Twice Upon a Train

by K A Moll

  Keegan eased her down gently. “It takes time to recover.”

  “So, I’m gathering,” Nicole said, asking Willow if she’d dig through her bag, and bring her a nightshirt.

  “You bet I will,” Willow answered, assisting her with undressing and dressing. “There you go,” she said, placing an extra pillow under her head, and pulling the sheet above her breasts. “All good?”

  “All good,” Nicole said. “Now, go; be with Keegan; go to lunch.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Would you care for dessert?” the waiter asked, a silver tray with an assortment of pies and cakes perched on the tip of his fingers.

  “No, thank you,” Keegan answered, “but we will need a carryout dinner.” She studied the menu, ordering several bland items.

  “I’ll put the order right in,” he promised, sliding his notepad into his breast pocket, and stepping off toward the kitchen.

  “She’ll never eat all of that,” Willow commented. “In fact, you’ll be lucky if she eats half of it.”

  “I know,” Keegan responded. “And to be honest, if she eats half, she’ll have done better than I expect of her. But her first few meals after abdominal surgery aren’t about how much she eats; they’re about getting her used to eating meals at mealtime, having her become accustomed to seeing enough food on her plate to not only survive but thrive.” She took a breath, concern in her eyes. “And, hopefully, over time, she’ll get to the point where she’ll eat a normal meal without the urge to purge afterward.”

  “You have doubts that she will.”

  “Unfortunately, I do.”

  “Because she might not agree to a referral to an inpatient program?”

  “That, and because of the data; the bottom line is that the earlier someone with an eating disorder seeks treatment, the greater their chance of recovery.”

  A knife scraped against a plate.

  A baby cried at the adjacent table.

  A waitress erased a special from the board, replacing it with another.

  “I’m trying to remember when she first became obsessed with dieting,” Willow said quietly. “I think it was when she was about fifteen.”

  “Thirteen, based on the history she provided.”

  Willow looked away, shaking her head. “So, even earlier. God, if only I’d been paying attention—”

  “It might not have made any difference.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “So, we meet her where she’s at,” Keegan continued, her tone lifting, “help her do the work to heal, and move forward.”

  “That’s pretty much all we can do.”

  Brakes squeaked.

  The train slowed down.

  A horn sounded.

  People got on and off.

  Willow’s gaze drifted out the window as the train pulled away from the station. Within minutes, she was once again marveling at the scenery. “Awww, look Keegs, aren’t they cute?”

  “They are,” Keegan answered, smiling at the sight of a young girl and her puppy frolicking through puddles. She reached across the table, intertwining their fingers. “You’re so good for me,” she said softly, “you see the beauty, help me to see it. I wouldn’t have noticed them; nor would I have noticed the red sandstone; nor would I have seen the old woman ambling along with her goats. Just being you, you settle me, lift my spirits, make my world a brighter place.”

  “It’s important to see the beauty, Keegs,” Willow said, her tone soft and yet serious. “Especially when you work a job like yours, a job where people come to you moaning and mutilated; a job where you amputate limbs; a job where you have to worry every single day about being sued.”

  Keegan swallowed, listening to her.

  “To thrive,” Willow continued, “you have to press pause and see the beauty. You have to step outside in the morning, inhale a breath of cool, crisp air. You have to raise the blind, peer through the window, notice the little girl splashing with her puppy in a puddle. You have to bury your nose in a flower, smell the sweet scent of its petals. You have to open your eyes, Keegs, be awestruck at the sight of sparkling red sandstone.” She met her gaze firmly. “You might sleep better if you did; drink less during the night.”

  Wheels clanked.

  The waiter topped off their waters.

  Steam hissed out of the stack.

  “I’m sorry if I disturbed you last night,” Keegan said, lowering her head as her eyes looked up.

  “You didn’t,” Willow answered quietly. “I got cold, noticed you were gone, looked in to be sure you were alright.”

  “I have a problem, Willow. In fact, I have lots of problems.”

  “We all have problems, Keegan. The important thing is that we recognize them for what they are and tackle them head-on.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  “If the tackling was easy, they wouldn’t be problems.”

  And as if on cue, the waiter appeared with the carryout meal.

  “Thank you,” Keegan said, checking its contents, and telling him that the meal looked good. She stood behind Willow’s chair as she got up, held her hand as they walked back to the cabin, and sat with Nicole as she ate her food. When she was finished, she praised her for eating almost half and threw away her containers. Then, she slipped off, returning with her medical bag. “Okay if I take a quick peek at your incision?”

  “As if you need to ask,” Nicole responded.

  “It’s the polite thing to do,” Keegan answered, winking, and lifting her nightshirt. “Looks good,” she said, pulling it back down. “Let’s go ahead and check your vitals and administer your medications while we’re at it.”

  Nicole nodded, watching her as she positioned the bell of her stethoscope. “Well?” she asked, meeting her gaze directly.

  “Sounds good.”

  “So, the heart medication’s working.”

  Keegan nodded. “And for that to continue, you need to consume enough calories.”

  “I told you I would, and I will.”

  “And I hope you follow through on your promise,” Keegan responded, holding her gaze uncomfortably before slipping off to put away her medical bag. When she returned, she invited Willow to take a walk, suggesting that they head for the observation car.

  “My favorite place on the train,” Willow answered, threading their fingers together. “Well,” she added with a smile, “almost my favorite.”

  Keegan winked. “My sentiments exactly,” she said, making their way through the series of cars, and sitting beside her.

  “Oooh, look at that,” Willow exclaimed, scooting closer to the window. “Oh and look at that one.” The unique collections of rock formations were plentiful in the area. “Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.”

  “Yes,” Keegan agreed, smiling at her pleasure. “They’re called hoodoos. If I remember correctly, they’re created by uneven erosion and weathering.”

  “It’s just like a postcard,” Willow went on, snapping a photo with her smartphone. “I love this country.”

  Keegan put her arm around her shoulders. “It is beautiful.” She kissed her slowly and lovingly. “And you’re beautiful.”

  Willow’s heart swelled, seeing the tenderness of her gaze.

  “So, when I came back to Nikki’s room yesterday,” Keegan said quietly, “you looked like you’d been crying.”

  “I was getting my period. The first day wreaks havoc with my emotions.”

  Keegan smiled, kissing her forehead. “Just checking.”

  “You are so sweet.”

  “Not nearly as sweet as you deserve.”

  “So, yesterday,” Keegan continued, “you and Nikki were talking about your family? You said you’d bring me up to speed but never did.”

  “In a nutshell, I told her that I was worried about telling them about us. She said they’d be fine as long as I introduced you as ‘Keegan the Surgeon.’” She shook her head, disgusted. “She’s probably right.”

  Keegan chuckled. �
�Tis what I am, mine lady,” she said, bowing her head. “Seriously, though, if you think they’ll deal better once they know I’m a doctor, what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s that I hate to reinforce shallow.”

  “It’s not that shallow,” Keegan responded thoughtfully, “nor unusual, that a parent might hope their daughter would marry a doctor.”

  Willow’s heart pounded. Her stomach fluttered. She felt breathless.

  Keegan glanced at her watch. “Well, do you suppose we should get back?”

  “Yeah, I suppose we should.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Medical professionals often saw patients with anorexia as crazy, the responsibility of psychiatrists, therapists, and social workers. Mental health professionals often saw them as medically fragile, the responsibility of doctors and nurses. The result? They fell through the cracks, with six percent dying from complications of starvation. But not Nikki. Whatever it took, Keegan would assure she didn’t fall through the cracks. As odd as it was, the prey had come to care for the shark’s wellbeing. “I need to check on something,” she said, stepping by Willow on a direct path to the bathroom, finding the situation exactly as she expected—with vomit clinging to the sides of the bowl, and a partial flush. She lifted the lid, removed the clip that she’d placed before they’d left, and approached Nicole, holding it up. “In case you’re wondering, this is why the toilet wouldn’t flush.”

  Nicole glared, snarling. “You bitch.”

  “I won’t stand idly by and watch you kill yourself,” Keegan said quietly.

  “The soup was nasty. What was I to do? It made me nauseous. I can’t believe you stooped to this level. I should sue your ass.”

  Keegan laughed. “For putting a binder clip under the floater so that the toilet wouldn’t flush properly? Really? With the techniques you use? After what you did to me? Good grief, I’d think you’d judge what I did as no more than child’s play.”

  Nicole’s eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth slithering sideways. “You know.”

  “Of course, I know,” Keegan responded. “Naomi saw the jerk snapping photos when she stepped out of my office.” With a breath, her tone softened. “You have a problem, Nikki. I’m worried about you.”

  “Like you have a problem, Doctor?”

  “Why must we do this?” Keegan sighed. “Why can’t you just accept that you need help? Why can’t you see that treatment is your best option?”

  “You first,” Nicole countered, crossing her arms. “Why can’t you just admit that you’re an alcoholic? It seems to me that inpatient treatment might be your best option as well.”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “We are if you want to continue this discussion.”

  “Fine,” Keegan acquiesced, “you want to talk about my drinking, we will. Whatever it takes to keep you talking.”

  “Why would you do that?” Nicole asked, her eyes widening. “Why in God’s name would you admit, to me of all people that you have a drinking problem?”

  “Because you set the condition for us to keep talking.”

  “It’s worth that much to you? That you’d discuss what you should never discuss with anyone?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s not like you don’t already know.”

  “How could I possibly know with any degree of certainty?” Nicole asked, openly staring. “I suspected, but I didn’t know.”

  “It doesn’t matter. No way would I look you in the eye and lie to you. Just like I won’t lie to you about your situation. It’s serious, Nikki. You need treatment, not someday, but now.” She took a long breath, slowly letting it go. “But you asked fair questions, set a condition, so let’s talk about me for a while.”

  “You don’t have to,” Nicole responded. “I was just being difficult.”

  “I know,” Keegan said, “but you asked, so I’ll answer.” She shook her head, looking away for a long moment. “As a surgeon,” she began quietly, “I don’t dare admit that I have a problem, physically or emotionally. You know that as well as I do.”

  Nicole nodded, acknowledging that that kind of information was quite useful in malpractice lawsuits.

  “If I were to seek help—”

  “As you expect me to do.”

  “And it became known,” Keegan continued, “my reputation could be destroyed. I might even lose my license to practice medicine. Patients want their surgeons to be superheroes, not human beings with problems. They want them to be able to work under stress on no sleep without missing a step. They want them to pull patients back from the brink with gloved hands and scalpels. They don’t want drunks, not even if the drinking occurs off the clock.” She met her gaze softly. “So, you see, for me, treatment isn’t an option. But for you, it is.”

  “My situation’s not so different,” Nicole responded. “If I want clients, the kind who can support my standard of living, I don’t dare admit to problems either.”

  “But you have an option, one that I don’t have.”

  “I do, huh?”

  Keegan nodded. “Just do what the celebrities do, check in under an assumed name while you’re already off. It’s not like anyone’s going to subpoena your health records; try to make what should be private, public.”

  “Huh, that’s not a bad idea,” Nicole responded. “I’m not saying I’ll do it, but it’s not bad.” She furrowed her brow. “So, if that’d work for me, why wouldn’t it work for you?”

  “Working in healthcare, I know too many people.”

  The train slowed, took a bend, and lumbered uphill.

  “So, you go on vacation,” Nicole suggested, “check-in somewhere they don’t know you.”

  Keegan’s brain scrambled for a logical reason to not at least explore the option.

  “Maintenance is at the door,” Willow announced, looking at Nicole. “They said you called them?”

  “Shit. I meant to call them back, tell them I didn’t need them.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Keegan responded, standing, happy to leave the hot seat. “I’ll talk to them.” She explained that there’d been a misunderstanding and that the toilet was working.

  “No problem,” the man answered. “Call if you need anything.”

  “Will do,” Keegan responded, closing the door to the cabin, and collecting Willow on her way to their bedroom.

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Willow said, “but I couldn’t help but hear some of it.” Her brow wrinkled in concern. “Is that really how it is, that doctors feel like they can’t seek treatment for fear they might lose their license?”

  “For certain things,” Keegan responded, “mental illness and addiction being two of them.” She swallowed, looking off. “But even if I could, I don’t know if I would.” She shared that Nikki had suggested she go where she wasn’t known for treatment. “So, in the heat of the moment, instead of considering it, I was trying to come up with an excuse to not do it.”

  “You’ve never been in therapy,” Willow said softly. “And fear of the unknown is perfectly natural.” She squeezed her hand, guiding them to sit on the edge of the bed. “Excuses are too.”

  “You’re gonna be such a good therapist,” Keegan declared, kissing her.

  “I hope so,” Willow responded, “if that’s what I end up being.” She’d always thought mental health counseling would be her niche, but lately, she’d become interested in collaborative community work. “Still no calls though, so I may not be anything.”

  “It hasn’t been that long since you sent out your resume.”

  “It’s been long enough for a response of some kind.”

  “Not necessarily,” Keegan responded, knowing from experience that issues could come up. “It takes time to fill positions.”

  “Not this much time,” Willow responded. “I think we can safely say that at the very least, I’m not their first choice.”

  “How is it that you can see the good in everything and everyone—but can�
�t see it in yourself?” She kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her lips. “You’re a beautiful, caring, competent woman—and you will get a job. In fact, if you want my prediction, I predict that before it’s all over, you’ll land the job of your dreams.”

  *

  As the Frisco Express chugged onward—through Utah, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania—Willow counted days. At any given moment, she could tell you how many had passed without a call for a job interview and how many she had left with Keegan on the train. She walked to the window, staring. “Once you get out of Chicago, there’s not much more than backroads, flatness, and farmland.”

  “No, not too much,” Keegan said, gathering her into her arms, their weight shifting as the train came to a stop at yet another rural station. She buried her nose in her hair. “We have two hours before dinner,” she murmured, trailing shivery kisses down her neck. “We could get in the Jacuzzi.”

  Willow slipped her arms under her jacket and around her back. “But you’re already dressed for dinner.”

  “And, I can undress and dress again,” Keegan said, opening her top button, loosening her tie, and pulling it from underneath her collar.

  “Of that, I’m well aware,” Willow responded, unbuttoning the second and third button, kissing her chest.

  Keegan nibbled her ear lobe. “I have an idea,” she murmured, tossing her jacket and tie on the bed. “We could make love in the Jacuzzi, go to dinner, and when we come back, make love in bed.”

  “It’s our last night on board,” Willow responded, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly, “it’s fitting that we should make love into the night.”

  Keegan held Willow’s face between her palms, peering into her eyes. “It’s our last night on board, but it’s not our last night.” She kissed her with the tenderness that comes from a lifetime of love. “We came together on a train, and on a train, we’ve been given a second chance.”

  “But our worlds are so different. I’m afraid—”

  “They are different,” Keegan said, thumbing a tear from her cheek. “And for a while, we’ll be figuring things out.” She kissed her, lingering, and savoring. “We’ve talked about this; have things planned out.” They’d agreed to alternate between one another’s places until Willow could move to Keegan’s condo. She wasn’t crazy about Manhattan, but Keegan owned, and she rented, so it made the most sense. “Nothing ends when this trip is over. We’re at your place tomorrow night, then mine, then yours. I’m not sure what’s gotten you so worked up.”