Epilogue II
I can see seven concrete streetlights from the entrance to the train station.
Seven.
A bus hisses and moves away and in its place are Mom and Mr. Davenport, hand in hand, walking toward me past the churchyard railings.
Three years ago I would have been furious to see them like this.
Two years ago I would have been irritated.
Even though I knew by then that Mr. Davenport was a decent man.
I’ve probably always known it. But it took me years to trust him with her.
I call him Dennis now.
My heart sits high in my chest. Full. Swollen to the point where it beats like an orchestral bass drum.
When I bought the ticket yesterday the man in the booth passed it through to me.
An orange cardboard rectangle. A standard single from this place to someplace else entirely.
A new world. When I left I passed Gunner working in the coffee kiosk.
We had a long chat. I asked him about his daughter and he asked me about the Bears game last weekend even though I don’t watch football.
We’ve both grown up a lot since the old days.
Mom’s smiling as she approaches but her eyes are wet.
She’s making strange faces to stop herself from crying, to avoid ruining her makeup.
An invisible hero. The strongest person I will ever know but nobody else can see it.
There are many like her. Holding on, keeping it together, looking for a way out, feeding those in their care, protecting and loving.
So many invisible heroes.
I said goodbye to Jennifer earlier today.
She calls herself Jen now and she’s started her own import-export company, choosing to postpone college for a year or two.
It’s tough, she says, but I know she’ll make a success of it.
We haven’t been together for a long time, but she’ll always be my first love.
She took a chance on me when I had no confidence and she had plenty.
I was an untouchable, a social pariah, and she kissed me in front of everyone at the bus station and she completely transformed my life.
Smoke rises from the factory and passes the hills in the distance and moves up into a mottled sky.
Phoenix left envelopes. Mine talked about living for myself and moving on from whatever went on before.
He said I’d need to find a way, in time, to find peace inside.
He said I should learn to love who I am, and how that isn’t easy and sometimes, too often, it takes the best part of a lifetime to figure it out.
But he said if I learn to be at peace then I can help others.
He said he knows that because it’s eventually what happened to him.
Mom picks up her pace and Dennis accelerates to keep up. She looks at him then at me.
They’re coming closer.
I’m wearing his leather jacket, of course.
That’s probably why she’s so upset. She knows exactly what Phoenix gave up for us both.
It has a special power, this old leather.
Sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. When I’m untethered and afraid, like when I accepted the college offer, applied for the scholarship, I wear the jacket.
It’s thick leather. Phoenix used to say it could stop a bullet.
Paul Pricklett did better in his SATs than anyone expected, him included.
He’s going to UMass to study English. First in his family.
His mother’s driving him there with a station wagon packed full of ramen noodles and frozen homemade lasagnas.
He’s going to come down and visit me when he’s settled.
I owe him more than I can put into words.
Mr. Turner, Phoenix, Dennis. Mom, of course. Paul. I owe all of them. Small things and enormous things. Keeping me going. I’ll never forget what they did for me. And in a way I still can’t fully comprehend, Dad helped me as well. The good part of him helped me turn my life around.
“Hello, love. You ready?”
I nod. “We’d better get to the platform.”
She squeezes my shoulder.
“You packed your paperwork?” says Dennis. “Your forms? Certificates? ID?”
I smile at him and nod.
“Ticket? Cash?” he says.
“Yes, Dennis.”
It still feels a little awkward to call him that.
A little girl passes by on her bright turquoise scooter. Her mom follows, carrying three Safeway bags.
I understand my mother better now than I did even a year ago. She is impressive; she’s just very quiet about it. It’s as if she treads lightly on this world. Acts without ceremony or expectation of reward.
It’s good that she has Dennis. If she was alone I probably wouldn’t be doing this today. I wouldn’t be able to leave her. But he’s releasing me from this town and some of the complex memories it holds. Dennis is the one setting me free.
We’ve talked about visiting England after I graduate. After I’ve worked a few years. I want to save up, if I can, and take the three of us on a trip to see Mom’s relations.
She never told me what Phoenix wrote her in that letter. And because of the way she looked when she read it I have never once asked her.
I step up onto the train and place my bag on a seat. It’s the same bag that was moved, stolen, placed in wet planters. The bag is coming with me.
I think she knows now that I’m not like Dad.
She worried about it for years, as I was growing taller and stronger, after I started shaving.
She looked at me and sometimes she saw him, I know she did.
But I think she has put the matter to rest. I am made up of both of them, but also of myself.
I still don’t know who I am, exactly, but I think I know who I am not.
The sheriff was gentle and considerate after Dad died. We gave our statements and they listened to Phoenix. I’ll never forget what he did for us.
I check my seat number and stow my bag.
They’re down on the platform. I step off and hug them both. Mom squeezes me so tight she hurts my back.
“I’m always here for you, Sammy.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Whatever you need. Night or day. I’m always here for you.”
“We both are,” says Dennis, not looking me in the eye.
I step back up onto the train. Mom holds out a Milky Way wrapped up in a fifty-dollar bill. I reach out for it and my gold bracelet, made from Nanna Ruth’s necklace, catches the light. She wears an identical one.
“Look after yourself, love.”
I smile. “You too, Mom.”
Jen will be waiting on the footbridge where we first met. She said she’d be there watching the train leave the station. She said if I wasn’t on the train she’d track me down and damn well put me on the next one.
I can sense the hardness of Dad’s pocketknife in my pocket. I keep it clean and sharp these days. Maintain it like he showed me.
A train guard blows a whistle and the doors beep and close.
She smiles through her tears.
I miss Dad. Never saw that coming. Right now I miss him very much. The good parts. His training, his reading, his face. Despite everything, I miss him.
She places her hand on the glass window of the train door.
This town will always be my home, but it never will again.
I love you, Mom.
She smiles and mouths, I love you, Sammy Jenkins.
They won’t know me in New York. They won’t know about her hospital stay and what Dad did. They won’t know the names kids used to call me and how we lived on a boat with no working fridge. I’ll be away from this place.
I always dreamed of sitting in a train car like this.
Mom smiles from the platform, wipes her eyes.
Then she winks.
The train pulls away slowly from the station.
I am gone.