I never went to another gay bar with Beth, but we made a pact to have dinner once a week. True to her words at the Dogfather, she finally started dating someone seriously, and for the first time I was actually producing more words than her on the weekends. I’d march into work every Monday and lean over her cubicle and say, “I busted out eight thousand words.”

She would always chuckle. “Yeah, but I got laid.”

“That’s overrated,” I would say. Lying, of course.

It was hard not to be happy for Beth and Jerry and Dylan, who had all managed to find their people, so I devoted myself to positively supporting all of their relationships. I added another houseplant to my apartment, along with a betta fish that I named Anchovy. Just getting a fish equaled more commitment than Rose had made in her whole life. I figured I was easily on my way to twenty cats. I wondered about Rose’s dream all the time. I still had it, but it would always end before she’d open her eyes. The terrifying and touching moments in the dream were gone, but the sadness remained.

Stephen stopped screwing women in the basement after Dylan and I sent around a petition requesting that the door to the basement laundry room be removed. The super, who was not a fan of Stephen, gladly took the door off. Jamie continued leaving me messages, begging me to call him. That lasted two weeks, and then he resigned himself to simply calling and saying, “Good night” or “Good morning” or “I’m thinking about you,” on my voice mail. The messages made my heart ache, but it was a good ache. Somehow it felt like a healing ache. It’s like the pain you feel when the skin around a wound tightens up. I got to work on time every day because I stopped searching for Just Bob. I didn’t stop searching for the holiday train, though. My pathetic goal in life became sitting next to Santa on the goddamned L, and I wouldn’t stop until it happened. I made myself believe that searching for a fake Santa on a train was enough to live for.

Time sidled by like I was watching my life as a rerun in slightly slower motion—until the morning when I saw a familiar face on the L. It was December and freezing in Chicago, but I was sweating. There’s a constant adjustment of your body temperature when you live in a cold place. I like to pile on layers of clothes because I hate stepping out into the cold, but then I always end up half walking, half jogging to the train. By the time I board I’m usually sweating profusely. On top of it, the transit system pumps heat into the subway portals so there’s no ice buildup on the tracks. There’s sometimes a stuffiness in the stations, and then if a train is crowded and you’ve been running for four blocks and you’re wearing a parka, there’s a good chance you will either pass out or puke, and that’s what almost happened the morning I met Christina.

I recognized her right away but couldn’t place her. She looked to be in her thirties, with strawberry blond hair and a perfect complexion. She recognized me instantly but continued to scrutinize me. My heart was beating out of my chest from running. I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow and began frantically removing my coat. She was still watching me, and then she tilted her head to the side. I felt like she was studying me.

“Are you Kate?”

“Yes,” I said through heavy breaths. She grinned knowingly, so I moved across the aisle to sit next to her. I turned and stuck my sweaty hand out. “I’m sorry, I recognize you but I can’t figure out where I know you from.”

“Does Robert Connor ring a bell?”

After removing my giant coat and catching my breath, I looked down at my hands while I searched my mind. “Uh no, sorry.”

“Bob, from the train.”

“Oh, Just Bob. Yes! Yes, I know him. I remember you now. You used to sit with us. I haven’t seen Bob. I couldn’t find him. I just figured he had started taking a different line.”

Her face changed and her lips turned down. “I’m glad I found you, even though I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. Bob passed away a month and a half ago.”

Fuck. I knew something had happened.

“Oh no.” My eyes started watering. “What happened?”

“We think he died a peaceful death from natural causes. He was older than he looked. He was ninety-five but sharp as a tack.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Well, he didn’t have any close friends or family so his body wasn’t found for quite some time.” She furrowed her eyebrows and puckered her lips, clearly still emotional at the idea.

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes, Bob lived a very solitary life. I only found out after they were clearing his apartment. At some point I had given him my business card. You see, I’m a lawyer, and Bob wanted me to write his will. We never got around to a meeting, but he must have known his days were numbered because he wrote his own will right on the back of a paper plate.” She laughed and looked up to the ceiling of the train. “Bob didn’t have much, but he sure wanted you to have a few of his things. His apartment was full of books.” My eyes widened. She reached out and grasped my hand. “Most of the books were donated to schools and libraries, but Bob had set a few aside in a little shoebox with a note. On the plate he wrote ‘Please make sure Kate from the train, the young girl with big eyes and dark hair gets the shoebox.’ It was luck that they contacted me after finding my card and that I remembered you, but I didn’t know if I would ever find you. I just made a silent promise that I would watch every person that got on and off the train.”

“So what does the note say?”

“I haven’t read it.” She stood up. “This is my stop. Can we meet tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, meet me at the Rosehill Cemetery mausoleum at ten a.m. You know where that is?”

“Yes.” I knew it well. “Thank you,” I said as I took the card. I stared at it for several minutes before putting it in my pocket. I wondered why Bob had singled me out of the group of followers.

After work, I went home and slid into bed. I opened my phone to three new voice mails. One was Dylan. Hey, chica. Ashley turns eighteen tomorrow, holy shit!

His voice got super high. I wanted to know if I could borrow your apartment. I’ll pay for you to go to a movie or something.

I texted him back:

Me: So you want to use my apartment to have sex with your girlfriend?

He responded almost immediately.

Dylan: Um yeah. Is that bad?

I laughed to myself. Dylan was always so innocently honest. It was kind of charming. I think if I had met Jamie in the right circumstances, I would have felt the same way about him.

Me: Fine. You better wash the sheets and you better be safe with her.

Dylan: I’m no dummy.

Me: You should make her dinner. My kitchen is stocked. Be a gentleman.

Dylan: You read my mind.

Me: I’ll leave around six. You have a key, right?

Dylan: Yeah, from that time I had to feed Anchovy

Me: K. Have fun.

I listened to the second voice mail from Jerry. We’re cleaning out the stockroom. Your suitcase is still in here. Seriously, Kate, I’m trashing it if you don’t come and get it. I’m working tomorrow for a couple of hours. Maybe you can pick it up and we can grab lunch?

The suitcase was packed with everything from my time in Napa and all of the R.J. research. The dress I’d worn on our date was in there, as well as the necklace and note from Jamie. A lump began to form in my throat. Why am I not over this yet?

As expected, the third voice mail was from Jamie. Hi, —He paused and took a deep breath.—I went to GLIDE today. A few people asked me about you. I had to tell them that I was a fool . . . and that I let you slip away. I heard a subtle change in his voice, like he was choked up. Night, angel.

That’s why I wasn’t over it yet. But I didn’t cry that night. There were no tears left.

I met Christina in the entry of the mausoleum at Rosehill the next morning. She held the box out to me as I approached. There was a folded note taped to the top. “Good morning,” I said to her as I took the box and peeled the note off. I unfolded it immediately and read:

Kate from the L,

I remember when I first met you months ago. You seemed so disconsolate and distant. I know we didn’t know each other well, but I felt a desire to help. Now I fear I may have failed you. You see, you reminded me of someone I used to know. Her name was Lily and she was beautiful, young, and vibrant, and she was the love of my life. You look like her—same warm eyes and dark hair. I used to get lost in her eyes. I wasn’t always such a lonely ogre. I was full of life once, but I lost my Lily too soon when she passed away just after our wedding. I saw you in the same kind of pain that I’d felt. I didn’t want to see my Lily in pain. I thought if I made you believe that there was happiness in solitude, that you couldn’t and shouldn’t rely on another human being, maybe you would stop feeling that pain. I was wrong. What I really want you to know is that I would have traded a lifetime with my books, alone in my apartment, for one more minute with Lily, even if it meant I had to feel that pain over and over again. Don’t give up, Kate. Don’t stop searching. Find him, take care of each other, hold on to each other, and never let go.

I hope this finds you well and still hopeful.

Your friend,

Bob

To say I was a blubbering mess would be putting it lightly. Even Christina was crying just from watching me read the note.

I looked up at her. “Wow, Bob was romantic.”