The Predicament of Persians - A.G. Henley Page 0,55

eye. I bolt up in my seat, sending the itty-bitty empty bottles and caps tumbling to the ground. I catch the Snickers before it slides off my lap and clutch it like a life preserver.

Because, and I can’t be sure, but I thought I saw a tall woman with a crown of sublime sunset and honey hair out on the platform. I shove my cheek against the window and peer the way she went. I don’t see her.

With sweaty palms and a charging heart, I skid into the hallway, run to the end of the car, and swing myself down to the concrete platform.

An Amtrak employee stops me. “Sir, we’re leaving in a moment. If you’re going our way, you should get aboard.”

I peer around him. Still nothing.

Could she be on my train? I leap back on and rush to the last car, determined to work my way through until I find her. She’s here, I can feel her.

Hell, I can almost smell her, that vanilla scent.

Following my nose, I hurry down the aisle of seats, head swiveling back and forth like a villain in an old James Bond movie. When I get to the front, I work my way back, but my anticipation fades. As I reach my own compartment, the train lurches forward, and I have no choice but to sit down again. My head falls backs on my seat. I was wrong. Seeing things.

It wasn’t her.

It wasn’t Kathleen.

Chapter Thirty

“A greater power than we can contradict

Hath thwarted our intents.”

- Romeo and Juliet (Act 5, Scene 3)

Kathleen

No, no, no, no, no.

I’m on the wrong stinking train!

I’d run up and down the length of the train to Chicago, or what I’d thought was the train to Chicago, when I finally gave up on finding Joe. Maybe he was leaving at a different time. Maybe he changed his plans all together.

And as I stepped back onto the platform . . . I saw him through a window on the other train. I don’t know if he spotted me. The thing swept by too swiftly to tell.

Tears in my eyes, I thank the female employee who allowed me onboard to search for Joe. Like me, she must have seen one too many romantic comedy movies. Or maybe she’d thought I was looking for a child. I’m still clutching Junior, after all.

I press my palm to my forehead. Now what? Joe’s train won’t stop until it gets to Chicago. What do I do?

I’d tried to direct message him through Instagram, which was how we’d communicated before CatFest, but just like Viv and Jess said, his account was deleted. And we were together so much over the weekend that we’d never needed to exchange actual phone numbers.

Which means he’s on his way to Chicago, and according to Boyd, he’s not in any hurry to get home again. Why didn’t I at least get his number from his cousin?

I plod up the stairs that I streaked down only a few minutes ago. People pass me, but I don’t really see them. They’re just shapes, background noise. Without any conscious thought, my feet take me inside the terminal building, where I stop, causing an older man to bounce off of me from behind.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he says.

I wave to let him know I’m okay. But that’s a lie. I’m not okay. I’m just now realizing that I’d let my old prejudice about Joe, as the anonymous, copycatting owner of Romeo, completely override my opinion of real-life Joe, the flesh-and-blood man who’d been nothing but kind and thoughtful since I met him. Even if he wasn’t entirely honest.

Yes, Joe had ripped off my Instagram theme. Yes, he’d made nasty comments while hiding behind his Instagram account all those months. Yes, he hadn’t told me the truth about who he was once he realized Juliet belonged to me.

But.

He’d been willing to share the sponsorship. He’d been willing to let me have the sponsorship that was rightfully his. He’d apologized for his behavior and had even bribed my brother to say nice things about him. James—who deserves a smack more than a buck half the time. And despite my firm refusal to be with Joe, he’s deactivated Romeo’s account. Doesn’t that show he’s being honest about giving up the sponsorship for me?

And I’d let him go.

I wander inside Union Station. The beautiful stone terminal bustles with people. Shops and restaurants line the ground floor, while a fancy bar and the lobby of the Crawford Hotel are upstairs on the