"What car are you looking for ma'am?" asked the kind sleeping car porter.
Reba looked up at him, distracted because of what she had just seen in one of the train windows.
"Oh, yes," she murmured. "I'm in car 36. Is this it?"
"Yes, ma'am. No one else's getting on here, so just let me take your bag. What space are you occupying?"
She looked down at the shiny green slip of paper.
"Bedroom D."
The man took her bag and led the way up the stairs of the vestibule. Reba followed with her heart pounding. She had hoped to have a peaceful night's sleep tonight. But after what she had just seen, her bad dreams would probably return.
"I've made the bed up for you. Shall I put your case on the chair or the bed?" asked the porter, waiting for her instructions, as they stood in the doorway of the tiny room.
"On the chair. It's not that heavy. I can move it around later. And thank you for making the bed," she told him politely.
"Can I bring you anything? Diner is closed, but I could probably get some hot tea or coffee for you."
"No, thanks very much. What time do they start serving breakfast?" she asked.
" 'Bout seven A.M. Would you like me to awaken you?"
"Yes, that would be wonderful. Around 6:30, if you don't mind."
"Goodnight now ma'am. You need anything, you just push this little button right here," he said, pointing to the little black knob on the wall, "and I'll come. My name is Isaac."
"Thank you Isaac, you've been very kind."
Reba shut the narrow door and sat down on the bed. Her heart was still racing. She felt so foolish that even after a happy marriage and two children, a glimpse of someone who reminded her of Brock could unsettle her so badly. She had been walking along the side of the car, approaching the steps when she glanced up for an instant. A man was pulling the shade down in one of the windows in the center of the car she was approaching. He had not seen her, but in that one brief second, she had gotten a look at his face. The shape of the eyes and his mouth were so like Brock's . The Brock she had known 15 years ago. Now she was not really sure how he would look. It was so many years ago and they were so much older. But it didn't matter anyway. He was gone, dead that night in 1994. Why was she still haunted by him after all these years?
She decided to read for a while because she knew sleep wouldnt come easy especially after seeing the look alike.
After awhile she grew tired of reading she decided to put her book up and try to sleep but sleep did come the only problem was it was wracked with horrible images of that night
********************************************
Brock sat up in a cold sweat. He had been having his usual nightmare about struggling in the freezing water. As he came awake, he realized that the train had stopped moving and there was silence, except for a muffled sound of pain that seemed to be coming from the space next door. Was that the room where the Texas woman had gotten on? Could he just lie here and ignore it? Perhaps she was ill and needed help. He listened again and he thought he was loosing his mind. In a raspy whisper, he thought he heard someone saying his name over and over. That was impossible. He had to be imaging things.
"What have I got to loose. I can knock on the door and at least ask if she needs help. And if the door is open, I can look and see if she is alright. If there is no problem, I'll just back away."
Brock reached for his navy silk robe. It was one of the few extravagant items that he owned. Barbra Jean had given it to him last Christmas before they divorced, and he figured that he better take it with so that she could see that he was using it. He didn't have much use for fancy things. While his business had been very lucrative, he had lived very frugally, spending money only on things like nice clothes for Henry. He stood up and slipped on the robe. He slowly opened the door of his bedroom and stood out in the dim hallway, listening. Yes, the sound was definitely coming from the room next door, marked Bedroom D.
"What am I doing?" he asked himself.
Maybe this was not a good idea. Perhaps he should just mind his own business. What if the person inside didn't want or need his help. But a voice deep inside him kept saying, "Go to her."
He took a few steps until he stood directly in front of the door. Brock knocked quietly on the door. He didn't intend on awakening a whole car of travelers.
He knocked softly one more time. There was no answer. Just the continual moaning and sobbing. He tried the door and it was unlocked.
"I'll just go in and ask if she needs help."
The door opened and in the dim light, he could see that there was a woman lying on the bed, her back to the door. Whoever it was huddled close to the window, hugging a pillow tightly. In a soft voice, she was saying the same thing over and over.
"Brock, I trusted you. Brock, why did you leave me? Oh God, Brock."
Surely it was a coincidence that she was calling his name.
In almost a whisper, he asked, "Ma'am, miss, I heard you call out. It sounded like you were in pain. Do you need help?"
Her body stiffened and the crying ceased.
"Please just leave me alone. Please. Just go away," said a muffled voice.
"Are you sure? I can't leave without knowing you'll be alright. That's all that I want," he said, softly.
Suddenly without warning, she started shaking uncontrollably and the weeping began again. Why did he have to say the same words that Brock had once said?
Brock approached the bed. His heart went out to this woman in her sadness. He wanted to take her in his arms and give her comfort. But he had almost forgotten how. Except a hug henry when he and bj bounced in and out of the town. He stood awkwardly over her, wondering what to do. The train jolted slightly as it started up again and without really wanting to, he landed on the bed, next to the woman.
Reba felt the movement of the train and the stranger settle on her bed. For some reason she was not frightened. And because he ended up there when the train started to move, she knew it was an accident. She turned to try and sit up. Who was this man who had come to her aid in the night?
She reached over and turned on the light next to her. For a moment neither of them could see in the bright light. Reba pulled herself up and turned over. Brock started to get up, but she gripped his arm for support.
"Thank you for coming to see if I was…….
Reba could not finish the sentence. It was amazing how cruel the memory could be. This must still be part of her dream. There sitting on the bed inches from her was the man she had seen in the window. The man who reminded her of Brock.
Brock's eyes slowly adjusted to the light. It WAS the woman who had boarded the train in Houstin,Texas. The woman who reminded him of Reba.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, speechless. He looked at her delicate skin and luminous eyes. Only a few lines here and there betrayed her age. Her hair was still coppery red. She was lost in the depths of his sea blue eyes. His gentle smile looked down at her. She felt short of breath. Maybe she was dying and she was seeing a vision.
Brock awkwardly raised his hand to touch her face.
"Reba, it is you," he said hoarsely.
"Brock, I can't believe this. It can't be happening. It can't be true," she cried softly.