That earned him another smile, a mysterious one. She patted his arm.

“Maddie asked me to invite you for supper on Sunday. You may bring Caroline Rose.” She cast him a sharp glance that said if you must.

He had seen that look a few times from Miss Zula, most particularly when she returned a piece of work to him that she considered less than his best effort.

“Miss Zula, why don’t you like Caroline?”

She pursed her lips at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, John. Caroline is my goddaughter, of course I like her. I love her dearly.”

That was a relief, but only a little one. There was something else Miss Zula was not saying, and would not say, no matter how he thought to ask.

At the open door she paused to wave off Rob and his tea. She said, “You boys be sure to give your mama and your stepdaddy my love when you next talk to them on the telephone. And don’t forget supper on Sunday. You come along, too, Rob, and bring that pretty little wife of yours.”

Caroline and Kai together at the table; that was one kind of problem, but there was a bigger one, and John held it in his hand. A square envelope exactly the size to hold a DVD case, with a label in one corner. The logo showed stylized railway ties in black and white and in scarlet script: Tied to the Tracks Productions. Hoboken, New Jersey.

“John?” Rob looked from the envelope to his brother and back again. “You look like Miss Zula took a bite out of you. What is it?”

“Nothing much,” John said. “Just the end of the world as I know it.”

TWO

Tied to the Tracks. Independent. Full-service documentary film & videography, digital storytelling. L&N 1915 (full-length doc) Finalist, International Documentary Film Festival, Stockholm; Honorable Mention, Orson Welles Film Festival; Judges’ Choice Award, IG Film Festival. Angeline Mangiamele (producer, writer, editor), Rivera Rosenblum (photographer, editor), Anthony Russo (photographer, sound).

In many ways this particular summer morning at Tied to the Tracks was nothing unusual. Angie had seen it all before: the air conditioner on strike, the telephone company ready to cut off service, and the reserves of everything from paper clips to videotape alarmingly low. That was the way most small documentary film companies operated: short on everything but panic and adrenaline.

And dedication, Angie reminded herself. It would take that much and more to get them through this oddest of days.