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by the air that the train pushed before it.
    It had hardly come to a stop when the doors opened and two conductors jumped off. Almost instantly, passengers followed. They were greeted with handshakes and hugs by the people waiting for them. All along the platform, other people were saying their last goodbyes. Hugs were often accompanied by tears.
    I was so alone. Nobody was here to shed a tear when I left. I’d said my goodbyes to everybody, and now there was nobody here to see me off. There was nobody and nothing for me here. It was time to leave. I opened my purse, pulled out the ticket Joe had bought earlier in the day and walked over to one of the conductors. I handed him my ticket.
    “Kingston,” he said. He punched the ticket and handed it back to me.
    “Thank you.”
    “Do you need help with your baggage?”
    “No, thank you. This is all I have.”
    He offered me his hand to help me up the steps, and I entered the car. I saw a pair of empty seats and settled into the seat by the window, tucking my suitcase underneath me.
    I looked out at the passengers being greeted with joy. Nobody would be on the Kingston platform to greet me that way. Nobody had been here at the end to say goodbye to me—not Toni, not Mrs. Hazelton, not even Joe.
    The conductor blew his whistle and climbed back onto the train, disappearing from my view. The train clunked and started to move forward. And then I saw him—Joe, standing at the end of the platform. He had a smile on his face. I caught his eye, and he gave a big wave. I waved back and laughed, and he laughed too. As the train picked up speed, we passed him, leaving the platform behind. I went to spin around, to catch one last glimpse, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to struggle to hold on to what was gone. Who knew when or under what circumstances I might see Joe or Toni or Mrs. Hazelton? It could be in a few months or in a few years or longer. It could be by myself or with a husband—perhaps even with children. I could be on this same train or looking through the windshield of a bus or even in a fine car driven by my husband. I didn’t know anything for certain, but I knew it would be good, and I wouldn’t be wearing another woman’s clothes.
    Right now I needed to look forward, into my future. But before I could do that, I needed to look deeper into my past.

Four
    I NIBBLED ON the sandwich Joe had made for me. The last thing he’d ever make for me. The last piece of home. I saved one little corner. It wasn’t just that I might be hungry later, but also that as long as I had that little slice, I still had something from home. I rewrapped it in its wax paper and put it back into my purse, nestled in beside the brown envelope— the envelope. It stared up as if it had eyes and breath and life. Well, it did have one life—mine—inside it.
    I’d now exhausted all the possible excuses I’d put in the way of what I had to do. I’d eaten, looked out the window, even tried unsuccessfully to sleep and then, equally unsuccessfully, to write a letter to Toni. Now there was nothing left in the way. I didn’t know why I was still so afraid of it. It wasn’t as if it contained anything I already didn’t know about.
    I looked all around, as if ashamed to have somebody see me look in the envelope, as if any of my few fellow passengers knew what it contained.
    Slowly I removed the envelope from my purse. I let it sit on my lap, my fingers running along the edge. Once more I glanced around. An older woman seated across the aisle gave me a small smile, which I returned.
    “Beautiful view,” the woman said. I was a little startled.
    “Yes, it is, ma’am.”
    “Where are you off to?”
    “Kingston.”
    “I’m visiting my daughter and my grandchildren in Montreal,” she said. “What takes you to Kingston?”
    “I’m going for work.”
    She looked confused. “You don’t seem old enough to work.”
    “I’m older than I look.”
    “Unfortunately, I’m as old as I