It was top of the line, but after Joey moved in, I didn't spend much time in the living room, except when “Lassie” was on, Sunday nights.I was helping Mommy with the breakfast dishes, watching the rain through the kitchen window, when the big black telephone on the table next to the refrigerator started to ring. Since I was drying, Mommy told me to answer. “Hello, Brown residence.”“Is that you, Sue? This is Joey. Do you want to come play at my house? My mother says it's okay.”“It's raining.”“I can come over with a big umbrella to get you.”“Do you want to watch television?”“We could, or we could play in the basement or my room. Maybe we could trade baseball cards or something.”“Let me ask Mommy.”In ten minutes, Joey was at my door. I was waiting for him, my shoebox of baseball cards hidden under my yellow rain slicker.That first day at Joey's house was an eye-opener. I had never been in a boy's room, but I thought all they did was play with toy trucks and soldiers and Lincoln. It was actually sort of an arranged thing; the pastor knew her well and me slightly and put us together. Lord knows it took me long enough to figure out what was going on and actually ask her out on a date. I did make the actual proposal of marriage eventually, but she was the driver. Not in a harsh way, I mean; just that she was the one who got us out of the house, the one who kept up our friendships. On my own, I'd have done none of that. As my behavior since her passing showed, I guess.I thought about this and other things as we rode; I'd read the book so many times before that my attention could wander freely and come back easily to where I'd left off.When at last I looked up again, I was surprised. The train was emptier now, new faces. But that woman was still there, still sitting across from me. Still looking at me.I may have blushed a little. But that's all I did.I returned to my book, but every so often I'd keep peeking above it. Still there. The train ran to the end of the.
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