Night Shift (Book 1, the Night Shift series)

Chapter Five

The crowd pressed in close. Daniel pushed ahead, squirming a path through legs and long coats. When he reached the glass, his small, three-year-old reflection blinked back at him. Then his eyes adjusted to the lights and the magnificent diorama came into focus.

His breath fogged the window as he greedily took in the whole display; he'd never seen a train set so elaborate. The ache to touch it was overwhelming. His fingers pressed against the cold glass, leaving prints.

She squeezed his hand, letting him know it was time to move on, and then crouched down, putting her face close to his. "We can't go inside," she said, her blue eyes sad and red-rimmed.

He stomped his foot and pulled away. All he wanted was to touch the train and watch steam come out of its tiny engine. The door was so close. His splayed fingers reached for the curly "V" on the shiny handle. Shoppers pushed their way outside, making him stumble back. She called his name, but he ignored her, and ran into the store.

Suddenly, he was in a flurry of strangers. He looked up at the faces rushing past, but she was not there, he was all alone. He took off his mitten, and started to suck the tip of his thumb. She screamed his name from the sidewalk, just outside the store. She looked as terrified as he felt.

He ran back outside and into her arms as she bent down and hugged him closer. He nestled his face into her hair, breathing in her perfume. She ran her fingers through his hair, calming him. He told her they should see the train together, but she shook her head.

"Not today, pet," she soothed. He started to fuss, but she held up a finger. "You must always remember, Daniel, even when things seem unfair and very sad, the world is full of magic and beautiful things. But how you see the world depends on which side of the glass you're looking from."

Daniel wanted to ask her a thousand questions, but he couldn't make his mouth work. The memory faded into a haze, leaving him alone on the sidewalk, now wearing his pea coat and scuffed up loafers.

"Danny Boy!"

He ran back inside and stopped by the twinkling golden tree. She was at the base of the grand staircase, near the back of the store. Her dark wavy hair swirled as she turned and began to run up the steps.

"Hey," he called out. When he reached the bottom, she had already rounded the corner to the first landing. Daniel began to sprint, running in an unending upward spiral. Without warning the steps disappeared, and then he fell through the darkness, arms and legs flailing.

He clutched the bed sheets and sucked in a huge gulp of air as if he'd been holding his breath. He looked at the alarm clock on the hotel's bedside table—it was three in the afternoon. He'd been asleep since he'd left work that morning.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he bent forward, resting his head in his hands. He'd dreamt about his mother before, but never so vividly. He breathed deeply, convinced he could still smell her perfume.

His backpack lay in a heap at the end of the bed. He pulled it over and rummaged down to the compartment close to the bottom. Carefully folded and dry in a plastic bag were several white handkerchiefs. His father had always carried one.

"If it weren't for handkerchiefs," his father once told him, "I wouldn't have met your mom."

Daniel sat on the hotel bed wishing for that moment back. Instead of brushing off his dad, he would have asked to hear the story about how his parents met. Years later, after the accident, Daniel would lie awake at night, making a list of all the things he never knew about his mother—even trivial things that never occurred to him. What was her favourite movie? Favourite colour? Favourite food? Did she like milk or sugar in her coffee? And what was the name of her favourite perfume?