Time For You

This book was given to JOANNA RĄCZKOWSKA on Instafreebie. www.instafreebie.com

Table of Contents Time For You Description Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Epilogue

Time For You A Contemporary Romance J.L. STARR Copyright © 2016 by J.L. Starr All rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Time For You A Sweet Romance Novella J.L. STARR

Description Being assistant curator at a historical railroad museum isn’t as glamorous as Amy Loch once thought it would be. There are stressful grade school tours, janitorial duties she has to help out with, and a broken clock that the museum can’t afford to fix. Though the job does have its perks. Such as when she touches the heart of a sweet little boy, then catches the eye of his father. Amy finds herself forging a connection with someone she never expected. After a stroke of serendipity brings them together, Amy discovers a chance to mend a hole in a broken family, and, with the help of her new friends, restore a piece of history.

Chapter One “Look out!” I called back to the train passengers as we came around a bend in the track. “There’s bandits!” Nearly a hundred second-graders hollered and squealed as the “bandits” hopped onto the train in a feat of daring acrobatics, firing their cap guns. Of course, the train was only going about five miles per hour, but for the kids, this was always the most exciting part of the trip. “Hands up, ye varmits!” John called out, waving his toy gun at the nearest kids. Their hands shot up, even as they giggled and pointed at him. John’s costume was about as cliched as a railroad bandit could get, right down to the red neckerchief he was using as a mask. “This here’s a robbery!” “Oh no!” I called out, staying in character while I worked on the train’s controls. “Can anyone save us?” As if on cue, one of the braver kids rushed forward and karate chopped John’s hand. John played it smooth, crying out in faux-pain and dropping his gun. The kid grabbed it and fired several times, shouting “Bang, bang!” in time with the popping of the caps. The kids applauded. John dropped to his knees and pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, waving it around in the air. “I surrender!” he cried out. The other bandit dropped his gun and threw his hands into the air, to avoid meeting John’s cruel fate. The train pulled back up to the museum’s rear entrance while the kids were still applauding. “Okay, passengers,” I said, putting the parking brake on and standing up to get their attention. “It’s time for lunch, and then we’ve got a special show all about the history of the American railroad. Find your partners, and follow Rebecca. She’ll show you to the cafeteria.”

The kids started getting off the train, along with the handful of parents who’d come along as chaperones. Their teacher, Mrs. Szabo, stood waiting at the door to count heads as the kids walked past her in pairs. The museum always implemented a buddy system for school trips, so that the kids would help keep their partners accountable. It usually worked. Usually. Towards the end of the line, I noticed a little blondehaired girl walking alone. I checked her paper name tag, in the shape of a train, naturally, and saw her name was Laura. “Laura, dear,” I said, bending down to meet her at eye level. “Where’s your partner?” She looked away, shy, and tried to walk past me. I followed her and moved in front of her so she had to stop. “Laura, I asked you a question,” I said, using my calm, patient, yet authoritative voice. “Are we missing someone?” Mrs. Szabo asked. She looked up and down the train, but there was no one still on board. I crouched down in front of Laura and touched her arm. “Laura, sweetie, who was your partner?” She kept looking away, refusing to make eye contact. But I didn’t let her off the hook. Finally, she whispered, “TJ.” “Oh,” Mrs. Szabo said. “Of course.” I stood up and raised an eyebrow at her. “Does he do this sort of thing a lot?” She sighed and nodded. “He tends to run off when he’s upset. Usually he hides in the woods behind the school. Or wherever else he can squeeze himself into. He’s got…family issues at home.” “I’ll go find him,” I said. “He can’t have gone far. The tracks are enclosed, and there’s a fence. I know a couple

of places he could be hiding.” Mrs. Szabo took Laura by her hand and led her off to the cafeteria with the rest of the kids. I started searching the tracks to find the missing TJ. There were a lot of props in the different settings where a little kid could easily hide. Most of the area was in an old west theme, with a rickety old saloon, a corral filled with plastic horses, and a little farmstead with haystacks and an old barn. There used to be an Indian encampment with teepees, but we’d taken it down after receiving some complaints from a local Native American tribe that it wasn’t historically accurate and it reinforced inaccurate stereotypes about their people. There was a mine shaft there now, with an old miner mannequin bent over a stream, panning for gold. I headed for the mine first, cleaning my glasses on my shirt as I walked. Most of the other buildings were nothing but false fronts, held up by wooden frames around the back. But the mine shaft was the size of a small shed, with wooden planks across the front blocking off the interior. We used the inside for storage of old equipment. “Hello?” I called out as I opened the entrance. Inside I saw the old teepees and unused Native American mannequins, along with some gardening equipment and tools that the maintenance guys kept out here. And huddled against one of the teepees was a little boy, presumably the infamous TJ. I crouched down in front of him, keeping my distance. He sat there, watching me, with his knees hugged against his chest. “Hi,” I said. “Hi.” He sniffled. His eyes were a bit red and tearstains marked his cheeks.

“Are you TJ?” He nodded. “You know it’s lunch time?” I smiled, hoping to coax him out without having to get tough on him. “Are you hungry?” He looked away, staring at the wall, but he nodded. “Do you want to come with me? I can bring you to the cafeteria. We’ve got really good hot dogs.” He shook his head. I sighed and tried to think of a new approach. I’d had enough experience with emotional kids working at the museum that I knew sometimes you couldn’t push them. “Was someone picking on you? If they were, you can tell me.” He shook his head again. I wasn’t that surprised. Lots of times kids were afraid to be a snitch. It usually led to them getting in more trouble with the bullies later on. “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’m not allowed to bring food out here, or I’ll get in trouble. But if you don’t want to sit in the cafeteria with the other kids, you can come to the special museum lunch room where only the employees are allowed to go. You can get some hot dogs there. How does that sound?” He nodded, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. I got up and walked over to him, offering him my hand. He took it and I helped him up. Now that I could get a better look at him, I noticed he was a little chubby. I knew what that was like. I’d been teased for my weight plenty of times as a kid. And a few times as an adult, even. I led him inside and took him to the employee break room. I sent John to go fetch Mrs. Szabo and tell her the wayward child had been found. I brought TJ a soda, a hot dog and a little bag of chips. When Mrs. Szabo arrived, I stood off to the side, letting her talk to him. My

job was just to give the kids a tour of the Brandenburg Railroad Museum. Taking care of disciplinary issues was their teacher’s job. They spoke quietly at first, but then TJ started saying “No” over and over again to everything Mrs. Szabo said. Then he slammed his hands down on the table and said, “I want to go home! I want my dad.” Mrs. Szabo sighed and said, “I can call your mother to come pick you up.” “No, not Mom,” TJ said. “I want Dad.” “But your mother—” “No!” TJ got up and ran into the corner, hiding under a table. Mrs. Szabo walked over to me, crossing her arms. “Separated parents,” she said. “Ahh. The mom has custody?” She nodded. “His father is still listed as authorized to pick him up, but I’ve spoken to his mother a few times, and she doesn’t want TJ going to his father’s place except on his visitation weekends. I’m not sure what to do.” I wasn’t sure what to suggest. I felt bad for the kid. I’d been in his shoes more than once in my childhood. There was this one mean little girl who used to call me “Bubble Butt.” To this day, I heard her voice when I looked at my behind in the mirror. It had always been far curvier than I would have liked, even if I had grown more comfortable with my body as I got older. “He can stay here if he doesn’t want to join the other kids,” I said. “And I’ve got some activity books I can give him to keep him occupied.” “That might be best,” Mrs. Szabo said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.” I eventually coaxed TJ out from under the table. I

brought him some railroad-themed coloring and activity books and a box of crayons. I sat with him and colored as well, to give him the sense that he wasn’t alone. I was putting the finishing touches on a rainbowcolored locomotive when Mrs. Szabo returned. “Well,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Looks like you’re in luck, TJ. Your mom is in a meeting and is going to be out late. She said it was okay for your dad to come get you. He’s on his way.” TJ didn’t answer, but I saw the tension fade from his posture. I could only wonder what was going on between his parents that made him hold such anxiety about the thought of being picked up by his mom. I hoped it wasn’t an abusive situation. Though he didn’t show any signs of having been physically harmed. More likely, I figured, Dad was just the lenient parent and Mom was the strict one. It was more than an hour before TJ’s dad made it to the museum. Though I was sure that was mostly because we were located in Western Pennsylvania, a good distance from Philadelphia and most of its surrounding suburbs. Most of the school groups that came to the museum took the bus in from an hour or more away. The rest of our guests tended to be families on vacations. We weren’t far from Lancaster, which was right smack in the middle of Amish country. A lot of people either came out this way for trips to see the rustic countryside, or stopped by on road trips on their way further west. The rest of the kids were finishing up the tour, and about to get on their buses to head back home, when TJ’s dad walked in the door. He was younger than I expected, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, making me wonder how old he’d

been when TJ was born. He was tall and fairly well-built. He definitely looked comfortable with himself. He was dressed in simple jeans and a blue striped button-down shirt. I wondered whether he had come in from work, and if so, what kind of place he worked in where he could dress so casually. He walked across the lobby, looking around at the tables filled with model trains driving around miniature models of Brandenburg. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Tom Conklin. I’m here to pick up my son, TJ.” “Hi,” I said, extending my hand. He shook it, and I noticed his grip was firm, yet soft. “He’s been hanging out in the employee break room. He was upset earlier, but he’s doing fine now.” “Do you know what happened? His teacher wasn’t too clear on the phone.” “I think it was some bullies,” I said. “He didn’t want to talk about it, but it was pretty clear he wanted to keep away from the other kids. Which is a shame. He missed some of the best parts of the tour.” He sighed and shook his head. “Thanks for your help. We’ve been…well, we’ve been going through a lot lately.” I gave him a sympathetic smile. My parents had divorced when I wasn’t much older than TJ, so I had an idea what he might be going through. Though it was a bit harder for me to understand what his dad might be dealing with. I didn’t have any kids, even though I’d once thought I’d be married and have two kids by the time I was thirty. I’d passed that benchmark a couple of years ago without accomplishing that goal. I led him into the break room, where TJ was reading one of our gift shop books about railroad history. I noticed he had picked one of the more advanced books, one written at an adult reading level. I wondered if he always

read at such an advanced level. “TJ,” I said, “your dad is here.” He looked up at his dad. “Hey.” “Hey, Teej.” Tom walked over and gave TJ a hug. “You ready to head home?” TJ looked up at me. “I didn’t get to see the big trains.” I smiled at him to show it was okay. “You can come back another time. The trains aren’t going anywhere.” Our biggest exhibit was the Hall of Locomotives, where we had half a dozen real trains on display, from old 1800s coal-powered trains to modern electrical ones. The kids always loved climbing all over them, tooting the horns, and playing with the controls. And that was in addition to the Virtual Train Ride, where kids could operate the controls on a locomotive simulator, basically a realistic video game that let them experience what it was like to drive a real train. It even rumbled and shook while the screen showed a first-person view of the train racing down the tracks. “Are you guys open on the weekend?” Tom asked. “Yup,” I said. “We’re open every day except Monday. And we close on bank holidays.” “How’s that sound, kiddo?” Tom asked. “We’ll come back this weekend, just the two of us. I’m sure the nice lady…” He looked at me, making a questioning gesture. “Amy,” I said. “I’m sure Amy will be happy to show you everything. Sound good?” “Yeah,” TJ said. They headed for the door, but Tom stopped and whispered something in TJ’s ear. TJ turned to me and said, “Thank you. Sorry I was a pain.” “You’re welcome. And you were no pain at all.” Just before they stepped out, a thought occurred to me. “Oh, here.”

I grabbed the book TJ had been reading and brought it over to him. “On the house. You want to see how it ends, right?” TJ grinned and clutched the book to his chest. “Thanks.” “Thank you,” Tom said. “We’ll see you this weekend.” The other kids were already getting on the bus to go home. Tom stopped and talked to Mrs. Szabo for a few minutes, then took TJ to his car. I watched them drive off, then turned to find John waiting for me with a pair of brooms. “You know what time it is,” he said. “Yay!” I said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “My favorite part of working in a museum. Cleaning up after little kids.” “Oh, come on,” John said, taking off his cowboy hat and bandana as we headed for the cafeteria. “Isn’t this what you were hoping for when you got your art degree?” I laughed and shook my head. John and I both had our master’s degrees. I’d actually been a triple-major for undergrad: art, history, and the German language. I’d gotten an internship at the railroad museum my senior year, and had turned it into a full-time job. My main work was as assistant curator, organizing the displays and helping with new acquisitions. No one had told me when I was hired that I’d also be serving as tour guide. And maid. John and I joined the cafeteria crew and started sweeping up the mess the kids had left. The museum was understaffed, with only one full-time janitor on the payroll. He usually had his hands full with the bigger tasks, like polishing the brass fixtures on the displays, waxing the floors, and cleaning the floor-toceiling windows that spanned the length of the lobby and several other rooms. Until the museum could afford to

hire an assistant janitor, little tasks like sweeping the cafeteria and cleaning the bathrooms fell on John and me. I set about the mundane task, thinking to myself that this was what a master’s degree in art got you, and wondering how little TJ was doing. I found myself looking forward to seeing him and his dad this weekend. Though I still had to wonder just what had happened on the train ride that had upset him so much.

Chapter Two I was pretty worn out by the time I got back to my apartment that night. It was a small place, filled mostly with the same furniture I’d had in my college apartment over a decade ago. I still had the bunk bed my old roommate and I had shared, though these days the top bunk was mostly a repository for laundry I hadn’t gotten around to folding yet. The walls were decorated with my own paintings, works I’d done over the course of many years, from my earliest abstract pieces that had mostly been experiments in color balance, to the tigers and panthers I’d painted when I was going through my “wild animals” phase, to depictions of mechanical contraptions covered in brass and gears. These last pieces were part of the steampunk phase I’d been in for the last few years. I had even sold a few at some steampunk conventions, though my favorite pieces I kept for my personal collection at home. I changed out of my professional work clothes and into pink polka dot pajama pants and a tank top. Also known to my ex-boyfriend as “clothes a heavy girl can’t pull off.” I’d stayed with him far longer than I should have before I woke up and realized how toxic he’d been for me. Some of the things he’d said still stuck with me. When I logged onto my computer to check my email, I found a Google Hangouts message waiting from my mom. I sighed and checked the message to find out, surprise surprise, she wanted to chat. Ever since my mother had discovered video chat a few years ago, it was her preferred way of keeping in touch with me. Especially when she was babysitting my niece and nephew. I was still pulling my hair up into a scrunchie when Mom called. As usual, the video took a few moments to

connect, though I could hear the sounds of Mom moving things around on her desk. When the video feed finally connected, I saw Mom had company. My little niece Gracie was sitting on her lap. “Hi, Amy,” Mom said. “Hiiii!” Gracie said, waving enthusiastically. “Hey, guys.” I waved, missing the days when video calls were a thing seen only on the Jetsons and Star Trek. Then I wouldn’t have felt so self-conscious about my appearance. “Gracie and Travis are spending the night with me,” Mom said. “And they were so eager to talk to their Aunt Amy!” “Aww, that’s so sweet,” I said. I forced a fake smile. I knew how this video call had really come about. Mom had no doubt asked the kids if they’d be excited to chat with me, and of course she had gotten them all worked up about it. She couldn’t just call me because she wanted to. No, she had to show off my sister’s kids. It was the modern grandmother’s way of hinting that it was past due time for me to give her some grandchildren as well. “How are you, Gracie?” I asked. As much as I could resent my mom for using the kids as a way of guilttripping me, I did miss my niece and nephew. My family lived in Eastern Pennsylvania, a good two-hour drive from where I now lived and worked. I usually didn’t get the chance to see them except for on the holidays. Video chat helped us close that gap. “I have a girlfriend,” Gracie said. “Oh?” My eyebrows went up. I was as liberal as they come, but I also knew from experience that little girls get infatuated mostly with other girls. “Oh,” my mom waved a hand dismissively, “her and

this little girl in her kindergarten play at being girlfriends. Annabelle gave Gracie some flowers, and Gracie gave Annabelle a…what was it?” “A Shopkin,” Gracie said with pride. “I gave her my favorite one.” “Shopkins, that’s it,” Mom said. “You know those little things she loves so much.” “I remember,” I said. “But wait, what happened to that boy you were telling me about a few weeks ago? Jeremy?” “I don’t like him anymore,” Gracie said. “I only liked him because I thought girls had to like boys, so I picked him cause he has a bicycle.” Gracie soon got bored with the video chat and climbed down off Mom’s lap. Mom and I talked for a little while about work, and how Gracie and Travis were doing, and that sort of thing. Though it didn’t take long before she finally got around to what I was sure was the real reason she’d called. “So,” she said, “Easter is coming up.” “Yup,” I said, holding back a scream of frustration. “Just like it does every year.” “We’re having the picnic at the same place as always. You know the one.” “Yeah, Mom,” I said. I sighed. “We’ve been going to Cardell Park since I was Gracie’s age, I know.” Sometimes I wished Mom would just come right out and say what was on her mind, instead of dancing around the subject like this. “Well, your Aunt Teresa wants a head count. I told her I was definitely coming, and I know Dana is coming with the kids. And Peter, obviously. And Edward’s even flying in this year.” Here it came. I could almost taste it. “That’s great,

Mom. I’m sure everyone will be happy to see Edward.” My brother lived out in Seattle now, working for a big computer software firm. He came back to see the family even less often than I did. “And the thing is, Edward sent me an email the other day. He said he’s bringing a girl.” Bingo. There it was. “That’s great,” I said. “Is it something serious?” I clenched my teeth, but forced a smile onto my face. Mom bringing up my brother’s new girlfriend could only mean one thing. “I think so. Well, I’m not sure. He didn’t really say. But how long has it been since he brought someone to Easter? Anyway,” she waved a hand, “that makes eight from our clan, counting you. Unless you’re bringing someone, too?” I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, trying to hold in my frustration. I hadn’t really dated in almost two years, since I broke up with my ex. My mom kept asking me when I was going to find someone new. I kept telling her it wasn’t that simple, but she wouldn’t listen. “I haven’t met anyone, Mom.” “Have you tried looking online?” she asked. “You should go on Match.com. My friend Regina met a guy on there last year, and they’re so happy together.” “I’m not really interested in doing any more online dating.” I’d done the e-dating thing before. I usually ended up finding someone who lived 700 miles away, which was a recipe for heartbreak. I’d actually tried a long distance thing for almost two years, just after college. It had ended when he wanted me to move to Georgia to be with him, and I wasn’t willing to leave my life and my career behind to do it. And of course, he’d been shocked at the very suggestion that he might be the one to move

up here for me. “Well, I’m just saying—” “I really need to get going, Mom,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight. The Steampunk World’s Fair is coming up in a few months.” “Oh, it’s good that you’re still doing your art. You were always so talented.” “Doing my art” was what Mom had started calling my painting when I’d told her to stop calling it a “hobby.” Even though I sold several paintings each year, it didn’t count for her unless I could make my living off it. “Good night, Mom,” I said. I didn’t have the patience to get into another debate about my art with her so soon after getting into another debate about my love life. “Good night, dear. Oh, and don’t forget about the banner!” “I won’t, Mom. I promise.” I ended the call before she could fit in another word. I made dinner, then settled into the corner of my apartment that I called my “art studio.” It was really just a desk, a bookshelf filled with art supplies, an easel, and an old, rickety stool. But it was where I worked my magic. I still had to get started on the banner for this year’s Easter picnic. It was my contribution to the gathering every year. Sometimes I wished I’d never volunteered to do it that first time when I was eight years old; once the family had seen how artistic I was, it had become my burden at every Easter since. And not just Easter, but Christmas and the Fourth of July, too. Each year’s banner had a different theme and style, though I was about tapped out on ideas. There were only so many years in a row I could paint eggs, bunnies, and a Jesus before it got stale, so for years now I’d been trying out different ideas to keep things fresh.

I decided to put off work on the banner for now and start a new painting instead. I started with pencils, sketching out the framework for the scene I pictured in my head. Then I used my black paints to add in some shading, giving the designs depth and shape. Slowly, the image of a little clockwork doll formed on the canvas. She had stringy red hair like a rag doll, and her chest was ripped open, but instead of stuffing, she was filled with bent and broken gears, cogs, and springs. She sat slumped in a corner, lost and forgotten, a child’s toy waiting to be loved again. I went to bed with the painting still incomplete, which made my little clockwork doll look all the more sad and lonely. She’d have to wait for another day before I could bring her to life.

Chapter Three I was organizing a tour group Saturday morning when I saw Tom and TJ enter the museum. I waved them over with a big smile on my face. “Hey, guys,” I said. “How’ve you been doing?” “We’re good,” Tom said. “Right, Teej?” He tousled the boy’s hair. “Yeah.” TJ brushed his dad’s hand away and looked up at me bashfully. “We’re just about to get started,” I said. I turned to the rest of the tour group and spoke up so the people in the back could hear me. “Okay, everyone, let’s get started. Our tour will begin in the Dawn of Locomotives.” I led the group through the museum, stopping first at an exhibit on the very first steam locomotive built by Richard Trevithick, then continuing through the expansion of rail throughout the United States and other countries. The tour group was mostly small families with kids, so I made sure to spend a lot of time at the kidfriendly exhibits. It made me smile when I saw TJ joining some of the other kids as they climbed over one of the larger model trains and explored the various cars. “He seems to be getting along better with other kids today,” I said to Tom as we watched the kids play. “I’m glad his experience the other day didn’t spoil him on the whole museum.” “He’s a resilient kid,” Tom said. “He’s had it rough, but we make it work.” “How long ago did you and your wife get divorced?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t prying too much into his personal business. “The divorce isn’t final yet,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “It’s…complicated. We split up two

years ago, but the legal aspects have been a hassle.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He looked genuinely concerned for his son’s well-being. It was a shame when kids had to go through such trials. At lunch time I led the tour group to the cafeteria. I usually took my meals in the employee break room, but on days when I was running tours it was easier to stay with the group so we could pick up where we’d left off after lunch was finished. As soon as I sat down with my lunch, a ham and cheese hoagie and chips, TJ and his dad came over to sit with me. “Mind if we join you?” Tom asked. “TJ said he wanted to ask you something.” TJ kept his head down while he talked. I got the impression that he wasn’t very comfortable expressing himself. “I got confused in that book you gave me when it said something about ‘ghost trains.’ Like, I thought it was talking about real ghosts, or at least, what people think is maybe real ghosts if they’re dumb and believe in them.” He shrugged, still keeping his head down. “But then it started talking about trains that just run without people in them, and I didn’t get it.” I laughed and shook my head. “Well, there’s no real ghosts on those trains,” I said, thinking briefly of the “Phantom Train” from one of the old Final Fantasy games. “Not that I know of anyway. No, it’s kind of a legal loophole thing.” “Legal loophole?” Tom asked. “Are there some kind of weird train laws I don’t know about?” “Oh, you’d be surprised,” I said. “This is a British thing. The way I understand it, they’ve got something like fifty or more train lines that only run for the sake of appearances. Some of them only run a few times per

week, they don’t advertise them, and even the people who sell tickets at the train stations don’t know these are lines that actually exist. No one rides them.” “Why?” TJ asked. He was looking up now, no doubt curious about the “ghost trains.” I know I was the first time I learned about them. “Apparently, they have to go through this whole big hassle when they want to shut down a line. There’s appraisals of how it will affect passengers and the economy, a report has to be published to the press so the people know what’s going on, then they need to wait months and months through consultations, hearings, and so on. It takes so much time and costs so much money to go through the red tape that they decided to just keep some of these trains running with no passengers. It’s apparently cheaper to keep them running than to shut them down.” “Wow,” Tom said, snorting and shaking his head. “And I thought our government was bad. It’s ridiculous the kinds of things that happen because of dumb laws.” I laughed. “Tell me about it. Though at least it makes for good stories. I read online that there’s ‘ghost train hunters’ who go exploring sometimes, trying to find where these trains run so they can catch a ride. They don’t advertise the schedules for them anymore, so it’s apparently quite the challenge.” “Well,” Tom said, “I guess I never knew trains could be so interesting.” He smiled at me and caught my eye. I smiled back, looking into his eyes for a moment. They were a soft, deep blue. He wasn’t what I would have called ruggedly handsome or anything, but he was attractive, and his eyes certainly were nice. After lunch, we finished the tour, then the families

broke off to explore the rest of the museum on their own. TJ and his dad lingered in the lobby, looking over the map of the building to see if there was anything left to check out. I watched them for a moment, chewing on my lip. I still felt like I needed to do something more to make the little boy’s experience more magical. I’d had a lot of bad school field trips as a kid, I knew what it was like to have divorced parents, and I guess some part of me felt like I owed it to my childhood self to make sure TJ had the best experience I could offer him. I walked over to them with my hands in my pockets, looking around to make sure none of my coworkers overheard me. It wasn’t like what I was planning was against the rules, really, but it would certainly be frowned upon. “Hey, guys.” They both turned and looked at me. “Want to see something no one else gets to see?” “Yeah!” TJ said. He bounced on his toes a bit. “Something secret?” Tom asked. “More like…something we’ve been keeping tucked away.” I winked at them. “Come on. Special treat, once in a lifetime opportunity.” I led them across the lobby to a set of stairs with a chain strung across the front. A sign hanging from the chain read “Employees Only—No Entry!” I unhooked the chain, let TJ and Tom head up the stairs, then hooked the chain back up behind us. “Why is this off limits?” TJ asked. He stalked up the stairs like we were on a ghost hunt. “Is it condemned or something?” “No,” I said. “Nothing dangerous. Just some stuff that needs some maintenance and repair work. We’ve been keeping it for storage for years, because the museum can’t afford to get it fixed.” The stairs curved as they climbed higher into the

building. I stopped us at one of the windows on the east side and pointed outside. “See that clock tower? Notice anything funny about it?” TJ climbed up on the broad window ledge to peer out the window. He cupped his hands on either side of his eyes and pressed up close against the glass. “The hands aren’t moving,” he said. “The hands are painted on,” I said. He turned to me with a confused frown. I smiled and pushed my glasses back up my nose with one finger. “A little bit of history most people don’t know. This building wasn’t always a museum. It used to be city hall.” We started up the stairs again. TJ looked up at me with rapt attention. Even his dad hung on my every word. “This building was built back in the 1800s,” I said, slipping into my “lecture voice” without realizing it. Being a history major had always meant I was really immersed in this sort of thing, and I loved the chance to show off my knowledge. “It was originally the Jordonville City Hall. That was when there were three small towns in this area, Jordonville, Sanderson, and Brandenburg. They voted in 1896 to merge all three towns into one.” “Why would they do that?” TJ asked, his face scrunched up in thought. We stopped before a pair of old oak doors at the top of the stairs. “To save money. Merging the towns made sense with all the growth in the area, and it meant they could all share one post office, one police station, that sort of thing. And they decided to build a new city hall, since they were going to need more space to run the bigger town. This building was shut down for about forty years, before it was reopened and renovated as an art museum. There were expansions over the years, new wings added on, giving us more room. Then there was a

fire in 1967, forcing the art museum to shut down. It stayed that way until 1980, until funding was raised to repair the damage and reopen the building. But by then, the art museum had been at a new location for years, so this building was changed into the Brandenburg Railroad Museum.” I opened both of the oak doors at once, swinging them inward to reveal a wide, high-ceilinged room flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side. Boxes, old furniture, and various oddities filled the room, many of them covered in white cloths. “When the building was shut down, from 1896 to 1942, it suffered some damage from weather. The worst damage was when strong winds hit the clock tower and blew the clock face right out. There was a big gaping hole there when the building was renovated into the art museum.” I led TJ and his dad through the haphazard aisles of storage. TJ stopped here and there to check out the various things we had stowed away here. There was a huge, dusty engine from an old locomotive, a line of mannequins dressed in outfits from the 1890s, and a table covered in a scale model of Brandenburg circa 1980, when the museum reopened. A lot of the stuff up here had been part of old displays that had been taken down to make room for new exhibits. Some of it was stuff we just didn’t have any other place to store, like the two dozen boxes of informational pamphlets about the museum’s history. I pulled one of the pamphlets out and opened it, then handed it to TJ. “See where the clock is missing?” I asked, pointing at one of the pictures. It showed the museum in an old, black-and-white photo from the 1930s. You could just make out a bird’s nest in the hole where the clock once was.

“So they replaced the old clock with a painted clock?” TJ asked, studying the photo. “Well, that’s one part of the tale,” I said. I continued my way through the stacks of boxes, leading the boys further back. “When this place was opened as an art museum, they didn’t have the budget to replace the clock. So, being an art museum, they decided a painted clock face was a good choice. It stayed that way for years, until the art museum shut down. Then when the building was changed into the railroad museum in 1980, the Historical Restoration Society that provided most of the funding decided they wanted a real clock again.” We rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a giant, disassembled clock. The face was as tall as TJ, and the minute hand was longer than his arm. “Wow!” TJ shouted. He ran over to the clock and started examining it from every angle. He ran his fingers along the clock’s hands, feeling the ridges. Behind the clock face was a large mechanical engine, almost as big as a car. It was a haphazard array of gears, chains, and brass fixtures. “Holy cow,” Tom said. “Is that the original clock?” “It’s the replacement the museum bought in the 80s,” I said. Tom and I circled around the massive clock, studying it. “They couldn’t find the same model as the original clock, but they found this one for sale at a specialty shop in Vermont. It’s from 1885. They figured that was close enough for ‘historical accuracy,’ compared to the original clock. The problem is, it’s too big.” “I’ll say,” Tom said, snorting. “Look at the size of this thing! You sure this is a clock and not a time machine?” I laughed and shook my head. “This is how they came back then. But it was too big to fit into the clock tower.” I gestured through the tall windows at the clock tower

outside. “They made some modifications. See these parts here?” I gestured to a long series of chains and pulleys that stretched out in a tangled mess past one side of the clock’s engine. “The clock face fit into the tower just fine. But the engine wouldn’t fit. It was just too big. So they had to install it down here, and run a network of pulleys through here.” I opened a broad hatch set into the wall behind the clock. It led to the stairs up into the clock tower. Inside, dangling down the center of the tower in between the spiraling staircase, hung more of the clock’s guts. “And it worked like this?” Tom asked. He walked in and peered up the central shaft of the tower. The chains jostled when he brushed against them, sending down a cascade of dust that made him cough. “It didn’t work very well,” I said. “The engine is supposed to fit inside the tower, right behind the clock face. Adding all of the extensions to make it reach so far added too much strain, and the engine kept breaking down because of it. We had to pull the plug back in 1997. Though that was before I got here.” I looked down at the clock with my hands on my hips. “I started here in 2008. This poor baby was already broken down and pulled apart by then.” I crouched down next to the engine, running my hand over one of the larger gears. This clock had been what first got me interested in steampunk. It was such a beautiful device, made of masterfully crafted brass, with interconnected parts that had once performed a magical dance, all for the sake of keeping the time. Now it looked like a pile of junk, though I could still see the majesty of what it had once been. “Why don’t they fix it?” TJ asked. He picked up a gear

the size of his head, turning it over in his hands. “Not enough money,” I said, sighing. “The museum struggles just to get by. We don’t make much money off admissions fees. We make a bit more from the cafeteria sales and the gift shop, but even then, we’re very dependent on donations to keep this place running. And unfortunately, trains don’t hold the magic for some people that they once did.” “It’s a shame it can’t be fixed,” Tom said, looking over the parts. “I’m an engineer, and I hate seeing a fine piece of machinery like this sitting out gathering dust.” “Could you fix it, Dad?” TJ asked. Tom chuckled and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Clockwork from the 1800s is a lot different than the machinery for plastic production.” He looked to me and added, “I work for a company that makes plastic goods. Everything from plastic forks to children’s toys to ball point pens.” “Sounds interesting,” I said. “When something breaks down, it sure is.” He laughed, patting the clock. “I hope it gets fixed one day.” “Me too,” I said. I’d spent a lot of time up here on my breaks, sketching parts of the clock. I used it as a lot of the inspiration for my paintings. I even had a habit of painting old, broken-down things, like the clockwork doll I was working on painting at home. There was something beautifully sad about such a lovely thing being reduced to nothing more than a pile of dusty parts. I let TJ explore the clock parts for a bit longer, until his dad said it was getting late. I knew they had a long drive to get back home. As I led them back downstairs, Tom said, “Thank you for this. It was really nice of you to go out of your way for us.”

“I was happy to,” I said. “And I’m glad you guys came back down here. Hopefully we’ll see you again sometime.” “That would be nice,” Tom said. We paused at the bottom of the stairs. My eyes met Tom’s, and for a moment I thought that, yes, it really would be nice to see him again. I’d really enjoyed his company, more than I had expected to. He held my eyes for a moment, and for a second I thought he was about to say something. But the moment passed, and he continued down the stairs and out into the lobby. “All right, champ,” Tom said, patting his son’s back. We can hit the gift shop, then it’s time to head home.” “All right,” TJ said. He waved to me. “Bye, Amy. I had fun.” “Me too,” I said, waving back. They headed off to the gift shop. I watched them go, trying to think of something else to say. Before I could think of anything, my thoughts were interrupted when John came looking for me, telling me there was a mess he needed help cleaning up. Apparently, some kid had thrown up in the bathroom. “Dear God,” I muttered, following him to the janitorial closet. “We can’t even afford to hire another janitor. The clock’s never going to get fixed.” “Clock?” John asked, handing me a mop. “You mean the old one upstairs? Are we getting it fixed?” “No,” I said. I sighed and grabbed a bottle of bleach. “Just a dream of mine.” We headed off to clean the bathroom, while I thought about how some days, this job really wasn’t the career I’d dreamed of when I set out to become a curator. Just before I entered the bathroom, though, I saw TJ

once more, leaving the gift shop with a model train set in his arms. He shifted the box under one arm and waved at me. Tom waved as well. I held the mop under one arm and waved back, reminding myself that some days, there were moments that reminded me why this really was my dream job.

Chapter Four I had my mother on speakerphone while I worked on packing up everything I needed the morning before the family picnic. She’d been listing a dozen different things that I needed to bring, and I was struggling to keep up. As a result, I had a suitcase, an Igloo cooler, and my art supplies box all opened up at once, each only halfpacked and nowhere near ready to go. “Don’t forget to pack your special cider,” Mom said, her voice a bit staticy coming through the speakerphone. “Last year there wasn’t enough, and your Uncle Phil just about threw a fit.” “I know, Mom.” I stuffed several bottles of hard cider into the cooler. Living smack in the middle of Amish country meant I was surrounded by Pennsylvania’s famous apple orchards. Bringing plenty of hard cider to the family party was my second job, after making the banner. “And how does the banner look?” Mom asked. “Text me a picture. I can’t wait to see it.” I held the long strip of white cloth in my hands, looking at the incomplete designs painted across it. I’d only finished outlining the letters that stretched across the banner, spelling out “Loch Annual Easter Extravaganza.” I still hadn’t colored the letters in or added any other pictures or designs to it. “It’s…too big to fit in a picture,” I said, folding up the banner and tucking it into my suitcase. “Look, Mom, I’ve really got to finish packing.” “If you would learn to get more organized,” she said, “you could have had all of this done last night.” I sighed. “I know, Mom. I know. But I’ve got to go.” I hung up the phone as Mom was saying, “Oh! And

make sure you don’t forg—” I was determined not to care what else she was reminding me about. I hurried to finish packing, putting most of my clothes into the suitcase. It was only a threeday trip. Most of today would be spent at Mom’s house with a dozen or so of my relatives, cooking and prepping for the picnic. Tomorrow we’d spend all day at the park, eating and drinking and catching up. Then since the museum was closed Monday anyway, I’d stay the extra night so I wouldn’t have to deal with driving home Sunday night after a long day of partying. “Sometimes I don’t know why I bother with all of this,” I muttered to myself as I gathered up my things and headed down to the car. Spending time with my family was sometimes more of a hassle than I thought it was worth. But, they were my family. Even the ones I didn’t like very much. The drive back home was uneventful. I sat in traffic for about forty-five minutes on a two mile stretch of the highway, leaving me grumpy. I did ninety the rest of the trip trying to make up the lost time, and barely avoided being pulled over when I spotted a cop. I slowed down just enough to let another car pass me, and the cop went after him instead. By the time I got to Mom’s house, half a dozen cars were already lined up along the curb in front of the house. On top of that, a lot of our neighbors had family over as well, leaving me with no parking on the entire block. I ended up having to park the next block over. I lugged my things up the block, balancing my cooler and my art kit in my arms and dragging the suitcase by its nylon strap as it rolled on its wheels behind me. I was greeted by a chorus of a dozen relatives shouting “Hi!” as I dragged by bags inside. I made the

requisite round of hugs, greeting relatives I hadn’t seen since Christmas, or in a few cases since Thanksgiving. I got a brief introduction to my brother’s new girlfriend, though my mom and my aunts were so busy peppering her with questions that we didn’t get much time to chat. I wrangled my cousin Kimmy into helping me carry my things up to my room. Mom had still kept all of our bedrooms the way they were, even after me and my brother and sister had been living on our own for years. It was nice sometimes to be able to sleep back in my childhood bedroom, though each year the bed seemed a little smaller and the room a little more cramped. I deposited my bags in a corner and sat down on the bed, leaning back on my arms. Kimmy sat on the cooler. Her blonde hair was colored pastel pink for Easter and cut into a cute bob. She was skinny, which had always made me jealous when I was young. “So, you ready for the usual interrogations?” she asked, grinning sympathetically at me. We both spent every year being grilled about when we were going to “find a man and settle down.” At least Kimmy had a man: he was just way younger than her by about ten years. Which is why she kept him a secret from the family. “Do you think I can still fall back on the ‘I’m still hurting after the breakup’ excuse?” I asked. “After two years?” She shook her head. “Sorry, hon, you’re going to need to come up with some new material this year.” “Darn. How about you? Did you bring that friend of yours, what was his name?” “Chuck,” she said. She shook her head and laughed. “No, actually, Chuck was busy this year. He just got married.” “Lucky him,” I said. “I hope he found a nice girl.” I’d

only met Chuck a couple of times, when Kimmy brought him along as her faux-date. He’d seemed nice enough. And he’d been rather hot. If he hadn’t been a jock, I might have tried to “steal” him from Kimmy. “Going stag then?” I asked. “Nah, I actually invited a friend. One of the parents from my daycare.” Kimmy had long ago decided that even though she loved kids, she would never be able to handle raising any of her own. She worked at a daycare so that she could spend time with kids and watch them grow, while still having the luxury of sending them back to their parents at the end of the day. “Well, you’re safe, then,” I said. “As long as your guy is ready for all of the questions about how ‘serious’ you are and whether there’s wedding bells in your future.” She laughed. “Yeah, he knows the drill.” “I, on the other hand,” I said, “am going to get hounded. Mom already started. At least twice a week for the past few weeks.” “Ouch. Sounds like you’ll be needing plenty to drink.” “That sounds like a plan.” I pointed to my suitcase. “Speaking of which, I come bearing gifts.” Kimmy opened the suitcase and we opened one of the bottles of hard cider while I ran downstairs for glasses. We spent most of the afternoon tucked away in my room, enjoying cider while we worked together on painting the banner. Kimmy had never been as much into art as I was, but she did a fine job coloring in the letters while I worked on painting designs around the words. I went a sunrise and praying hands with a green meadow dotted with brightly decorated Easter eggs. “Lovely,” Kimmy said as she watched me paint the rays of sun. “Your mom is going to love that.”

We eventually got asked down to the kitchen to help cook. The place was crowded with my relatives, and as the night wore on, my mom and my aunts put on some music from their youth. When they started cackling with laughter we knew it was an official family gathering. No party of Lochs could ever go without at least one of my aunts nearly collapsing as she cracked up from some story or another that was being told. The next day, the whole clan carpooled out to the park for our Easter celebration. The family members staying at my mom’s house were just one small part of the gathering. When we got to the park, there were a couple hundred members of the extended family already there. Cousins, aunts, uncles, second cousins, people twice or thrice removed, and more. I didn’t even really know a lot of them beyond my immediate cousins, but even in our group there were over fifty of us. We gathered at the pavilion on top of a low, grassy hill. Picnic tables lined the pavilion, and built-in barbecues stood in a circle at the center. One of my uncles was already heating up the coals while the rest of us unpacked the food and drinks and laid them out on the table. Then two of my younger cousins came over to get the banner from me and hang it up. “Here we go,” Kimmy whispered to me while they climbed up on top of the tables to hang the banner from the roof overhead. As the banner unfurled and the scene came into view, there were whoops from the younger kids, and oohs and aahs from some of my older relatives. A couple of people clapped, but all in all it was a good reaction. “Oh no, now they’ll ask me to do it again,” I said regretfully. We dug into the snacks and the hard cider. I sat next

to Kimmy and looked around. “So, where’s this man of yours?” I asked. “Lemme check,” she said. She pulled out her phone and sent a couple of texts. A few minutes later, she put her phone away and said, “They’re almost here.” “They?” “Yeah,” she said. “He’s bringing his son.” “Oh, that’ll be great.” I laughed and clapped my hands. “Get ready for Aunt Janet to start peppering you with questions about whether you’re ready to become a second mother to the boy.” I spent some time catching up with my brother and sister, and we chatted about everything that had been going on in our lives over the past few months. My brother’s girlfriend mostly kept to herself, spending a lot of time on her phone. At first I thought she was being antisocial, but from the look on her face, I got the feeling she was overwhelmed by the number of people there. My brother told me she came from a small family, so a gathering this large was probably more than she was used to. I was still chatting with my brother when Kimmy waved to someone as he walked into the pavilion. I looked over and saw a man and his son waving back. “Oh my gosh.” “What?” Kimmy asked. I stood up and watched them approach, grinning. Tom walked right up to our table, his hand on TJ’s shoulder. They stopped dead when they saw me. “Hey, it’s the museum lady!” TJ said. “Amy,” Tom said, holding his hand out to me. “Gosh, I, wow…I had no idea you’d be here.” I shook his hand, laughing awkwardly. “Small world, huh?”

“You guys know each other?” Kimmy asked. “Yes,” I said. “They came to the museum a few weeks ago. I just…wow. You guys! I had no idea you went to Kimmy’s daycare.” “TJ goes there after school,” Tom said, tousling his son’s hair. “His mom picks him up after work most days, but I pick him up on Fridays.” “Go figure,” I said. I gave Kimmy a look, and she studied me with her lips pursed. My face heated up. I cleared my throat. “Well, welcome! It’s great to have you both here.” We ate and chatted for awhile. TJ found some kids close to his own age, second cousins of mine, and joined them to play some game involving cards. I was glad that he wasn’t having any trouble making friends here. When none of our relatives were around, I leaned close to Kimmy and asked, “So, does Tom know why he’s here? I mean, he’s basically a ‘beard’.” “Yes, I’ve talked to him about Chad being way younger than me. I think he understands us not wanting to get disapproving looks from the relatives.” “Yeah,” I said. “It’s not so bad on Dad’s side of the family. But Mom’s side is, well, let’s just say most of them can be pretty judgmental and leave it at that.” “Though the other side has its flaws, too,” I added. “Let us not forget the fiasco when Chris joined the army.” “Oh, gosh.” Kimmy shook her head, then took a sip of her hard cider. “I thought Aunt Cathy was going to hold a protest to keep him from going overseas.” “Wait,” Tom said, looking between the two of us. “I’m confused.” “Aunt Cathy is firmly opposed to violence of any kind,” I explained. “She doesn’t think we have any right to fight overseas and invade other countries, regardless of

whether it’s a place that’s committing genocide or something.” “Whereas Uncle Phil,” Kimmy said, “is a firm believer in nuking them all.” “No, not about that,” Tom said. “Whose dad’s side of the family are we talking about.” “Both of ours,” Kimmy and I said almost simultaneously. Tom frowned, his face scrunched up in confusion. “I thought you were cousins.” “We are,” I said. “On your fathers’ sides.” “And our mothers’,” I said, smiling. Tom thought about that for a moment, then asked, “Did I just hear Dueling Banjos start to play?” Kimmy and I both laughed. “No, it’s not quite that weird. We’re just cousins on both sides.” “How does that work, exactly?” “Well,” I said, “My mom and dad met and started dating. Then my dad introduced his little brother, Uncle Joe, to Mom’s little sister, Aunt Janet.” “And they got together too?” Tom asked. “Exactly,” I said. “That kind of thing was more common in the old days.” Kimmy went to wait in the barbecue line for some hot dogs, leaving me and Tom alone. We suddenly fell into an awkward silence. I looked up at him, forcing a smile. He smiled back, but looked as unsure what to say as I was. After all, what did you say to the single dad that your cousin brought to the family picnic to cover up the fact that she was dating a much younger man? “So, you guys really go all out for Easter,” Tom said, looking around at the crowded pavilion. People were playing board games at a few tables, there was music

playing, and one group had set up a volleyball net on the grass off to one side. They kept having to run downhill to fetch the ball every time someone missed a shot, then someone had to climb back up the hill before the game could continue. My asthma burned just watching it all. “We go kind of crazy for everything,” I said. “You should see the Christmas parties.” “Are they like this?” “Sort of,” I said. “But with more drama and fighting.” I didn’t have many good memories of the family Christmas parties. Someone inevitably got into a big argument, usually when they’d been drinking too much. “What about you?” I asked. “Got a big family?” “No, not really.” Tom frowned slightly, then took another drink of cider. “TJ’s mom has a big family, so he’s always involved in a lot of family events with them. But I’ve only got one sister, and she lives down in North Carolina. We don’t talk much.” “That’s a shame.” I felt a twinge in my chest at the sad, lonely look on Tom’s face. “I guess since the divorce, or the separation rather, you haven’t been welcome to the big family gatherings.” “No, not at all.” He smirked and shook his head. “Though at least it means I don’t need to deal with my mother-in-law anymore. She never approved of me.” “Blessing in disguise, I suppose.” “Yeah.” He took another drink. His shoulders were slumped and some of the light was gone from his eyes. I wanted to give him a hug, to make some kind of contact to let him know he wasn’t alone in the world. It must have been hard, being cut off from everyone. Estranged from his wife’s family, without any family of his own. It seemed that TJ was the only person left in his world. Thinking about it made my heart ache.

Kimmy returned with hot dogs for all. The three of us sat at a picnic table and chatted while we ate. After lunch, people started dividing the kids up into groups for the Easter egg hunt. They divided everyone by age. The pre-K kids were brought down to the playground, where the plastic eggs were scattered about mostly in plain view to give them an easy time of it. Some of the slightly older kids, TJ included, were brought to a little patch of trees between the pavilion and the parking lot, where the eggs were at least a little bit harder to find. While the kids were having their fun, I spotted something I hadn’t thought about for years. “Hey,” I said to Tom, tugging on his arm, “come check this out.” “What’s up?” he asked, following along. I led him to the edge of the tree line where a few pine trees grew close together. I searched for a minute to find the right place, then lifted one of the lower branches, revealing a path to the interior. I led Tom inside, and we found ourselves surrounded by pines that mostly blocked us from view. We had to duck down to avoid banging our heads on more branches, but the growth was sparse on the inside. “What’s this?” Tom asked. “Your secret garden?” I laughed and shook my head. “No. It was my favorite hiding place here when I was a kid. Here, look.” I pointed to one of the trees, where two hearts were carved into the trunk. “Kimmy did this one,” I said, pointing to one that read “K.L. + J.H.” “It was the first boy she had a serious crush on. They sort of dated for awhile when she was fourteen.” “And this one?” Tom asked with a smile, pointing to the other heart. It read “Irvine 4 Ever.” “Who was ‘Irvine’? Childhood crush?” My face turned bright red. “Oh gosh. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” His smile widened. “Well,” I said, “it’s kind of embarrassing.” “Oh, come on,” he said, prodding me gently in the shoulder. “We all have silly crushes when we’re kids. When I was thirteen, I was madly in love with my social studies teacher.” “That’s perfectly normal.” He stared me down, grinning. It was clear he wasn’t going to let up. “So, who was Irvine? Boy at your school? Teacher? Online friend?” I looked away, laughing at my own foolishness. “Actually…he was a video game character.” “Oh.” Tom stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing. I laughed as well. “Look, he had this cowboy thing going on, and it used to get me all hot and bothered, okay?” We had a fit of giggles for a few moments. “It’s okay,” Tom said. “I’m sure he was no more unobtainable for you than Mrs. Stevens was for me.” He reached out and his fingers brushed against mine. I clasped his hand and looked up at him. My giggles started to subside, leaving me feeling warm and energized. Our eyes met. Then he kissed me. He pulled me close in the cramped confines between the pine trees. I reached up and cupped his face in my hands. His lips were soft and his chin rough with just a bit of stubble. His arms wrapped around me and held me close. We shared a moment there, under the trees, like I hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The moment ended when we heard some kids racing by and shouting. We pulled apart, both smiling and laughing. I peeked through the branches to see if we’d

been caught. “Wow,” I said. “Wow, indeed.” He held my hand, studying my face as if seeing me for the first time all over again. We didn’t talk about it right then. It felt best just to savor the moment. Though by unspoken agreement we decided to slip back out of the trees and rejoin the group before anyone noticed we were missing. As we were circling back around the pines, Kimmy caught sight of us. I looked at her, blushing, while I plucked a few stray pine needles from my hair. Tom coughed and looked down at his feet. “Well, well, well,” Kimmy said, stalking towards us with her hands on her hips and a grin on her face. “Amy Marie Loch, have you been fooling around in the bushes with my fake boyfriend?”

Chapter Five When Tom was checking on TJ after the Easter egg hunt, Kimmy pulled me off to the side, out of earshot of everyone else. “So, what’s going on?” she asked. “I thought you said he was just someone who came to the museum once.” “He is, or, he was.” I buried my face in my hands. “Argh! I don’t know. It just happened but he’s so…” “Hot?” Kimmy asked, looking across the way to study him. “I mean, he doesn’t do anything for me, but you do you, honey.” “It’s not that,” I said. “I mean, he is kinda hot. But it’s also that he’s so sweet, and smart, and he seems like such a good father. I don’t know.” I wasn’t sure where I was going with this, except that I was hoping for the chance to find out. “So are you going to see him again?” Kimmy asked. “Or is this just a little Easter fling. Which if it is, I’m totally supportive of it. Sometimes a little action can relieve the holiday stress.” I smacked her on the arm, laughing. “Stop it! I’m not looking for an ‘Easter fling.’ He has TJ to think about.” “So, make sure to give him your number. Or better yet, invite him to your birthday.” “Oh, no. I’m not doing a birthday party this year.” “What?” Kimmy crossed her arms and stared me down. “Look, girl, I don’t care what you say. I’m not going to see you again for months. We’re going out for your birthday.” “Technically my birthday is next week,” I said. My birthday was always near Easter, though since Easter was on a random Sunday each year and its position on the calendar could only be understood by mastering

quantum physics, I never knew if my birthday would actually fall on Easter or not. “Technically, schmecnically. We’re going out tomorrow before you go home, and we’re having cake. In fact…” She grinned when she saw Tom and TJ returning. TJ held the bottom of his shirt folded up like a basket, with a pile of plastic eggs nestled inside. He was using his free hand to open the eggs and sort through the candy. “Tom!” Kimmy said, giving him a hug. “So since you and Amy are ‘getting along’ so well, she wanted to invite you to her birthday party tomorrow. Cake, tacos, and plenty of good music. You game?” “I’d love to,” Tom said. “Just tell me when and where.” He gave me a warm smile, and I felt all of my protests dying on my tongue. “Tomorrow night, my place, and whatever time you get done working. Say, six-thirty?” “I’ll be there,” Tom said. Kimmy gave Tom her home address, grinning at me the entire time. I gave her the death glare, torn between being irritated with her for trapping me like this, and glad that she’d set up a chance for me to see Tom again. The rest of the day was uneventful as the gathering slowly wound down. There was no more flirting between Tom and I, especially since he still had to keep up with the pretense that he was here as Kimmy’s date. Though at the end of the day, he walked me to my car, while TJ was busy saying goodbye to the friends he’d made. “I’m glad we ran into each other here,” he said, taking my hand. “And I’m really looking forward to tomorrow.” “Me too. Though don’t expect much of a party. It’ll probably just be us, plus Kimmy and Chad.” “Ahh, yes. The boyfriend who couldn’t come today.” He frowned and shook his head. “It’s a shame Kimmy has to

hide so much. You’d think she’d be past that by now.” I shrugged. “It’s more that he isn’t past it, from what she’s said. I think in time he’ll get comfortable enough to come around the family. He’s a shy guy and doesn’t like having to explain himself.” “Well, I hope that if things work out between you and me, we don’t blow her cover.” My heart skipped a beat and then I laughed. “Oh, yeah, I can just see it now. ‘Hey, Amy, isn’t your date the guy Kimmy brought at Easter?’ Oh dear.” He laughed as well, then we shared a moment of comfortable silence. He took both of my hands in his, then leaned forward. I met him halfway, letting my lips brush against his just for a moment. When we parted, I glanced across the parking lot and saw TJ staring at us. I swallowed a lump in my throat, but kept my mouth shut. Considering what he’d been through lately, I didn’t know how he’d react to his dad meeting someone new. Though I realized Tom would need to talk to him about it sooner rather than later. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Tom said. He squeezed my hands one last time, then turned and left. I watched him go, then I loaded my cooler, filled now with the leftovers, into the back of my car. I drove back to Mom’s house with a big smile on my face, dreaming of what tomorrow night would bring.

Chapter Six I stood in Kimmy’s kitchen the next night with a glass of bubbly in one hand and a tube of mint-green cake decorating gel in the other. “This is stupid,” I said. “He’s going to think this is stupid.” “He won’t care,” Chad said. I hadn’t met him before, but we hit it off just fine as soon as I came over. “He’s not here for the cake. He’s here for you.” “It should say ‘Happy Easter’ too,” Kimmy said. She leaned over from her seat on top of the kitchen counter and dragged her finger through the edge of the cake, scooping off some icing. I smacked her hand away. “Wait until Tom gets here, Kimmy!” I looked down at the cake, where I’d already written “Happy Birthday.” We’d bought the cake twenty minutes before, and decided that it would be cheaper and more “fun” to decorate it ourselves. So far, it was covered in a mess of candy confetti and bright pink sugar. I’d scrawled on the “Happy Birthday” as best as I could, but I’d run out of space, leaving the “d,” the “a,” and the “y” lopsided and curving around the edge of the cake. “This looks so pathetic.” “Let me fix it,” Kimmy said, hopping down off the counter as she sucked the icing off her finger. She took the tube of gel and scrawled “Happy Easter” on the cake in her smooth, cursive handwriting. “Great, that looks even worse,” I said. “I like it!” Kimmy said, admiring her handiwork. “I think it looks fine,” Chad said. “Sure, her part does,” I said. “But now it makes mine look even more pathetic.” The doorbell rang.

“Oh great.” I smoothed my dress, then gasped when I realized I’d just gotten green gel on it. I was grateful I’d packed a few nice clothes for the family gathering and a dress for church on Easter morning. “Here, we got this,” Chad said. He led me to the sink and gave me a damp paper towel to get the gel out, while Kimmy went to answer the door. I was still patting my dress dry when Kimmy led Tom into the kitchen. He was carrying a bottle of wine. “Happy birthday,” he said, handing it to me. “Aww, thank you,” I said. I gave him a kiss, then turned my attention back to the cake. “As you can see, you arrived right in the middle of our grand decorating fiasco.” “Well, it looks delicious,” he said. He took the wine bottle back from me and started opening it. “I hope you don’t mind if this is something of a double-celebration tonight. I just got some good news.” “Oh?” “Yup. My divorce is finally finalized. I just got the papers today.” “Woohoo!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “That is good news.” We all laughed. Kimmy took the decorating gel again and said, “We can squeeze in one more bit of celebration.” She scrawled “Merry Divorce” across the bottom, underneath “Happy Birthday” and “Happy Easter.” Tom look at it and laughed. “I’m definitely eating that piece,” he said. Chad put on some music while Kimmy and I got out the taco fixings that we had ready. After we ate tacos I sliced the cake and poured some wine. We danced with plates of cake in one hand and plastic forks in the other. As birthday parties went, it was all I

ever wanted, especially considering the man I was dancing with. Neither one of us could actually dance, and we kept blushing and giving each other awkward smiles while we bobbed and swayed in Kimmy’s living room. As the night wore on, Chad had to leave so he’d be able to get up for work. Then Kimmy paused to give me a conspiratorial wink on her way to clean up the kitchen. I blushed and glanced at Tom, who was sitting on the couch now, nursing a glass of wine. Once we were alone together, I turned the music down, then sat next to him. “So,” I said. “So,” he said. “Happy birthday. You’re, what, twentyeight? Twenty-nine?” I laughed and patted him on the knee. “You’re charming. No, I’m thirty-mmphrmphhmm.” “Ahh,” he said, nodding sagely. “A wise old age indeed. I hope you don’t care that I’m only twentymmphrmphhmm.” I snickered and shook my head. “No. I’m fine with dating a guy who’s mmphrmphhmm years younger than me.” I turned towards him with a flirtatious smile. “And a guy who has a son?” he asked, his expression turning serious. He played with the stem of his wine glass, looking down at his lap. I took his face in my hands and turned it towards me. “Just means I already know you’re a great father.” I kissed him, and he set down the wine glass to take me in his arms. We made out there on the sofa like a couple of love birds, while Kimmy was singing and doing dishes.

Chapter Seven Over the next few weeks, Tom and I saw each other regularly. On weeknights, we met at places halfway between my town and his, so we each only had to drive about a half hour to see each other. On most weekends, he spent his time with his son, though on any weekend he was free, he drove out to visit me. Other times we simply talked on the phone, or texted, or video chatted. And the more time that passed, the more I felt I was craving his company each and every day. Once we were sure the relationship was actually going somewhere, Tom brought up the idea of me coming down on one of TJ’s visitation weekends. “He really likes you,” he said over the phone, while I sat in my apartment, working on a painting. “He keeps asking about you, and he’s excited that I have a girlfriend.” “Oh, I’m your girlfriend now?” I laughed as I teased him. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.” “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” “Yes,” I said, a rather pleased smile on my face. “Yes, it sure is.” “So, you should come down this weekend.” I thought about it. Weekends could be an iffy time for me. I worked a lot of weekends, since that was when the museum was busiest. But I could easily get a day off. I’d been working so many extra hours over the last few months, keeping up with all the extra work we had while we were short-staffed, that I had earned some time off. “Are you sure you want me intruding on your father/son time?” “I’m sure,” Tom said. “And so is TJ. He keeps asking when you’ll be coming down. He wants to spend some time with you.”

“All right then,” I said. “It’s a date.” That Saturday, I drove down to visit with Tom and TJ. We took TJ out to lunch, then to the movies. I suggested the latest Disney film, and pretended I’d chosen it for my own sake, not that I didn’t enjoy a Disney film on occasion. After the movie we went back to Tom’s place. He had a two-bedroom apartment; he’d let his ex-wife keep the house after the divorce, so that TJ would have a good, stable place to live with her. Tom ordered a pizza, and while we ate, TJ bombarded me with questions about my work. “Have you fixed that big clock yet?” he asked. “I’ve been reading about clocks online. Did you know that there’s an atomic clock in Colorado?” “I’ve heard about that.” I wiped my fingers with a napkin. “But as for our clock, no. I asked at the museum, and they said it’s going to cost something like fifteen or twenty thousand dollars to fix it. We don’t have that kind of money.” If we did, I silently added, we could afford to hire a second janitor. “Can’t you do like, a fundraiser or something?” TJ asked. “We did a fundraiser at school to get a new auditorium.” “That’s actually not a bad idea,” Tom said. “If you generate some press, you could raise enough money to pay for the repairs. I might be able to help with my industry contacts.” I thought it over, toying with the napkin between my fingers. “Actually, now that you mention it, there’s one thing that might work. I’m going to the Steampunk World’s Fair in a few weeks. I bet I could find a lot of people there who would want to help fix the clock tower.” Tom smiled and said, “You could do a Back to the

Future theme. ‘Save the clock tower!’” “Back to the Future III was kind of steampunky,” I said, mulling it over. “I’ll have to make a few phone calls. I know some people at the fair, since I always rent a vendor table there. I could probably add the fundraiser to my table. And I’ll add the sales from my paintings to the proceeds.” I didn’t make a fortune off my paintings, but I always came back from the fair with a few hundred dollars at least. “Run a Kickstarter or a GoFundMe, too,” Tom suggested. “Get people at the fair to tweet about it. You’ll raise money in no time.” “Hmm.” I chewed on my lower lip. It wouldn’t be easy, but the boys were certainly on to something. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do it.” “Awesome!” TJ said, throwing his arms in the air. “We’d be happy to lend a hand,” Tom said. I reached over and took his hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “That’ll be awesome. Seriously. You don’t have to do this, you know.” “Yes we do,” TJ said, quite adamant. “If we don’t, who will?” We spent the rest of the night going over the details. After TJ went to bed, Tom and I did some online research into crowdfunding. By the end of the night, we had a long list of ideas. I could get the museum to put up a plaque with donor names. We could offer free tickets to the museum to people who donated. And with official backing from the museum and from the city of Brandenburg, something I was positive I could get, we actually had a decent shot at this. On the drive home I felt more excited than I had in a long time. I went to bed that night dreaming of clockwork machines, and thinking that for once, I’d be taking that

pile of parts and turning it back into the beautiful machine it was meant to be.

Chapter Eight The days leading up to the Steampunk World’s Fair were nonstop busy. My boss loved the idea of a fundraiser, especially considering all the press it could generate for the museum. It was also easy to convince him that the steampunk crowd would be the ideal audience for the railroad museum, and the free tickets would be a great way to bring in guests. We could afford to give out a ton of free tickets as long as it got people in the door, since we’d make more money off the cafeteria and gift shop sales than we would off ticket prices. The weekend of the fair, I packed my things in my car and headed down the highway to Tom’s house. Tom and TJ were coming with me to the fair, which was being held at a hotel in New Jersey. I’d booked my hotel room months in advance, but luckily they’d had a cancellation for a small room for Tom and TJ. My trunk was packed with about two dozen paintings that I’d done over the last year, most of which I hoped to sell over the weekend. I also had a box of museum pamphlets and a stack of tickets to hand out. Tom had helped me set up the online fundraiser, which had gone live this morning. I kept checking for updates on my phone. There were only a handful of donations so far, raising a measly $75 over the last few hours, but I was expecting most of the donations to come during the fair. I’d printed up a few hundred flyers with “Save the Clock Tower” printed across the top and pictures of our poor broken clock on them. All I needed to do was generate enough interest. I’d even included a #SaveTheClockTower hashtag on the flyers so people could tweet about it and post messages on Facebook, Instagram, and everywhere else.

I was almost to Tom’s house when he called me. I put the phone on speaker and answered while I drove down the highway. “Hey, babe. I’m getting close to your place. Are you guys all packed?” “Actually,” he said, “I’m stuck a bit late at work.” “Oh. Oh no.” “No, don’t worry,” he said. “I’m going to be done soon. I just wanted to ask you a favor.” “Sure thing.” “Can you pick up TJ from the daycare? I won’t have time to come get him until later, and I’d rather not have them call my ex about it. She’ll raise a fuss.” “No problem,” I said. “Is it going to be okay for me to pick him up? I mean, don’t they need authorization?” “I called and let them know you’d be coming. Normally they’d need to check ID and everything, but it’s your cousin. She told me there’d be no problem.” “Right,” I said. I’d almost forgotten that Kimmy was the one watching TJ after school. “I can be there in about fifteen minutes.” “Great. Thanks. Just take him to my place. He’s got a key. I shouldn’t be too late.” “All right,” I said. “Thanks,” he said. “I love you.” I was silent for a moment, stunned. That was the first time he’d said those words to me. Part of me was almost mad that he’d done it for the first time over the phone instead of in person. But on the other hand, it had sounded so natural. Like he had said it without thinking, speaking from the heart.” “I love you too.” I hung up the phone and used my GPS to check the directions to Kimmy’s daycare. I’d never actually been

there before. I got there a bit later than I expected, and by the time I walked in the door, TJ was the only kid left in the after school program. Kimmy looked up at me with a concerned expression on her face. “Hey, Amy. Tom called, said you were coming.” “Yeah,” I said, waving to TJ. I looked at the expression on Kimmy’s face. “Is something wrong?” “Well, there was a little incident.” I looked at TJ and saw his face was streaked from tears. I walked across the room and sat down next to him on one of the little chairs designed for second-graders. “You okay, big guy? Was someone giving you a hard time?” “It’s nothing,” he said, keeping his head down. He was coloring in a coloring book I’d brought him from the museum last week. The steam locomotive on the page was colored an angry red and black, with thick black slashes over the eyes making it look stern and irritable. “It was no big deal, really,” Kimmy said. “But they kind of got physical.” I looked TJ over for signs of injuries. He didn’t look hurt, though I realized some of the redness on his face might not have been from tears. “The thing is,” Kimmy said, “I had to call his mom.” “What?” I looked up at her, my jaw dropping. TJ kept on coloring, the crayon moving in quick, sharp slashes. “I had to.” Kimmy held her hands out to either side as she explained. “It’s the company’s policy. The primary caregiver has to be notified when this type of thing happens. She’s coming down here to—” “TJ?” a voice called out. I turned to the door to see a woman I could only assume was TJ’s mother. She was average height and

weight, with red hair that had just a touch of premature gray. She was dressed in business clothes and had a leather handbag in her hand. “Hi, Mrs. Conklin,” I said, rising from my seat. She stopped in her tracks and looked me over, frowning. From the deep-set lines on her face, I guessed that she did a lot of frowning. “It’s McAnally,” she said. “Ms. McAnally. Do you work here?” I winced, realizing too late my faux pas. I should have realized she wouldn’t have kept her husband’s name after the divorce.”No, umm, I don’t work here. My name is Amy. Amy Loch.” I held my hand out to her. “Tom sent me to pick TJ up.” “Oh,” she said. She didn’t take my hand, and after an awkward moment, I lowered it. “You’re the girlfriend.” My face felt warm. I wondered how much Tom, or TJ, had told her about me. “Yes, I am. Tom and TJ are coming to the fair with me this weekend. Tom was running late, so—” “So you thought it would be okay for a total stranger to come here and take my son?” She glared at me, pressing her lips together in a thin line. “Actually,” Kimmy said, “Ms. McAnally, Tom did call and say—” “I don’t really care what he said.” Ms. McAnally turned her glare on Kimmy for a moment, then looked back at me. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I don’t know who you are, and I’m not about to let you take my son. Tom can come pick him up at my house later.” “No,” TJ said, slamming his hand down on the table. “I want to go with Amy. We’re going to go see the steampunk stuff!” “Thomas Joseph, you don’t take that tone with me,” Ms. McAnally said. “Get your things. We’re going.”

TJ got up and moved to the other side of the small table, putting it between him and his mom. “No. Dad said we’re going to the fair. I’m not going with you.” “TJ, you get your butt in the car right now,” she said, pointing a stern finger at the door. “I don’t have the patience for this. Especially not after I find out you’ve been fighting.” “I’m sure that wasn’t his fault,” I said. “You stay out of this,” she said, snapping her head towards me. “You’re not a part of this family, and I don’t want to hear a word out of you.” She turned back to her son. “TJ. Car. Now.” “I’m not going,” TJ said. He lowered his head and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. Ms. McAnally moved around the table towards him. I moved to step in her way, but Kimmy held me back. I shot a glare at Kimmy, but she leaned in and said in a low voice, “You can’t stop her from taking him. She’s his mother.” “But—” “But nothing,” she whispered. “Technically I’m not even allowed to let you take TJ, since you’re not registered as a legal guardian or authorized relative. I was going to let that slide since Tom said it was okay, and I know you’re not a kidnapper or anything, but if she insists…” Ms. McAnally grabbed TJ by his arm and hauled him out of the chair. He screamed in protest, struggling against her, but she kept him in an iron grip. She dragged him to the door, showing no sympathy for his cries. I wanted to go after her, to stop her, but I knew she was right. I was nothing but Tom’s girlfriend. I had no legal right here. And as much as I disagreed with the way

she was treating TJ, it wasn’t like she had hit him, or done anything that could really be considered abuse. I hated what she was doing, I hated the cold way she ignored her son’s needs, but I knew he wasn’t in any danger with her. There was nothing I could do without bringing more trouble down on myself. She was gone before I could think of anything to say. She hadn’t even let TJ gather his books. I collected them and took them to my car so I could give them to him later. I talked to Kimmy for a few minutes, though I knew that her hands were tied. I gave her a hug and said goodbye, then got in my car and immediately called Tom. “Hey,” he said. “I just got finished here. You guys okay?” “No, actually,” I said. I explained everything that had happened, and told him that TJ would be at his mother’s house. “There was nothing I could do. She didn’t want to listen.” “That’s typical of her,” he said. He sighed into the phone. “Okay, I’ll go over there and get him. You can wait for us at my place, if that’s okay? I shouldn’t be long.” “Okay,” I said. “Good luck. I love you.” “I love you.” He hung up the phone, leaving me sitting in my car until my hands stopped shaking. I drove to Tom’s apartment, though he wasn’t there when I got there. I sat on the steps outside to wait. I lost track of time for awhile, checking the fundraiser on my phone, and tweeting out links to it, trying to raise some interest in the project. We were up to a few hundred dollars, which still wasn’t much compared to the $15,000 goal, but it was a start. It started to get dark. I still hadn’t heard back from Tom. I sat on the steps with my phone in my hand, wondering if I should call him. He was probably still

talking to his wife about what had happened. Or arguing with her. I didn’t think I would help the situation any by interrupting them with a phone call. I decided to send a text, figuring that he would get it when he was done talking to his ex. Then I sat, and waited, shivering a bit as the temperature dropped. As more time passed, I was starting to get worried. We were supposed to be on the road already. We had a couple more hours of driving to do, and the hotel would already be crowded, making check-in a nightmare. I had hoped to get there early. Now I was starting to wonder if we’d make it at all. More than two hours had passed by the time I saw Tom’s car pulling into the parking lot. I stood up and stretched my stiff legs, hugging my arms around myself. TJ got out of the car and stalked right past me, heading up the stairs and into the apartment. Tom walked up to me, a tired expression on his face. “Hi,” I said. “Hey.” He forced a smile. “I’m sorry about that. I really am. We got into this whole…thing. About you, and how she didn’t want you picking him up, and…and I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” I pulled him into my arms and held him close. He leaned his head against my shoulder. The tensions lowly left his body and he relaxed into my embrace. I stroked his hair, glad I was there for him. When he finally pulled away, he looked calmer. “I can get the rest of our stuff packed up quick. It shouldn’t be long, then we can leave.” “Okay. Yeah. Sure.” I gave him a kiss, then got into my car and sat to wait. I watched him climb up the stairs to get TJ and collect their bags, wondering if I’d ever truly be a part of their family, or if, like his ex-wife had implied, I’d always be an outsider.

Chapter Nine We got to the hotel late. TJ was already sleeping in the backseat by the time we got there, and Tom had to carry him upstairs. By the time we got our bags into our rooms and got everything situated, Tom and I were so exhausted that we went to our rooms and I crawled into my bed and fell right to sleep. I was up early the next morning, getting everything set up downstairs. The hotel had devoted several rooms to vendors, with tables lining the room and forming multiple aisles for the guests to weave between. There were people selling toys, jewelry, clothing, books, comics, and all manner of homemade artistic creations. I ended up at a table in the back corner, next to a man selling pewter statues to my left, and a couple selling copies of their urban fantasy novel on my right. I was dressed in a fitted steampunk-style cowgirl outfit, complete with brass goggles on my cowgirl hat and a sixshooter holstered at my side. I set my paintings out, spreading them across the table and standing a few up on the ground, leaning against the table legs. At one end of the table I set a big five-gallon jug from the museum’s water cooler, with a “Save the Clock Tower” flyer taped to the front. I set the flyers and pamphlets on the table where they’d be within easy each of the customers, then settled in to wait. Tom and TJ joined me just before the fair opened. It took awhile before anyone made their way back to my part of the vendor room. A few people politely looked at my paintings without making a purchase. Some tossed a bit of loose change into the donation jug. We handed out some flyers, and explained the story of the clock to anyone patient and polite enough to stand there and

listen. Though by the time a couple of hours had passed, we had barely raised any money, and I’d only managed to sell two paintings. “We need to rethink our strategy,” Tom said. “Is it always like this? People browsing and moving on?” “Most years, yes.” I sighed. “It gets busier in the afternoon, and there’s still tomorrow, too. But we’re nowhere close to getting the ball rolling yet.” The jug probably had less than $50 in it, and while the online fundraiser was picking up some steam, it still hadn’t come close to the first $1000 yet. “We’ve got to ask for help,” TJ said. He grabbed an armful of flyers and moved around the table into the aisle. “I bet everyone will help if we ask.” “TJ, don’t go bothering people,” I said, holding a hand up in protest. But it was too late. He was already talking to the man selling the pewter statues and handing him a flyer. “Excuse me, sir.” TJ looked up at the man with a bold posture, his back straight and his chin raised. “Will you help us save the clock tower?” “What’s up, little Marty McFly?” the man asked. He looked over the flyer. “That poor clock. Looks like a thing of beauty.” “It’s been broken for years,” TJ said. He launched into an explanation about the clock’s history, repeating all the details I’d explained to him. When he finished his pitch, he asked, “Can you help?” “Sure thing, little man,” the vendor said. He opened his metal cash box and pulled out a five dollar bill, then dropped it into the jug. “Happy to help the cause.” “But can you help tell people about it, too?” TJ handed the man a dozen flyers. “We need everyone to help.” The man looked at me and Tom, smirking. “Sure

thing,” he told TJ. He set the flyers at the front of his table, where they were flanked by pewter automatons and statues of men wearing goggles and holding wrenches. “I’m sure I could send some people your way.” Tom and I watched as TJ moved from table to table, recruiting one vendor after another to our cause. I would never have been so bold as to bother strangers who were here trying to sell their own goods, but TJ seemed to have no problem with asking anyone and everyone for help. And he didn’t just settle for people saying “Sure” or “No Problem.” He didn’t let people ignore him. He pressed until people promised to help, declaring their support for our cause. And somehow, it worked. I didn’t know if it was because he was a cute kid that people couldn’t say no to. Or if pledging their support out loud made people feel a personal sense of obligation to follow through on their word. But dozens of other vendors in the room started sending their customers down to our table, where people tossed their change, and sometimes bills, into our donation jar. Others started going online to pledge a donation through the fundraiser site, and whenever I checked my phone, I saw the #SaveTheClockTower hashtag exploding with tweets from people I’d never met. The biggest help, however, came when TJ headed into the next room, where some of the fair’s celebrity performers were signing autographs. The fair didn’t draw any big time movie stars or anything like that, but there was a huge niche for steampunk-style music and chap hop, and some of the singers and musicians were really big in the indie scene. I followed TJ into the autograph room to try to stop him before he got into trouble, but by the time I got there, he was already talking to the performers from one of the

bands. A woman dressed in a pseudo-1800s costume and wearing makeup that made her look like a robot was listening to TJ’s pitch with a big smile on her face. “Will you help us get people to save the clock tower?” TJ asked, handing her a flyer. “Aww, well how could I say no?” the woman said. “Tell you what, sweet boy, I’ll make sure to let people know. Can’t let that poor clock stay broken. For all I know, it’s a relative of mine.” She winked and tapped on some of the clockwork parts sewn into her wardrobe, all part of her character as a steam-powered automaton. “Thank you,” TJ said. “Thanks,” I added, putting an arm around TJ’s shoulders and steering him away before he embarrassed me in front of one of my favorite bands. I almost stopped and asked for an autograph, but unlike TJ, I just didn’t have the nerve. I brought TJ back to our table. We were a little bit swamped, and the water jug was starting to fill up nicely. I had no idea how much money was in it, but I saw a few people dropping in $5’s and $10’s along with all the loose change. Tom was handing out museum tickets to everyone who made a donation in any amount, even just a handful of change. I had no idea how many of these people would actually drive all the way out to Western Pennsylvania to come to our little railroad museum, but if even a handful of them were from that area, it would be worth it. The live music shows started later that night. One of my regrets every year was that I usually didn’t get the chance to actually see the bands perform. Going to see the show would mean spending a couple of hours away from my table, and that was time I needed to spend selling paintings and collecting donations. Though the

good news was that the hotel piped the band’s music through the speakers, so everyone in the vendor room still got to hear it, even if we couldn’t see the band on stage on the other side of the hotel. After they’d played several songs, the band took a break. And that’s when I heard the woman TJ had talked to speaking into the microphone. “Hello boys and girls! Thank you all so much for coming. We hope you’re having a great time. And if you are, don’t forget we’ve got CDs and merchandise for sale after the show, or you can check out our website.” There was a pause while the audience cheered. I could hear their shouts without needing the speakers. Then the singer continued, “And I’ve got a special little story to share. I met a little boy not long ago who I think was a mini-Marty McFly. He asked me for some help with a special mission, and now, my wonderful people, I’m asking you. They’re trying to raise money to save the clock tower!” There were more cheers, while the singer read off the details from our flyer, including the fundraiser website and our #SaveTheClockTower hashtag. “So, beautiful people,” she said, “spare these poor folks a buck and help them get their clock fixed. Cause we all know, there’s nothing more tragic than clockwork that doesn’t tick!” After that, the online fundraiser simply exploded. We started getting a landslide of donations, and when I checked my phone, Twitter was abuzz with people tweeting pictures of the band along with links to the fundraiser and our hashtag. The band’s official Twitter account even posted a link, and it picked up thousands of retweets. Before I knew it, our donations crossed the $5000 mark, then $10,000. The surge trickled down

within a few hours after the show ended, but the signal boost had helped get us enough attention that there was a slow but steady stream of support after that. The fundraiser continued for a few weeks after the fair was over, and we passed our goal with more than enough money to spare. By the time the website shut down on the last day, we had enough to pay for all the replacement parts and the installation. Plus there was a new surge of business at the museum after all of the publicity from our fundraiser, and between the new flow of guests and the leftover money from the clock repair, we were even able to hire a new part-time janitor.

Chapter Ten A few months later, I stood at the front of a large crowd gathered in front of the museum. Camera crews from the local news stations were there, as were some excited people from the Steampunk World’s Fair who’d made the drive out to Brandenburg for the special day. Tom and TJ stood near the front of the crowd, applauding with everyone else as we got ready to flip the switch and start the clock up for the first time. I stood beside the head curator as he gave a speech about the significance of the clock, its history, and what it represented for the museum and the community at large. I didn’t really need to listen to the speech. I knew what it represented for me, and that was all that mattered. “And now,” he said as he reached the conclusion of the speech, “our very own Amy Loch, the person responsible for what we’ve accomplished here today, will throw the switch and start the clock!” I stepped up, greeted by a round of applause. I waved to the crowd, and gave a special smile to Tom. I felt like he and TJ should be up here with me. Getting the clock fixed had really been their idea, after all. “Tell me when,” I said, putting my hands on the big lever. No one in the crowd knew that it wasn’t really hooked up to anything. The lever was just sticking out of a large metal box. A mechanic up in the tower would turn on the power at the same moment that I threw the lever, giving the ceremonial act the illusion of reality. The curator looked at his watch, waiting for the right moment, then started counting. “Ten…nine…” The crowd shouted along with him. “Eight…seven…” I waved to everyone again, then grabbed the lever with both hands, making a big production out of it. I waited for

the countdown to reach the end. “Three…two…one…” The crowd started cheering as I pulled the lever. At the same time, the clock up above started ticking. The camera crews got the whole thing on tape, ready for the nightly news. I made the rounds, shaking hands with a few VIPs, particularly some of the donors who had given a hefty amount to the fundraiser. Before long, the crowd started to disperse. Some went inside the museum to go check out the exhibits, including the all new exhibit upstairs, where the inner workings of the clock were now on display behind a glass case. We’d also posted some historical news articles and pictures going back to the year the building was built, laying out the entire history of the museum and the clock itself. Included in the display was a more recent news article about the fundraising campaign, along with my picture. TJ, Tom and I had become a permanent part of history. I headed over to the big buffet table we’d set out, making myself a plate for lunch. Tom joined me, while TJ peppered the curator with questions about one of our exhibits. “So,” Tom said as he filled a plate of his own. “I’ve been thinking.” “Oh yeah?” I eyed him sidelong while I sucked a bit of mustard off my thumb, wishing I had a free hand for a napkin. “Yeah. About the future, and where things are going.” I paused and stared at him, my heart starting to race. “What do you mean?” “I mean us.” I held my plate carefully in both hands, worried that I might drop it. “What have you been thinking about us?” He led me off to the side, away from a few guests who

were browsing the buffet table. “Well, I’ve been thinking that I spend a lot of time out here. And we both spend a lot of time driving halfway across the state to see each other. And, well, my lease is about to come up…” I licked my lips, studying his face. He blushed and looked down, scratching the back of his head. “The thing is,” he said, “I don’t want to move away from TJ. But at the same time, we’re getting to the point that this is becoming something serious. And you have your job here and I have mine, but it seems like we could probably figure out some middle ground.” “Middle ground?” I asked, frowning. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, for a place. For us. Our place.” “Tom,” I said. “Are you asking me to move in with you?” “No, I think I’m asking you to marry me.” I smiled. “Well I think I might say yes.” Happy tears filled my eyes. I had to admit, it had been on my mind pretty much every day. I lived about five minutes from the museum, which was really convenient for work. But really inconvenient when my boyfriend lived an hour away. But I could see us together in a nice little house, somewhere halfway between us. Where we could find a balance in our lives, while taking the next step on our journey together. I blotted my tears and leaned in to kiss him, though our plates got tangled and nearly spilled. We both laughed, awkwardly shuffling our plates into one hand so we could kiss. “Does TJ know?” I asked. He nodded. “Yeah. I asked him how he felt about it before I asked you.” “And?”

“And he loves the idea. He wants to know if he can move in with us.” I laughed, covering my mouth with one hand. “Oh, I can’t imagine his mother would ever agree to that.” “No,” he said, sighing. “In fact, I’m sure she’ll raise a fuss about him visiting on weekends once we’re married. But there’s nothing she can do about it. I have my visitation rights guaranteed on paper by the courts, and I’ll fight her til the end of days to keep them.” I slipped an arm around him and kissed his cheek. “Well, even if he can’t live with us, maybe one day we’ll be able to give him a new little brother or sister.” “Oh?” His eyes lit up at that idea. I smirked, giving him a teasing look. “I’m not saying any time soon. But it’s definitely something I want.” “Me too.” *** A few weeks after that we had a small ceremony with my mother, Kimmy and Chad, and a few friends of mine and Tom’s. While we were planning our little ceremony we also found a place to live. I packed up my things, leaving the apartment I’d been in since I got out of college, and loaded everything in a truck to take to our new home. I left behind most of my old, worn out furniture, though I brought the bunk bed to put in TJ’s room for when he visited, and to maybe have a place for another kid to sleep one day soon. Tom and I hung my paintings around the small house we now called home, alongside his family photos and other memorabilia. And we set up a new art studio in one corner of the dining room, near the sliding glass door that led to the patio. On nicer days, I moved my easel out onto the patio and

painted under the shade of the elm tree outside our home. And when I started painting another clockwork doll, she wasn’t broken. All of her gears and cogs were perfectly in place, everything fitting together in clockwork precision. I realized now that the clock tower hadn’t been the only thing in the museum that was broken, but all of the parts were mended now, and I was ready to keep on ticking, all the way into my new, bright future.

Epilogue “Come feel this,” I said. “Is she moving around?” Tom walked over, holding his hand out to me. I took his hand, placing it on my rotund belly. Tom frowned for a moment, apparently not feeling anything. I shifted his hand until it was in the right spot. Then his eyes lit up as he felt the little bulge pressing up against him from inside my belly. “Feel that? She’s practicing her ninja kicks in there.” I smiled, proud of the little life growing inside of me, and glad that Tom had the chance to feel her move. Then I winced in pain when the little tyke kicked me in a sensitive spot. I had to sit down, taking slow, deep breaths. “You okay?” Tom asked. “Was that a contraction?” I smiled at him, shaking my head. “No. She’s just moving around a lot.” I wasn’t quite ready to pop yet, though I’d been having some Braxton Hicks contractions for a few weeks already. But every time I started feeling any aches or pains, my husband got excited. He already had a bag packed with clothes and everything else we’d need for our trip to the hospital, even though my due date was more than a month away. I could tell he was anxious for our little girl to be here already. I supposed that I couldn’t blame him. I certainly couldn’t wait for her to arrive either, if for no other reason than because I was tired of being kicked and punched from the inside. “Maybe you should take the day off,” Tom suggested. I sighed at him, giving him an affectionate smile. He’d been doting on me for months, and trying to get me to slow down before the baby arrived. But I kept telling him

that I didn’t want to stay home from work. I had plenty of opportunities to sit down and rest when I needed to, and being active helped make me feel better. Sitting at home for the next month would have absolutely driven me crazy. “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Besides, I’ve got that new exhibit starting up in a couple of weeks, and there’s too much work to be done.” “Isn’t there someone else who could do it?” “Nope.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek, then grabbed my keys and my purse. “And if I want to be able to take my maternity leave, I’ve got to get this all done before the little ninja arrives. I’ll see you when I get home.” “All right,” Tom said. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you have any contractions.” “I will,” I said, though I knew I wouldn’t be calling him over every little twinge, even if that’s what he wanted. I might be a first-time mother, and I had to admit that I’d gotten paranoid a few times about the changes my body was going through and all the unusual aches and pains, but I knew enough to tell the difference between false contractions and real ones. My doctor and I had discussed it several times already, and I had an app on my phone ready to go so I could start timing contractions when they arrived, so I’d know the difference between the irregular contractions of false labor and the regular, steadily increasing contractions of the real thing. I drove down to the Brandenburg Railroad Museum. I expected a pretty slow day today. It was getting close to Thanksgiving, which wasn’t the busiest time for trains. A lot of our school trips came earlier in the year, or else later in the spring, when the weather was nice enough for the outdoor portions of the railroad tours. And school trips were easily our single biggest source of guests at

the museum, so when there weren’t any school trips, it was usually a slow day. I parked in the employee parking lot and walked around to the main entrance, since I had to head upstairs to do some work on the exhibits in the tower. The recently renovated clock tower ticked quietly overhead, reminding me of the hard work I’d done last year, with Tom and TJ’s help, in getting it repaired. There had been a couple of minor issues in the way the clock ran, and we’d had to call the repairman out a few times to keep up with the maintenance on it, but for the most part, it had been running smoothly ever since we got it fixed. The publicity surrounding the clock had died out a long while ago, but we still got some visitors now and then who came by to head upstairs and look at the display that showed the clock’s inner workings, along with a visual timeline of the clock’s original construction, then the breakdown it had suffered decades before, and finally its recent repair. It was easily my favorite exhibit in the museum, considering I’d been the one responsible for raising the money and getting it repaired. I spent most of the morning working on the setup for our newest exhibit, which was scheduled to begin after Thanksgiving. Every year, for the holidays, the museum put up a special exhibit of Christmas decorations and model trains, including some original Lionel electric toy trains from the early 1900s. It was a big hit with the families that came out to the museum around the holiday season, and with the small subculture of model train enthusiasts that frequented the museum. Around lunchtime, my stomach (and my unborn baby) was grumbling with hunger. I sent my work crew on their lunch break, and I was about to head down to the employee break room, when my phone chimed with an

incoming call. I recognized the ringtone as my Google App’s video chat, and I immediately knew just who was calling. Since the room I was working in was closed and no one was around, I pulled out my phone and answered the video call. “Hey, TJ,” I said, smiling into the camera. My stepson was one of the only people I knew—aside from my mother, who only called on weekends—who used video chat instead of old-fashioned phone calls, and he’d been hooked on them since he got his first smartphone for his birthday a couple of months ago. I still didn’t think a ten year old was old enough to have his own phone, but his real mother had gotten it for him, and it certainly wasn’t my place to argue about it. “Hey, Amy,” he said. “Are you busy?” “I’m at work,” I said, leaning against one of the tables. I was pretty sure TJ would be able to see the model trains through the camera. He’d been asking about them for weeks. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” “It’s Columbus Day,” he said. “No school.” “Ahh.” I bit my tongue before I could bring up all the reasons why Columbus Day shouldn’t have been a real holiday. It had shocked me as an adult to learn all the horrible things Columbus had done to the Native Americans he’d first met. But I didn’t want to spoil TJ’s day off by bringing up the dark, hidden history associated with the holiday. “Well, what do you need? I only have a little bit of time for lunch, and the baby’s hungry.” “Oh.” TJ’s expression dropped instantly. He looked away from the camera, looking absolutely crushed. “I guess I can call back later.” I bit my lower lip, trying to think of what to say. TJ had been especially sensitive ever since he’d found out that I was pregnant. I wasn’t quite sure, but I suspected that he

was afraid of being pushed aside and out of his father’s life when the new baby arrived. He’d always been happy about my relationship with his father, even if his mother hated me. But now that Tom and I were starting our own new family together, I worried that TJ would feel excluded. Especially since the new baby would be living with us, while TJ still lived with his mother. I decided that giving TJ some of my time right now, instead of putting him off until later, was the best idea. I wanted to keep him happy and involved. “I have some time,” I said. I started heading for the stairs while holding my phone up to keep chatting. “What’s up?” “Well, Mom wanted me to ask what’s going on for Thanksgiving,” TJ said. “We’re supposed to go to my uncle’s house, unless you and Dad are cooking turkey.” I hesitated. I hadn’t really discussed Thanksgiving with Tom yet. With the baby on the way, the holidays were a bit of a low priority. And since my due date was about a week before Thanksgiving, it was possible we’d end up skipping the holiday all together. But on the other hand, I didn’t want to rob TJ of the chance to spend Thanksgiving with his dad. Making sure he was included in all of our holiday plans was a big part of making sure he didn’t feel left out with the baby on the way. “I guess I need to ask your dad about that first,” I said. “How about I talk to him about it, and call you back later today?” “Yeah. Okay.” TJ’s eyes drooped and his shoulders slumped. I worried that he thought I was making excuses or something, but the simple truth was, I had no idea what to tell him. We hadn’t really done Thanksgiving together last year; TJ had spent Thanksgiving with his mother’s side of the family, and he had come over on Friday to visit with me and Tom. We’d heated up leftovers

and watched some movies together. It hadn’t been much of a holiday, but that had been back when Tom and I were working on wedding preparation. And now this year, another obstacle was getting in the way of our holiday plans. “I promise I’ll talk to him as soon as I get home. We’ll figure something out, okay?” “Okay. Bye.” TJ cut off the video call, but not before I saw the disappointment etched into his face. TJ was on my mind for the rest of the day. I was worried about letting him feel rejected. But in a way, I also knew that I wasn’t the one who really needed to take care of this situation. This was more between him and his father. Even though I was TJ’s stepmother now, I was, and would always be, an outsider. As much as I worried that he might not feel like a part of our family, the truth was that he had his own mother, so it wasn’t a question of whether I, as his stepmother, rejected him. But he only had one father, and it was his father’s love he was afraid of losing. When I got home at the end of the day, I paced around the house, waiting for Tom to get done work. Though I couldn’t pace for long before I had to sit down —the aches and pains of pregnancy were slowing me down more and more with each passing day. By the time Tom got home, I was sitting on the couch, feeling twitchy and suffering from a bit of cabin fever, but too exhausted to do anything about it. “Hey,” Tom said when he came in. He had a couple of shopping bags with him, from a baby store, naturally. He’d been buying baby toys for the last few months, even though I kept telling him that it was way too early. He’d already bought our daughter a little Fisher Price toy train that a toddler could ride on like a tricycle, even though it

would be a year or more before she would be old enough to ride it. But he always said he couldn’t help himself when he saw how adorable all the toys were. “You doing okay?” he asked me, wearing his usual concerned look. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m feeling fine.” “No contractions today?” “No.” I forced a smile. I’d had a few mild contractions earlier, but they had faded, so I knew they weren’t the real thing, and I didn’t want to get Tom worked up about them. While he was unpacking the new toys, I said, “Tom, there’s something I wanted to ask you.” “What is it?” he asked, looking up at me while he struggled to open the convoluted packaging on a toy covered in light-up buttons that would no doubt play music every time they were pressed. “Well, TJ called me at work today.” “Is he okay?” Tom stepped into the little kitchen that was separated from our living room by a short half-wall, and he started digging in a drawer for some scissors. “He was asking about Thanksgiving.” I pushed myself off the couch, with a fair bit of effort, and headed into the kitchen with Tom. I leaned against the counter, a concerned look on my face. “Isn’t he going to his uncle’s?” Tom frowned slightly, though it may have been because he was having trouble cutting all the plastic ties off the packaging. “They do Thanksgiving there every year.” “Well, I suppose he is,” I said. “But I think we should do something here, too. You know, have a family get together.” “I don’t think we’ll have time for all of that,” Tom said. He yelped in pain as he jabbed himself with the scissors.

He shook his hand, then checked it to make sure it wasn’t bleeding. “We’ll have the baby by then. I don’t think cooking a whole turkey dinner will be a good idea.” “Well, it doesn’t need to be a big dinner,” I said. “But I know TJ wants to come over. I think it’s important that we make him feel welcome.” “Of course he’s welcome,” Tom said, turning his attention back to the frustrating package. “He knows that. We always find a way to make holidays work. Two Christmases, two Thanksgivings, all of that. It’s been like that since the divorce. He likes it.” “I don’t think it’s that simple.” “Why not?” Tom frowned at me. “He told me more than once he loves getting twice the turkey, twice the Christmas presents.” I sighed. “Because this isn’t a ‘divorced parents’ problem. It’s a ‘new baby sister’ problem.” Tom’s frown deepened, and I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t following my train of thought. “He told me he’s fine with the new baby. He just doesn’t want to change any diapers.” Tom smirked, shaking his head. “I think there’s more to it than that. He lives with his mom. The new baby will be living here with us. I’m worried that TJ won’t feel like part of our family.” Tom set the scissors down, then set the toy on the kitchen counter and tossed the empty packaging into the trash. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. We’ll make sure he gets plenty of attention. He just needs some time to get used to the idea of a new family member.” “I guess so…” I bit my lower lip, not convinced that it would be that simple. “Trust me.” Tom gave me a kiss on the cheek. “He gets to be the big brother. Once he realizes how that means he’ll be the one in charge, the one with the bigger

room, the one who gets to do everything first, he’ll revel in it.” “I suppose.” Part of me wondered if he was right. I had a brother and a sister, so I definitely knew how sibling rivalries would get. Though being the oldest sibling hadn’t always meant I was the first one to do everything. Sure, I’d gotten my license first, and been the first one to go to college. But my little sister had started dating sooner than I had, and she’d gotten married several years before I had. We spent a little more time discussing Thanksgiving, but at the end of it all, Tom convinced me that a small, simple lunch of turkey sandwiches and store-bought pie on the Friday after Thanksgiving would be our best bet. TJ would be able to have the big holiday meal at his uncle’s, along with his mother and the rest of that side of the family. I just hoped that TJ would understand that we weren’t putting less effort into the holiday because we didn’t care about him. We just really had too much on our plates right now. After Tom went back to opening (and playing with) the new baby toys, I went into the other room to use my computer to call TJ back. He answered the video call with an excited smile on his face. “Hi Amy! Did you talk to my dad?” “Yeah, we did.” I explained the plans to TJ, and I saw the disappointment on his face when he realized we were keeping things simple again this year. I tried my best to make it sound fun, promising to pick up some new movies and maybe some board games, but it didn’t seem to do much to cheer him up. “I promise, we’ll have a great time,” I said. “Yeah,” TJ said, without any enthusiasm in his voice. “Sure. Okay.”

“Plus, I’ll see you this weekend,” I said. TJ came out to stay with us most weekends, since that was when his dad had visitation with him. “Can we go see the new trains?” he asked. “Well, they’re not quite set up yet.” I saw disappointment creeping back into TJ’s face, so I quickly added, “But since I work there, I think I can make an exception and let you see them before the display is ready.” “Awesome!” TJ grinned, and it was the first genuine happiness I’d seen from him in awhile. It gave me a little bit of hope. Though after we ended the call, I still found myself worrying about what to do. I desperately wanted us to all be a happy family, and I knew there had to be a way to make it work. Despite Tom’s divorce and the way TJ was caught between two homes and two families, I was sure we could find a way. That weekend, when TJ came down to visit us, we headed down to the museum, just as I’d promised. TJ had been to the museum a number of times since Tom and I started dating, in addition to a couple of visits when his school took class trips there each year. But he never seemed to get tired of the trains. Plus, since we worked to update some of the exhibits every few months, there was always something new to see. We took a quick tour around the main exhibits of the railroad museum before heading upstairs to see the inprogress model train exhibit. I’d made some progress on it during the week, and most of the models were already set up and ready to go. Mostly at this point, we were putting the finishing touches on a few things, like painting some of the scenery and adding some extra model trees, houses, and little plastic animals to the countryside scenes that the model trains ran through. We

were also still waiting for the informational signs, with details about each of the trains, to get back from the printer, so the plaques by each display were all blank. “These are so cool!” TJ said, running up to the biggest table, his eyes wide as he looked across the model. It was a scale model of the city of Brandenburg, as it had appeared in the late 1800s when the town was founded. The model train on this display was an original Lionel, designed in the style of the old steam locomotives of the 1800s. “Want to see them run?” I asked, waddling over to the control panel. I showed TJ how to work the controls, and soon he had the train running around the tracks, stopping at each of the stations along the way. “How do you get everything so small?” TJ asked, studying one of the model train stations. “Well, a lot of it we buy like that,” I said. “But I painted a lot of the parts myself. They usually come unfinished.” I showed him a section of the model with some unpainted houses. I’d ordered most of them from model shops online, though I’d also picked up a few from contacts among the model train enthusiasts who frequented the museum. “Can I paint one?” TJ asked. “I don’t think so,” Tom said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Aww, come on.” TJ pouted at his father. “Sorry,” I said. “They belong to the museum, or else I’d let you.” “Oh.” TJ frowned, but he didn’t argue the point any further. Though as I saw him playing with the trains, an idea occurred to me. One that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of sooner.

* * * I went into labor more than a week early, almost two weeks before Thanksgiving. Our daughter was born a healthy seven pounds, one ounce. We named her Celes, which I told Tom was because it was derived from the Latin word for “heavenly.” Which was technically true, but I didn’t want to admit to him how big of a geek I was when I’d actually gotten the name from an old video game. I took things easy for the next couple of weeks, focusing my maternity leave time on bonding with Celes and on trying to get as much sleep as I could in between all the feedings and diaper changes. Before I’d given birth, I’d told myself I would use my maternity leave to catch up with my painting, but by the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I hadn’t so much as picked up a brush. Some of my friends who had kids, along with my sister, teased me mercilessly whenever I told them how tired I was and how my artistic plans had fallen completely out the window. I did, however, manage to get one thing done before Thanksgiving. By the time TJ came over the Friday after Thanksgiving, things were already set up and ready to go. Though it was pretty easy, considering that everything was still in boxes waiting for TJ to start opening them. When TJ’s mom dropped him off Friday morning, he came into the house carrying his backpack with his clothes for the weekend. He stopped in the middle of the dining room, looking around at the boxes I’d left stacked up all over the table. “What’s this?” he asked. “It’s a project I’m starting on,” I told him. I set Celes

down in her bassinet, then sat by the dining room table and waved TJ over. I pulled one of the boxes down and showed it to him. “A train set? Cool!” He grinned wide, taking the box and turning it over so he could read the back and see everything that was contained in the set. “Not just that,” I said, gesturing to the other boxes. “I thought we could start a model of our own. Like the ones at the museum.” “Really?” He looked over the stacks of boxes, his eyes wide. “Can I help?” “That’s the plan.” I smiled at him. “These things take a long time and a lot of work. I couldn’t possibly do it on my own. I’m so busy with the baby. But if you help me, I’m sure we can get it done.” “Awesome,” TJ said. He started prying open the box, struggling with it until his dad brought him a pair of scissors. “We’ll have to do everything from scratch,” I said, showing TJ one of the boxes of model parts. Many of the pieces weren’t assembled, and none of them were painted. I’d ordered a couple dozen boxes, getting a great deal on them thanks to my contacts through the museum. There was enough to make our own little model town, though I was sure that with us only working on it on the weekend, it would take months to complete. Maybe years, if we decided to expand the model even further. We worked on the model for awhile, in between eating some turkey sandwiches. I had to take a break when Celes started to fuss, needing my attention. When I got up to go check on her, I noticed TJ giving me an uncertain look. I knew this was the moment of truth. He’d already been worried about the place he’d hold in our family, now that the new baby was here. I

didn’t want him to feel like his needs were being pushed aside for the baby’s. And having our new project to work on together was the first step towards making him understand that his contribution was valuable and helping him realize that he was still a member of the family. I started feeding Celes, sitting back down at the table. “Can you help with these sections of the track?” I asked TJ, nodding to the pile of train track pieces sitting on the table in front of me. “My hands are full, so I really need your help.” “Oh,” TJ said. “Yeah. I got it.” He started gathering the track pieces up, sorting through them while checking the instructions. I offered some guidance where I could, but I let his hands do the work. He seemed to enjoy having control over the project, doing some hands-on work and offering some much-needed help. I made sure to tell him how grateful I was for all the hard work he was doing while I was so busy with the baby. “I could really use your help with a lot of things, actually,” I said. “Like what?” “Well, taking care of the baby is hard work. I’m exhausted all the time. I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep. So I’m kind of falling behind on getting stuff done around the house. And I know your mom already gives you an allowance…” I leaned in and whispered to him conspiratorially. “…but I could pay you one too, if you could lend me a hand?” TJ grinned. I was sure the idea of some extra pocket money was the icing on the cake. Though for me, the more important part was making him feel needed and useful. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I can help.”

He looked down at Celes, a thoughtful look on his face. “Is taking care of her really that hard?” I nodded. “Harder than you think. It’s a full time job taking care of a baby. Which is why I really need all the help I can get. And she could use a big brother who can help make sure she gets taken care of.” He studied her adorable little face. I could tell he was seeing her in a new light. She wasn’t just “the baby” anymore. It was starting to sink in that she was his little sister. And that put him in the very important role of big brother. “Can I hold her?” he asked. I smiled. It was the first time he’d asked to hold her. When he’d come to visit us at the hospital after she was born, he’d just stood back and watched. “I’m sure she’d like that,” I said. He sat down and I handed the baby to him, showing him how to support the head and make sure she was comfortable. TJ grinned, looking quite proud of himself. “She’s so tiny.” “She is,” I said. “That’s why she needs her family to help take care of her.” “I can help,” he said. “I’m her family, too.” I felt tears starting to well in my eyes. I looked up and saw Tom standing across the room, watching us, a proud smile on his face. “Yes, you are,” I told TJ. “And no matter what happens, you always will be.” THE END Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it you might also like

Her Makeover and One Simple Thing on Amazon