It sounds crazy, but you can tell a lot by the way a person looks when he or she sleeps. It’s a little bit of a study with me. Sometimes I take pictures of sleeping people, and Constance calls it my nightscape series. In any case, I watched Jack in small glimpses, like a movie, because the train sped along and the lights from outside came in every once in a while and illuminated his face. You can tell if someone is a worrier or not, a frightened or brave person, a clownish type or a serious person by his or her sleep expressions.
Jack slept peacefully, flat on his back, his eyelashes thick—he had good eyelashes, caterpillar eyelashes—and now and then I saw his eyes flicker in REM cycle under his lids. His lips parted slightly so that I could see glimpses of his teeth, and his arms stayed folded on his chest. He was a beautiful man, and twice I stood to stretch my back and snuck looks at him, the flashing lights turning him into a black-and-white film, something out of a Fellini movie.
I was still watching him when my phone rang. It was the Mom-a-saurus.
*
“Where’s my adventure girl now?” Mom asked, her voice coated with morning coffee. I pictured her in our kitchen in New Jersey, her outfit for the day waiting on a hanger upstairs while she had her coffee and non-carb breakfast on a tiny plate in the kitchen.
“On the train to Amsterdam, Mom.”
“Oh, how exciting. You’ve left Paris. How are the girls?”
“They’re fine, Mom. Where are you?”
“Home. Just having my coffee. Daddy’s gone for a couple of days to Denver on business. He asked me to give you a call, because there are tons of letters here for you from Bank of America. They look like human resources things—you know, insurance, health plans, but I guess some of them need your attention.”
“I’ll get to them, Mom. I’ve already been on the phone to the HR people.”
“Listen, I’m just the go-between. Daddy has his ways, as you know. He likes things covered, and you’re going to work for his friend.”
“I know, Mom,” I said, “but they wouldn’t have hired me if they didn’t think I could handle the job. I graduated with a 3.9 from Amherst, and I was offered three positions besides this one. I speak French and a little Japanese, and I write pretty well, and I come across in an interview when I need to, and—”
“Of course,” Mom interrupted because she knew this stuff, knew everything, and I was being defensively dogmatic. “Of course, darling. I didn’t mean to imply anything different.”
I took a deep breath. I tried to be calm when I spoke again.
“I know there’s probably paperwork, but I’ll leave time before I have to start in September. Tell Daddy not to worry. It’s all going to be fine. I have it all under control. You know I’m the type to get those things done. He doesn’t need to worry. If anything, I’m a tad obsessive about details.”
“I know, honey. I guess he’s a little divided, that’s all. He wants you to explore Europe, but he also knows this job is pretty big. Investment banking, sweetheart, it’s—”
“Got it, Mom,” I said, seeing her with her T. rex head, slowly lifting me from the ground in her mouth, my legs wiggling. I changed the subject and asked about my cat. “How’s Mr. Periwinkle?”
“I haven’t seen him this morning, but he’s around here someplace. He’s very stiff, and he has lumps, but he’s still eating.”
“Will you give him a kiss for me?”
“How about if I pet him for you? He’s filthy, sweetheart. Just filthy, and I worry about what’s on his skin.”
“Mom, he’s been in our family for fifteen years.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who has fed him and taken him to vet visits, you know?”
“I know, Mom.”
I turned my iPad over. I didn’t like seeing my face reflected in the glass as I talked into the phone. Was I really getting annoyed with my mother over my cat while sitting on a train on the way to Amsterdam? That felt a little bit insane. Luckily, Amy came to my rescue by standing and slipping past me. She wiggled her eyebrows in a little signal. Victor, I saw, followed her down the aisle toward Lord knows what. Poland was about to be conquered.
“Listen, Mom, we’re getting ready to pull in to Amsterdam,” I fibbed. “I need to get my stuff together. Tell Daddy I will get to the paperwork the instant I get home. I promise. Tell him not to worry. I’ve e-mailed with people at the office, and I’m all set to start in September. It’s all good. They actually seem happy to have me, and they’re glad I’m taking this trip. They encouraged it, remember, because they know I’m going to be working flat out when I start.”
“All right, sweetheart. You’re the boss. You stay safe now, okay? You promise? I love you. Give a kiss and a hug to the girls.”
“All right, Mom, I will. Love you.”
The connection closed. The Mom-a-saurus lumbered off into the Jurassic Age, her feet making indentations into solid rock as she walked. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
3
“What are you reading?”
It was late. I couldn’t sleep after all. Amy hadn’t returned. Constance seemed to sleep well enough for all of us. I was carried away to Spain with Hemingway, drinking too much and watching the bulls. Fiesta. The mountain trout streams. I was so involved in it that I didn’t notice when Jack climbed into the seat next to me.
“Excuse me?” I said, and I turned the iPad against my chest.
“My legs went numb sleeping up there. Not right away but after a while. At least I got a little sleep. Do you want to try it? I’d boost you up.”
“I could climb up if I wanted to.”
“It was an offer, not an insult.”
“You’ll have to move if my friend comes back. The seat is taken.”
He smiled. I wondered why I was being bitchy. It was likely a defense mechanism. He was so good looking—and so knew it—that I couldn’t help wanting to puncture his confidence. My neck flushed. It’s my one tell. My neck always flushes when I’m nervous, excited, or under pressure. When I took exams at Amherst, I looked like a ring-necked pheasant. I used to wear turtlenecks to cover it, though the heat of the collars only made it worse.
“You were reading, right?” he asked. “I saw the way your hand flipped the pages. Do you like these e-books? I’m not a big fan myself.”
“I can carry a lot of books in one small device.”
“Hooray,” he said, his tone mocking but flirty.
“Traveling, they make sense.”
“A book is a companion, though. You can read it in a special place, like on a train to Amsterdam, then you carry it home and you chuck it on a shelf, and then years later you remember that feeling you had on the train when you were young. It’s like a little island in time. If you love the book, you can give it to someone else. And you can discover it over and over, and it’s like seeing an old friend. Can’t do that with a digital file.”
“I guess you’re purer than I am. You can also throw a book on a shelf, then pack it the next time you move, then unpack it, then pack it again. And so on. An iPad holds more than any bookshelf in any apartment I’m likely to get.”