Sipping coffee from the lobby, he made his way toward the train station. In daylight, Hidden Cove’s cozy cottages and wrought iron gates were positively serene against the backdropof a tumultuous, grey sea. Pine trees bordered the sidewalks, their needles strewn across the cement, fragrant and crunchy beneath his feet. Pale clouds stretched across a blue sky.
What would it be like to live somewhere like this? At home, trees grew between streets and sidewalks, sometimes planted in tiny yards, more often found growing in pots inside of office buildings and grocery stores. The only canopy in the city was one of smog. Streets were crowded with cars and people, an endless cacophony of clicking heels, chattering voices, horns honking, buses spewing exhaust.
Would he grow bored here after only a few days? Were apartments more expensive? What about groceries? Were there job opportunities, or was this place primarily a vacation destination for the wealthy?
There was no hospital, only a little clinic. No veterinarian, either, he’d discovered last night while perusing the phone book. No record stores. No auto body shop (currently, he didn’t own a car, but he liked to think that he might one day and so factored it into his daydreams). There was only one consignment store, and according to the ad, its clothes were exclusively for women.
For all that he loved the trees and the ocean and the misty air and the deer who paused to observe him, he could never thrive here.
He boarded the train overwhelmed and exhausted, mourning the forest already.
“Can’t use this,”said the conductor, frowning down at the ticket. “I’m gonna need to ask you to leave.”
“What?” said Jack, glancing from the conductor to the ticket. He had only just sat down. Had he gotten on the wrong train? Handed over the wrong piece of paper? “I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”
“Ticket’s for tomorrow,” said the conductor, pointing toward the door. “Can’t honor this. You need to get it fixed in the office.”
“For tomorrow?” Jack stared at the date. October eighteenth. The day of the audit was the seventeenth—he’d written it on his calendars at work and at home, added it to his date book, scribbled it on his palm, repeated it in his head like a mantra. “But today is Wednesday the eighteenth.”
“Nope.” The conductor shook his head. “Today’s Tuesday the seventeenth. You need to get your head checked, buddy.”
Jack left. The eyes of the other passengers bored into him as he climbed onto the platform, suitcase swinging. Had he really gotten the date wrong? Was that why the foreman was so rude to him yesterday? But that didn’t make sense. His boss wished him luck the very morning his train departed. Dan wasn’t a genius, but he wouldn’t send Jack out the door on the wrong day. Besides, his ticket was accepted, and the hotel room was reserved.
He must have fixated on the wrong date. That’s all this was. Just a simple mistake. An embarrassing one, but nothing damning.
Jack made his way inside the tiny station and waited behind a young couple purchasing their tickets home, and an older woman who wanted to confirm the morning train’s arrival time despite the clearly posted schedule.
When he reached the counter, Jack said, “I need to change the date on my ticket.”
The employee was the same one who’d helped him previously. Despite being perfectly cordial to the other customers, he looked less than pleased to see Jack. “No one turned in your wallet.”
“Oh. Thank you for the update. Um, I’ve made my peace with the wallet. I need to adjust my ticket, though. Mine is for tomorrow, and I really need to leave today.”
A man slipped into line behind him, shuffling his briefcase from hand to hand. Outside, the train’s horn sounded. Wheels ground against the tracks. Jack’s anxiety spiked.
“Next train comes in three hours. I need to see an ID to change the date.”
“Well, as you know, I don’t have a wallet,” said Jack. His knees began to shake. “I can call my employer. They arranged the ticket for me?—”
“Won’t do any good,” said the employee, shaking his head. “I need to see an ID.”
Jack blinked at him. “My wallet ismissing. There’s no other way to change the date on the ticket?”
“Nope.” The employee scratched the back of his neck and yawned.
Even Boris was more helpful than this guy.
“I see,” said Jack slowly. “Is there a manager or someone I can speak to?”
“You’re looking at him.” Another yawn.
“Oh.”
“What did you think? That you could just show up with no money, ask for special favors, and bum around town? Get outta here, you grifter.”
“I’m not a grifter!” Jack protested, throwing his arms up in the air. “I work for Grover, Rowell, and Thursday. I came here for a factory audit. I’m not here to take advantage of anyone! I just want to go home!”
The man in line behind him cleared his throat. “Buddy, is this gonna take all day?”
