mike, but Goldie put a hand on her shoulder and practically pushed her down the aisle. Grudgingly, at best.
Mike waited for them to go by. “I always think of sex when I'm with you.”
I glanced up at him and winced at the throbbing in my head. “You said I wasn't important enough.”
Mike closed his eyes for a moment. “Babe, I didn't mean it like that. Hell, it was so good between us that night you ruined me for all the other women.”
I pushed off his chest, but his arm that banded around me wasn't letting go. Forced me to keep my eyes on his. He was serious. “As if. It was our first time. Mike, it hurt like hell. I didn't—” I felt my cheeks heat. How had I ruined him for other women? He wasn't a monk and our one time together had been quite a bit of fumbling, a lot of tangled limbs and, for me, a fair amount of...discomfort.
Mike grinned. “Exactly. I was a terrible lay at eighteen. I have no idea why you were interested in me. I didn't even pleasure you.”
Oh, he'd pleasured me alright. But I didn't get the grand finale. Back then, I hadn't even realized there was one. I'd learned a thing or two since then. It only made me wonder more what it would
be like now. There definitely wouldn't be any fumbling, and I had no doubt what I'd feel wouldn't be discomfort. When the chemistry and the skill got together, I could only imagine the kind of explosion that we'd make.
“Being a doctor was—is—everything I've ever wanted. I didn't just wake up when I was five and decide I wanted to go into medicine. There's a lot more to it than that.”
“But I thought—”
“Come on, you two. There's a bald eagle's nest!” Mr. O called to us from down the aisle. “You're missing it.” It was the most excited I've ever heard him.
Mike unwrapped his arm from around me and stood, ran a hand through his hair. “Coming?”
“I'll be there in a minute.” I watched out the window as Anchorage slipped away and was replaced by wild vistas. I faced east with a wall of green mountains as a backdrop that blocked most of the blue sky. Out the other side of the car was water. Flat, smooth like glass. I overheard someone from a few rows up calling it the Turnagain Arm. It was amazingly beautiful and I was glad the weather lifted for today.
I let my mind wander, thinking about Mike's words. His passion for medicine hadn't been brought on by a whim. It wasn't like one day he decided to take up golf. There was some reason, something that drove him, pushed him into a profession with years and years of rigorous schooling along with countless hours stuck in a hospital for residency, internships. It took commitment, drive and...a fire to push through. I couldn't do it. I liked my sleep too much.
Mike hadn't just walked away from me. He'd left his family, friends...everything behind for almost ten years. None of us had been enough for him to change his mind about his career. It hadn't just been about me.
I'd been selfish to think it had been, that the one night we had together was enough to keep him around. When he left, I thought it would be just for college, like me. I'd been away, he'd been away. But four years later, he still hadn't come home. When I was ready for him then—ha!—I'd selfishly thought he would return for me and give up his dreams. What if he'd asked me to be with him during medical school? Would I have gone with him if he'd asked? Was I any more willing to sacrifice my plans, my scholarship at Tulane, for that one night stand?
I'd been silly to think that and I felt shame coat my hangover with an extra layer of misery.
Then what was it?
The kiss we shared in the hallway the night before had been genuine. That had been a real kiss. Mike had meant it, every toe-curling, tongue-tangle of it. With his intense, dominant nature, he didn't take something like that halfheartedly. He put his all into it. I knew he had because I'd felt his all. He'd kissed me not because we were engaged and it was expected, but because he wanted to. That man didn't need anesthesia to operate. He knew how to make someone lose all feeling with just a kiss.
Realizing it was time to pull on my big girl panties and help Mike out—Susan was a psycho-bitch from hell—I dragged myself to the back of the car to the overlook area and joined the group. The train rocked and swayed on the tracks, which made walking tricky. It was cool and breezy on the platform, a roof sheltering us from the sun. We could lean against the railing on either side of the train to take in the views without a window between us like in the bubble or elsewhere on the train. It was as if we were part of the wilds of Alaska. It was beautiful. Spectacular.
Mike's family lined up along the west side, Mr. O pointing out something in the distance. Smiling at me, Mike held out a hand and I went to him. Without question, doubt or anger. Whatever this faux engagement turned into, it was because of what we did now, not a result of something that happened so long ago. Last night, he hadn't kissed the eighteen-year-old girl he'd left behind, but the woman I was now. He tucked me into his side, held me close. I hadn't realized I was chilled until his warmth seeped into me everywhere we touched. He felt good, comforting. Secure.
The wind whipped hair into my face and I brushed it back. I saw Susan eyeing us, but it was easy to ignore her with the scenery and Mike's arms around me. Although the fresh air helped my stomach, the rocking of the train didn't. “I don't feel very good,” I told Mike as I pressed my cheek into his chest, taking deep breaths of the clean, fresh air and the hint of laundry detergent.
Goldie, with her bat-like sonar hearing, came over and clucked at me. “I'll go back and sit with you, dear.”
I was miserable enough not to care.
Susan gave me a self-satisfied smirk as we passed and I saw her tromp over to Mike as the train door slid closed behind us.
“That woman has an eye on your man. This is a DEFCON ONE situation,” Goldie said as we sat down, her voice surprisingly serious for a woman who went through life meddling in other’s.
I could now relate to the woman from Goldilocks and the whirlwind of insanity that propelled her into the store the other day. It was no fun—make that deadly serious—when another woman was after your man.
“He's not really my man, Goldie.” I rubbed my forehead, hoping my headache would go away and my queasiness would stop. Mike wasn't mine, but I didn't want Susan to have him either.
Goldie reached into her mega-purse and pulled out some pills. “Here. I'm sure you need these. You smelled like a sailor on shore leave last night.”
I grabbed my water bottle and swallowed the medicine without question. Anything to make my hangover back off a bit.
“Mike is your man. He put a ring on it. Isn't that how the song goes?”
I looked at the gaudy bauble. Yeah, he had. But even he'd said it was not a real engagement ring. “This thing?”
“I don't care if it looks like a kindergartner glued that together, it means something.” Her chandelier earrings swayed with her vehemence.
“What can I do about Susan? I can't hold Mike's hand for the entire trip. We're engaged, Goldie, and that's not getting her to back off. She's out there right now, on the prowl. She does it right in front of Mike's parents.”
“It's rude.” Goldie pursed her lips in annoyance.
“She's bat-shit crazy.”
Goldie turned and looked down the aisle, then back to me. “This is war and it's time to pull out the big guns.”
“You don't have a Confederate musket, do you?”
“What?” Goldie asked, confused. “Oh, you mean Bob. That's funny, Violet. But seriously, don't worry. Like I said before, I'm here to help.”
Oh, shit. Maybe the musket would be better.
Mrs. O came in and sat across the aisle from us, her face all concern. She ran her hand over her hair to tame it after the wind outside. “Are you all right, Violet? I have to say you don't look like you're feeling very well.”
I opened my mouth to speak—or perhaps to vomit—when Goldie piped up.
“You know these things, Claudine. It happens sometimes in the morning and then goes away.” Goldie gave Mrs. O a pointed look.
I was a little slow on the uptake, but when I did catch on, I whipped my head around to Mike's mom. Ugh, my head throbbed. There, on her face, was a look. The look. The look of understanding that only comes to women who've been there themselves.
I hadn't, but then again my look was probably still road kill. Maybe just warmed up a bit.
“No.” Mrs. O shook her head, her stylish bob swinging, but she was smiling. “Oh, Violet! Really?”
I started to shake my head no, but Goldie placed her hand over mine, gave it a squeeze.
“Of course,” Goldie said, not allowing me to speak. “What else would have her feeling out of sorts at this time of day?”
Maybe three too many Alaskan Sunsets.
“A baby!” Mrs. O cried out. She realized she was shouting and leaned closer, dropping her voice. “Oh, my.”
The only way I was having a baby was if there was Immaculate Conception involved. I was not pregnant. No way in hell. I was the traditional one. I wanted a man before I got pregnant.
Oh, yeah. I had one. Holy hell.
“This is so exciting! Ever since you took karate with me when you were eleven, Violet,
I thought you needed a little kick to the backside, but this changes everything. You've made me the happiest person!”
There was a backhanded compliment in there somewhere. At least I knew the feelings from the old days were mutual. Now, my sins were absolved since I was making all of her grandmotherly dreams come true.
Susan swayed down the aisle towards us, stood with her arms on the backs of the seats to keep her balance. “Excuse me, I'm going to head to the food car,” she sweetly said to Mrs. O as she pointed to the far end of the train car.
“Do you need anything, Violet? Coffee? Oh, no. Not in your condition. No caffeine for you. How about some juice?” Mrs. O leaned back and stood up, letting Susan pass. “No. Water. I'll get you some water. You need to stay hydrated.”
Susan stopped in her tracks, turned around. “Her condition?” She stared at me, beady eyed, her mouth a thin line. Where was that musket when I needed it?
Goldie leaned toward Susan, held her hand up by her mouth as if to tell her a secret. Susan leaned in. “A baby,” she whispered—very loudly.
“She's having a baby?” Susan shrieked. Half the state of Alaska heard her. “I saw her naked and she didn't look pregnant to me!”
Both Mrs. O and Goldie just stared at her, alarmed and clearly baffled. It was my turn to smirk.
“Well, she didn't.” Susan crossed her arms over her ample chest and flounced back the way she came, the food car forgotten.
Both women turned to look at me, clearly wanting to hear the story behind Susan's comment. “Do you really want to know?” I asked.
“No,” Goldie replied. “I guess we don't.”
She did. She so did, but she wasn't going to ask in front of Mrs. O. I had no doubt it was filed away for later, though.
