Grounded (41 page)

Sylvia, their sleeping car attendant, came by as the train pulled out of the station to let them know the dining car steward would be by shortly to get their dinner reservation and to ask if they had any questions. But after the two days on the Empire Builder, both Grace and Sam figured they knew the drill. By seven o'clock they were seated in the dining car perusing the menu and introducing themselves to their tablemates, a middle-aged white couple.

“Tim Crawford, my wife Patty. Just came out to visit our son at the navy base in San Diego. You?” Grace felt a little embarrassed to introduce herself as a concert artist, but Sam had no qualms and chatted freely about the recent West Coast tour. Patty seemed especially interested.

Their salmon and chicken dinners arrived along with salads, rolls, hot tea, and soft drinks—Tim and Patty had wine with their
salmon dinners—and the foursome chatted amiably as the wait staff bustled back and forth, not missing a step in spite of the sometimes swaying car. Grace, sitting by the window just beyond the galley in the middle of the dining car, was riding backward, watching as drainage ditches and large concrete walls hiding housing developments slid past her view. Not exactly great scenery coming out of Los Angeles.

A man coming through the galley and passing their table caught her attention—a middle-aged African American wearing a plaid flat hat and dark glasses …
wait
. Could it be—?

“Mr. Bentley?” Grace called out. “Mr. Bentley, is that you?”

But the man just kept moving down the middle aisle. And then she saw he was holding the handle of a black guide dog pressed close to his leg.
Duh
. The man was blind.

“Someone you know?” Tim Crawford asked, twisting his head to look after the man and his dog as they made their way to the door at the end and disappeared into the lounge car.

Grace shook her head, embarrassed. “No. He looked like one of my neighbors back home, but I was obviously mistaken.”

Sam gave her a teasing poke. “I guess so. Not all black people look alike, you know.”

Grace ignored her and flagged one of the wait staff. “What do you have for dessert?” After all, it was the end of the tour and she was ready to celebrate.

As they got ready to leave the diner, Sam said, “Think I'll go to the lounge car—should be nice watching the sunset over the desert. Wanna come?”

Grace shook her head. “No, think I'll go back. But you go on. I'll be fine.” She really needed some time alone to think about what she would tell Roger when she got home.

Back in their compartment, Grace drew the curtain over the glass in the door, and curled up in the corner by the window. The backyards of Los Angeles had disappeared into the twilight and they were out in the desert. A waning full moon cast an eerie glow over the landscape.

Grace leaned her cheek against the cool window.
O God … I truly did love Roger. I was so happy, so looking forward to being married. But I felt so burned, so rejected when he broke our engagement, I just don't know how to trust him again. And yet … he really seems to be sorry for how abruptly he ended things, seems to want to give our relationship another chance. Shouldn't I at least give us a chance? See if we can learn how to work out problems in a healthy way?

All couples had problems. She'd obviously been too starry-eyed to see them creep up. How immature was that? She needed to grow up. Be willing to face her faults like an adult, make changes if need be.

But exactly what changes did Roger want to make in their relationship? Changes for their good as a couple—or changes because she wasn't the person he imagined her to be?

Grace sighed as the darkness outside deepened. They definitely needed to work on their communication. Learn how to be open and honest with each other. Which meant she had to be honest with Roger about her past—

A tapping on the glass door of the compartment broke into her thoughts. “Yes, who is it?” A few more light taps on the door. Grace got up, slid back the curtain—and had a start. The blind man she'd seen in the dining car stood at her door. What—?

As she slid open the door, the man removed his glasses and said in a low voice, “May I come in, Miss Meredith?”

There stood Estelle Bentley's husband, big as life. “It
was
you!” she gasped.

Harry Bentley put a finger to his lips and raised his eyebrows as if repeating his request.

She lowered her own voice. “Of course! Come in. What in the world are you doing here?”

Her neighbor stepped in, the sweet-faced black Lab with its handle and leather harness that said “Guide Dog” right at his side, and slid the door closed behind him. “May I?” He pointed to the long couch.

“Yes, yes. Take a seat.” Grace could hardly get over her surprise.

“Sorry I had to ignore you in the dining car, Miss Grace, but you almost gave away my cover.” Harry sat. “You know I do security for Amtrak. I'm riding some of the trains as an Amtrak detective, and—I know this get-up may seem silly—but I needed a cover so I could bring the dog. I need to ask you not to speak to me or acknowledge me in any way. Or your friend either. She … doesn't know who I am, does she?”

Grace shook her head. “She knows your wife, but I don't think she's ever seen you. And she thinks I was totally off thinking you were on the train.”

Harry nodded. “Good. Keep it that way. Wish I could stay and talk, but I should move on. I'm two cars ahead in the handicapped compartment.”

His dog had been sniffing around the compartment and now came over to Grace. “Do you mind?” Harry said.

“Not at all. Such a sweet dog.” Grace reached out her hand and the black dog licked it.

“Yeah. Corky's my partner. But please don't interact with her out in the train.”

The man rose and replaced his dark glasses once more. “Well, I'll be seeing you around.” He emphasized the word
seeing
with a grin. “Just don't be offended if I ignore you the rest of the trip.”

“Of course.”

“C'mon, Corky.” He slipped out, sliding the heavy door shut behind him.

Of all things! Harry Bentley working undercover on the trains as a blind man with a guide dog! Wait till she told—oh, no. She couldn't tell Sam. That would have been so fun.

Had they had undercover detectives on the Empire Builder too? Ordinary-looking passengers just riding the rails to keep the other passengers safe?

She smiled. She liked that.

Harry Bentley's surprise visit made it hard to get her mind back on her dilemma with Roger. She decided to join Sam in the lounge car. But as she made her way into the domed car, she saw the girl
from the station, Ramona, and the guy she was with sitting in one of the double seats facing the observation windows. Up close, she took in his casual J. Crew look—faded jeans, tight black tee, black sport coat. His face was pale, accentuating his blond hair, cut short on the sides and in back, with a spiky thatch on top. He had earphones plugged into his ears and was listening to an iPod, his arm on the back of the girl's chair as she flipped through a magazine.

Grace stopped. “Hi, Ramona. Nice to see you again.” She waited for a response. “Grace, in the station … remember?”

Ramona looked up. “Oh. Yes!
Hola
.”

Grace tipped her head, looking past the girl to the guy, her eyebrows raised, silently asking to meet him too.

“Oh, uh …” Ramona glanced at her companion, but the young man turned away ever so slightly. The girl just shrugged at Grace.

Grace felt awkward. “Well … maybe I'll see you around.” She moved on, still looking for Sam.

A voice behind her said, “Wait.” She turned to see Ramona half rise out of her seat, but in the next moment the boyfriend—or whatever he was—yanked on her arm and pulled her back down.

Grace stared. It was all she could do not to march back and get in the guy's face. But then he put his arm around the girl again and pulled her close, nuzzling her neck. Ramona seemed to resist for a moment, then shrugged and leaned back against him.

“Grace?” Sam's voice called her. Her assistant waved at her from a seat beyond the stairway that went down to the café on the lower level. Grace joined her and dropped into an adjoining seat. But anger boiled up inside her gut. She didn't like what she'd just seen. What was a kid like Ramona doing traveling all the way to Chicago with a guy his age, anyway? He had to be at least ten years older. Young girls could so easily be manipulated by older guys—or even charming guys their own age.

She ought to know.

Grace slid on the brocade wedding dress and
turned slowly in the mirror. The curved sweetheart neckline delicately framed her breasts just above the empire waistline. Soft folds of ivory brocade fell to the floor and trailed behind her in a lovely train. A wreath of ivory rosebuds in her hair … a bouquet of ivory roses and green ivy in her hands …

“Grace, it's time,” someone said. She floated down the long church aisle with its red carpet, the pews filled with smiling faces. A man in a black tux—her husband-to-be—stood at the front waiting. But his back was turned. Wait … why was he turned away from her? A feeling of panic stopped her mid-aisle. She was getting married, but she didn't know to whom. She—

A slight jerk made Grace's eyes fly open. Daylight peeked in at the sides of the thick curtains covering the wide window. The tour bus? … No. The train. Their bedroom compartment on the Southwest Chief.

She'd been dreaming.

Grace sat up, careful not to bump her head on the berth above her, and glanced at her cell phone—6:10. Still early, but no way did she want to fall back asleep. The dream disturbed her.

She listened. Given the steady breathing above her head, Sam was still asleep. Quietly gathering her toiletries, fresh undies, and the change of clothes she'd laid out last night, she slipped out of the compartment in her dark-green velour pants and top and made her way down the stairs in the middle of the car. On the landing she stood on tiptoe and peeked out the window. Where were they?
Arizona somewhere, she guessed, by the rugged sandstone formations and desert vegetation sliding past. A small cluster of homes and trailers, a one-pump gas station, even a tepee—probably for tourists—huddled at the base of one of the formations. So isolated! As the train headed toward the sun, she saw several crumbling adobe houses standing a couple hundred feet from the tracks, just yards away from frame or cement-block houses that had replaced them.

She continued down to the lower level … good. No one else seemed to be about. But making her way past the luggage rack and vestibule, she'd just reached for the handle of the door marked “Shower” when she heard a voice say, “Hello? Who's there?” To her surprise, the door to the handicapped accessible bedroom slid open and Harry Bentley stood in the doorway, dark glasses and all. What was he doing in their car? She thought he'd said he was in a sleeper two cars forward.

She almost said, “Good morning, Mr. Bentley!” but remembered what he'd said about not acknowledging him. “It's Grace Meredith from Room E.”

“Uh, miss, would you mind getting me a cup of coffee? I'd ask the attendant but I don't know where she is.”

Grace smiled. She could play along. “Of course. Give me a minute.”

Setting her shower things on the shelf of the luggage compartment, she scurried back up the stairs, following the smell of fresh coffee to the urn in the cubby at the top of the stairs. How did he like his coffee? She poured two cups, snapped on plastic lids, and stuck a few packets of sweetener and creamer in the pocket of her leisure top. Downstairs he was waiting at his door. As she handed him a coffee, he motioned her inside, slid the door shut, and smiled. “We can talk now.”

She grinned. “This is nice. Didn't think we'd get a chance to visit anymore.” He waved aside her offer of sweetener and creamer and invited her to sit down. She sat down opposite him in one of the two seats facing each other beside the window, ducking under the upper berth that was still made up, though it didn't look as if it'd been
slept in. The seats beside the window probably slid together and lay flat to make into a lower berth, like the ones in the roomettes. Harry's guide dog rested on the floor, muzzle on her front paws. “You caught me by surprise,” she said quietly, sipping her hot coffee. “I thought you were in a different car.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Asked if I could move. The whistle was just too loud in that first sleeper.” But he looked at her somewhat quizzically. “My son said he gave you a ride to the train. Did you ask for him?”

She shook her head. “I think he saw my name on that day's list of pickups and asked for the assignment. Nice of him. Said he'd pick us up when we got back too.”

Harry Bentley frowned slightly. Maybe he and his son didn't get along all that well. She decided to change the subject. “I'm so glad you and your wife moved into the neighborhood, Mr. Bentley. Your wife …” Grace hesitated. How much had Estelle told her husband about the personal things Grace had shared in their prayer times? “… has really helped me face some things spiritually.”

The man chuckled. “Yeah. That sounds like Estelle. She's a rock, that woman.”

She's a rock, that woman
. Would Roger ever say something like that about her?

“Mr. Bentley,” she said suddenly, “how did you know Estelle was the one—you know, the person you were supposed to marry? The two of you seem to have a very special relationship.”

The dog got up, walked over to Harry, and then sat down, leaning against his leg. He absently stroked her head as he stared out the window, pondering. Then he looked back at Grace, a shy smile on his friendly face. “Because when I'm with Estelle, she makes me feel like a complete person. Like I can be who God wants me to be. She believes in me, even when I don't believe in myself.”