“I feel kind of useless,” he said. “I mean, my poor dad… And my little brother and sisters.”

“So hard that you can’t be there,” Anderson said. “I wish I could load you into a catapult and fling you over the ocean. You need to be home right now, comforting and taking care of things.”

“Not a problem,” Schmitt said, tapping the bazooka leaning against his hip. “Hop in here, Fish. I’ll send you straight home.”

Everyone laughed again and Kennet made a show of checking his watch. “Let’s wait a few hours, the sun isn’t up yet in New York.”

“Tell us something about your brother,” Anderson said. “One little thing.”

“He was my Ma’s favorite. She died in nineteen forty. I guess they’re together now.”

“No guessing,” Anderson said. “They are.”

“I bet she met his train,” Jock said.

“What train?”

All eyes turned to Jock, and this boisterous clown, who loved nothing more than attention, took an uncustomary step backward. “Nothing.”

O’Hara touched Jock’s back and murmured, “Go ahead, bud. What train?”

Jock took a breath. “My grandpa always said you take a train to Heaven, and loved ones who have gone before meet you at the station.”

The vision was immediate, as if a painting had been pushed in Kennet’s face. Nalle stepping off a train, bouquet of flowers in hand. Seersucker jacket and straw hat. Bright, strapping and full of anticipation. Ingrid on the platform in hat and gloves, waving. Calling for her boy. Opening her arms. Nalle running down the platform, holding onto his hat. An exuberant, laughing embrace. An explosion of rose petals in all directions…

“I like that,” Kennet said softly. He looked up, looked Jock dead in the eye. “I like that a lot, Chris. Thanks.”

He didn’t read Marta’s letter until he was bedded down for the night, alone in the tent with Hook.

…Our hearts are broken to bits, but we’re holding up as best we can. It’s bizarre not having the closure of a funeral. No body, no wake, no service, no gathering… Makes it so difficult to take in and accept he’s gone. We have nothing but a telegram’s word. No tangible proof. Easy to ignore and pretend it never happened, say you’ll think about it later. It leaves one feeling strangely detached and numb. We know he’s gone, but it hasn’t quite sunk in. Honestly, I don’t think we’re letting it sink in.