PART 5 – I Reached South Station Before Dawn With a Broken Suitcase, a Dead Phone, and One Appointment I Could Not Afford to Miss

By the time I reached South Station, my fingers had gone stiff around the suitcase handle.

The building was warmer than the street, but I still couldn't stop shivering.

I found a place to sit near a wall and pulled the suitcase between my feet.

There were people moving through the station with coffee cups and backpacks, looking at departure boards and checking their watches.

Nobody paid much attention to me.

I was grateful for that.

My coat was damp, my hair was stuck to my forehead, and the hem of my trousers was dark with rain.

I looked like someone who had spent a miserable night outside.

Because I had.

I checked the time on the large clock above the concourse.

The morning train was still ahead of me, but not by much.

I had no phone to check the schedule, no charger, and no way to call Arthur if something went wrong.

I kept repeating the departure time in my head.

Six-fifteen.

I was afraid that if I stopped thinking about it, I would somehow miss it.

A woman walked past carrying a paper cup.

The smell of coffee made my stomach tighten.

I hadn't eaten since before the divorce papers were placed in front of me.

I considered buying something, then remembered the money in my account.

Fifty dollars and fourteen cents.

I couldn't spend carelessly.

I went to the restroom and washed my face with cold water.

There was a mirror above the sink.

I looked at myself for a long moment.

My eyes were red, and my skin had the pale, tired look that came after too many sleepless nights.

I tried to smooth my hair with my fingers.

It didn't help much.

I told myself that whoever met me in Greenwich would be looking for someone who could care for a child, not someone who looked as if she had just escaped a storm.

Then I wondered whether that was what I was telling myself because I needed the position so badly.

I dried my hands and returned to the concourse.

The suitcase waited where I had left it.

I checked the safety pin at the broken zipper.

Still holding.

That little piece of metal had become more important to me than it deserved to be.

It was keeping the only belongings I had left from spilling across the floor.

I sat down again and waited.

When the departure information appeared, I stood before I had fully read it.

I followed the signs toward the platform, moving slowly because my feet hurt.

The train was there.

I checked the destination twice before boarding.

Then I found a seat beside the window and placed my suitcase at my feet.

For the first time since leaving the Vance home, I was no longer walking through the rain.

I leaned back and closed my eyes.

The train began moving.

Boston slipped away behind the glass, its streets giving way to the gray shapes of buildings and the occasional stretch of bare trees.

I had passed through those streets as Ryan's wife.

I was leaving them as Catherine Miller, with no clear idea what that name would mean to me now.

I thought about calling my parents once I found a way to charge my phone.

I would have to tell them something eventually.

I couldn't keep them in the dark forever.

But I wanted to know whether I had a roof over my head before I asked them to worry about me.

That seemed like a reasonable condition.

At least, it did then.

The train ride passed slowly.

My clothes began to feel cold against my skin as the dampness settled.

I kept my hands tucked beneath my arms and watched the stations go by.

Every few minutes, I looked at the suitcase.

It was an ugly old thing.

The canvas had faded, and one wheel made a clicking sound whenever I dragged it over rough ground.

I had once been embarrassed to carry it into the Vance home.

Eleanor had noticed it immediately.

She hadn't said anything directly, but her eyes had traveled from the worn handle to the patched corner before she turned away.

I had eventually stopped bringing it out of the storage room.

Now it was all I had.

I wasn't embarrassed anymore.

I was too tired to be embarrassed.

When the train reached Stamford, I stood and lifted the suitcase by its handle.

The platform was colder than the station in Boston.

A few passengers stepped down behind me, adjusting their coats as they hurried toward the exit.

I looked for a man carrying a black umbrella with a silver handle.

At first, I saw only people walking past one another.

Then I noticed a man standing near the platform entrance.

He held a black umbrella, its tip resting against the ground.

The metal at the end of the handle caught the light.

He was dressed neatly and appeared to be waiting for someone in particular.

I approached him.

"Are you Thomas?"

He looked at me and nodded.

"Miss Miller?"

"Yes."

He glanced at my suitcase.

I waited for him to ask whether I had brought anything else.

He didn't.

"Arthur said you would be arriving this morning," he told me.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course, miss."

He took the suitcase before I could object.

I felt an unexpected flicker of relief as he lifted it easily.

It was not a heavy bag.

Still, after dragging it through the rain for hours, I had begun to feel as if the handle were attached to my hand.

Thomas led me toward a waiting car.

I looked at it, then at him.

I had expected a taxi or perhaps a company vehicle.

The car was clean and comfortable, with a driver who seemed entirely unsurprised to find a woman in wet clothes waiting on a railway platform.

He opened the rear door.

I got in.

The warmth inside made my eyes sting.

I turned toward the window before Thomas could notice.

He placed my suitcase in the trunk and returned to the driver's seat.

"Have you had breakfast, Miss Miller?"

The question caught me off guard.

"No."

"Would you like us to stop somewhere?"

I thought about the money I had left.

Then I remembered that Arthur had told me to come directly to the estate.

"No, thank you. I don't want to delay you."

"As you wish."

He started the car.

We drove away from the station, and I watched the town pass outside.

I didn't know what to expect when we reached Pine Hollow Road.

I didn't know who would be waiting for me or what questions they would ask.

But I was no longer alone in the rain.

For the first time in many hours, that was enough.

Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The House at Pine Hollow Road Was Nothing Like the Home I Had Left, and the First Questions Made Me Understand the Job Was Serious