The Christmas Train (10 page)

“Never mind,” she said, and looked away. “I can go with Miss Eva.”
Or by myself if Miss Eva leaves with Karl
. Except that she wasn't so sure if Karl was even alive. Eventually, though, Miss Eva's son, Paulie, would come and get her.

Anna swallowed the big lump of sadness stuck in her throat. She could act all brave and everything, like coming here to live with some guy who just happened to be her father was no big deal. But if Miss Eva left she didn't know what she would do.

“We can go to church,” came his belated reply. “We'll go together. Midnight mass or in the morning, whatever you want.” When she didn't respond and just kept staring into the snowy darkness at the sparkling lights in this town full of strangers, he asked. “So I guess you're Catholic?”

She shrugged. “Methodist mostly. But sometimes Catholic.” Catholic when Nana Rose wasn't mad at the bishop or the pope. Methodist when she was. She looked up at the mirror. “What religion are you?”

He grinned. Even though she could only see his eyes, she could tell by the way they crinkled up at the corners. “I was raised Catholic. So we have that in common.”

And our eyes.
Anna hadn't expected that, their eyes being exactly the same color blue. Somehow the similarity rattled her. Her mother's eyes were dark brown, like Nana Rose's. She turned her head to the window, breaking the hold of his gaze. He was where she got her blond hair and her blue eyes from. She'd always wondered. And now they were both sort-of Catholics. That was two things—no three things they shared. Plus they both knew her mother. That made four.

As they drove on, the car warmed up. Miss Eva's head slid a little to the side, and Anna heard the same soft snores she'd heard on the train. If she wasn't so nervous about where they were going and what it would be like, she could have fallen asleep, too. Then a song startled her. No, not a song. It was his cell phone.

“Hi,” he said once he'd flipped it open. “No.” He glanced at Anna in the mirror, then away. “I told you, I had to run an errand, that's all. I'll explain everything tomorrow.” Then, “No. Don't come over tonight. I'll call you tomorrow. I promise. Love you. Bye.”

He put down the phone, then veered abruptly into a driveway lined with bushes frosted over with snow, like icing on cupcakes. It led to a parking lot where he pulled into parking space 207.

Anna unlatched her seat belt. “That was your girlfriend, wasn't it? I bet she doesn't know about me.”

He did something with the car, shifted the stick and turned off the headlights. But he didn't turn the engine off. He just sat there, his shoulders hunched as he gripped the steering wheel. Under her feet the floorboards rumbled with the engine, warm and soothing. She didn't want to get out.

“Nobody knows about you,” he finally said, his voice a low, harsh whisper. Then he turned in his seat and stared at her. “Don't get the wrong idea, Anna. If your mother had let you get to know me, I would have told everybody about you. But she refused to let me. She said—” He broke off.

“She said what?” Anna sat very still in the backseat. Nana Rose hadn't known anything about Anna's father, and all her mother had told her was that her father had been a smart-aleck college jerk who'd dumped her the minute he'd graduated. Although Anna didn't know him or have any reason to trust a word out of his mouth, she'd learned long ago never to trust her mother either.

He chewed on his lower lip as if he were searching for the right words. “She told me that you were hers. Just hers. That I had no rights to you.” She saw his Adam's apple flex as he swallowed. “So . . . that's why I was so surprised when she called after all this time and said she was sending you here.” He gestured one hand toward the dimly lit apartment building. “That's why my place isn't exactly ready for company.”

“I wasn't all hers—” Anna broke off, swallowing and struggling not to cry. “I lived with my grandmother.” That's all she could get out with so many emotions jumping around inside of her. Her mother had dumped her off on her grandmother without even letting her father know. Though she wasn't exactly surprised, it still felt like another stab in the back.

Why did her mother hate her so much?

Nana Rose had always denied that. “It's all about Carrie” was what she would say, trying to dismiss Anna's mother's behavior with a shrug. But to Anna that felt just the same as hate.

“Wait. You lived with your grandmother, not your mother?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since I, um . . . since I was almost five.”

She half caught his muffled curse. “Son of a—”

“It's okay,” she said. “I love my grandmother. A lot. But . . . she died in October.”

“Wow. I'm sorry to hear that, Anna.” She heard him take a deep breath. “You know, you have another grandmother. And a grandfather, too.”

Anna's breath caught in her throat, and inside her chest her heart began to thump real hard, like when she rode her bike too fast down a hill. She hadn't thought about more grandparents.

“Yeah.” He nodded and gave her a crooked smile. “More grandparents.”

“In there?” She turned to look at the three-story brick building with its long rows of balconies.

“No. Not here. They have their own house not too far away. We'll meet them soon enough. Meanwhile, time to get you two inside.” While he helped Miss Eva, Anna carried both of their bags. She knew Miss Eva had to really be out of it to let anybody else carry her bag. On the train she'd guarded it like it was worth a fortune.

They took an elevator to the second floor then down an open, wind-whipped balcony, past three doors until they got to apartment 207. Most of the other doors had a little wreath or something else Christmasy hanging on them. But not his. Just a plain brown door with a peephole and a number on it.

She didn't realize how cold she was until they closed the door against the bitter weather. Once he settled Miss Eva into a chair, she seemed to perk up a bit.

“Ach, Karl. Mein Brüder.”
She blinked when he flipped lights on in the living room and kitchen. Then, as she stared around the apartment, her eyes got that foggy, confused look. “What is this place?”

“Karl moved,” Anna said, kneeling next to Miss Eva. She patted her arm, trying to reassure her. “It's okay, though.”

“Moved? But . . .” The old woman turned a stricken face up to Tom. “But why, Karl?”

Again Anna replied before he could. “You know. The war. Everything is different now. But it's good, right? Nice chairs to sit in. A nice kitchen, too.” She held her breath, praying Miss Eva would just go with the flow and not get all agitated.

Miss Eva clutched the chair arms, her knuckles tense as she looked around, and her expression worried. But when her gaze returned to Tom she smiled, and beneath her hand Anna felt her relax. “Oh, Karl. Is so good to be with you again.”

Anna gave her father a pointed look.
Don't spoil everything.

As if he heard her silent plea, he nodded and managed a smile. “I'm glad you're here, too. So.” He rubbed his hands nervously together, then unzipped his jacket and shrugged out of it. “How about we get you two settled for what's left of the night. Anybody hungry?”

Anna was starving, but Miss Eva refused food. While Anna helped the exhausted woman into Tom's giant king-size bed—she'd peeked into the other bedroom to see no bed, only a mountain bike, some ski equipment in the corner, a computer desk, and a tall bookshelf—Tom heated soup for her.

Anna only managed to remove Miss Eva's coat and shoes before the woman collapsed back onto the bed. So she pulled the soft comforter over her and let her sleep in her clothes.

In the dining area between the living room and the kitchen bar Tom had laid out crackers, butter, and a big bowl of soup. “I hope you like chicken noodle.”

“It's fine.” She looked down at it and sniffed. It wasn't Nana Rose's homemade chicken minestrone, but it would do.

Her father perched on one of the bar stools while she dug in, making Anna self-conscious of every accidental slurp, and every cracker crumb that fell on the table. All she wanted was to finish the soup and crawl into bed next to Miss Eva.

And have a good cry.

She choked on a spoonful of soup as a monster wave of sadness swept over her.

“You okay?” He reached over and patted her back as she sputtered and coughed.

“Yes—”

No. She wasn't okay, and without warning she started to cry. Not just cry, though. This was a tidal wave, everything she'd been holding back since her mother had decided to dump her again. Every awful thing since the day Nana Rose had been put in that ambulance and taken to the hospital and two weeks later had died. She hunched over in the chair, her face in her hands, and sobbed, shaking with all the terror she'd tried to swallow down over the last two months.

And when a big hand began tentatively to pat her back, the sobs turned into a hard, broken wail.

“It'll be okay, Anna. I promise.”

But that only made her flinch away from him, crying harder still. It wasn't going to be okay. Grown-ups always said stupid stuff like that. The school counselor said it; so did her mother. And now him, this man who was a stranger to her, but was supposed to be her father.

It wasn't going to be okay.

Not ever.

T
OM
slept on the couch. After steering Anna into his bedroom and tucking her in next to the old lady, he'd stretched out with a beer in one hand and an old quilt flung over him.

It had been awful, watching Anna sobbing like that. He'd never seen anyone cry that hard, especially a little kid. Worse, he'd been the wrong person to try comforting her. He'd reached for her, and for a few, brief seconds she'd let him hold her. But then she'd jerked away, choking on her sobs.

The poor kid. She'd lost everything she knew. Everyone she loved. And he didn't know the first thing about helping her cope with it all. How was he ever supposed to be a good father to her?

And now, after only a few hours sleep, he felt even worse. He had the same set of problems facing him. And they all centered around Anna.

Anna, whom his parents had no idea existed.

Anna, whose presence might once and for all send Joelle running in the opposite direction.

Anna, who would need a place to live, and a school to attend.

Anna, who'd already talked him into taking in a strange old woman. He was a total wuss when it came to dealing with grown women. How much worse would he be with a ten-year-old girl?

Muffling a groan, he pushed up on his elbows. Barely dawn, and neither of his houseguests was awake yet. Good. Coffee first, then he'd call Joelle. Do that over the phone. His parents, though . . . He'd have to go over there and tell them the truth before he introduced them face-to-face to their granddaughter. Then there was Miss Eva to deal with. What if her brother, Karl, existed only in her head?

He slumped back on the couch then pulled the pillow over his face. He would deal with Joelle and the old lady first. Then he'd have to confront his parents.

He should have told them yesterday. Or the day Carrie called him.

Or maybe he should have owned up to it ten years ago when he'd found out Carrie was going through with the pregnancy.

He flung the pillow across the room and lurched up from the couch. He felt sick, disgusted with every cowardly decision he'd made. Whatever accusations, disappointment, or recriminations were launched at him by his folks; his sister, Sarah; and Joelle, he deserved them. And more.

He couldn't even wait even for the coffee to drip before calling Joelle.

“It's me. Yeah, I know it's early but, well, I've got something to tell you.”

F
ROM
the bedroom Anna could smell the coffee, an aroma she associated with Nana Rose. They'd had a cup together every morning, black for her grandmother, and heavy on the milk and sugar for her. Milk coffee, Nana Rose had called it.

Should she get up since he was up?

Next to her Miss Eva lay very still. She'd coughed a lot during the night, but now her breathing, though raspy, was even.

Anna studied the dim bedroom, the tall chest of drawers and the set of three photos of wild ducks or geese or some kind of bird. At least he didn't have football and basketball posters in his room like her friend Sheila's father did.

Then she heard his voice. Was someone here with him?

By the time she reached the door she realized he was on the phone with someone named Joelle. His girlfriend, of course. And he was telling her about Anna. Finally.

“. . . was in college. Yeah, I know. But she's never been a part of my life—”

He broke off, obviously getting an earful from this Joelle.

“You're right. You're right.
I
haven't been a part of
her
life.”

Anna's shoulders slumped and she turned away from the door. It sounded like Joelle was more on her side than her own father was.

So what else is new?
She'd always known that neither of her parents wanted her. The question was, would he keep her, send her to his parents, or . . . or what? Put her in foster care? Could parents do that, just hand their kids off if they didn't want them? She should have made friends with Alex in fourth grade last year. Everybody said he'd been in foster care for almost a year before he got adopted by a real family and moved to their school. He could have filled her in on what to expect.

“No, not yet,” her father went on. “I'm going to see them today.”

Anna cracked the door open a little wider and leaned forward enough to peer into the living room. She still couldn't see him, but she could hear better.