“No.” Morgan bit into his cookie and thought that maybe it wasn’t too sweet; it was just sweet enough.
“It’s the—” Jack stopped and clasped his fingers, making like he was pulling them apart, but they held fast. “It’s two ends that connect the train, one on each car, and they curl like half fists. There’s a well, a little shelf, over those couplers, and that’s where you sit. And the couplers, they jag and jiggle and clack all the time. They’re meant to move and adapt to the trucks going along the rails; that’s what Star said. They’re never silent. You hear them in your sleep. I’m still hearing them, though they’re getting quieter now.”
No wonder Jack had looked so tired when he’d arrived, hair wet with snowmelt, circles under his eyes, skin beneath the grime paler than it should be. Wearing clothes that needed to be replaced—and Morgan should do that, get him something warmer to wear. A real coat, for starters.
“That’s good,” Morgan said. “Your friend Star must know a lot.”
“He knows a lot about a lot of things,” Jack said, then shook his head. “But he’s not my friend.”
Morgan remembered Jack saying something similar before.They’re no friends of mine.
“How can you travel with someone if they’re not your friend?”
“We met in Chicago a while back,” Jack said, “but that day, the train started, and I was still on the ground. Asked them to throw me my stuff, but they didn’t. Everything I had. They kept it. So, no, they’re not my friends.”
The sadness was plain to see in Jack’s green eyes, and all Morgan wanted was to fix it. Only he didn’t know how.
“Never mind.” Jack shook himself, standing up as he polished off the rest of his coffee. “We need to get you ice cream, and then Mabel awaits us.”
“‘Awaits us’?” Morgan teased, standing up as well, reaching for his cane, and patting his pockets for his keys before he realized Jack had them. That Jack was driving. That the spell of the coffee shop was over, and they had errands to run.
Jack drove more slowly down Elliot Street as they made their way to the Hays Market, perhaps because he now had his favorite coffee in his system and bags more of it in the truck bed, tucked beneath a frost-edged bit of tarp.
At the market, Jack parked as close to the front doors as he could, which wasn’t all that close, as it seemed everyone else in town was also there. Staying by Morgan’s side, Jack was attentive as they walked across the snowy parking lot and inside to the warmth and bustle of people stocking up on milk and bread.
“Well, lookit who’s here,” a voice said, and Morgan steeled himself, turning to see Ambrose, Maurice, and Neville, all bundled against the cold in puffy down jackets, fuzzy Canadian tuques standing up on their heads like they were about to pop off, their half-filled carts all in a line.
They rallied around Morgan as if he needed them to protect him from the crowd in the produce area. “And who is this?” they asked in unison, looking at Jack.
“This is my friend Jack Foxley,” Morgan said. “He’s come to help me.”
“We could help you,” Ambrose said.
“You don’t need to anymore,” Morgan replied.
Silence fell as the three men looked at Jack and then at Morgan. Their expressions showed a kind of betrayed sadness. They weren’t old geezers; they were simply three retired gentlemen with not much to do and a desire to be kind to the newcomer in town.
Morgan had been a jerk all over again. Would he ever learn? He needed to fix this, and fast.
“We’ve had plenty of wood, thanks to you,” he said, somehow desperate and irritated at the same time. “But Jack’s building fires every night, so we’re going through it at a clip. Is there a better place to get it than here at the market, or?—”
Their faces brightened in unison at being asked for help.
“They’re all out at the moment,” Neville said. “But we’ve got extra and could bring you some more, Mr. Malone.”
“It’s Morgan,” Morgan said. “And would you?”
“We bought coffee,” Jack put in. “Plenty of it. And there’s a new coffee maker we’re setting up, so we’ll have coffee and donuts waiting for you.”
Morgan held his tongue and nodded. Only days ago he would have been up in arms about someone issuing a blanket invitation like that so cavalierly, but Jack was making him look at the world through different eyes.
Maybe Jack wasn’t doing it on purpose, but he was doing it. Morgan could adjust his attitude, or he could go on feeling like an asshole, being mean to three older men simply because their presence was an inconvenience.
“We’re stopping at Mabel’s first,” Morgan said. “But we’ll be back after that, if you wanted to come by.”
“Sounds like a plan, Morgan,” Ambrose said, his smile wide, wrinkling all the way up his face. “We’ll have plenty of wood for you.”
As the three men wheeled their carts away, joyfully entering the throng of shoppers dithering over that season’s apples, Morgan turned to Jack. “What if they’re out of donuts?” he asked. “They don’t have a very big bakery section here.”
