The Undertaker

“It's not a joke, Peter. You may know plenty of women, and you may talk to plenty of women, and I know you were married to a truly wonderful woman who I know you loved very, very deeply. But how many women have you been with since Terri died?”

I looked at her for a moment, realizing this conversation was spinning dangerously out of control. “Been with?” I asked. “You mean slept with?

“Not really. How many have you let touch you? How many have you let inside those walls you've put up, and let help you?”

“None,” I finally answered, my voice barely above a whisper. “Not since Terri. No, the truth is, for a long time before Terri.”

“Because you feel guilty. Because I make you feel guilty, and that's a big, big wall that none of us mere mortals can ever hope to climb over.”

“What I'm feeling, it has nothing to do with you. Well, it does, but…”

“Women can read you like a book, Peter. If you look at one of us, or think about one of us, or think about physical contact or any kind of intimacy, or, god-forbid, think of having sex with one of us, you have a panic attack. You think you're being disloyal.”

I couldn't say anything, because somehow, in two days, this elf had me nailed.

I bet I've gotten closer to you than anyone, but you've made Terri an impossible act for me or any woman to follow.” Even with my hand over her eyes, I could feel tears in the palm of my hand.

“Oh, don't do that,” I groaned, feeling even worse as I wiped away the big crocodile tears running down her cheeks. “That's not fair.”

“I'm not going to apologize this time. I can't help it,” she sputtered. “I told you I was a sap for stuff like this. Well, the fact is, Peter Talbott, you can't talk to me because you are afraid of what it might mean if you let me get close. And you are right. All I do is crack jokes, try to get you in he sack, and cry, because I'm just as terrified of you.”

“Why would you be terrified of me?”

“Are you kidding? That kind of love? That kind of loyalty? I know you think I'm a silly little girl who doesn't come close to measuring up to what you need or what you had. And I know we don't know each other very well, but I know everything I will ever need to know about you. I knew it that back in Chicago at my aunt's, maybe before that. So at least give me a chance. Guys like you come along maybe once in a million years and I'm petrified that I'm going to blow this thing with you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Where Glenn Frey meets the lower bunk…

The Amtrak train came twenty minutes late. Our car was the near the rear and we walked quickly to the gate and got on board. An elderly black porter met us in the passageway; his nametag read “Phillip.” He opened the door of our compartment with a big smile as he handed me two keys, telling me the restaurant car opened at 6:00 AM.

“Thank you, Phillip.” I steered him aside. “My wife and I are on our honeymoon and we are absolutely exhausted,” I whispered quietly to him. “In the morning, maybe you can bring us some food from the dining car.”

“It would be my great pleasure, sir,” he smiled. “There's a menu on the table inside. If you check off what you want and slide it out under the door, I'll take care of everything.”

“Thanks. But, I have another problem, too. My wife's brother's with the FBI and he's a real joker. He and a couple of our other friends love to pull pranks.” I handed him a folded one-hundred dollar bill. “That's so you won't tell anyone that you saw us, or saw anybody that looks like us. Now, he's clever. He'll probably flash a badge and growl and bluster, and tell you we're wanted for something, but you never saw us, okay? Because I have another hundred in my pocket if we make it to Boston undisturbed.”

“Yes, sir!” Phillip said as he reached up and switched the placard on the door from Occupied to Vacant. “And don't you worry, Mister… Smith. I shall see to it personally that no one bothers you or your wife. Now, ya'll have a good night.”

I stepped inside and locked the door behind me.

“That was really sneaky, Talbott,” Sandy said. She was no more than two feet away from me, which was about as far apart as we were likely to get for quite a while.

I looked around. “My bedroom closet in California was bigger than this.” The entire compartment was only 6’ 6” by 7’ 6”, with a couch along one wall and a pull-down bunk above it. Both had been made up for the night. There was also a small armchair and a fold-down table with a big window above it. There was a smaller window by the upper bunk and a tiny restroom by the door that contained a toilet, a sink, and a shower.

“All the comforts of home,” Sandy said as she pulled down the shades.

No, I thought, all the comforts of a closet. And I'm about to spend the entire night in here with you, just the two of us, when I was uncomfortable being alone with you in your aunt's much larger apartment last night. Thank God for bunk beds.