Twice Upon a Train

by K A Moll

  “So, uh, this doesn’t seem like your kind of neighborhood,” the officer went on, checking the address on Keegan’s driver’s license, and confirming that it was correct. “Would you mind telling me what you were doing here so early in the morning?”

  Keegan gave a slight nod toward Willow. “My girlfriend lives here.”

  The officer looked over. “Okay…So, uh, what’s her name?”

  “Willow Lord.”

  He jotted it down. “And, uh, if I might ask, what’s she do for a living?”

  Keegan’s jaw muscle twitched. She’s not a fucking prostitute, if that’s what you’re thinking. “She’s a social worker, just finished her master’s degree.”

  “Okay, then,” he responded with a cock of his head. “I think that’s it.” He slid his pad into his pocket and tugged his belt over his belly. “We’ve had a string of burglaries and car vandalism in this area so, uh—”

  “It may be a while before I hear anything.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Keegan dialed for a tow truck as he sped away. “They promised they’d be here in fifteen minutes,” she said, climbing the stairs, and sitting in a chair next to Willow. “That should get me there by eight.”

  Willow nodded, preoccupied. “Nikki said she’d be waiting.”

  “Good,” Keegan answered, her eyes narrowing. “Okay, so something’s wrong,” she said, touching her knee. “What is it?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Something, I think. Your mind’s a million miles away. Is it the car? Because if it’s the car, you don’t need to be.”

  Willow smiled thinly. “I really am sorry.”

  “Yes, but you don’t need to be,” Keegan answered, looking up when a large truck rumbled to a stop, its brakes squeaking.

  “I think I’m gonna go back inside,” Willow said, standing, “the morning air’s a little bit chilly. I’ll see you at six unless you can’t make it.”

  “I’ll make it,” Keegan assured, noticing that Phyllis had her nose pressed to the glass. Busy body. I’ll give you something to look at. And with that, she gathered Willow into her arms, kissing her. Her taxi arrived as her BMW was being secured to the bed of the truck. “NYC General,” she greeted, sliding into the backseat. “You get me there before eight and you’re gonna get one heck of a tip.”

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll get you there,” the cabbie responded, whipping out of his parking space, and tearing through traffic. He blasted his horn at a car that cut him off and pulled into the circle drive at seven-fifty-eight. She found Nicole, sitting under a tree in the recently completed atrium. “You ready?”

  “As ready as I’m gonna be,” Nicole responded, walking beside her as they made their way to the eighth floor, twenty-bed, eating disorders unit. She was admitted under the name, Candice Smith.

  “You take good care of her,” Keegan said, meeting the gaze of the care coordinator, an MSW like Willow.

  “We will, Dr. Wade,” she responded. “Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.”

  Keegan smiled at Nicole. “I’ll check on you later.”

  *

  As Willow stepped away from the loan desk, her phone dinged alerting her to a new text message. It was from Keegan—MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! Nicole had followed through on her promise to sign herself in for thirty days of treatment. Keegan had managed to do what she’d have bet no one could do. From the first day, she’d been so good with her. She stared at the blinking cursor, then typed—GOOD.

  DING.

  Keegan: YOU NEVER DID SAY WHAT WAS WRONG.

  Willow stared at the blinking cursor, thinking, but not typing. Everything’s wrong—that in anger you admitted your true feelings, that you thought it was stupid to stay with me; that before long you’ll realize that pursuing a relationship with someone so far beneath you is a poor decision as well; and, that the bank couldn’t see their way to be flexible, that they’d rather report me to the credit bureau for non-payment than give me a few more weeks to make the initial payments on my loans. With no job prospects, in a matter of days she’d be in serious trouble. She dropped her phone into her purse, saving tears for when she got home, and boarded the bus.

  DING.

  Keegan: AND, SINCE YOU ALWAYS SAY, ‘LOVE YOU’ OR ‘MISS YOU’ AT THE END OF A MESSAGE—I’M CORRECT IN ASSUMING THAT SOMETHING IS WRONG.

  Willow stared at the blinking cursor. You want her to be honest about her feelings. If she felt like spending the night with you was stupid, then she has every right to feel that way. Laying a guilt trip on her isn’t fair.

  Keegan: I CAN SEE YOU READ MY MESSAGE SO YOU MAY AS WELL ANSWER ME.

  Willow stared at the blinking cursor.

  Keegan: I’M CALLING.

  Willow: I’M ON THE BUS. NOT NOW.

  Keegan: I LOVE YOU.

  Willow wiped a tear, typing—I LOVE YOU TOO.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “Didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow,” Naomi greeted, popping her head, and then her body into Keegan’s office. “Decided to come in early, huh? Catch up on some paperwork?”

  Keegan nodded, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “Resident evaluations.” As Chief of Trauma Surgery, it was one of the many administrative duties that she’d added to her already full surgical load. Coming in early, staying late, and working on her days off had become a necessary part of getting the job done. “I’m glad you stopped by,” she said. “Saved me the trouble of hunting you down. I wanted to thank you again for helping out in Utah.”

  “No problem,” Naomi responded, smiling. “It was an interesting experience.” She hesitated before continuing. “So, I know you don’t like me to do this, but I have to tell you how much I enjoyed watching you pull things together in that OR. Quite frankly, it was a sight to behold, a testament to your skill as a surgeon and an administrator. You were like this master Lego builder, on a clock to build this complex design with half enough Legos. And, you had to make the pieces that you were missing from what you could find in the kitchen drawer. No, not the kitchen drawer, more like an old fishing tackle box. In all of my career, I’ve never felt like I did in that OR. It was like we were camping, totally unprepared to do surgery, and had to make do with what we could scrounge together. I’ll tell you what though, that experience gave me a new perspective. Being in that situation made me realize that we have it pretty good at NYC General. And, I’ll tell you something else, my job satisfaction has gone up ten-fold. Nothing like roughing it to make you appreciate the comforts of home.”

  “I get what you’re saying,” Keegan said, “and although I’m not sure that I performed as well as you let on, thanks for the compliment.”

  “Oh, trust me, you did,” Naomi answered, shifting her load of folders as she took a step toward the door. “If anything, you performed better. I have never seen a surgeon as cool and calm under pressure as you were that night.”

  “Thanks,” Keegan responded, going on to say that for some reason she’d found her mojo in Utah. “Hey, before you go,” she continued, “I want you to know how much I appreciate the way you handled yourself with Willow.”

  “I didn’t do anything special.”

  “I think you did. I think you recognized that she was having a tough time and did your best to make things easier.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  Keegan’s tone softened. “And, don’t think I didn’t notice that as you were doing your best to reassure her, you were struggling. Don’t think for one minute that I didn’t see you choke back tears for much of the night.”

  “It just hit me, like a fist to the gut. Seeing you together, how love looked on you, it made me realize how far I was from the prize.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s what I needed to be able to let go, to move on.”

  *

  At two-thirty, with no response from Willow after she should’ve been home by noon, Keegan locked her personnel files in her filing cabinet, rode the elevator u
p to check on Nicole, and called a cab to go home. “Mrs. Schmidt,” she greeted, midway across the checkerboard floor.

  “Dr. Wade,” her neighbor responded, scooping her nasty little Chihuahua into her arms before he managed to sink his mouth full of hypodermic needles into her ankle. “Did you have a nice vacation?”

  “A fantastic vacation,” Keegan answered. “Thanks for asking.” They chatted for a few minutes about the weather and the Yankees before she boarded the elevator. For a split-second, she considered having a quick drink in the rooftop lounge, but Willow crossed her mind, and she got off on the sixteenth floor. As she turned her key, stepping into her condo, she tried to see what Willow would see as she stepped in the door. On any given day, her place looked good, but she wanted it to look even better. She adjusted her sofa cushions, moved her books and magazines from the coffee table to the bookshelf, and wiped down her bathroom sink and shower door. Then, she changed her sheets, set candles around her bedroom, and sent a text message—I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU. WHAT’S WRONG, WILLOW? PLEASE CALL ME. As she glanced at her watch, determining that if she got on her way right now, and managed to avoid traffic jams, she’d be at her place ahead of schedule. And, with that thought, she sprinted for the garage, dropping behind the wheel of her cherry-red, two-door, two-seater sports car. She checked her messages, roaring up the ramp, wondering what she’d wondered all day—What in the hell is wrong with Willow? Something, that’s for sure. At the first of many stoplights, she pushed play on her nineties playlist, rolling stop-and-go across town, and circling her block. When her space from that morning freed up, she set her alarm system, and took the stairs at a jog.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Willow? Are you in there? I think you are.”

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Don’t think for one minute that I won’t go down to get Phyllis.”

  “I’m coming,” Willow called out, opening the door. “You’re early. I was in the bathroom.”

  “Have you been crying,” Keegan asked softly.

  “I’ve had better days, that’s for sure.”

  “Did I do something?” Keegan asked, sitting on the sofa beside her. “Or, say something?” Out of nowhere, Ripple climbed onto her lap, kneading, and slinking across her sports jacket leaving a coating of Tabby fur. “Get down,” she said, setting him firmly on the floor.

  “Not intentionally,” Willow answered, wiggling her fingers, and calling him to her. “You did nothing wrong,” she said quietly. “You have every right to express your feelings.”

  “So, I did say something.”

  “Like I said, not intentionally.”

  Keegan drew in a breath, releasing it before speaking. “Willow, if you’d just tell me what I said, we’ll deal with it.”

  “It wasn’t just that anyway.”

  “Wasn’t just what?” Keegan asked, drawing her eyebrows together.

  “I wasn’t gonna say anything. That’s why I didn’t answer your text right away.”

  “Willow—”

  “Because I feel strongly that you have a right to feel how you feel. And, I knew I’d open my mouth if I talked to you too soon. But what the hell, you’re determined to know, so I’ll tell you. It was this morning,” she continued, “when we were downstairs waiting for the tow truck, you said that staying with me was a case of your own stupidity. And, it hurt my feelings.”

  Keegan’s brow furrowed, her eyes widening, “Oh, good grief,” she said, “that wasn’t in reference to me staying with you, it was in reference to me not having wheel locks installed on the BMW. I wish you’d have said something.”

  “Wheel locks?” Willow responded, her voice lifting.

  “Yes, wheel locks,” Keegan answered, her voice lowering. “When I purchased the alarm system, I should’ve purchased wheel locks. If I’d done that, I’d have had wheels on my car this morning.” She lowered her chin. “A case of my own stupidity.”

  “I’m sorry I made something out of nothing.”

  “No need to be,” Keegan responded, holding her face gently, and peering into her eyes. “I love you, sweetheart. I love sleeping with you. I love being with you wherever we are. How could you possibly think that I felt staying with you was a case of my own stupidity?”

  “I don’t know,” Willow said softly. “I just did.”

  Keegan rested her arm around her shoulders. “So, you said that wasn’t it,” she said, kissing her temple, “what else happened?”

  “The bank refused to modify my payment schedule.”

  “Now, there’s a case of stupidity.”

  “Which means I’m gonna get reported to the Credit Bureau.” Willow pressed her lips together. “I’ve never been reported before, and I don’t want to be, but I decided that if I am, I just am. There’s nothing more I can do to find a job than I’m already doing.”

  “I think you made a good decision,” Keegan said. She considered telling her that she didn’t need to worry about the loans because she planned to take care of them but opted not to for fear she’d say she didn’t want her to.

  Willow looked off, petting Ripple.

  “Did something else happen?” Keegan asked gently. “Because it seems like something’s still bothering you.”

  “I just have this sense of foreboding that I can’t seem to shake,” Willow responded, going on to share that she was afraid that one day Keegan would decide that pursuing a relationship with someone so far beneath her was a poor decision.

  “Well, I’ll just tell you, that’s not gonna happen. What would make you think something like that?”

  “You’re a successful surgeon, the Chief of Trauma Surgery. And, what am I? I’m an unemployed social worker. You live in a fancy Manhattan condo. And, where do I live? I live in the New York City slums. You’re handsome and you wear nice clothes. And, what am I? Just plain ol’ Willow.”

  “Oh, Willow, my sweet Willow Mae, how I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.” Stroking her hair, she brushed her lips across her forehead. “You’re beautiful, smart, and sexy, a perfect match for me. You’re everything, absolutely everything, that I could want in a woman.” Between each word she planted kisses on her face and neck. “And, it breaks my heart that you think you’re beneath me. You’re not beneath me, sweetheart, you’re my equal.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Willow collected her pet carrier from the entryway closet, making her way toward the bathroom.

  “Ripple’s coming?” Keegan asked, knowing the moment the words escaped her lips that it was a stupid question. Of course, he was coming. Others might leave their cats overnight with dry food and a litter box, but not Willow. She’d never leave her baby to fend for himself. It was a stupid question, but it had been a long day, and her mind was on where they might go for dinner.

  For a split second, Willow’s breathing suspended. “I just assumed—”

  Keegan smiled. “And, you assumed correctly. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Because I could check with Phyllis if—”

  “I misspoke, sweetie,” Keegan continued, tempted, but not yielding, realizing that she may as well get used to having a pet in her space. “Can I give you a hand with getting him into the carrier?”

  “Sure,” Willow responded, tipping it on its end, and adding that he was squirmy. “An extra pair of hands will make it easier.” She opened the door toward the ceiling, handing her a towel. “Just wrap him like a burrito,” she directed.

  Keegan raised an eyebrow. “Like a burrito?”

  “Like a burrito,” she repeated. “And, be sure to get all four of his paws tucked inside as soon as you can get them corralled.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot,” Keegan answered, having second thoughts, but resolving to follow through on her promise.

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Willow responded, stepping off to get Ripple. When she returned, Keegan approached, opening the towel.

  Meow—hiss—snarl—growl.

  “G
ot you, you little devil.”

  “Burrito! Wrap him like a burrito! Now, Keegs, now!”

  “I’m wrapping,” Keegan shouted, holding onto the snarling, scratching, spitting, biting, ball of fur, and lowering him through the door of his carrier. “Is he like this every time?” she asked, releasing a breath as Willow latched the door.

  “Actually, I thought he was a little better this time,” she responded, peering into the striped cat’s eyes, and saying, “Mama’s boy was a good boy.” As she raised up, she spotted the scratch on Keegan’s hand. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I know,” Keegan muttered. “He got me with his rear claw.”

  “I’ll get you a Band-Aid.”

  “And some antiseptic if you have it.”

  “I have some ointment,” Willow responded, reaching into a cabinet for the items. “I’m sorry he got you.”

  “It’s superficial,” Keegan answered, affixing the Band Aid. “Don’t worry about it.” When that was done, she carried Willow’s suitcase to the door, and set Ripple’s carrier beside it. “Ready when you are.”

  “Just let me run to the bathroom and I’ll be ready,” Willow said, laying the piece of correspondence from the bank that she’d been stewing about on the table.

  “Take your time,” Keegan answered, noticing the name of the financial institution, and the amount owed on each of her two student loans.

  “Okay, I’m all set,” Willow announced, slipping her purse strap over her shoulder. She talked baby-talk to the cat as they made their way down the stairs, and out the door. When she reached the sidewalk, she came to a dead halt, staring at the Jaguar. “Okay, so, I’m trying to figure out how we’re all gonna fit.” The car had no backseat and the carrier was too large to ride on her lap.

  “It’ll take less than a half hour to get to my place. And, there’s good ventilation in—”