Eventually, I stagger to a seat. I dig through my bag and pull out my ticket. I clutch my talisman, although I doubt it’s much of one. My ride time has expired. I scan the aisle, hoping there’s no conductor on this train. A few people occupy seats in front of mine. A group of college-age kids lounge behind me, in the very back of the train.
I don’t relax so much as pull in a full breath—at last. I’m on the Green Line, headed toward St. Paul. St. Paul. Where the State Fairgrounds are. I pull out my phone.
A flurry of missed calls and text messages assault me the moment I switch on the power. That number I assume is Jack’s. Malcolm’s number and a series of text messages, all frantic and popping up much faster than I can read them.
Katy, please...
I can explain...
It’s not what you think
