CHAPTER FOUR
“At this time, passengers are asked to store their overhead luggage and choose a seat. Attendants will be with you shortly as the train prepares to disembark…”
The voice streaming over the train’s PA system gently updated passengers on scheduling information. A no-frills station in downtown Dover, it offered a commute to Baltimore, Maryland, where budget-conscious Val planned to change trains for the last leg of the wedding journey.
Almost a hundred and twenty dollars in travel expenses earmarked from her savings account so far. Plus there would be expenses for the hotel, whatever that might cost. She could only imagine what a few nights at a luxurious Southern resort would do to her bank account– thank heavens she had never taken a vacation, much less taken up an expensive hobby in her spare time.
She had chosen to travel coach, along with thirty or so other passengers that Saturday morning, exactly one week before the wedding date. Feeling nervous but determined as she took a seat by the window facing the station’s platform. Her fingers smoothed her yellow skirt's pleats, its color far cheerier than she felt as this moment.
Was she making a mistake? The same question that plagued her all last night, as she wondered if her imagination was simply getting the best of her over all these coincidences. The past was probably best left buried and her age-old crush on dreamy and gentle Jason Cotter with it.
Of course, it hadn't been her idea to bring it up again. It seemed to be fate's idea to have her friends phoning her out of the blue with their love story, reviving the note's origins in a way that even the loyalist friend couldn't ignore forever.
Just be there for your friends–whatever the case, she told herself, drawing a calm breath. Whatever is meant to be will be. All you want to do is be sure that the two of them are in love and not being pulled into something by Jason's fixation on some promised destiny in that note...
Her seatmate was a teenage girl too absorbed in her mP3 player to notice Val’s fidgeting. Behind them, a frazzled-looking mom struggled with her toddler, while an elderly woman pulled knitting supplies from a canvas bag one row ahead.
Val rested one hand on the window sill, as the other lightly tapped against her brown and pink toga bag. For luck, or perhaps for courage, she slipped her fingers inside to brush the folded-up note.
Would Jason ever believe that she had been the one to answer it? If she told him the truth, she wondered, what would he think or feel after all these years?
She shook her head as if banishing the possibility of hurting him or betraying Heather with the truth. Now wasn’t the time for those kind of speculations. Forcing a deep breath, she summoned the ‘think positive to be positive’ mantra from her college PR classes.
Her gaze roamed the aisle, searching for a distraction from her past and its current intrusion in her present-day life. Finding one in the appearance of a last-minute passenger, a knapsack slung across his shoulder.
Mid-twenties or a little older, but somewhere close to her own age, she guessed. His dark, slightly spiked hair giving him a clean cut appearance that bordered on the boyish.
Sunglasses were propped on his head; his long sleeved shirt and business blazer open to reveal a graphic tee beneath, with the famous crosswalk image from the Beatle’s Abbey Road album.
Preppy, she thought, assessing the expensive but casual ware. As well as noticing his pair of low-top Converse shoes, the brand she remembered all the trendy kids preferring in college.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, his a rich brown flecked with an emotion almost as frazzled and worried as her own in this brief exchange. A fraction of second later, he was busy trying to pull a bulky portfolio from the knapsack, leaving Val to study the elderly couple filing past her to the seats in the back.
Smiling train attendants greeted the passengers and staged a safety equipment demonstration. Val noticed the young man with the Abbey Road shirt was busy sorting through a thick file of papers. He had propped a tablet PC on the seat’s fold-out tray, his gaze shifting between the two tasks.
“We’ll be serving refreshments fifteen minutes into our journey,” an attendant informed the passengers, before disappearing through a connecting door to the next compartment.
Val’s seatmate bobbed and weaved in place, presumably to the beat that echoed faintly from her pair of earbuds. Maybe Val should have brought a new one to pass the time. Her own music player, a cheap knockoff from a no-name company, had expired three weeks after she purchased it.
After what seemed ages, the time of departure arrived. The familiar whine of motion somehow reminding her of the chug, chug in old western movies. Val leaned her head back, her eyes fluttering closed as she envisioned a smooth journey ahead.
It was a short-lived fantasy, however. The train lurched, swayed, then came to a grinding halt. Its passengers were pitched forwards slightly, Val’s fingers touching the seat in front of her.
“Ladies and gentleman,” came a tranquil voice over the speaker system “we apologize for the sudden stop in our journey. Our conductor has received information that requires an immediate cancellation of this afternoon’s train to Baltimore.”
A gasp of dismay escaped Val’s lips with this announcement. A reaction promptly echoed by several other passengers, as the voice on the speaker continued, “Passengers should remain seated until an attendant instructs you to disembark...”
Twisting round, Val glanced back at the scenery, then craned towards the window glass beside her as if the source of their trouble might be visible. But only the rooftops and billboards of city businesses dotted the horizon.
The Beatles’ fan seemed to struggle with his tablet, a frantic beep issuing from the mini computer. Several rows ahead, a man in a business suit waved his cell phone and shouted towards another passenger. “It’s a collision at the intersection–some kind of pile-up–"
“No injuries?” asked someone else. A nearby passenger was logging onto the Twitter feed for a local news station.
“Nobody killed. Just a van overturned on the tracks. There’s carts and food trays scattered all over the place. Two–no, three cars hit–”
Val’s confidence crumbled beneath this setback. This had been the only train from Dover that even came close to her destination. Her next option lay in Wilmington, over forty-five minutes away–which meant a taxi fee and the cost of an unreserved train ticket.
There was a flurry of activity to disembark as passengers retrieved overhead luggage and shoved electronics into protective cases. The elderly woman re-packed her knitting supplies as the toddler’s mother collected a stuffed animal from the floor.
“Does anyone know if there’s a car rental place nearby?” Val heard someone ask. Perhaps the young guy, his voice somewhat frantic and harassed.
“One block,” another passenger answered.
Car rental. An idea flickered in Val’s mind, as if someone pulled a light bulb chain. Of course, it was obvious. She would just rent a car; five or six hours of driving and she would be there.
Relief surged through her, a feeling quickly displaced by urgency, as she found herself pushed along the aisle by fellow travelers. On the platform, people shoving against each other to collect their belongings.
“Sorry,” the guy in the graphic tee apologized, his shoulder brushing hers as he retrieved a heavy-looking duffel bag.
The passengers from business and first class were even more desperate than the ones who rode coach. Val fought her way to her wheeled suitcase, barely dislodging it before someone toppled the rest while moving a large Pullman case.
People hurried past her on the sidewalk, many of them talking on cell phones and consulting electronic maps. Her own high heeled feet struggled to keep the pace as she traversed the short distance to the rental service. Its sign becoming visible as she turned the corner that connected onto Main Street.
She shouldered her bag higher, her pace self-consciously picking up as she found herself caught in a crowd pushing towards the car rental agency's doors.
*****
Val had never run a marathon–organized one, yes–but never actually participated. But in the midst of battling her way to the rental desk, she received an unexpected boost in her competitive streak. As if compelled by the need to prove her mission was as urgent as the people elbowing her out of the way.
Her heels scraped the pavement with a fierce sound, her arm pushing the entrance door open as an oblivious customer on the other side blocked it in the midst of dialing his phone. Breathless, she reached the reception desk, a determined light in her eyes as she approached.
The next customer to be served–so she thought–until another hand slapped the granite surface at almost the same instant as her own. Glancing round, she encountered a slightly familiar pair of brown eyes. The young man in the graphic tee, his dark hair mussed.
An awkward moment ensued as recognition dawned for both of them. Her rival faintly smiled, hands lifted in a surrender gesture, as he said, “Looks like you beat me.” Although she detected a note of disappointment in the polite gesture.
“Thanks,” said Val. Her smile was genuine, gratitude rushing through her. Behind them, other passengers stranded by the train were forming a restless line. She recognized the toddler’s high-pitched cry, the beep of electronic gadgets being switched on.
The desk clerk, a gangly thirty-something with a nametag that read “Jimmy”, was busy with a customer phone call. His fingers tapped over a keyboard to reserve a station wagon, then a red economy model. The moment he hung up, the phone rang again.
“Rent N Roll,” he answered in a nasal whine. “Oh, it’s you.” His shoulders hunched, his back facing them as he turned away. “Look, I told you not to call me here anymore. This is a business line, mother, and I'm supposed to be working right now–”
Mother? Val smothered a laugh over the scenario, her glance shifting sideways towards her nearest fellow customer to see if he shared the humor of this moment. His eyes were focused on a computer tablet in his hands, completely oblivious to the irritated clerk. She wondered if he was shopping online for another rental agency and being disappointed, judging by his attitude.
He punched some buttons and a tiny automated voice emerged, informing him there were four new emails. He furiously began typing a response, his brow furrowing with narrow lines.
Was he always so intense? she wondered. Even on the train, he’d worn a look of fierce concentration as if every passing second was accounted for.
“Can I help you?” the clerk’s flat voice broke into her thoughts.
“I need to rent a car for seven days,” Val said, fishing a billfold from her toga bag. “Anything will do, just something that gets me to Virginia and back.”
The clerk nodded, fingers stroking the keyboard to pull up a business log. “Mmmm," he said, " Looks like you got the last one available for today. A 2011 Mercury Marquis with 80,000 miles–”
“Wait,” the guy next to her interrupted, his fingers ceasing to type on the mini computer . “Did you just say that was the last car?”
His features were painted with disbelief as the clerk nodded.
“That–that has to be a mistake.” Shaky laughter accompanied this statement. “There’s like a hundred cars out there...” He gestured towards the window, where the modest parking lot was full of cars, although quite a few seemed to be in the process of leaving. .
The clerk gave a helpless shrug. “It’s no mistake. Most of those cars were reserved months in advance. Pretty much every rental service in the city is booked–you know, by people coming to the big convention.”
“Convention?” A small bell of recognition rang in Val's head. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. Surely this was just a coincidence…
“It’s the e-Volution software company,” the clerk said, boredly. “Some three day blowout where they’ll be unveiling the Genus IV. Which I’ve heard is pretty excellent compared to the last model with its detachable keyboard and M3-i software uplinks.”
He gave a snorting laugh that was lost on his potential customers, sans the customer in the brown blazer, who seemed to grow gloomier with this remark.
“Looks like we’re fresh out of printer paper," said the clerk, as he opened the registration form on his screen. "I’ll have to fetch some from the back." He slid off in that direction with no great amount of urgency.
Word that the last car had been rented was circulating through the people in line behind Val, with several breaking away to make other arrangements. She heard one man complaining of being put on hold, while another scoffed to his wife, “The taxi service isn’t even picking up.”
"Damn convention," said another.
Val bit her lip, feeling the luck of being one of the first few in line. Her relief was short-lived when she caught a glimpse of the disappointed customer who had yielded his spot to her. He was still attempting to be a little hopeful, she noticed, as if there was some mistake on the part of the desk clerk.
Given his distracted nature and forlorn attitude, she felt almost guilty that the event she organized had short-changed his attempts to rent a car. No doubt throwing whatever plans he had for his day.
Offering him a sympathetic smile, she quipped, “Who knew so many people were obsessed with electronics?”
This was a rather poor jab aimed at her client, whose event was the whole reason she could afford this spontaneous trip. After all, it was her effort that coordinated the caterers and designers, the sleek and modern showcase layout for the convention hall that seated five thousand and was sold out months ahead of time. The after-party she arranged for them was an exclusive affair accessible by invitation only.
“Are you going to the convention?” she added, a sudden rush of embarrassment, in case she was mistaken about his travel plans.
He shook his head. “Trust me, e-Volution’s conference is nowhere on my travel route. I’m on a business trip to Maryland and actually…” he hesitated, a moment before saying, “Listen, Miss, um–”
“Valarie,” she answered. “Valarie McCray.”
“Riley Cohen,” he told her, pulling a business card from his wallet. “Junior executive for the digital software company known as Solar Systems. Which I’m currently on assignment for.”
She squinted at the card, its print blurred around the edges. ‘Producing digital products light years ahead of the competition!’ read the somewhat cheesy slogan. A tiny image of Saturn was printed in the top right corner, ringed by stars.
“I don’t think I’ve heard of it,” she said, with a polite smile to soften the truth. “But I’m not really interested in buying any software equipment right now–”
“Hey, I’m not trying to sell you anything,” Riley assured her. “I’m trying to buy something–or rather, rent it. See, I would be really, really grateful if you would let me rent that last car.”
She blinked, not quite believing what she heard. As if reading her dismay, he plunged forward with an explanation.
“Okay, here’s the thing,” he said, a note of panic in his voice. “I really need a car today–it’s like an emergency. Because my whole job might depend on this business meeting and if you could just find it in your heart to–”
She was shaking her head, although pity for his desperation was beginning to sink deeper. Solar Systems, she suspected, was no match for e-Volution’s monopoly-type hold on the digital market. No doubt his employers were feeling pressured in the wake of its competitor’s big celebration.
“I’m sorry,” she told him, “but I can’t afford to lose any time. My friend’s wedding is just days away and there’s some…well, some reasons I need to be there as early as possible.”
Not the best explanation, but was an explanation really necessary? He was a stranger and she was currently the car's rightful renter.
“You’re going to Virginia, right ?” he asked, proving he’d been paying more attention than she thought during her exchange with the desk clerk.
"Right–" she began.
“Because I only need this car for a few hours–one day, max,” he told her. “Maybe we could work out some kind of agreement. Like I drive us to Maryland, have my meeting, seal the deal... and then the car is all yours for the trek to Virginia.”
“Share the car?” She fumbled over the words, her mind trying to work out the implications of such a trip. Stuck with a stranger in a vehicle and then, possibly, the same hotel. No, this was a bad a idea, very bad. Unthinkable.
“Just think it over,” he urged. Those brown eyes were practically begging her. “I’m not a psycho, I swear. Or some weird guy who carries fake business cards to impress girls.”
“I didn’t think you were ,” she assured him, attempting to suppress a blush. She wasn't exactly a magnet for strangers' pick-up lines.
“If you need references, I can get them for you in about ten seconds flat,” Riley said, his finger positioned on the mini computer, as if to summon character references by magic. "Anybody–friends, relatives, my boss–"
"No, really," she said, trying to end his persistence. "It's not necessary. I just–don't give rides to strangers, you see."
He braced himself against the desk, leaning closer even as she inched away.
"Please," he said. "Really, really, please. I need this. I really need to rent this car."
"I'm sorry." Her voice emerged stiff and slightly cold. His intense focus was making her slightly fearful, as if he was a serial killer instead of a desperate customer.
"If you could just–" His voice cut off abruptly. "No, forget it. I'm sorry." He drew away from her, head down and eyes focused on the desk and the tablet computer lying there, as if retreating fully in his defeat.
It was this sudden withdrawal which increased her guilt. He gave up so completely, so thoroughly–as if hopelessness was second nature to him.
She was still processing these thoughts when the desk clerk returned with a stack of printer paper. The machine whirred to life, producing a stack of papers which he slapped on the desk in front of her. The agency’s contract packet seemed roughly the size of Shakespeare’s collected works.
“This top section concerns liability and insurance policies,” the clerk told her, flipping the pages. “And, of course, there will be an increased rental fee due to the circumstances–making it about six hundred dollars total for the seven days.”
The color vanished momentarily from her face. “Six hundred dollars,” she said. “Wow …I mean, the last time I rented a car, it was three hundred for ten days.”
She had counted on a similar rate this time around. Draining her savings and vacation funds for this possible goose chase–even in her wildest impulses, she could never see herself doing something like that. This would exhaust her cash and the credit card she designated for petty expenses.
“You won’t find a better deal anywhere else,” the clerk advised. “Not until the convention is over, anyway.”
At this point, Riley stirred. "What if you went halves with someone?" he suggested. "I mean, that would lower costs, right? To split the expenses–and maybe have them pick up the tab for now?”
From his jacket pocket, he produced a wallet, then a credit card from inside. Holding it up, meeting her eye as if waiting for the signal that she accepted his offer.
"Maryland first," he said. "One day, then it's all yours for Virginia."
She glanced between him and the clerk, whose stony expression showed no signs of budging on the price hike. No doubt the conference had driven up prices everywhere around the city, from rental cards to hotel rooms.
She needed a lucky break in this setback and the only one available was in the form of the salesman who was waiting almost breathlessly for her answer. Her gaze shifted to his face, studying it for signs that he was dangerous, crazy, lascivious. Seeing nothing except the half-hopeful expression and eager pleading of those brown eyes.
Val drew a breath and forced a decisive edge to her voice.
“We’ll take it,” she said.