5 Nate Track

I'm usually not this stupid, I promise you. My brain was on a Nate track. I was still thinking about my idiotic message.

The corners of Lee's mouth wrinkled, like he was trying not to laugh. He beat a little rhythm on the table and smiled as if trying to blow my awkward moment away. I should have taken the out he was giving me, but I couldn't just leave it. I had to try to cover.

"The only reason I said that," I began, seeing the doomed conversational path open wide in front of me and getting myself into sprinting position, "is that I'm supposed to be calling him. But I don't have a signal."

Yes. I had stolen Jeb's story. Sadly, though, when I spoke, I didn't take into account that my phone was sitting in front of me, proudly displaying a full range of bars. Stuart looked at it, then at me, but said nothing.

Now I really had something to prove. I would never be able to let it go until I showed him just how normal I was.

"I didn't," I said. "Until just now."

"Probably the weather," he said charitably.

"Probably. I'll just try now, really quick."

"Take as long as you like," he said.

Which was fair enough. He'd only sat with me to escape a long conversation about cups with Tinfoil Guy. It wasn't like we were accountable to each other's schedules. Lee was probably glad that I was breaking off this conversation. He got up and took off his coat as I called. He was wearing a Target uniform underneath, and even more plastic bags. They came tumbling out of the inner folds of his coat, about a dozen of them. He gathered them up, completely unfazed.

When I got Nate's voice mail, I tried to hide my frustration by craning my head to look out the window. I didn't want to leave my pathetic follow-up message in front of Lee, so I just hung up.

Lee gave me a little "nothing?" shrug as he sat down.

"They must be busy with the Smorgasbord," I said.

"Smorgasbord?"

"Nate's family is tangentially Swedish, so they put out an amazing Smorgasbord on Christmas Eve."

I saw his eyebrow go up when I said "tangentially." I use that word a lot. It's one of Nate's favorites. I picked it up from him. I wish I'd remembered not to use it around other people, because it was kind of our word. Also, when on a campaign to convince a stranger that you aren't a few fries short of a Happy Meal, throwing around phrases like "tangentially Swedish" is not the best way to go.

"Everyone loves a Smorgasbord," he said graciously.

It was time for a change of topic.

"Target," I said, pointing at his shirt. Except I said, "Tar-shay," in that French way that really isn't very funny.

"Absolutely," he said. "Now you can see why I had to risk my life getting to work. When your job is important as mine, you have to take some chances; otherwise, society doesn't function. That guy must really want to make a call."

Lee pointed out the window, and I turned. Jeb was at the phone booth, which was surrounded by about a foot of snow. He was trying to force the door open.

"Poor Jeb," I said. "I should lend him my phone . . . now that I have a signal."

"Is that Jeb? You're right . . . Wait . . . how do you know Jeb?"

"He was on my train. He said he was coming to West Inka. I guess he plans on walking the rest of the way or something."

"It looks like he really, really wants to make a call," Lee said, pulling aside the slippery candy cane on the window to get a better look. "Why doesn't he just use his phone?"

"His phone broke when we crashed."

"Crashed?"Lee repeated. "Your train . . . crashed?"

"Just into snow."

Lee was about to press a bit further on the train-crashing subject when the door opened, and in they poured. All fourteen of them, yelping and squealing and trailing snowflakes.

"Oh my God," I said.