Four Questions on the Train

The train journey took most of the day. I packed sandwiches, water, drawing paper and a bag of small activities. Nora had offered to come, but I asked Ruth, my sister, because the children knew her as the person who could turn a delay into a game. She agreed, provided I let her carry one bag.

Leo built a bridge from folded paper. Mira drew the house from the card and added a tree taller than the roof. Rose practiced a song under her breath. Ben counted the stations and asked whether Julian would recognize them.

“He knows your names,” I said. “He has seen a photograph I chose to share. But you may feel unfamiliar to each other, and that's all right.”

“Will he know which one is me?”

“You can tell him.”

Ben considered this. “I'll wear the green scarf.”

At the hotel near Evelyn's house, we checked into two adjoining rooms. The children tested the beds by sitting on them, then asked if they could call Evelyn. I dialed and put the phone on speaker. Evelyn described the garden and promised that the orange biscuits were cooling on a rack.

“Can we see the quiet room?” Mira asked.

“When you arrive. It has a sofa and a window. You can use it whenever you need a break.”

Julian did not join the call. Evelyn said he was helping carry boxes to the car. She did not put him on the phone unexpectedly, which reassured me.

After the children settled with Ruth, I opened the folder I had brought. It contained a copy of the letter I had sent eight years earlier and the brief response from Julian's lawyer. The letter said the babies had arrived safely and gave their names. It did not ask him to return to the marriage. It asked whether he wanted to discuss a way to be involved.

The response said Julian needed time and would contact me when he was ready. I had kept it because I did not know what the children might ask one day. I had not used it to convince them that he was good or bad. It was a record of what had been communicated.

Julian sent a message that evening: I know tomorrow may be uncomfortable. I won't ask the children to call me anything they don't choose. Thank you for coming.

I replied: They have questions. Please answer honestly, and if you don't know how to answer, say so. We can take a break.

He wrote back: I understand.

Ruth knocked on the connecting door. “Ben wants to know if the house has enough chairs.”

“I asked Evelyn. It does.”

“And Leo wants to know if the garden has a shed.”

“I didn't ask.”

“Then we have a mystery for tomorrow.”

We laughed quietly. The children had their own reasons for accepting the invitation. They were not traveling to perform forgiveness for the adults. I wanted to remember that when the room became emotional.

Before bed, Rose asked whether she could sing the song she had practiced. I said she could if she wanted to, but no one would expect a performance. She nodded and chose to save it as a surprise.

I placed the folder in my bag and turned off the light. The next day might answer some questions and raise others. We had a hotel room, a return ticket and a plan to leave if anyone needed to. For now, that was enough.