A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for being so patient with the updates! Here's chapter 9 for you :)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Chapter 9
Lauren's POV
It's not until we hit around South Bend, Indiana that I start to get really nervous. Geographically speaking, South Bend is only about 95 miles east of Chicago, so we should only have a couple more hours before we pull into the city's Union Station. I mentally kick myself for not figuring out a plan of where to go when I get there sooner, I guess I was just too busy being "in the moment," and only thinking of what would happen once I was in Seattle, and back in Dad's warm embrace. I'll admit I also spent a fair amount of time, since we were traveling directly underneath the state of Michigan, trying to think of all the states in the US and/or countries of the world that could be misconstrued as articles of clothing. Extremely productive, I know. I figure, when we get to the station I'll first check the schedules for another train (because flying won't even be in the cards for me, financially), and then see if I have enough money to get on one. If Irene asks, I will tell her that I'm getting on another train, to spare me from actually having to say out loud I don't know what my next move is, and to spare her from any worry, or feeling of obligation to help me. I think to myself then, if another train doesn't work out, I will head downtown to the Greyhound bus station – those things are always cheaper, right? Interrupting me from my musing, Irene starts to stir next to me, waking up from her third attempt at sleeping.
"Hmm…where are we?" She mutters, opening her eyes ever so slightly.
"About 50 miles west of South Bend, Indiana," I reply, my nerves coming back to me all over again.
"So we're almost there then," she says, stretching. "Oh I just can't wait to get off of this stuffy train and love on all my grandkids."
I smile, happy for her; "she really is the sweetest lady," I think to myself.
"You know Laurie," she continues, "if you're ever around in Chicago this summer, or if you need anything when you get back to New York, I want you to know that I'll be there for you."
"Oh…" I start, but she continues as if she hadn't heard me.
"You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age, very determined, strong; and not only that but you're smart, and have such a kind heart. Don't ever let that go to waste, you hear? And don't let anyone take advantage of you anymore – there are plenty of people out there, like that bonehead ex-boyfriend of yours, who will find a sweet girl with a pretty face and use her only for their own personal gain, completely disregarding her feelings. Don't let that happen to you again, Laurie. You're worth more than that." I nod, immediately thinking of Logan and wondering to myself if, despite his charming ways, he ever wanted me for more than just a good lay. I can feel a lump rising in my throat as Irene continues to speak. "I'm going to give you my cell phone number, and I want you to promise that if you ever need me, you'll call."
"I promise," I whisper as I notice we are nearing the Chicago Union Station. The lady on the intercom tells everyone to start gathering their belongings, as the train is coming to its final destination, and for everyone who checked bags to go to the station's baggage claim to the right of the entrance. Irene writes her number on a piece of paper and hands it to me, which I then take and rip off a corner, giving her mine as well.
"Oh and I should tell you," she nudges my shoulder like Mom does when she's joking with me, "I was a redhead too back in my day," she winks in my direction and lightly fluffs her hair. I laugh quietly back at her.
"Minorities unite!" I reply, holding my fist out for her to bump it, before remembering that this woman is my grandmother's age and probably won't know what the hell I'm doing. Much to my surprise however, she sticks her fist out and bumps it against mine. Gaping slightly, I let out a much louder laugh. "Irene, you surprise me more and more every minute," I say.
"Hey I've got male relatives, many of whom are under the age of 20," she responds jokingly. With that the train comes to a stop, and the both of us gather all of our bags (mine being much more substantial as she checked most of hers) and make our way down the stairs and off the train. Following the large crowd of people, we walk together through the door and into the Chicago Union Station. "Well honey, I have to head this way," she points to the direction of baggage claim. "Now don't you forget what I said earlier, alright? You're a special one, Laurie." She smiles at me and I can feel the tears prickle in my eyes, suddenly realizing how much I'm going to miss Irene – who knows if I will ever actually get to see her again. Noticing this, she pulls me into one last hug. "Oh now, there's no need for that," I can sense she's close to tears too, "we'll see each other again, after all, you can always find me in Queens."
I nod into her shoulder and sniff. "Irene…thank you so much for everything. You've been such a good friend to me and I'm…I'm really glad I got to sit by you on the train." I realize I must sound like a third grader, but I'm really trying my hardest not to cry. Pulling apart, we exchange smiles again.
"You'll be just fine, honey," she says, most likely not knowing how much I really needed to head those words. When the intercom announces that the luggage from our train should be arriving for claim, Irene and I both exchange small waves and turn our separate ways. Walking left towards the entrance and waiting area, it suddenly hits me how alone I feel. I mean, I was technically alone when I got on the train in New York, but then, as if by some miracle, I met Irene. Now, with her gone and on her way to her family, I am completely and utterly alone. I make my way over to the waiting area and decide that before I go search the board for another train that could get me closer to Seattle, I need to eat something. Having been so intent on getting to Chicago throughout the entire train ride, it dawns on me now how little I've actually eaten over the past 24 hours. I sit down in the waiting area and take out a peanut butter and honey sandwich I had packed for myself before I left New York. I have never really been one for peanut butter and jelly, which Dad always said was strange given my intense, and I mean intense love of all fruits. "Hey, the taste buds want what the taste buds want," I used to retort back to him.
I let my mind wander to thoughts of my parents as I sat there and ate. What would they be doing right now? Well, realistically I have no idea what my father is doing right now because of course he is in Seattle, a place where I have never been and know not how he spends his free time and/or time at the hospital. Instead, think of what my parents and I would be doing if the three of us were all together at home in New York today, and things were…normal.
Since it's Saturday, Mom probably would have gotten up early to go on one of her five-mile runs in Central Park that she always tries to get me to join her on, but I always decline because I am not a morning person (especially on Saturdays). Dad probably would have spent the morning either at work or in the upstairs office, doing consults or catching up on patient notes. I probably would have rolled out of bed at around 10am, and since it's summer taken my soccer ball to the park. In the evening I would either plan something with my friends (or go to the Yankees/Red Sox game that was supposed to be today), or stay in with my nose in a book, preferably Wuthering Heights. Mom and Dad would most likely order in for dinner, since Dad would be "too tired" to cook and Mom can't cook anything to save her life, or mine, and at some point I could expect to see Uncle Mark make his way into the living room to tell Dad all about his latest patient and/or dirty joke and/or fling. Whatever the story was it would most likely involve a hilarious story to which Mom would reply tartly with "Mark could you please not talk about your sexual escapades in front of my 16 year old child?" And I would laugh, patting her shoulder and saying "sorry Mom, I don't think there's any stopping him anymore." At some point in the evening, if I opted to stay in, I would end up curled up on the sofa between Mom and Dad, the three of us sharing a blanket and watching whatever movie Mom could get Dad and me to agree with her on that night; if we had our way, every Saturday night would be spent with nothing other than The Godfather – Part I or II – a movie she would rather cook a whole Thanksgiving dinner by herself than watch. Then I would probably end up falling asleep with my head in Mom's lap and her running her fingers through my hair.
I realize as I think about all of this how much closer I am with my parents than the average teenager, and how okay I am with that. While they may have their share of issues to work out with one another, my relationships with the both of them have never been strained (well, unless you count yesterday with Mom, and how much I didn't, and still kind of don't, want to talk to her). To me, Mom and Dad have always been kind of like my best friends – expectant of me to work hard and do my best, but also kind, funny, and loving. While losing Rinny may have initially led them apart from one another, I think over time it brought them closer to me, as they realized how much they didn't want to lose the only child they had left. Breaking myself from my reverie, I notice three police officers standing off in the distance to my right. Wondering what could be going on to require three officers, I listen carefully to try and catch what they're talking about.
"The name's Montgomery Shepherd," one officer says to another. "Lauren Montgomery Shepherd…missing person's report from New York City…the mother called in…"
I could hear smatterings of their conversation. I slump down in my seat, holding my breath as my eyes widen. "So Mom actually called the police; I wonder if she got the letter," I thought to myself as I sat there. "Those officers over there are looking for me. No, I need to get to Seattle; I can't let them catch me and send me back to New York." I immediately finish up my sandwich and, very quietly, get up from my seat and race into the women's bathroom, hiding in a stall to think of my next move. "Okay," I think to myself. "There are three police officers in the waiting area of the station, and I don't want them to catch me. I need to figure out how to get out of here without them noticing, and if they do notice, a way that could keep them from recognizing me." Pulling a scarf out of my backpack, I wrap it around my head and then over my nose and mouth, thinking I could just try and pass for a woman who doesn't like to show her face, or who doesn't like the sunlight. Ah, sunlight! I take out my sunglasses too, putting them on. Now, about 90 percent of my face should be covered. I quickly use the bathroom, change my clothes, wash my hands, and then check my "disguise" in the mirror before slowly poking my head back into the waiting area. The three officers are still there. "Well, it's now or never," I say to myself. Very nonchalantly I make my way out of the bathroom in a beeline for the door leading into the city. One of the cops turns his head and glances at me and I feel my heart skip in my chest – did he recognize me? To my luck, a glance is all he gives me; he didn't recognize me. Exhaling, I finally make it to the door and make my way out and into downtown Chicago.
Wanting to get out of there as soon as possible, and realizing that with the police there I could never make another train ticket reservation under the name Lauren Shepherd, or Montgomery for that matter, (and I really didn't want to use a fake identity), I opt to go find the Greyhound bus station. As soon as I step outside I am immediately overcome by the humidity. I take off the scarf quickly, since I can already feel myself start to sweat. I can hear thunder starting to rumble in the distance, and since it's already entering evening time, I want to find the station as quickly as possible. "Excuse me, sir?" I ask a middle-aged gentleman who is heading to enter the train station. "But could you possibly tell me where the Greyhound bus station is from here?" I cross my fingers that this man knows his way around Chicago.
"Oh yes, it's only about a 10 minute walk from here," he tells me. "Just head south on Canal Street, that's the street we're on, then at the next block you'll turn right," he points. "The street is Van Buren. Then you'll want to turn left right away on Clinton Street, where you'll go underneath I-290. When you get across the interstate, go left on Harrison Street for about a half a mile and the station should be on your right." Geez, when I hoped this guy knew his way around Chicago, I had no idea he could apparently make a living as a tour guide.
"Okay thank you, thank you so much!" I tell him, and run off. I stop running once I find Clinton and see the tunnel that goes underneath the interstate, feeling the sweat run down my back and seep through my t-shirt. As I walk along the streets of downtown Chicago, I take some time to take in my surroundings; after all, I've never been here before. Pulling out my camera, I get as many snapshots from where I'm standing as I can, getting a nice one of Sears Tower. The buildings look a lot different than in New York – not because they're not tall or…building-ish…I don't know, they just seem to have an entirely different attitude about them, as does the city as a whole. New York is so busy and everyone always looks like they're in a hurry to get somewhere; don't get me wrong, I love my hometown, but it's nice to be able to experience other styles of living and working. I hear a guy on the upcoming corner of Clinton and Harrison playing music on the hand drums and just watching the passersby. It's kind of a relaxing sound, and I so wish I could give the guy a few dollars, but alas, the money I have on me is precious, and I need to save every cent for helping me get to my dad. Instead, I give him a smile and a nod, take his picture, and keep walking. As soon as I reach the station I hear another clap of thunder. "It's a good thing I got here before the rain sets in," I think to myself.
Taking off my sunglasses, I walk into the Chicago Greyhound bus station. Finding a kiosk with countless maps of various bus routes, I search for any option that would take me to Seattle (and as quickly as I could afford). The only one I can find today is that leaves the station at 11:45pm, five hours from now, and will take just about two days to get to Seattle (if everything goes according to schedule); given that that seems to be my only option, I sigh, close the route map, and make my way to customer service to buy my ticket. Ringing the bell, I see a short and balding man walk up to the counter and pull open the glass window.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, um, I'd like to know how much it'll cost to get a ticket for this bus to Seattle," I hand him the route map. Really I don't know why I asked for the cost, because I was running out of options here.
"For that bus…that'll be $120, Miss." Damn, I thought these things were supposed to be cheaper than trains. I pause for a moment, thinking. If I spend $120 now, most of my money will be gone. But that's okay, right? I told myself as I was leaving New York that all of the money I had with me would be put towards getting to Seattle, and nothing else. And besides, if I'm sitting on a bus for two days, I won't exactly be able to spend much money now will I? Okay, I'll do it.
"Okay, I'll take it…if you've got any more openings that is," I plea to myself that he does.
"Yes, you're in luck. We do have some empty seats on that one, if I could just see your ID…?" He asks.
I hand over my driver's license like I did at Penn Station, and he copies down my information. I can almost feel my arm move in slow motion then as I reached back into my bag for my wallet and take out the necessary money – $120. My stomach churns as he takes it from me and then hands me my ticket and my ID back. While I'm elated I could afford a ticket and that they even had room for me, I now only have about $20 to my name, and that stresses me out…a lot.
"Alright well you've got about four and a half hours until the bus will start loading, so just be back here by 11:00pm or so."
"Okay thank you," I respond. Well, I have four and a half hours; it's time to kill some time, no pun intended. I don't want to be wandering around downtown Chicago by myself at night, so I opt to stay at the station. I make my way over to the waiting area, hearing the rain start to pour down on the roof, along with another (louder) clap of thunder; made it just in time. I set my bag and backpack down on the ground by my chair and sit down, bringing my knees to my chest. The rain outside makes me want to put on my sweater, but the humidity that seems to have made its way inside the station too tells me otherwise – so far, Chicago weather has been very confusing. Taking out my route map, I decide to study the roads; "might as well be familiar with where I'm headed," I think to myself.
My bus had three transfers; starting in Chicago, the first would be when we reach Fargo, North Dakota, then the second in Billings, Montana, and finally, the third in Missoula, Montana. The next time I got off a bus after that, it would be in the Puget Sound and I would be on my way to my father. Just thinking about that now makes me bounce a little in my seat – I don't think I've ever been so excited to see my dad in my entire life, including all those times I missed him when he stayed at work too long, or went on medical conferences all over the country for a week or so. This time was different; this time, we had both experienced great heartache, we both needed to heal, and I wanted to heal together.
So hopefully this will get Laurie to her dad. What do you guys think? Reviews are always welcome! Chapter 10 to come soon :)
