Rebecca Malone

"Schriver." the speakers announced, and I lowered the window to look around the train station. My mother's phone call came at the worst time, right in the middle of a deadline, a day after I left my car at the shop with a leaky transmission. There's never a good time for death either and the news of Rebecca Malone's demise came as a sort of a shock.

The station looked deserted, and few people boarded the train. With a little luck, the seat next to me would stay unoccupied, and I could spend the next two hours asleep. I could withstand then, at home, the tens of versions recounting Rebecca's drunk-driving accident.

I closed the window, and I placed my purse on the seat next to mine, in preparation for my slumber. I pulled the note, written in a beautifully flowing script, from my pocket and stuffed it in the purse. Rebecca's mother had inked in her famous handwriting the directions to the grave. 

A swift motion reminded me I'd better sit down. I stretched my legs over the next seat and sighed in contentment.

It was not to be.

A baritone voice intruded.
"I believe I have this seat, miss."

I opened my eyes and groaned. It was a silent groan, and I prayed my face didn't betray my distaste. The man in front of me towered at more than six feet, and his harsh features combined with a cleanly shaved head made for a grizzly sight.

I curled up in my seat and turned my head to the window.

"I am sorry miss; I didn't mean to frighten you." His velvety voice startled me, and I wondered if it came from the same person. 

"It's ok. Where are you headed?" I asked unnecessarily, as New Orleans was the next and last station along the Sunset Limited route. 

"To my wedding. Where are you headed?" This time he whispered, and I noticed he was already seated next to me.

He was a sport, so I relaxed my do-not-tell-the-strangers rule.
"To a funeral and to see my family. I didn't see them in while. Congratulations for the wedding."

"Thank you. I waited a long time for her." I heard a soft answer. Shouldn't a groom be a tad more enthusiastic about the happy event?

"Was it your friend? The one who died?" he continued.

I didn't answer right away. Rebecca and I grew up together; however, that's all we had in common. Very competitive, she tried to best me in everything, chess, board games and later school. I bested her in school, so she set to steal each of my boyfriends.

"We grew up together. How long did you know your future wife?" I changed the direction of conversation.

"Almost fifteen years."

Fifteen years passed since Rebecca stole Tony from me. Tony was my first serious relationship. We parted with a kiss and a promise, and I went to college. That was the last time I heard from him. Just when I wondered how busy could one be not to send a text, I heard he and Rebecca were together. No "dear Jane" letter, not even a "we're through" text message. I never liked the crazy ex-girlfriend role, so I didn't talk to him again. "I'm so over you." I told myself too many times to count.

"Fifteen years is a long time."

We settled then in a light conversation, and I asked him about his favorite colors, movies and books. He relaxed, the endless frown disappeared from his brow, and a devastating smile took its place. I surprised myself, since I didn't use that moniker since Tony. Yes, he had a similar smile that reached both his eyes and created a dimple on each of his cheeks. We even talked about college. 

"I met her in college; I was already reading philosophy. She was young, beautiful, with hair like fire. 

He smiled again the devastating smile, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled at the fond memory. That's how Tony's eyes would have looked today. He died the year Rebecca went to college, a whim she indulged with a young and promising assistant. She left Tony, while he fought an unexpected disease.   

Rebecca's fancy with a college degree weathered one year later and she dropped school and the young assistant for... who knows who.

I was pleased that at least someone found happiness, although there and then I could see Tony and I, fifteen years later.

"I am glad you and your love would be together at last, until death makes you part." 
I must have looked at him transfixed because he returned my intense stare and murmured.

"I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death."

His voice, low and rich, drew me in.
"Mr. groom-to-be I'm lost in this moment with you." I whispered, only no words left my lips. 

The moment broke when the speakers announced New Orleans approached.
"I am sorry about your friend." He said.

So was I. Every storm runs out of rain, and I didn't resent Rebecca anymore. A question lingered though, what if instead of walking away, I would have fought for Tony? 

"I am too. I hope to meet the newlyweds around the city."

The train stopped, and my travel companion stood and pushed his hands in his pockets. 
"I doubt. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation."

He paused and chewed on his lower lip.
"If things were different..."

I was speechless for a moment, and he took advantage of my distraction to pull his hands off his pockets, grab his luggage and disappear.

A piece of paper fell, and I picked it up. A beautifully flowing script, in a well-known handwriting covered the page.

I grabbed my luggage, dropped it on the pier and broke into a run.