said matter-of-factly, as if she assumed I would both
understand and accept this brief explanation. The slack expression on my face
must have given me away because, after another long thoughtful moment, she
said, “Try to think of it as the point between; it sounds so much more
impressive that way.” I got the sneaking suspicion she was making a joke, but
neither of us laughed. “Then again, most folks here just refer to it as The
Station.”
She
pointed to the front of the building, in the direction of the floating sign,
but on this, I needed no clarification. I was more than a little confused about
how and where and what I was, but I could certainly read the signs.
“Somewhere?”
I pressed, trying to understand. “But where is that exactly?”
She smiled
pleasantly, her brown eyes, round and wide. “Somewhere is halfway to
Everywhere. Just this side of Anywhere. That’s the beauty of it.”
“That
doesn’t tell me a thing,” I complained. “Can’t you be more specific?”
“Some things are simpler than we can ever
imagine. In time, I think you’ll come to understand.” With a straight face,
eyes twinkling, she added, “Then again, being dead helps.” She slid across the
bench and reached back for my hand. “Don’t dilly-dally,” she ordered in a
motherly tone. Searching my eyes, she extracted his name. “Ethan wants to see
you!”
I gawked
openly at everyone as we made our way through the Station, but no one seemed to
care or notice, which made me feel way better about staring. Creesie was right; no one paid much attention. It was slow
moving through the crowd, but as we got closer, I could see that we were
heading toward the ticket booth in the corner. It was the size of a wide
window, and etched into the wooden panel below it were the same ornate figures
I’d spotted on the elevator doors in Amora’s room.
The word
TICKETS hung above the window in large capital letters. After waiting our turn,
a boy with reddish-blonde hair greeted us. He wore a golfer’s cap a couple
sizes too big for his head, a neatly pressed uniform, and a smile the size of Texas. The tiny gap
between his front teeth made him all the more adorable.
“What’s
the story, morning glory?” he asked Creesie in a
lively voice.
“Mac,
I’d like you to meet our new arrival.” Creesie looked
over her shoulder at me. “This is Hope Valenti.”
“Well!”
The boy greeted me with an impish grin. “Welcome to the Station, young lady!
We’ve been expecting you. Name’s Johnnie McAllister, but everyone calls me—”
“Mac?” I
smiled at him. It was the first thing I’d gotten right all day.
“Well, ain’t you the cat’s meow?” Mac wagged his finger at me and
winked. “If I was about thirty years younger, I’d let you chase me around the
block. I might even let you catch me!”
“Thirty?” Creesie snorted. “More like sixty, but who’s
counting?” Leaning on the counter, she grasped Mac’s hands in excitement.
“Hope’s ready to travel!”
“Swell!”
Mac said, equally delighted. “You explain the ropes to her?”
“Not
yet, but I will. Patience is a virtue, you know.” She made it sound more like a
reminder than a cliché.
“Preaching
to the choir, sister! If I’d learned about patience years ago, I wouldn’t have
pulled out in front of that speeding car.” Cheerfully, he muttered, “Lesson
learned.” Into Creesie’s open palm, Mac dropped a
large wooden coin with those familiar carvings. He grinned at me, tipping his
red hat politely. “Happy travels, young lady.”
It was
slightly disconcerting to look into his twelve-year old face and realize that
somewhere behind that façade lurked a possibly seventy-year old man, but I
couldn’t help but be charmed. Though I had no idea how this worked, as I rolled
the coin between my fingers, I said, “I guess I’ll see you soon?”
“Sooner
than you can imagine, doll.” Mac flashed another grin.
Creesie led me to the wall of
understand and accept this brief explanation. The slack expression on my face
must have given me away because, after another long thoughtful moment, she
said, “Try to think of it as the point between; it sounds so much more
impressive that way.” I got the sneaking suspicion she was making a joke, but
neither of us laughed. “Then again, most folks here just refer to it as The
Station.”
She
pointed to the front of the building, in the direction of the floating sign,
but on this, I needed no clarification. I was more than a little confused about
how and where and what I was, but I could certainly read the signs.
“Somewhere?”
I pressed, trying to understand. “But where is that exactly?”
She smiled
pleasantly, her brown eyes, round and wide. “Somewhere is halfway to
Everywhere. Just this side of Anywhere. That’s the beauty of it.”
“That
doesn’t tell me a thing,” I complained. “Can’t you be more specific?”
“Some things are simpler than we can ever
imagine. In time, I think you’ll come to understand.” With a straight face,
eyes twinkling, she added, “Then again, being dead helps.” She slid across the
bench and reached back for my hand. “Don’t dilly-dally,” she ordered in a
motherly tone. Searching my eyes, she extracted his name. “Ethan wants to see
you!”
I gawked
openly at everyone as we made our way through the Station, but no one seemed to
care or notice, which made me feel way better about staring. Creesie was right; no one paid much attention. It was slow
moving through the crowd, but as we got closer, I could see that we were
heading toward the ticket booth in the corner. It was the size of a wide
window, and etched into the wooden panel below it were the same ornate figures
I’d spotted on the elevator doors in Amora’s room.
The word
TICKETS hung above the window in large capital letters. After waiting our turn,
a boy with reddish-blonde hair greeted us. He wore a golfer’s cap a couple
sizes too big for his head, a neatly pressed uniform, and a smile the size of Texas. The tiny gap
between his front teeth made him all the more adorable.
“What’s
the story, morning glory?” he asked Creesie in a
lively voice.
“Mac,
I’d like you to meet our new arrival.” Creesie looked
over her shoulder at me. “This is Hope Valenti.”
“Well!”
The boy greeted me with an impish grin. “Welcome to the Station, young lady!
We’ve been expecting you. Name’s Johnnie McAllister, but everyone calls me—”
“Mac?” I
smiled at him. It was the first thing I’d gotten right all day.
“Well, ain’t you the cat’s meow?” Mac wagged his finger at me and
winked. “If I was about thirty years younger, I’d let you chase me around the
block. I might even let you catch me!”
“Thirty?” Creesie snorted. “More like sixty, but who’s
counting?” Leaning on the counter, she grasped Mac’s hands in excitement.
“Hope’s ready to travel!”
“Swell!”
Mac said, equally delighted. “You explain the ropes to her?”
“Not
yet, but I will. Patience is a virtue, you know.” She made it sound more like a
reminder than a cliché.
“Preaching
to the choir, sister! If I’d learned about patience years ago, I wouldn’t have
pulled out in front of that speeding car.” Cheerfully, he muttered, “Lesson
learned.” Into Creesie’s open palm, Mac dropped a
large wooden coin with those familiar carvings. He grinned at me, tipping his
red hat politely. “Happy travels, young lady.”
It was
slightly disconcerting to look into his twelve-year old face and realize that
somewhere behind that façade lurked a possibly seventy-year old man, but I
couldn’t help but be charmed. Though I had no idea how this worked, as I rolled
the coin between my fingers, I said, “I guess I’ll see you soon?”
“Sooner
than you can imagine, doll.” Mac flashed another grin.
Creesie led me to the wall of
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