their faces, ten minutes to two and twelve-thirty were also possibilities. Whatever, they were wrong and would have to be fixed if . . .
'Wait a second,' I said, turning to Sarah who was busy looking for a light switch. 'Did you say people needed to park their cars so they could go to work in downtown Milwaukee?'
'Of course. What do you think they're going to do? Walk? Even if they lived a block away, they'd take their car. This is Brookhills, not Manhattan.'
I still didn't understand. 'But this line runs between Seattle and Chicago and stops in Milwaukee and Minneapolis.'
I knew this because Eric sometimes took Amtrak home from school in Minnesota and I would pick him up at the Milwaukee stop. There were only two trains each day--one heading west at eight fifteen a.m., and one east at eight fifteen p.m. 'Why would anyone take a long-distance train to work just fifteen miles away?'
Light finally dawned, even as the setting sun squeezed through the windows.
I squinted at Sarah. 'Are you telling me this will be a commuter train?'
Over the years, there had been talk of a train running between the western outskirts and the business district of Milwaukee. I was even vaguely aware that a vote had been scheduled. What I didn't know, having been pre-occupied with my own problems the prior couple of weeks, was how that vote had gone.
Now I grabbed Sarah, who was grinning at me, and shook her. 'People will be coming through here to take the train to work in Milwaukee?'
'And home again. Every morning and afternoon, weekdays anyway,' Sarah confirmed. 'Sort of comes with the territory.'
I didn't rise to the bait because I was too busy imagining hundreds of riders carrying to-go cups emblazoned with 'Uncommon Grounds', humming their sleep-muzzied way into Milwaukee each a.m. and their work-befuddled way back home every p.m. We'd have to add staff in the morning so we could get them in and out quickly. Efficient, friendly service--that was the key.
'Did you hear me?' Sarah was looking disappointed that I hadn't reacted the way she expected. But then she wasn't acting the way I was accustomed to either. Since when had Sarah needed positive reinforcement?
Her expression changed. 'Wait a second. You're already planning the store in your head.' At that moment, Sarah knew she had me hooked.
So why pretend otherwise? 'You bet I am.'
I led her to the ticket counter. 'We'll serve from all three windows, though one should be an express line. That way, straight coffee-drinkers don't have to wait behind triple-nonfat-no-foam-latte types.'
'We'll bill it as the "UG Express",' Sarah said, warming to the subject. 'Like a train.'
'I love it. And how about railroad-themed drinks, like Chattanooga Chai Tea?'
'Cute,' Sarah said, 'if we were in Chattanooga. Or if Chai Tea sounded anything like "Choo-choo".'
She was frowning at the crooked Brookhills clock. Sarah might not concern herself with fashion--the baggy trousers and jacket not an aberration, but a wardrobe constant. However, she did demand symmetry in her real estate. In fact, the Victorian house she owned was a showplace. How she managed to keep it that way with two teenagers--the children of a dead friend to whom Sarah proved an even better friend--in the house, I didn't know.
Unable to straighten out the 'Brookhills' clock by telekinesis, she moved over and shifted it so '12' was back on top.
'You'll forgive me if I take a little locomotive license,' I said, before Ms Perfect could start cleaning the other two timepieces. 'We're brainstorming. No fair poking fun, though we should be taking notes.'
'Good idea.'
I looked around. 'Do you see any paper?'
Sarah's answer was trampled by the sound of a door being swung open. Hard.
I turned to see a man of about eighty, white beard and close-cropped hair, standing in the doorway. He didn't look happy. 'This is private property. Who let you in?'
Sarah stepped around me. 'Who let you out?'
The old man peered at Sarah. 'Identify
'Wait a second,' I said, turning to Sarah who was busy looking for a light switch. 'Did you say people needed to park their cars so they could go to work in downtown Milwaukee?'
'Of course. What do you think they're going to do? Walk? Even if they lived a block away, they'd take their car. This is Brookhills, not Manhattan.'
I still didn't understand. 'But this line runs between Seattle and Chicago and stops in Milwaukee and Minneapolis.'
I knew this because Eric sometimes took Amtrak home from school in Minnesota and I would pick him up at the Milwaukee stop. There were only two trains each day--one heading west at eight fifteen a.m., and one east at eight fifteen p.m. 'Why would anyone take a long-distance train to work just fifteen miles away?'
Light finally dawned, even as the setting sun squeezed through the windows.
I squinted at Sarah. 'Are you telling me this will be a commuter train?'
Over the years, there had been talk of a train running between the western outskirts and the business district of Milwaukee. I was even vaguely aware that a vote had been scheduled. What I didn't know, having been pre-occupied with my own problems the prior couple of weeks, was how that vote had gone.
Now I grabbed Sarah, who was grinning at me, and shook her. 'People will be coming through here to take the train to work in Milwaukee?'
'And home again. Every morning and afternoon, weekdays anyway,' Sarah confirmed. 'Sort of comes with the territory.'
I didn't rise to the bait because I was too busy imagining hundreds of riders carrying to-go cups emblazoned with 'Uncommon Grounds', humming their sleep-muzzied way into Milwaukee each a.m. and their work-befuddled way back home every p.m. We'd have to add staff in the morning so we could get them in and out quickly. Efficient, friendly service--that was the key.
'Did you hear me?' Sarah was looking disappointed that I hadn't reacted the way she expected. But then she wasn't acting the way I was accustomed to either. Since when had Sarah needed positive reinforcement?
Her expression changed. 'Wait a second. You're already planning the store in your head.' At that moment, Sarah knew she had me hooked.
So why pretend otherwise? 'You bet I am.'
I led her to the ticket counter. 'We'll serve from all three windows, though one should be an express line. That way, straight coffee-drinkers don't have to wait behind triple-nonfat-no-foam-latte types.'
'We'll bill it as the "UG Express",' Sarah said, warming to the subject. 'Like a train.'
'I love it. And how about railroad-themed drinks, like Chattanooga Chai Tea?'
'Cute,' Sarah said, 'if we were in Chattanooga. Or if Chai Tea sounded anything like "Choo-choo".'
She was frowning at the crooked Brookhills clock. Sarah might not concern herself with fashion--the baggy trousers and jacket not an aberration, but a wardrobe constant. However, she did demand symmetry in her real estate. In fact, the Victorian house she owned was a showplace. How she managed to keep it that way with two teenagers--the children of a dead friend to whom Sarah proved an even better friend--in the house, I didn't know.
Unable to straighten out the 'Brookhills' clock by telekinesis, she moved over and shifted it so '12' was back on top.
'You'll forgive me if I take a little locomotive license,' I said, before Ms Perfect could start cleaning the other two timepieces. 'We're brainstorming. No fair poking fun, though we should be taking notes.'
'Good idea.'
I looked around. 'Do you see any paper?'
Sarah's answer was trampled by the sound of a door being swung open. Hard.
I turned to see a man of about eighty, white beard and close-cropped hair, standing in the doorway. He didn't look happy. 'This is private property. Who let you in?'
Sarah stepped around me. 'Who let you out?'
The old man peered at Sarah. 'Identify
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