“How long have you been coming here?”
In the quiet of Jordan’s room, my grandma’s voice sounds even sadder echoing back to me.
“Quite a few years,” I say. “I only come in December.”
I feel a mix of utter relief and complete discomfort at the discovery of my long-held secret. But, after what happened with my grampa, I couldn’t hold this back any longer.
My grandma takes a seat in a chair and looks at Jordan’s frozen face.
“I thought he died years ago,” she says. “Truly, I did. Why didn’t you tell me, Susan?”
She turns to look at me. I shrug.
“I don’t know.” I stop. “I do know. I was scared. I thought you wouldn’t understand. I thought you would be mad. It became my little secret. Just the two of us.”
My grandma nods. “His mother was the kindest woman. And he was such a precious little boy. I don’t know if you’ll remember, but he used to come into the store and use his paper route money to buy books. He even used to read to you sometimes when you were a girl.”
My heart aches at the irony of the distant memory.
“But secrets keep us frozen in time,” Grandma says. “And it wasn’t just the two of you whose lives were changed forever. Your grandfather and I lost our son and daughter-in-law. Jordan’s parents lost their son, his sister lost a brother, the family lost its hopes, dreams and any chance of a normal life again in this town.” She pats the chair next to her, and I take a seat.
“Why are you putting yourself through this?” she continues. “Over and over and over?”
“I wanted an apology.”
“Oh, Susan.”
“I wanted him to wake up and tell me he was sorry for ruining my life. I wanted him to take responsibility. I wanted him to say he was sorry for not allowing me to be able to open my heart to anyone again because I knew they were just going to die and leave me alone again.”
“Oh, Susan,” my grandma repeats. “And you read to him?” she asks.
I gesture toward the book that still sits on the table by his bed—The Polar Express—the one I never finished.
“That was one of your parents’ favorites,” she says. “They sold it like crazy at the holidays. Can I see it?”
I retrieve the book and give it to my grandma. She flips through the pages, a small smile on her face and, without warning, begins to read to Jordan. I shut my eyes and listen to my grandma read, one of my favorite things from my childhood.
“‘The thing about trains,’” my grandma reads in the conductor’s voice. “‘It doesn’t matter where they’re going. What matters is deciding to get on.’”
She stops and looks at me.
“You have to decide to get on the train again, Susan. We only have a short ride here on earth.”
My grandma stands, takes Jordan’s lifeless hand in hers, leans down and whispers, “I forgive you, dear boy.”
She stands and looks at me again.
“Your turn.”
Tears spring to my eyes. I lean down and whisper into Jordan’s ear, “I forgive you, too.”
Grandma rubs my shoulder and smiles.
“Now, there’s only one person left you need to forgive.”