Tell My Sorrows to the Stones Read Online Free PDF Page A

Tikki downstairs and turned on the television, volume down so low she could barely hear it. Not that it mattered—she’d put on Cartoon Network and it was the visuals, not the sounds, that comforted her. Jonah loved any cartoon, no matter how old or how lame the animation. They had often curled up together and Sarah had stolen catnaps while Jonah watched. Tonight, Tikki watched with her, but there was no chance of Sarah falling asleep.
    At two o’clock she set Tikki on the coffee table and turned off the TV. She laced up her sneakers and went out to the driveway. She’d left her own car out of the garage this afternoon. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, to take Paul’s Cherokee.
    The razor cut deep. Blood slid out over the palms of her hands, filling the lines first and then dripping from her fingers. In the chilly October night, the cuts felt like burns, yet she shuddered as she dropped the razor to the tracks.
    Sarah grimaced, a strange satisfaction filling her. She let her arms dangle at her sides as she knelt on a wooden railroad tie, right in the middle of the tracks. She had half an hour or so before the 3:18 was due, so she had chosen a spot away from the road. On the off chance that a car came by, she didn’t want to get run over. What terrible irony that would have been.
    She let her head loll back and she stared at the stars. If she closed her eyes, she thought she might have been able to fall asleep. What lovely irony. It felt as if she’d been holding her breath ever since Jonah’s death, and tonight, at last, she could exhale.
    So she waited, and she bled. As the minutes ticked past she began to grow colder, not just on her skin but down deep in her bones. Her eyes fluttered.
    It might have been that she closed them for a while.
    The whistle startled her. Sarah blinked and caught her breath, staring along the tracks, searching for some sign of the train. That mournful cry came again, much closer than she would have thought. A terrible ache filled her and she felt weak from the loss of blood. Her body’s instinct was to rise, to get out of the way, but that sluggishness gave her a moment to consider, and instead she stayed just where she was, content to wait in the path of the 3:18.
    She stared down the tracks, narrowing her eyes. A light had appeared in the darkness. The more she focused, the more distinct it became, until Sarah realized that tonight, circumstances had changed.
    The 3:18 was coming, and she could see it. The shape of the train hurtled toward her, just a hint of steam blurring the night above the engine. The sound filled the night, then—the whistle, the clank of metal, the chuffing effort of the furnace.
    She smiled and her eyes moistened with tears.
    The noise grew and the train hurtled closer, a phantom engine, only an intangible silhouette. But it was real. She had not imagined the whistle or the wind, and she swore to herself that she had not imagined Jonah.
    Elated, she held her hands up as though to embrace the 3:18. What would happen when it struck her, or passed through her, Sarah could not be sure. But she knew what she wanted, what she had prayed for as she opened up her wrists. The cuts had started to scab but raising her hands tore them open again and trickles of blood ran down the insides of her arms.
    She thought of what it had felt like to hold Jonah against her, to rock him to sleep, to watch him at peace.
    Her breathing came in short gasps. She closed her eyes and threw her arms out wider.
    The train hissed loudly and a blast of cold air struck her, blowing back her hair. She heard the screech of its brakes and opened her eyes to find the enormous locomotive slowing to a halt. With a kind of gasp, it came to a stop twenty feet away. Sarah stared at the 3:18. In the darkness it looked almost real, but she could see right through it.
    An icy ripple went through her. A ghost. So close.
    But then the truth of what was happening rushed in and she felt the smile blossom on her