The Train of Lost Things

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  “It’s time, isn’t it?” Dina said.

  Marty nodded, but he didn’t need to. They could both see the warm bump of the sun nosing up over the horizon, splashing them all over with newborn light. At the same time, the rushing wind tunnel around the train changed to something else—a warmer breeze, with some kind of perfume to it. A bit like snickerdoodle cookies, actually. It blew a good bit stronger, too. Not a puff of air but the insistent tug of invisible hands. (It reminded Marty of the wind that had blown so hard around the train back when they’d found it in the park, come to think of it.)

  He knew they didn’t have long.

  “You okay?” Marty asked. Not long ago, Dina, too, had been all set to stay on the train. Now, the way she was looking wistfully out at the horizon, Marty could tell her thinking had shifted.

  Maybe they’d all been a bit changed by their magical train ride.

  “Yeah.” Dina scrubbed her fisted hands across her eyes. “I didn’t tell you everything, before.”

  This didn’t surprise Marty, but he kept quiet.

  “My parents divorced when I was really small.” Dina sighed. “My mom was a complicated person. She made my dad believe she didn’t love him anymore. But later he found out she was actually super sick, and that’s why she sent us away. She didn’t want us to see her like that. She thought we’d have a better life without her.”

  Marty frowned. He didn’t like the talk of super-sick parents, but more than anything his heart was wringing for Dina. He almost wanted to reach out and grab her hand (but he had his limits).

  “I only found out all this a couple months ago. Dad started looking for Mom after she hadn’t been in touch with him for a bunch of years. My grandma thought she’d ditched us and was off living her carefree life, but my dad said he knew her too well. He figured something had to be up. Even if she didn’t love him anymore, he knew how much she loved me. When she first made us go, he wanted to give her some space, respect her wishes and all that. He left her alone for a bit, figured she’d come around. Finally, he started sending letters and emails and making phone calls, doing all that people-searching stuff you can do online.” Dina shrugged. “She’d been missing for a while by then. Or, like, missing to us, I guess. And it turned out she wasn’t missing. She’d, you know. Gone. Died.”

  Marty shook his head. All that he should have been saying was jammed up inside his head: I’m so sorry and That’s awful and How on earth did you go on after you found out she’d died? Of course, Dina hadn’t been living with her mom at the time, hardly knew her anymore, but still.

  None of the words got out. They stayed there, bottled up behind his voice box, pushing to get out but not ever breaking through.

  Dina went on. “At first my dad didn’t want to tell me what had happened. He thought it would just make me unhappy, and it’s not like I would have known the difference since she wasn’t there with us. Why make your kid sad for no reason, right? But then I started asking questions about her, so finally he told me everything.” She gave a long sigh. The wind was blowing stronger now, but the suction of the train’s roof held them in place so far against the tug of the sunrise. “I don’t remember her all that well, and Dad never talks about her much. He isn’t a big talker, my dad. And, I mean, she already wasn’t with us, you know? So at first, after finding out, I thought nothing had to change at all.”

  It was strange, Marty thought, how two people could have such an opposite view of something. How to him, the idea of someone being gone forever felt—was—huge, insurmountable. Yet Dina seemed to have gone out of her way to keep going on as if nothing had changed. Maybe the truest things in life were those that lay somewhere in between forever and nothing at all. Maybe that’s all life really was, when you came down to it.

  “So you came looking for the train.”

  “It’s funny—I barely remembered anything about it, not till I lost the locket. Once I found that was gone, I went wild. I had to get it back. And then . . . it was like I knew how. Of course! It would be on the Train of Lost Things. I just had to find the train. I didn’t remember the actual story at all, not till I saw that memory when I touched the locket. Saw her telling me the story. I guess I’m not surprised she came here to be the driver.”

  Marty thought about that. “Do you think—I mean, she already knew she was sick when you left, right? I wonder if maybe—” He couldn’t go on.

  Dina nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. She came here hoping I might show up sooner or later. She was looking out for me. Then she found my locket and kept it safe for me, too.”

  “She really loved you,” Marty said.

  “Yeah. I guess she did.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  Dina held out the necklace. “Now I’ve seen her. I’ve got her right here.” She thumped her chest. “Now I’m going back home. I’ve got my people waiting.” She smiled, and in that smile Marty could see it all: the missing, the love for the mother she’d barely known, but twined through all of that, the comfort of the family she had, the assurance of their love. The knowledge of warmth awaiting her, not far away.

  This brought something important to mind. “Wait—we’ve been chugging around all night at crazy speeds. Where even are we?”

  Dina rolled her eyes. “Marty. This is a magical train. Don’t you think the magic knows what to do?”

  As if in agreement, the train roof under them gave a little hiccup.

  “Do you ever get the feeling,” Marty said, “that this train is . . . maybe even more magical than it’s letting on?”

  Dina laughed, and patted the floor next to her. “All the time,” she whispered.

  Marty looked down off the side of the train, because the wind was getting stronger now, almost too strong to resist. Away below them, far out but clearly visible, was the grassy field where they’d first hopped on. They’d circled around after all! Beyond the borders of the park were houses, streets, and farther yet the deep city, with apartment buildings and flashing traffic lights and a monorail. He wasn’t ready to go, though. Not yet. He grabbed the railing with both hands.

  Beside him, Dina flung her arms wide and let out a whoop of laughter. “Don’t look like that! We’re going to be all right. Don’t you see? Everything’s going to be okay now.”

  Marty gave her a weak half smile. “I was thinking. We’re both out there, in town, in the real world. I wonder how far we are from each other.”

  Dina’s feet were skidding along the roof now, but she grabbed the rail with one hand and whipped out her phone with the other. “Maybe we’re not so far as we think! What’s your number?”

  Marty shouted it out, right as the wind caught and lifted her. Dina flashed a thumbs-up and yelled, “I’ll text you. I promise!”

  Then she was gone.

  * * *

  • • •

  There was a scuffle and Star’s head poked out of the opening hatch. “Marty!” she yelped. “Where’s Dina?”

  “She’s already gone. I’m about to get bounced, too. What are you doing up here?” Marty yelled over the wind. He was gripping the bar with both hands, trying to last as long as he could. But he knew he had seconds left, not minutes. “Don’t you have a train to run or something?”

  In reply, Star reached the highest rung of the ladder. For a second she paused and her face flashed in a twinge of panic, like a lingering sliver of memory. Then she shook herself, as though throwing off her old life for the last time. She flung her hands up in the air and shrieked with delight. “Look! No hands!”

  “You’re the driver now,” Marty said. “That pull’s nothing for you anymore.”

  He clung tighter to his own spot. Just another moment. He wasn’t quite ready to go yet.

  “I’ll take good care of her,” said Star, growing more serious. She flattened a palm against the train’s nearest surface, stroked it loving
ly. “We’ll be okay.” And Marty could have sworn he felt a gentle hum ripple below the surface. Kind of like a purr.

  “You still need a conductor, though.”

  “Someone will turn up,” Star said. “They always do.”

  Marty couldn’t believe his adventure was over. “You take care of yourself,” he said, swallowing.

  Star gave a wicked grin. “I always do.”

  With a nod, Marty felt the wind gear up for its last big burst. He pried his fingers loose from the railing. Catching Star’s eye, he tried to shoot out his arm to give her a thumbs-up. Instead, his whole body tipped forward as the wind scooped him up like an airy whirlpool. This time, it didn’t bounce him back toward the center. It tossed him up and out.

  Marty was windborne . . . he was floating . . . he was part of the sky.

  At first he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut. But not for long. This was the coolest moment of his life; no way was he going to spend it cowering and hiding.

  He opened his eyes.

  For a quick second, the train’s engine loomed up in front of him. The great high beams held his gaze like a huge pair of metal eyes. Then, as the wind started flipping him over, one headlight flickered in a great big magical wink.

  Marty’s feet toppled over his head. Then he was through the cloud cover and plummeting downward.

  He was going home.

  22

  UNSPOKEN THOUGHTS AND SECRET DREAMS

  The sun was all the way up by the time Marty tiptoed in through the back door. To his enormous relief, the house was totally quiet. It was Sunday morning, but still; Mom must have had a really late night to not be up yet. Dad, of course, sometimes didn’t wake till nearly noon.

  He found the note he’d left still wedged into the back door to the kitchen. He pulled it off, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in the trash. As he did, he looked out the window above the sink. He squinted into the clear sunny sky.

  There was nothing. Not a wisp of cloud nor a curl of fog in sight.

  On second thought, Marty pulled the note back out from the top of the trash heap. He smoothed it flat, then folded it and stuck it in his pocket.

  It had happened. It really had.

  Suddenly he shifted in place and flung his hands behind him. His backpack! It wasn’t on his back! Then he remembered pulling it off when he’d sat down next to Star in the engine.

  Marty had left his backpack on the train.

  His eyes widened in panic. How was he going to explain to his mom what had happened to it? More important, he thought, squeezing his hands into fists: How do you go from being the best finder around to being the kind of kid who boards a magical train to find a lost item and not only doesn’t find it but actually loses something else in the process?

  It was too awful to think about. So Marty put that out of his mind. Instead, he closed his right hand around the eggwhistle, safely nestled in one pocket, and his left hand around the pins in the other.

  At least he hadn’t come back with nothing.

  Marty left the kitchen, skirted the stairs, and eased open the door leading into the den. The blinds were pulled down, leaving the room in near darkness. On a far armchair, Mom was curled up with her laptop balanced on the armrest and her legs tucked to her chest. Her mouth was open, her head back. A faint snore came from her throat, each puff of air lifting and ruffling her bangs on her forehead.

  Moving with the lightest of tiptoe treads, Marty approached the hospital bed. He stepped around the IV drip and shifted a pill bottle from the bed onto the night table. The bottle rattled faintly and his dad rolled over.

  Dad’s eyes opened. His gaunt face broke into a smile. “Scooter!”

  “Dad!” Marty breathed.

  With that, all Marty’s other thoughts fell away, unimportant as fluff in the wind.

  Dad raised an eyebrow. His breath came in shallow puffs, but his eyes crackled with curiosity. “You’ve got something—going on, don’t you?” He panted a bit. “There’s that—look about you. You smell like . . . grand adventure?”

  “Don’t I, though!”

  Dad scooted over to make room next to him on the bed. Marty needed no further encouragement. He gingerly eased himself in next to his dad, moving carefully so as not to bump up against him—he knew how fragile Dad’s bones were—but getting as close as he safely could.

  And then he began to speak. He started with the jacket and how important it was to him and how he’d felt when he learned it was lost; how he’d left the house to find the Train of Lost Things; how he’d heard the train’s horn calling him across the dark night streets.

  At this, Dad’s breath caught. His eyes went round as marbles. “You—you found—it?” Dad panted. “The Train of Lost Things?”

  “Did I ever,” said Marty. He started describing the whole adventure, spending a long time on what the train was like and the rules of being there, how they’d worked to fix it, and how amazing the whole thing was. As he went on, though, he started to stammer a bit.

  Because, of course, there was one big thing missing.

  “The—jacket,” said Dad eagerly. “You—found it?”

  And now he had to confess to Dad his deepest and darkest failure: That he’d done all of this, had the most amazing adventure, found the Train of Lost Things, but he still, still, had not found the precious lost jacket.

  The one and only reason he’d gone to begin with.

  Once again Marty clutched the smooth, comforting shape of the eggwhistle. “I didn’t, Dad. I’m so sorry. I tried my best, but—” He shook his head. He looked up, bracing himself for the disappointment he was sure he’d see on Dad’s face.

  Instead, Dad was grinning. “That train outsmarted you, huh?”

  Marty was so relieved that he laughed out loud. “I guess so. But—I didn’t exactly come back empty-handed.”

  “Oh?” Dad tilted his head to the side.

  Marty slowly held his hand out. He spread his fingers so Dad could see what lay in his palm.

  The bed next to him started to tremble violently. “Where—did you—get that?”

  Marty placed the whistle into Dad’s hand, closing his thin fingers around it.

  “You—found—it’s my—eggwhistle!” Dad’s eyes swam with tears. “I can’t—believe it. After all—these years!”

  “I hardly know how it happened,” said Marty. “I searched all over the train for my jacket, Dad. We both did. There was another girl there with me, Dina. And Star.” He had so much to tell him that his story was getting as tangled as a headphone cord in a beach bag. But mostly, everything else was pushed away at the awe and shock and delight on Dad’s face. In a certain light, he almost looked like a kid again, all glee and satisfaction of his deepest wish coming to life.

  “It was on the train all this time,” said Dad. He shook his head, a slight, nearly imperceptible movement. “I always did want—to see that train.”

  Marty looked, really looked at his dad’s paper-thin face, cheekbones sharp as wings framing his face. His labored breaths, growing shallower by the second and starting up a weird rattle now. His mother’s words rang in his ears: “There’s nothing more they can do. . . . At the most, we’ve got days left.”

  Suddenly, Marty knew. Jacket or not, eggwhistle or not: His dad had come to the end of the line. But . . . maybe he didn’t have to be all the way gone.

  “Tell me—more,” said Dad. “I want to hear—all about it.”

  “Here’s the thing, Dad,” Marty said. A huge lump rose in his throat.

  He couldn’t do this.

  He could do this.

  He had to.

  “The train’s been broken—not running right for a while now. We got it part of the way working. We got a driver set up, and she’s got it running smooth again. But the train’s not all the way fixed yet.” Marty swallowed aga
in.

  His dad’s hand was squeezing the eggwhistle so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  Marty reached out and closed both his hands around his dad’s. “I’ve got an idea, Dad. Kind of a crazy idea. But I think—I think you might like it. First, I need to tell you the rest of the story of the Train of Lost Things.”

  23

  ONE LAST CALL IN THE NIGHT

  They stayed like that for ages, curled in close together. He told Dad all about the train, every bit of their adventure and all they’d done. He told Dad everything he’d kept locked inside him all these last months of sickness, everything he’d been afraid to say: how scared he was of Dad going away, how much he would miss him, how he knew Dad’s time was coming soon. And that it was okay with him.

  It nearly gutted him, but he said it.

  Then Dad started talking, a low buzz of words at first. But it was the first time all day that he’d spoken without the gargling rattle and the constant stops to puff out his breath. He told Marty stories of when he was little. He told him about his dreams for Marty’s future. He told him how proud he was of Marty right now. At some point, Marty realized that his mom had woken up and was sitting on the other side of the bed, her arm snaked around Dad’s shoulders, her eyes flooded.

  They kept on like this until Marty suddenly realized that it had been a while since anyone had said anything. He jerked around to look at his dad. He saw.

  Dad’s eyes were closed. His face was flat. He was gone.

  His hand still clutched the eggwhistle.

  Marty buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

  * * *

  • • •

  It was almost too much to bear, Marty thought later that afternoon. The rest of the day had passed in a blur. Mom was alternating between a sort of stupor and a rush of everything-that-needed-doing.