He kept Renee private, protected, like she was something that could be worn down by too much handling. He kept a photograph of her on the nightstand, just one. Her laughing at something off camera, her natural hair out, her eyes crinkled at the corners. Amara had the same eyes. He saw Renee every morning in his daughter's face, and he didn't know if that made it easier or harder, and he'd stopped trying to figure it out.
What Marcus had learned in three years and two months and 17 days was how to keep moving. How to maintain the system, how to be present for Amara even when he felt hollowed out, how to smile when his daughter needed him to smile. What he had not learned, what he had actively avoided learning was how to let anyone close enough to see that he was still underneath all of it a man in pain. He'd built the walls carefully. He had unexpected a 32-minute train ride to find the cracks.
The next morning, Marcus got to the station 4 minutes early, he told himself. It was because traffic had been light on the drive over. He was still standing on the platform when the train pulled in. He got on, took his usual seat, window seat, third car from the front, same everyday, he told himself. He wasn't watching the doors.
He was watching the doors. Emily Carter boarded at 6:19. She was wearing a different jacket, green this time, still slightly damp, and she had her camera with her. A small vintage looking thing she wore around her neck like some people wore across. Her hair was down today.
She looked like she'd slept marginally better than she had the day before, which still wasn't saying much. She scanned the car. She saw him. She smiled. It was a small smile.
Not a big production. Not, "Hey there, remember me?" just recognition, warmth, the kind of smile that says, "Yes, you're real. I thought about this." And then she walked to a seat across the aisle, not beside him. Across?" Marcus nodded once, she nodded back, and that was all. For three more days, that was how it went.
She'd get on the train, she'd smile. She'd sit across from him, or one row ahead, close enough that they occupied the same general space, but not so close that it constituted anything. They spoke maybe four times total short exchanges, the kind that don't require much. Long night, yeah, same. Or once when the train sat still for 11 minutes because of a signal problem ahead.
You know what the delay is? Signal at Arlington. Should clear in 10. How do you know that? I fix these things for a living.
She'd looked at him with something new in her eyes. Then not impressed exactly, more like interested, like she'd filed another thing away. On the fifth morning, she sat beside him again. No explanation, no announcement. She just sat down like it was the obvious place.
Marcus looked at her. She looked straight ahead. Don't say anything, she said. I wasn't going to say anything. You had a face.