The Train Solution

He didn't like it at all. Not one little bit, the way the young couple on their fancy bikes were smiling and looking so over-the-top happy. Look at her, dressed for the cool fall weather in a dark blue top and purple sleeveless insulated vest and her black tights with lavender, pink and white swirls. So nauseatingly perky and cheerful. And the guy pedaling behind her, with his stupid grin and super white teeth that even from where he watched across the street, seemed to gleam unnaturally - what was the deal with him, anyway? They were both bothering the hell out of him and he figured he knew exactly what that irritating happiness was all about. Probably had sex last night and then again this morning, he thought to himself, feeling only the tiniest twinge of envy, well bully for them. Then out for a bicycle ride in the late afternoon sunshine, with their lovemaking afterglow on display for all to see...it was starting to make him sick.

            Grumbling, Jack Tremaine got out of his car, beeped it locked and walked to the corner where he waited impatiently for the light to change. He glared at the traffic streaming by from both directions, daring each and every driver to look at him so he could stare back and mentally give them a good piece of his mind. None did. What a bunch of cowards, he thought to himself, inwardly smirking. He would have easily shown them who was boss.

            When the light turned green, he crossed the street and went into the little coffee shop on the corner called The Chicken Scratch Cafe which was the most idiotic name for a place to sit and drink coffee that he could ever imagine, but there you had it. There was no accounting for some people's taste when it came to putting their creativity (or lack of it) on display for all to see. But he and Lynn used to frequent the cafe on a regular basis, so what the hell, he sighed, and tried not to let it bug him. But deep down it still did.

            "I'll have a mug of English Breakfast, please," he told the young, eyebrow pieced, ear studded, androgynous looking guy behind the counter. "And one of those gluten free peanut butter cookies while you're at it," he added, seeing a cellophane wrapped stack of his old time favorites on a plate off to the side. Then he silently counted under his breath while the guy decided at that very moment to begin telling the young woman he worked with about the 'Wicked cool night' he'd had last night. On and on he yapped at his co-worker (wasn't she supposed to be working instead of sitting around listening to this idiot babble like an out of control bubble making machine?), regaling her with his observations on life and music at some stupid bar he'd been to. Here it was nearly three in the afternoon and the goofball probably had just gotten up and stumbled into work, still hung-over. God, the incompetence of some people.

            "That'll be six-fifteen," the kid said, while still talking to her. He hadn't yet made eye contact with Jack.  

            Man, what a..., Jack thought himself, tossing down seven dollars and unable to come up with a comment derogatory enough to do justice to complete his observation. Normally he would have said to keep the change, but he was in a foul mood, and he tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently waiting for his money, smirking to himself when it appeared the kid had trouble coming up the how much was owed.

            "It's eight-five cents, pal," Jack said, feeling for a moment like kind of a jerk, but it quickly passed. So what, anyway? Why should he even care about some bonehead who couldn't count, couldn't make change and only cared about partying until all hours of the morning when he should be paying attention to good, honest paying customers like himself? There ought to be a law.

            "Yeah, right," the kid said, reddening a little on his neck, handing him three quarters and a dime, "Gottcha."

            "Geez, there is no hope for this world," Jack muttered under his breath, taking his tea and his cookie and making his way to a tiny table for two by the window.

            The coffee shop was small and looked out onto the corner at the intersection of two busy streets in a quaint, older residential neighborhood in southwest Minneapolis. Jack and Lynn liked to come to it after browsing in the used bookstore next door. They'd get some books, come to The Chicken Scratch, grab a table, have tea and a snack and talk over their purchases. In fact, this table by the window was their favorite. Often, when they'd finished, they'd go for a walk hand in hand along tree lined sidewalks, enjoying looking at the older, well cared for homes nearby, some of which were built a hundred years earlier. Those were good times. Good times that now were over and done with. Had been for six months, in fact, ever since Lynn had died after a short but intense fight with cancer. He missed her every day. God, what a miserable life. He left his tea untouched as he stared out the window, not registering at thing, his thoughts turned inward to memories of his cherished wife and the life they'd had together.

            Behind the counter, Ryan motioned to Abby. "What's with that guy?"

            "Yeah, the dude was rude, right?" Abby said back to him laughing a little at her joke.

            "I'm serious," he answered. "He's been coming in for a while now by himself. Wonder what happened to the woman he was always with?

            "I remember her," Abby said, suddenly a little embarrassed by her comment. "She was friendly and always wore those long dresses. She told me once she made them herself. They seemed good together."

            "Yeah, reading their books and stuff."

            "What do you think? They split up?"

            "They seem too old for that."

            "Yeah," Abby said, "Something must have happened, though. Kind of sad, right?"

            "Maybe she died," Ryan said, thinking about his grandfather who had recently passed away, less than a year after his wife, Ryan's grandmother, had died.

            "Maybe," Abby added, she too now starting to remember a lost loved one; in this case her father who had died in a car accident when she was only ten.

            Whatever it was with the guy, it got them both thinking: in addition to lost loved ones, they'd each been through romantic break ups. They were never easy, and both of them hoped someday they'd met someone who they could be with for years and years, instead of weeks and weeks. Lost in their thoughts, Ryan and Abby watched the door and their customers, waiting for more business, suddenly both a little sad.

            The guy with the tea and cookie sat at a table by the window looking out to the sidewalk and street beyond, his mug untouched. He was old and gray and had unkempt, stringy hair that hung limp over his collar. He was skinny, unshaven and wore baggy blue jeans and a worn jean jacket over a red flannel shirt. If Ryan and Abby hadn't been seeing him on and off over the previous year and with the nice woman he used to always be with, they'd think right now that he was one step above being a derelict. Maybe half a step. They knew he wasn't but he certainly looked forlorn and down on his luck. 

            "Let's keep an eye on him," Abby suggested, after a few minutes thinking about her father and now trying shake her blue mood.

            "Good idea," Ryan agreed, somewhat distracted, still thinking about his grandparents. He turned to Abby, "Did I ever tell you about my grandfather?"

            Jack was sick of life and sick to death of people telling him that things would get better. He was especially sick of people telling him that you just had to go through Elizabeth Kubler Ross's five stages of grieving - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. You only needed to be patient and things would eventually turn around and get better. It was all a bunch of crap. He'd held his dear wife in his arms as she passed away in the hospital bed he'd brought in so she could live out the last days of her life in a modicum of comfort in their home - the home they had shared for thirty-seven years, a large part of their forty-seven year marriage. So he didn't deny that she was dead. Nor was he angry, not anymore. It wasn't her fault the cancer had taken her so quickly. Bargaining and depression just seemed like a waste of time and that last stage, acceptance, well what good would that do him? Accept that his wife, his best friend, yes, he could even say his 'soul mate,' if there was such a thing...sure why not accept the fact that she was now gone from his life forever, leaving him unbearably sad and alone and all by himself. Sure, he thought to himself, I accept it. So what?

            He took a sip of his tea, barely tasting it, and sat looking out the window some more. Seeing nothing.

            Ryan and Abby had worked at the cafe for two years, having been hired within a month of each other. He was twenty two and she was twenty five. Where he was thin, almost gangly and liked his piercings, she was short, liked tattoos and had medium length hair she died purple. Each of them favored black clothes. They had developed a friendship over those two years and could talk with each other about almost anything. And they'd waited on lots of customers. Some of them strange. All with a story to tell. The more they watched the guy by the window, the more they wondered about him.

            "You think he's Ok?" Ryan asked. He had just finished getting a coffee to go for a young mother with her infant daughter, who was tucked comfortably into her stroller sound asleep wrapped in a pink blanket with a stuffed bear cuddled to her chest.

            "Hard to say," Abby said, waving good-bye to the mom and her daughter, "Should I go and check on him? See if he's Ok?"

            Ryan grabbed a damp towel and wiped down the counter, thinking. "No, give him some space. Let's just keep an eye on him."

            "Sounds good," Abby said, and she sat down on the stool behind the counter, changing the subject, "So tell me about Mickey Finn's last night. What band was playing? Were they any good?"

            Jack had come out of his quiet reverie and now sipped on his lukewarm tea and nibbled on his cookie while he watched the world on display outside the window, silently seething. God, people are such idiots. Look at that stupid guy with his little dog. He's put a red and white stripped sweater on it, and probably thinking it 'looks so darling' when, in fact, it makes the poor animal look like it belongs in two-bit circus doing back flips and dancing and prancing on its back legs while following around some ridiculous clown with an overblown smile and a honking horn. Nice life for the dog. He shook his head in disgust, his gaze falling on a mother pushing her daughter in a stroller who had just left the cafe. Look at her, drinking that precious coffee while her daughter has nothing. Selfish, selfish, selfish. Nice parenting, he groused to himself.

            Suddenly, he felt a pain in his chest. God, I've got to calm down, he thought, steadying himself with his hand on the table, thinking what Lynn would tell him. She'd say, "Calm down, Jack. They're just people out having a nice time. It's nothing to have a heart attack over." She would be right, of course, but he wasn't willing to admit it to himself, not yet, anyway, and certainly not in the mood he was in.

            The thing he kept running over and over in him mind was this: why not just end it? Why not just check out right now and be done with it all? He knew Lynn would hate the fact that he was thinking this way, and, frankly, he hated the fact that he was thinking this way, but to hell with it - that's just the way it was. Sure he had his kids and grandkids and some friends and his brother and sister; lots of people in his life who he knew loved and cared about him, but they couldn't tip the scale away from the fact that, with Lynn gone, he was now all alone, and, truthfully, what was the point of it all anyway? Everyone else he knew had meaningful lives and someone or something to live for. He did not. He had nothing. He'd spent all of his emotional energy caring for Lynn during her illness and he had nothing left. He was done. Finished. Spent. With Lynn gone there was nothing to live for. Why should he even bother wasting another day breathing air and taking up space? Those stages of grief what's her name talked about? Well, try taking a look at the stages of living for a change. Someone figure that one and tell him about it. Then he might listen. But, seriously, who was he kidding? Nothing was going to help him now, certainly not some fly-by-night, 'Here's the solution to living a better life,' self-help guru who only wanted to make a buck out of suckers looking for an easy answer. Well, it certainly wasn't going to be him. I've got news you, buddy, Jack thought to himself, on a roll now, his thoughts clear and true, I'm not going to fall for any of that BS. Better to end it and make room for someone else. Even those two worthless employees behind the counter. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing them talking and laughing with each other. He shook his head thinking, let them live a few more years and have things start to not always go their way, then we'll see whose laughing. He thought of Lynn and took a deep breath to calm down some more before he really did have a heart attack. But then he thought, so what if I did? Anything was better than this.

            The cars and trucks speeding by outside were hypnotic. The more he watched them, the more it seemed they were telling him something: talking to him. Beckoning him to come outside. Telling him they could take the pain away right now. Forever. It made perfectly good sense to him.

            Back home, thirty miles west in Long Lake, there was a train track that ran near the home he and Lynn had shared all those years. He hardly slept at all anymore, instead often rocking in his rocking chair pretending to read, listening to the sounds of the night - sounds like the trains rumbling by in the wee-wee hours. Lately he had contemplated climbing over the chain link guard fence and working his way through the overgrown embankment thirty feet down to the tracks. He imagined himself getting there a few minutes before the final late night train into the cities was scheduled. He'd lay across the tracks, feel the icy steel on his neck, take deep breath, clear his mind, close his eyes and listen as the train approached from the west. It'd run him over, mercifully and quickly putting an end to it all. It was all so simple, really, and he admired himself for coming up with such an elegant plan. He called it The Train Solution. What stopped him was that he could see Lynn shaking her head No at him, admonishing him to, in her words, 'Be a man and pull yourself together.' Well, Lynn, he thought to himself, easier said than done. He sighed and took a sip of his now cold tea, thinking only one thing: what, really, was the point of going on living at all anymore?

            Ryan turned to Abby, looking concerned, "I'm getting a feeling about that guy," he said, pointing to Jack, "and it's not good. I think there's something up with him."

            Abby had been keeping an eye on him too. He seemed a bit off. "Why don't you go check on him?"

            Ryan looked around the cafe. It wasn't quite half full. In addition to the guy by the window, there was a table with three girls from the local high school who were talking quietly, checking their phones and, in general, having a good time being out on an pleasant October Sunday afternoon. There was a forty year old guy reading the newspaper, drinking a latte and having a scone, and two guys about Ryan's age working together on their laptops, drinking their coffees black. He smiled at Abby, "Think you can handle it?"

            "I'll try," she said, joking with him a little and turning to check on the pastry supply in the cooler. Space back there was tight. She could easily keep an eye of the customers. "Why don't you bring him some more tea on us? Just for the heck of it."

            "Good idea."

            Ryan prepared a fresh mug and went around the counter, wove around two tables and approached the guy by the window. He put a smile on his face, "How's it going today?" And when the guy turned to look at him, asked, "I thought you might like some fresh tea." Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't what he got.

            A movement suddenly caught Jack's attention. He looked up. God, he thought to himself, It's that stupid kid from behind the counter coming at me mouthing off about something. Whatever the kid was selling, Jack didn't want any of it. He jumped to his feet and pushed hard passed Ryan. "Out of my way," he growled, reaching for the door handle.

            Ryan, startled and knocked off balance, dropped the mug and it shattered, hot tea splashing across the floor. He made a move to grab the guy's jacket, but the old man shook him off. "Let me go," he yelled as he pulled open the door, ran through it and started for the street.

            Ryan was mad and almost willing to let the guy go, thinking, Friggin' rude SOB, but something motivated him not to. He remembered suddenly the nice lady that the old guy was usually with. He remembered how they had talked and laughed together having their tea and their snack. He remembered them being happy and smiling. What had happened to them? Maybe she really had died. Maybe the guy really was all alone. He thought of his grandmother and grandfather and how they had passed away within a year of each other and how he missed them both. Maybe he could do something to help this old guy, unpleasant as he may be.

            Ryan moved quickly to get through the door before it closed. He felt the cool October air on his face. He saw the young woman he'd served coffee to sitting on a bench waiting for a bus, her daughter sleeping peacefully in her stroller next to her. He saw a few couples out walking together enjoying the afternoon sun, and a guy nearby playing with his little dog. But his attention was drawn to the cars on the street speeding by, racing to beat the yellow light, and he panicked when he realized the old guy was stepping determinedly off the curb between two parked cars and heading right into the traffic.

            Jack had had it. Why wait until tonight to go lay on the tracks and put his Train Solution into effect? Why not just do it now and let some lucky automobile do it for him? He had brushed past that kid from the counter and was on his way. He felt a sense of liberation. The time was now. Let's just end this thing. Who knows, maybe I'll even see Lynn after its all over, he was thinking as he made his way to the curb. One more step past the parked cars. That's all it'll take. One more step and it's all over.

            But that didn't happen. Just as he was stepping toward an especially big SUV he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and then he was being pulled backwards, fighting to keep his balance. What the hell? He turned and looked just as he stumbled and fell to the sidewalk wrapped in someone's arms. God damn, it's that dumb kid from behind the counter. Jack fought for a moment, struggling with the kid who had fallen with him cushioning his fall. He twisted back and forth, fighting in vain before suddenly giving up. The kid was too strong. Jack lay limp and prone. The kid moved to a sitting position on the sidewalk, holding his head in his lap, cradling him, saying, "Hey there, man, take it easy. It can't be all that bad, can it?"

            Jack had nothing to say, but to himself he thought, Yeah, it can, pal, it really can be. You try living as long as I have only to come to the end of your life and realize you're left with nothing  but memories that don't even begin to help ease the pain that comes from losing the person you've loved your entire life who's now gone, leaving you with nothing, nothing, nothing. And, then, in spite of himself, Jack started to cry.

            Ryan felt the old guy shaking, his thin body racked with sobs. Man, now what am I going to do? He shifted a little, trying to make the old man more comfortable. Again, he thought of his grandparents and what he would do for them if one of them were in the same situation. He did all he could do - he held the guy and whispered words of encouragement, feeling a need to take care of him somehow. The guy was obviously distraught, wanting to step into traffic and injure, if not kill, himself. What was that all about anyway? Ryan was frustrated that he couldn't do more. Words of comfort were all he had to give. He hoped it would help, but deep down felt the guy needed more than comforting words right now. He kept quietly talking to him, though, rocking him gently, like he would a young child. Jack closed his eyes and seemed to rest, his eyes wet with tears.

            Abby was suddenly by his side. "Hey, man. Are you Ok?" she asked Ryan. "I've called the police."

            "I'm good. I don't know about him, though."

            At the sound of their voices, Jack suddenly came around, quit sobbing and started to try and get up. "I can handle myself just fine," he spat at Ryan, shaking off the young man's arms, struggling to his feet, weaving a little as he stood. Ryan got up quickly and then reached out to  help steady the old man. Jack pushed him away.

            Traffic was stopped in both directions and a crowd had formed. Jack forced his way through outstretched arms, determined to cross the street. In the distance a police siren wailed, moving closer to them. The police were the last thing he needed.

            Ryan had followed him into the street, "Hey, man, you should wait for the cops. They'll want to check you out."

            "Leave me alone," Jack yelled at him, making his way through the stopped cars. Whether he liked it or not, Jack had caused quite a disturbance. Across the street and down fifty feet his car was parked. If he could just get to it...

            Ryan grabbed him one more time and held on hard, not letting go, "Stay right here, mister. Let's let the cops check you out." He was polite but firm, and he meant it.

            The kid's grip was strong and Jack fought for just a few moments before giving up. What the hell, he thought to himself, I'm done fighting. Who really cares anyway? He felt himself withdrawing inward to a place where he was free of everyone. It was peaceful and silent. The world around him faded away.

            The squad car pulled up and the two officers quickly assessed the situation. One cop, a young man, stayed outside and got the traffic moving again while the other, a middle aged woman, brought Jack inside the cafe and checked him out.

            Turning to Ryan, who had stayed nearby, she said, "He's Ok physically, but mentally I'm not too sure. He looks to be in a little shock. Do you mind if we left him sit here for a while and kept an eye on him. I don't think we need an ambulance. Do you know what happened?"

            Ryan told her what he knew, mainly that it looked like the guy had no idea what he was doing and it appeared he was going to step into directly into the fast moving traffic.

            "Ryan saved his life," Abby added.

            "Well, I don't know about that," he said, embarrassed, "The old guy just seemed a little out of it."

            Jack had come back from where he'd been and was watching the conversation with interest between the lady cop, the kid and the young woman from behind the counter. He knew he was in trouble and was afraid if he didn't start acting more normal, he might be sent to the hospital for further, more detailed observation. He definitely didn't want anything to do with that. When the lady cop, who had introduced herself as Linda, asked him if there was someone he could call, he immediately told her to call his son, Jerry, so she did. And that was that. A day that had started with him in a bad mood, now got even worse with having to wait until his son and his wife drove in from the south suburbs to pick up him and his car and take him back home to Long Lake (his daughter-in-law driving his car of all the embarrassing things), then sitting with him there in the living room, making him promise to stay in better touch and vowing, themselves, to stay in better touch, before finally leaving long after nightfall, letting Jack be alone for the first time in hours. The only thing that had kept him going ever since that kid at the cafe had grabbed him and pulled him away from the traffic, interrupting what he'd planned to do and then having to pretend it was all nothing but a 'senior moment' was this: just let me get home. Let me get back to Long Lake and to the that late night train that's going to come roaring down the tracks that I'll be stretched out on, waiting patiently for the end, saying good-bye to my life forever.

             And now he was finally home and on his own and he was ready, ready as he was ever going to be. Time for The Train Solution, Jack thought to himself, feeling calm and sure of himself for the first time ever since Lynn died. His plan was perfect. Nothing, and certainly no meddling kid from a coffee shop, could stop him now. The dark hours of deepest night couldn't come soon enough, and then...the end.

Six weeks later it was the Sunday after Thanksgiving and Ryan and Abby were again working together. The cafe was busy, families stopping in for a break from the long holiday weekend, couples talking with their heads bent close to each other, singles enjoying some time alone, and small groups of young people getting together to catch up. The Chicken Scratch had experienced a brief moment of notoriety (and a jump in business) after the episode with Jack and Ryan, but all was back to normal now and Ryan and Abby were talking.

            "Do you ever wonder about that old guy you saved?" Abby asked, during a lull. She had gotten a new tattoo on the inside of her left arm. It said, Partial Traces, which was the name of the band Ryan had seen the night before the incident with Jack. Abby had gone to see them the following weekend and had become a huge fan, liking the punk rock sound and loud, but melodious original songs - and, especially, the cool, laid-back attitude of the lead singer, a girl named Mari.

            Ryan straightened some pastries in the display case and looked out over the crowd, "Yeah, I do. There was something unique about him, wasn't there? I don't know what it was. I was kind of drawn to the guy." He took off his cellophane gloves, wiped his hands on his towel and set it under the counter, "I guess he reminded me of my grandparents, especially my grandfather."

            "I didn't know you missed them so much," Abby said, watching him carefully.

            Ryan shrugged and grinned a little, "Me neither, but I guess I did," he said, "Weird, huh?"

            "Yeah, really," Abby said, starting to think of her father, something she'd been doing more of lately. She turned to Ryan, "I think I want to tell you about my dad..."

            Just then there was a movement at the door and they both glanced up, watching for a few seconds before realizing who was coming in. "Whoa...talk about weird," they both said at the same time, turning to each other, eyes wide. Because who had just walked in but Jack Tremaine.

            "Hey there, you two," he called out, smiling, walking with a purpose right up to the counter and shaking each of their hands, "Long time no see."

            "Hey there Jack," Ryan said, happily, trying to cover his shock, "We were just talking about you."

            Jack laughed, "Nothing too risqué I hope."

            Abby smiled and came around the counter and gave him a hug. "We were wondering about you, man, hoping you were Ok."

            "It's been a hectic month, that's for sure," Jack said, hugging her back. And then he stood off to the side of the counter filling them in on what had been happening (in between the two of them waiting on customers, of course.)

            He told them he had been spending more time with his kids and grandkids, and had been over to his daughter's home in northeast Minneapolis for Thanksgiving and had been invited to his son's place for Christmas. He told them that he had been seeing a grief counselor at the suggestion of his son and daughter-in-law, and had starting being more productive around his house, doing yard work and general cleaning as well as some home maintenance and repair projects, the kinds of thing he'd let slip, ever since Lynn had passed away.

            "So all is going well?" Ryan asked, when he'd finished, starting to make up a cup of English Breakfast tea.

            "And life is good?" Abby followed up, getting his favorite cookie, happy one was left for him.

            "It is and yes," Jack said back to them both, nodding. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two envelopes. "Here. These are for you two."

            Ryan and Abby had no idea what to think as they opened them. Then each broke into a big smile. There, for each of them, was a brand new, crisp, fifty dollar bill.

            "Just a little token of my gratitude for each of you," Jack smiled and waved off their protestations. "It's the least I can do." And with that, he moved out of the way as a family with three young kids came in and Ryan and Abby got busy filling their order. He took his cookie and mug to the same window table where he'd sat six weeks earlier, made himself comfortable, took a sip from his mug, and looked out the window.

            After the rush was over, Ryan turned to Abby and pointed over toward Jack. "What about that, huh? Fifty dollars. I can really use the extra money."

            "No kidding," Abby smiled back at him, in a good mood, already thinking of putting the money toward a new tattoo she'd been thinking about getting, one with her dad's name incorporated into it.

            "I can't believe how nice that was of him," Ryan said, thinking of how it was going to help with some of the Christmas shopping he was planning on starting next week.

            "Well, you did save his life."

            "Yeah, but, anyone would have done the same, don't you think?"

            "Maybe," Abby said, and then paused, "But you actually did it."

            "I guess," Ryan said, reddening a little on his neck. "Anyway, he seems good. Like he's doing alright. Maybe the counseling and seeing his kids and stuff is helping."

            Abby nodded her agreement, and then they both turned to a batch of new customers coming in. It was one of those days - hectic and busy. Soon, thoughts of Jack drifted into the backs of their minds.

            At his table Jack sat sipping his tea, nibbling his cookie and watching the cars going by on the street. There were groups of people on the sidewalk ,out enjoying a brisk Sunday walk, bundled up against the late November chill. There were snow flurries in the air. The sky was a leaden gray and there was no wind. Just the kind of day he and Lynn would have called a 'good fireplace day.' A day that would end with a crackling fire at home, a mug of tasty hot chocolate and the welcome company of each other, snug and secure in their companionship and love.

            But, of course, that's all gone now. Yes, he's 'Come back from the dead,' as his son and daughter now called it, and, yes, he's been more friendly and outgoing to other family members and friends, and now, after over a month since his nearly tragic accident, most everyone has pretty much decided that he's on the mend mentally and getting back to normal, whatever that might be.

            And that's just fine. Jack loves his family and he appreciates the love they give him. He does his best to return it, he really does. It means a lot to him, the care and concern they have for him, but, honestly, it's just not enough. He doesn't tell anyone his deepest thoughts: not his counselor or his friends or his kids. No one needs to know that most nights he still can't sleep (even though he tells everyone he does) and that he spends those nights outside alone, bundled up against the cold, wandering the quiet streets of his little town. He talks to Lynn, then, and tell her what's on his mind, and she listens and that's all he asks. He knows she will never understand how he has come to this, nor would she agree with what his plan is, but that's just too bad. See, the plan is still out there, The Train Solution, and it's the best he's come up with and he's sticking with it. The truth of the matter is, since that day in October, nothing really has changed for him. The life he is living now is really just a facade, at least that what he tells himself. Ryan saved him, and for many people in his situation that would be seen as a sign - a chance to start life anew. And he tried. He really did, but it just hasn't worked. He's just missing Lynn too much. The life they had is over. What he has now is not enough to tip the scale in any direction but the one he has chosen to take.

            He takes a final sip of his tea and finishes off his cookie. He looks back toward the counter. Ryan and Abby are talking animatedly during a lull in customers. They seem happy and it makes Jack smile inside. They're nice people. It felt good to give each of them some extra money - just a little extra token of his appreciation of them.

            Ryan sees Jack looking at him and Jack motions to his mug.

            "I guess Jack's going to stay a while," he says to Abby and sets to work making up some more English Breakfast.

            "Cool," Abby says grabbing the final cookie. "Here send this to him too. Tell him it's on the house."

            "Good idea."

            Ryan pulls the order together and heads to Jack's table.

            Jack takes his order, smiles his thanks, and then watches as Ryan hurries through the tables back to the counter, momentarily berating himself for how wrong he'd been about his initial impression of the two young employees.

            Then he settles in to enjoy some more of the afternoon. From his jacket pocket he takes out a worn paper back by a favorite author, opens it and starts to read. The snow flurries have stopped, and the late day sun has broken through the clouds filling the cafe with bright sunlight. In about an hour the Chicken Scratch will close and Jack with have to leave. Tonight the train goes by at three-thirty in the early morning. He might be down there, he might not. He settles in with his tea and his book. The cafe feels warm and comfortable. He turns in his chair once and grins, hearing Ryan and Abby laugh, and then goes back to his reading. He's got nothing but time. Today is a good day. He suddenly makes a decision not to go down to the tracks tonight and settles in to enjoy the afternoon. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? For now, he's got all he needs right here. The tea and his cookie taste good. It's the kind of day Lynn would have loved, and he'll enjoy it as if she were right here with him. After all, the cold, steel tracks and the roaring nighttime train will always be there tomorrow night. Or the night after. Of that much he's sure. And that's all he needs to keep on living. For now.