Sure enough, the phone was ringing. It was Guy. Dan felt bad for Guy now. He had put so much time and energy into the project over the last year. He’d read so many drafts, made so many calls. He’d staked his own reputation on the gamble, and no doubt it was going to be a shame to see all that effort go to waste.

“I should probably take this,” Dan said.

“Take your time,” Celia said, and ambled over to the bus kiosk to read the schedules on the TV monitors.

“Hey,” Dan said.

“Hey,” Guy said. He sounded tired. “How’s it going?”

“All right,” Dan said. “You?”

“I just got off the phone with Jeff,” Guy said.

“Uh huh?”

“The meeting went long. But I’ve got some news.”

Dan took a deep breath, testing the walls of his stomach, his chest cavity, happy to discover his serenity remained unshaken. The claws of hope had at last truly released him. There would be no news that could bother him anymore. No indecision that could cause him to lose another night’s sleep. His only concern now was to help Guy understand that everything was okay. And after that, to shepherd his daughter, currently climbing onto a bench for a better view of the bus mall, home for dinner.

“So,” Dan said, with divine resignation. “What’s the news?”

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

On the bench, Celia folded her arms, surveying the milling bus passengers. The number 35 grumbled behind her, the windows filled with reflections and half-obscured faces.

Train Choir

TRAIN CHOIR

VERNA COULD HEAR Lucy bounding through the long grass in the darkness. The dinging of her tags amid the chafing stalks gave away every burst of speed and change of direction. Briefly she was running toward the train trestle up ahead, a low bridge connecting two squat bluffs outlined against the high-plain night sky, and then she was doubling back toward the outskirts of town, a slope of tidy houses obscured by elm and pine and dogwood trees and hemmed in by the freeway to the east. Then the sounds stopped for a while, only to pick up again, tracing a path back toward the road shoulder, right to the spot where Verna, all alone, was walking.

Lucy emerged from the grass and plowed into Verna’s legs, carrying in her smiling mouth a squat stick. The moonlight glowed on her small, muscled body, turning her yellow coat the color of pale frost. Verna wrestled with the stick until Lucy relinquished her grip, and after a pat on the head, the dog plunged back into the meadow for another sprint.

“We’re only out here a little while!” Verna said. “Don’t get too far. Are you listening? Stay close to me.”