What started in Paris

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I had always thought that trains were romantic and mysterious, that the sound of going over the tracts with the street lights whooshing past in a blur had a distinctly haunting feel. I could recall the old, yellowing pictures of lovers stretching for one last kiss before the train departed, transporting the men to their deaths in uniform. A part of me wanted a good bye like that, a mad scramble for each other in such a beautiful place as this, but I had always been sensible. Careful to keep daydreams and reality as separate as possible so I could save myself as much disappointment as possible.

"It's a long story."

   "Apparently." Adam says, squinting his eyes at Tom as we board the train and make our way to our seats as the rest of the passengers start filtering in. A little twelve year old girl sits down in the empty seat next to Adam and looks up at him and Tom like they're gods from heaven sent.

 Tom sighs, stretching out his extremely long legs and taking over half of my leg room, but I don't say anything, feeling sorry for him more than anything so I scoot closer to Adam, smiling when I see that the little girl is still staring at him.

   "I think you have an admirer." I say, leaning close to whisper in his ear and nodding to the seat beside him. He looks confused for a moment, his dark eyebrows furrowed until he finally looks to his left.

   "Hi." He says simply to the girl, giving her an awkward little wave before letting his hand drop back to his lap. The girl blushes a deep red before quickly glancing away.

Adam looks back down at me and raises his eyebrows as I laugh silently, resting my forehead on his shoulder for a moment. When I raise my head again I see Adam shooting Tom a look that clearly says, 'shut up'. Electing to ignore it I clear my throat a little so contain my smile.

     "So I'm guessing you don't want children?" I ask, giving him a look.

    "I'm not against them, I'm just not good with kids." He says, defending himself, and sliding down in his seat a little to get comfortable, my crossed leg resting against his out stretched one.  

    "I don't really know how to interact with them either." I say, nodding and resting my head back on the seat, rolling my shoulder blades.

  "Is that a Steve hanks?" Adam asks suddenly, leaning over me to take the painting Declan had resting in his lap, and holds it out for both of us to see. At first I can't tell that it's an actual painting and not just a photograph from it's clarity, but when I finally get a good look of it, it takes my breath away.

The brush strokes are flawless, showing a woman walking along a train track, rain falling down around her and her black umbrella, her hair damp and frizzy from humidity as her somber reflection stares back from the puddle in front of her. It made you really stop and think, to wonder what her story was and if her black dress signifies mourning, if she's weighed down with pain.

   "It's beautiful." I whisper, leaning closer to get a better look.

   "You like it?" Adam asks, looking down at me with hopeful eyes.

  "Yes, very much." I say, nodding.

   "Good." Tom says, interrupting. "I had to go through hell and back to get it." He finishes and I can hardly understand him through his heavy Irish accent. Adam gives him a look but remains silent for awhile, seemingly trying to hold back an argument.

   "Why?" Adam finally asks, his voice civil.

   "It used to hang in a museum, until a couple of months ago when it disappeared. It took quite a few all nighters to find out where, but here it, finally, is." Declan says, sighing a little and looking at the painting, his lips fixed in a firm line.