“What is it?”
She pushed herself to just say it. “I—I want to keep Laura.”
His head swiveled back to catch her kneeling, coat and shirt removed and her back to him. “What?”
“I know. I said I didn't want her.” She held a hand over her engorged breasts, full of milk. “But I've changed my mind.”
She clearly had stunned him, because he hadn’t looked away even when she was exposed. Her voice broke. “I'm her mother.”
She reached over, taking Laura and held her at her breast. Harry recovered enough to quickly zip up Zoe. She lay down, careful to allow fresh air in. He put a blanket over them.
Laura nursed and the tugging sensation comforted Zoe through the awkwardness of the conversation.
She bit her lip. “I've wanted to tell you for days. I just didn't know how.”
He turned his head and looked into the darkness over the plains. “You’re certainly her mother.”
He cleared his throat, and Zoe braced for the rebut she expected. “You didn't even want to have her.” He gestured out to where the road likely was. “If that was a busy highway out there, we'd have gotten out a long time ago.”
“I know. And maybe she wouldn't be here now.” Might as well be honest, she felt. “To tell you the truth, I resented you. It seemed too…convenient that it worked out that we had to stay the winter.”
He sighed. “We had this discussion already.”
“Yes we did. And you were right not to try.” She hugged her baby close. “I didn’t want Laura back then. But, we are here now. I love her. I know it doesn't make sense, and it isn’t fair. But it doesn't have to be.”
“What about your career? What if your boyfriend doesn’t want to be a father?”
“Whoa. Many women raise their children alone. Most of them do just fine. In fact, many do better than the ones who have a man.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe for some this is true, but not most.” His voice was hard, impassioned. “Two parents are better. Single moms, single dads, …”
He brought himself to an abrupt stop. Zoe could see his jaw working, which made it very difficult to say what she said next.
“I will do what I have to. Do you think I don’t want a man in my life? My boyfriend has said he loves me, many times. I need that. But a family needs a man who has his act together.” It was her turn to sigh. “We'll see.”
Harry lay there, looking away, quiet.
“Are you angry?” After all he’d done for her and Laura, she did not want it to be like this between them.
“No. Sometimes you trust fate. Trust in what you believe. You do what you think is right. I felt the storm was a sign that you should have this child, and I should help you. This whole ordeal became more than just surviving. For me, it was to help a child into the world.”
His voice choked up and he had to clear his throat. “I began to think how wonderful Laura would be for Carol. I felt like there was a grand plan, right down to Scott, in his final moments asking me to help you have this child. I’m sorry for Carol. In my mind I saw the joy in her face as I handed her a daughter.” His chest heaved and he let out a jerky breath. “This hurts. It’s disorienting. Something important I thought I had is gone.”
“As you said, fate let you out of the choice of not trying to get out sooner. So I had to have Laura. But fate also let me out of knowing if I really would have ended my pregnancy.”
“You mean Laura.”
“Yes, Laura. But if it helps you, I am so grateful that I have this daughter of mine in my arms. I'm grateful to you, I'm grateful I didn't do something I would regret.” She softened her tone to almost a whisper. “But I need you to let go.”
He reacted strongly to that. “I don't know how to stop loving Laura. A child is not a cookie. You can't so simply take her back.”
She wanted to reach out to touch his arm, but wasn’t sure how he would receive the gesture. “You’ve done a lot. But this connection was created in your head. Yes, with help from me. But I am asking you, let go.”
“There is something wrong in what you are saying, but you’re right too. Sitting next to someone on a plane doesn’t make a father. I’m not family.”
He stood. “I think I need quiet. I'll watch for a while.”
#
Harry lay awake for some time watching the stars twinkle above. A warm breeze came off the plains and he reflected, on how different a universe it was, than a night ago.
In the morning, he was putting another mark on his gun case when Zoe woke.
“That's sweet of you.”
“I'll make a present of this case to Laura. Maybe it will remind her of me.”
She yawned. “A reminder? If I have any say, you’ll be in her life.”
At first the words weren’t comforting to him, but a reminder of the parent’s “say” that he would no longer have in Laura’s life. However, the thought of Zoe loving and raising her daughter gave him a sense of warmth. He was becoming more at peace with it all.
She picked up the case to take a close look and smiled. “Hmm.” She traced a label riveted to its side. “I never noticed this before. It says H. J. Smith. Are you a Smith?”
“Sure am.”
She stared at the label. “There are a lot of Smiths in the world.”
“Sure are.”
She continued tracing the Smith. “I know a few. Strange clan.”
“Ha. What is your last name?”
“Sastre. It means tailor in Spanish.”
“Sounds like an even stranger clan.”
“Touché.”
She took a long look at him and then set the case down. They packed and made their down the southward pass, then onto the plains. It was a slow but easy hike. The plains seemed to go forever.
They headed straight out, occasionally glancing back to the receding mountains to gauge their distance. As morning progressed, Zoe started shifting the pouch around. Sensing her arms must ache, he offered to take turns carrying Laura. For hours they plodded. Before they knew it, the afternoon had passed and dusk had made its appearance.
“I figure we’re some twenty miles from the lake.” He took a swig from his water bag. “Do you want some?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Let's spend the night here. We’re only about another half-day’s walk from the road. At least that’s my guess.”
“And what if we don't find it? What then?”
He didn’t want to even contemplate it. But it was a fair question. “We'll have to turn back. We don't have enough water or food to go further.”
“I don't want to go back. I'm not up to ‘Cave Story, part two.’” She used finger quotations. “Crap. Can you hold Laura? I've got to piss.”
“Sometimes you just sound like one of the guys.”
She wandered away, but then called out.
He followed.
“What's this doing here?”
He looked. Even in the dim light, they were obviously railroad ties. They explored further. Lo and behold, they found tracks just beyond.
“It must have been a train I saw. Not a car. A train.”
“Is this good? Is it better than a road?”
“Probably better than a dirt road, but worse than a highway. A train may not come by that often.”
“How do you get a train to stop?”
“That's a good question. Probably wave.”
She looked at him like he was addle-brained. “Wave? What if no one is looking? Why don't you fire your gun?”
“I don't think they would hear it over the noise of the engine.”
“Holy crap! Turn around.”
There was a light in the distance. “You're right. We need a way to get their attention.” He pondered the time they had before the train reached them, recalling what it took for it to originally cross the horizon. “We probably have five minutes.”
“I've got an idea. Tumbleweeds burn like crazy. When I was in Albuquerque they would set pile
s on fire. The flames would shoot above the homes.” She waved her hands toward the sky. “Let’s make a pile on the track and light it up.”
Not a bad idea, he thought. While he looked on, she grabbed a nearby tumbleweed but recoiled.
“Ouch! They’re sharp.” She then carefully took hold of the tumbleweed using both hands and tugged. It was tangled with a mass of others, and she struggled to free it. Frustrated, she tried kicking, but they were hopelessly stuck together and immobile.
“We don't have enough time for this. How about you run ahead, get ready to wave. Leave Laura here. I'll throw a clump of dirt in the conductor's window to get his attention. If he doesn't see me, hopefully when he looks up, he’ll see you.”
“Wouldn’t a rock work better?”
“We want to get his attention, not shatter the window.”
She accepted the plan and ran to get into position. He scurried around to find a nice large clump. Grasping it tightly but careful not to break it apart, he picked it up.
The train, with only a few passenger cars, was coming quickly. For as long as he could, he stood in the middle of the tracks frantically waving his arms. No reaction.
As the train rumbled closer, he stepped to the side. He looked away from the blinding headlight until it passed, at which point he began to hurtle the dirt—the timing was critical. There would be only one chance. Facing the conductor’s window, the clump left his fingertips, giving him an instant to set its course sailing toward the unsuspecting conductor.
In that moment he saw the man reading something, then the dirt slammed into his window, breaking into a million pieces. The train was so loud he wondered whether the conductor even noticed.
Down the track Zoe was waving madly. A moment later the train also raced by her. Through the windows of the brightly lit dining car, he saw the passengers going about their business, oblivious to them.
The train sped off leaving them standing in darkness. Their eyes adjusted from the train’s lights back to the faint starlight. Discouraged, he picked up Laura, who hadn’t been at all disturbed by the thundering sound of the train. She was wrapped in her travel sack and he picked her up, holding her close to his body for warmth. Lethargically, he started toward Zoe.
“My darling Laura. This is going to be harder than I thought.”
Then, the train’s breaks engaged filling the air with a distant but screeching sound. Zoe was dashing after, calling for help.
It was over. They were to be rescued. Not enough of a reason though, to leave his gun behind. He went back with Laura and retrieved it. Briskly walking toward the slowing train, he fought the urge to run as he was carrying Laura. People stepped off the train and circled around Zoe.
“That's your mom up there, sweet-talking them into giving us a ride.”
He picked up his pace, and as he approached, Zoe was already telling about how they crashed months ago. She could hardly contain herself. All eyes and ears were focused on her every word. Her arms waving enthusiastically, she zoomed through their story—how they stayed in a cave through winter, how she had a baby, and how he kept them all alive.
She was out of breath and paused. The floodgates then opened, tears pouring down her eyes and she started hugging everyone.
The conductor shouted, "I'd like to meet this Harry."
“Well, Mr. Conductor, I'm right here.”
He emerged out of the darkness and into a cheering crowd. Eager to get going again, the conductor ushered everyone back onto the train. Everyone was talking and the dining car was full of commotion.
An older man approached Harry and commented that they were similar sizes. He offered Harry clothes and the use of his cabin to clean up. Harry had gotten so accustom to living rough, that he had to look down at himself to realize how ragged he appeared. Happily, he accepted. Zoe and Laura had already been carted off by a group of women, chatting away and eager to help.
They eventually met up again in the dining car. For an hour the passengers were engrossed, listening to them detail their ordeal, but it got late and soon it was just the three of them, and the occasional voice announcing something over the speaker.
A portable crib had been brought into the dining car. Here Laura slept under a soft pink blanket. Although it was well past dinnertime, a sleepy chef entered the dining car and offered to make them something.
“We've been living off venison, squirrels, and sometimes pine needles. Would you be so kind as to make me a sizzling cheeseburger smothered in grilled onions, with tomatoes and pickles? Oh, and a bowl of hot soup, and some bread. Would you do that for me?” Zoe grinned at the man.
The chef smiled, yawned and nodded okay.
“That's sounds great. I'll have the same.” He glanced out the dark window. “By the way, where are we going?”
The chef told them the next stop was Grand Junction, about five hours away.
“We're going home,” said Zoe.
“It appears we are, indeed.”
#
Listening to the clickety-clack of the train, Harry watched Zoe take the first bite of her burger. Their eyes met when she glanced up.
“Harry, I want to tell you something.”
He swallowed a large spoonful of soup. “Oh no. Not another one of these talks. How about telling me that there isn't enough ketchup on your hamburger? Then, ask me for the ketchup. I can handle that.”
She gave him one of her funny looks. “When I saw you walk over to the train carrying Laura, It was wrong when you said you weren’t family. I wanted to tell you that. When we first crashed, it was okay—actually, I was relieved that no matter what, I wouldn't be saddled with a baby. You wanted Laura, I didn't.”
“Do you really want to go over all that again?”
“Well, it made me think that there I was, just kicking in some DNA. Laura is here because of both of us. I want you to know that to me, you’re family, and that's how I want Laura to see you.”
This time, the sentiment stretched deep in his heart. “That's nice of you. I've grown quite fond of both of you.” He would be honored to have any part in little Laura’s life. “But Zoe, Laura has you, and a father, and she already has grandparents. They have a role only they can play. Don't take that away from them. But I certainly can be a special friend.”
She placed her hand over his. “You were willing to be her father. You are more than that.”
“Okay, but I’m not her father. She'll meet her father soon enough.” Unless… “You do intend to tell him, don’t you?”
“Probably. I didn't want to be tied to him.”
“A father should connect to his children.”
“You mean children need a father?”
“That too. It’s two ways you know.”
Zoe was quiet seemingly thinking about what he had said. “Not that I don't love him, but I guess I am tied to him whether I want to be or not. Boy, what a surprise for him. For months he has thought I am dead. And tomorrow, he not only gets his girlfriend back, but a daughter.”
“It's nice sometimes how it works out.”
She dropped her fork, which clattered on the table. “Jeez, I hope he hasn’t gotten another girlfriend.”
Harry let out a big laugh, as the jubilation of the moment made the question sound funny.
“I’m serious Harry. If someone thinks you’re dead, you’re out of the picture. Oh my god, could he think I’m dead?” Her eyes widened and she poked her head forward.
“Okay, it’s possible.”
#
Harry greeted the conductor when he approached their table. Zoe had been dosing and opened her eyes. The conductor had brought a pen and paper.
“I’ve radioed ahead with news of your rescue. They want to know, would you like them to contact anyone right away?”
Zoe perked up. “Oh my parents. Please call my parents. They are the Sastre's.” She reached for the paper and pen. “Let me write their phone number down.”
The conductor turned to Harry.
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“Please, my wife Carol. My daughters live at home, but my son’s moved into his own apartment. He's on Maple Street. I don't remember his number, but Carol will call him.” He finished writing down her phone number.
Zoe had looked out the window at the silhouette of the mountains, but apparently was still listening.
“That’s a noisy street,” she quipped.
Harry chuckled, thinking to himself that it was her and her gang at the bar that made it so.
The conductor just stood there. Zoe was about to say something when he broke the silence. “The guy on the radio said everyone thinks you’re dead.” He beamed a smile and continued, “You’re alive. This is wonderful news.” He then enthusiastically shook their hands one more time before leaving.
“Quite the crew we have here.” Zoe rested her head against the cushioned back of her seat.
“Yup.” Harry leaned back in his chair as well, stretching his legs.
Zoe went to check Laura. On her return, she was a bit animated.
“I’ve been thinking. Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you recall where on Maple Street your son lives?”
Odd girl. “Of course, 1402 Maple Street.”
Zoe started to say something but was interrupted by the conductor, who returned and reported that Harry’s wife wasn’t answering. He asked if Harry was sure he couldn’t remember his son's phone number.
“I wish I did, but I don't.”
Zoe’s mouth opened and her eyes were big. “You need to talk to your son more.”
With the conductor waiting, this was hardly the time. He cleared his throat. “As I told you before, we don't communicate.”
She was about to continue, but he pinned her with a glare that brooked no argument. She was out of line and this was embarrassing.
“Here,“ she blurted out. She wrote a number underneath the others, and then reached across the table placing her hands on his shoulders. “Mr. Conductor, please have them tell Harry’s son that his father, and girlfriend are safe.”
The conductor scratched his head, but nonetheless left to try the number.
Harry’s mouth hadn’t shut during the entire thing. Was she saying…?
“You—you’re my boyfriend’s dead father. Incredible, isn't it. Mark said you were dead and it never dawned on me to doubt it. Why would I? And you, you never even knew I was your son’s girlfriend. Wow. How could we have missed it?”