Tell My Sorrows to the Stones Read Free

It’s just a story. Whatever you’re hearing, it’s something else. Got to be some late night road work, smoke venting from the damn sneaker factory or something. But it’s not a train, and it sure as hell ain’t the Three-Eighteen.”
    She took a long breath and let it out with a small, self-deprecating laugh. Of course Martin was right. Sarah felt nauseous just thinking about the few moments she’d spent seriously considering the campfire tale as truth. Every town had local folklore.
    “You okay?” Martin prodded. His wide eyes were full of concern. “I shouldn’t even have mentioned it, but you brought up the train whistle and I just figured you were teasing me. This isn’t the kind of thing you ought to be thinking about.”
    “I’m okay,” she promised. How to explain the numbness inside and the gulf between herself and her husband? How to explain that the word ‘okay’ had entirely lost its meaning for her. Paul had always liked grim novels about the destruction of human society or the ecosystem or worse; he called it post-apocalyptic fiction. But Sarah was living a post-apocalyptic life. People who hadn’t been through it couldn’t possibly understand.
    “You sure? It’s only that you never seem like you’re all here, if you don’t mind my saying. Ellie Poole’s been bitching about you coming in late and, well, looking kind of run down.”
    Sarah couldn’t believe it. Ellie, who’d been so nice, was sniping behind her back after what she’d been through?
    “Bitch,” she whispered, glancing around at the doors that led into the main offices, just in case the bitch in question might walk in and overhear her. “Am I in trouble, Martin?”
    “Not that I’ve heard. I’d have told you. But that could change.”
    Sarah nodded. Of course it could change. The second Ellie figured that Sarah had had enough time to mourn Jonah’s death that she couldn’t file a wrongful termination law suit, the witch would come gunning for her.
    With a sigh, Sarah sipped from her cooling coffee. “Guess this is the last late morning for me.”
    A Mercedes slid through the parking lot and into a space. Martin put the single ear bud back in place. He and Sarah both watched as a man stepped out of the Mercedes and started for the front door.
    “Y’know, if sleep’s the issue, you oughta get your doc to prescribe something,” Martin said. “I took that one with the butterfly once. You know, the one in the TV ad. Worked like a charm.”
    Sarah straightened her top and smoothed her skirt, trying to look as professional as she could in spite of her state of mind. As the dark-suited man from the Mercedes opened the door, she glanced at Martin.
    “I tried pills. They just make me more tired in the morning,” she said.
    Then she smiled at the visitor. “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”
    The man spoke and she barely listened, her thoughts still on Martin’s suggestion. Sleeping pills would have been such a blessing, a respite from restless nights. But the few times she had taken them, they had interfered with her dreaming. And her dreams were the only time she could be with Jonah.
    Nothing mattered more than that, including her job. Ellie Poole could go to Hell.
    “Have you ever heard of the Three-Eighteen?”
    Paul looked up from his plate—he’d made them a risotto that had once been a favourite for both of them, but now tasted bland to Sarah. Everything tasted bland to her now.
    “You mean that old story about the ghost train?”
    “Yes.”
    He shrugged. Even his indifference had sharp edges, cutting her with disdain. “Sure. When I was a kid we’d all talk about it. Go out to the tracks. One time I camped out down there all night with Jimmy Pryce—remember Jimmy?”
    Sarah shook her head. She didn’t. Paul was two years older than she was. She’d only been in high school with him for his senior year and then he’d graduated. But he’d lost touch with most of his old friends over the years.