Daughter: A Brett Mccarley Locomotive Engineer Story
Shelley J Alongi

 


      The locomotive sound roused Brett sitting at his kitchen table, the album of family pictures spread out before him. His fingers organized them into what he remembered was a chronology of events; his golden-haired daughter in her first class picture, a tentative smile plastered across a six-year-old, curious face, maybe the hint of a tear somewhere, the shadows hid these things, an older girl standing in a row of red and white uniformed team mates, a volleyball team, a small one, a teenager at the beach, he didn�t know who had taken this picture. The locomotive sound roused him from contemplation of years long ago and now he smiled. It was the clock in the kitchen, it said 8:00 AM, another Saturday, four months after he and Laurie officially became an item, as the modern world called them.

Whatever the rest of his social circle or her�s thought, Brett knew that Mike and Debbie did not completely approve. On one hand, he wanted their approval outright, but on the other hand, it didn�t matter. Debbie, he thought, was a little jealous. Carol, in her lucidity and sometimes in her vagueness had been some type of mother to Debbie, and Brett supposed that on some level she missed Carol. Mike was okay, probably; they just tinkered with engines and things, they had something to work on, Debbie had some kind of empty spot, Brett discovered and Laurie wasn�t going to fill it. Brett had never thought that Laurie would take Carol�s place. If anything she was so much different, she let him sleep, she was more social, she tried to make him feel comfortable, and last night, over dinner, she had said she would marry him. Debbie, on hearing this news, had been cool, maybe shocked, distant, her eyes flashing, silent. Brett hadn�t said anything to her after announcing the fact. He and Laurie would be getting married in two months, give them time to settle separate business affairs, combine households. Laurie was making the biggest move. It wasn�t selling the house so much that made them wait, it was the paperwork, the wedding plans. Laurie didn�t want anything spectacular.

�Just a few friends,� she told him, �but I do want a nice cake. Funny, it�s a wedding and what I want is the cake. Flowers are beautiful, but I want the cake.�

�You shall have the best cake,� smiled the man who�s first wife had wanted everything. If all Laurie wanted was a cake, she would have it.

�The dress?� he asked.

�Just a nice dress, nothing fancy.�

�I make good money.�

�I know,� she came up to him and took his hands. �Let�s not waste it on a dress. Really. I�ll wear the one you like. The white one with gold lace, the one I wore to our first official date after the breakfast at Union Station.
He nodded.

Now he sat here, his eyes fell on the picture of Debbie, golden-haired, looking shy and lovely in her cap and gown. Had that been a day? Last night, thinking of the strong reaction Debbie had to the announcement of his upcoming marriage to a mere commuter with who knows what kind of history, he hadn�t slept well at all. After all the hard hours he kept during the day, coming home exhausted and being confronted by his only daughter, sleep had fled. Sitting up and watching some old movie didn�t help. Thank God today was Saturday. Laurie was on her way here now. Today, they would go do something frivolous, feed ducks at the local park, and then pick out that wedding cake. Laurie hadn�t ever spent the night with Brett, she wouldn�t do that, she said. She couldn�t be with him before she was married to him. It was her strong Christian moral background that forbade it; besides if something went wrong she would have given part of herself to a man that she didn�t want to give away. He understood. Being together wasn�t really all about physical expression anyway. He knew what that was like. He wanted to be with her, to show her how much he cared for her by treating her tenderly in that way, but he could hold off. Maybe it was age, maturity, love, not wanting to do anything too quickly. He could wait, if she would have him. She said she would. After the day when he realized he loved her, the day when they did a simple thing together like laundry and raking leaves, he could wait. She was a jewel.

Brett Richard McCarley, locomotive engineer, task oriented from youth under apprenticeship to freight companies and then slightly distracted by Carol Higgins and his proposal to her (what a strange thing that had been, a mistake, he thought, sometimes, and sometimes not), he wanted Laurie and his kids opinions for once didn�t matter. If he got up early and helped them with money he wasn�t going to let them dictate his social life. Still, something bothered him. His daughter, his only girl, if he knew what he wanted, he still wanted her approval. It would take time he supposed.

�Brett.�

He always shuddered when Laurie said his name. He didn�t think a name could sound like that. Carol had spit it out to him in arguments. The way Lori said it was warm, sweet, kind, like whipped cream in hot, strong coffee. Well only he would think of it like that. But then he blinked. When had she gotten here? He hadn�t heard her come in. Now here she stood.

�Brett, honey.�

She appraised his face, the drooping eyes, the deep lines around them. She slipped her arm about him, rubbed his back.

�What happened, last night, Brett?� Her right hand found the stray lock of hair and pushed it back from his forehead.

Lastnight, while he finished paperwork, she waited for him to step down from the cab car on his last train. He was tired. She could see it in his face as he drove them to a small Italian restaurant for dinner. He always was weary after a commuter week on the railway line. He said he was always happy to see Friday. And he was happy to see her, she could tell that by his face, too. Part of loving Brett McCarley was the expressions on his face. There wasn�t any way of getting around them. If he was weary, she thought he was even better than ever when, despite his weariness, he had presented her with the ring; the ring they had bought together a week earlier. It was kind of a sentimental thing, like the cake, she supposed. He had taken her hand, his fingers warm, clasping her hand just a little tighter than necessary to get her attention. Did that make it official? The cool ring slipped onto her finger, his keeping of her hand.

�Are you ready?�

It was a strange way to ask someone to marry them, he supposed. Was anyone ever ready? Years earlier, when she had asked him for his phone number as he sat waiting for his signal out of the station, he had said the same thing, seeing her pen poised in her hand over her notebook. His eyes, so intense, had looked into her�s, forgetting the conductor�s possible interruption of their cab to ground exchange, hoping the crackling wouldn�t come, the shrill squall of the radio saying �606 highball). It became a joke. Was she ready?

�Yeah,� she nodded, feeling the ring on her finger, looking down at its sparkling gold.

�Marry me?�

It was a question, a question expecting an answer.

�Yes.�

So simple, so sure, so ready.

Now she rubbed his shoulders, tenderly embraced her friend.

�What happened last night? You didn�t sleep.�

She pulled up a chair beside him.

�No,� he said, his eyes kind. �It�s my daughter.�

�She made you sad.�

His voice tightened with emotion, he set the album he looked through down on the table, clenched his hands together. Laurie touched them; they were cool. His eyes, liquid, quiet, never mined. She smoothed her fingers onto his, gently clasped them.

�Hush, Brett. I know. I know.�

�I�m sorry.�

He sat up straight, let Laurie keep his hands. The album sat forgotten between them.

�She�s only concerned that you aren�t making a mistake.�

�A mistake? Are you defending her?�

�No.� Brett�s shoulders went back, he sat up straighter now.

�I know you�re not really annoyed, Brett. I wish she liked me.�

�Do you? Yeah?�

Brett�s voice rose slightly on the last word, hopeful.

�Of course I do, sweetie. She�s your daughter. I want her to like me. She will. It�s normal, I suppose. The important thing is,� she moved closer to him, he slid back and quietly, firmly guided her onto his knee.

�Come sit with your t e. come.�

His body was warm, hard, soft, quiet, his arms moved about her, she snuggled her head onto his shoulder so she could look adoringly up into his eyes.

�You like me,� she said. �That�s what matters. She�ll like me.�
Brett�s brown eyes were calm in a storm of discontent. Laurie held them, returned his gaze, looked into its intenseness.

�Can I tell you something?� she asked quietly.

Brett had to smile. When she stood down on the platform looking up at him, if she had something serious to propose, she always said I want to ask you something.� Today, she wanted to tell him something. He nodded.

�I used to wonder about your daughter,� she said. �I used to wonder what she was like. I only knew you had one. People on the station platform who knew you they told me you had a daughter. I used to ask you in my head about her. Was she pretty? Was she quiet? What did she like to do when she was by herself? I asked myself so many times what she was like. I wanted to know what she was like. I could only hope if at all that one day she would like me. She�s so much younger than I am. Now I know what she�s like; a little bit anyway. She�s kind of shy and very pretty. Those golden curls, the way they frame her face. Be proud of her. She is a beautiful woman. She loves you. I can understand her anger. She�ll learn what I�m like. She�ll know what you see in me. Just be patient. I know it isn�t easy. Your security will assure her.�

Brett�s hands slid along her knees, comforting themselves with her closeness. Quietly, confidently, they lay on her knee caps, Laurie felt their warmth, she laid a hand on one of them. He turned her hand over, fit it in his, held it gently, felt its warmth, its life. The chair squeaked supporting their weight.

�Just give her time,� she said quietly. �Time.�

�You say the most amazing things.�

His words fell into the space between them.

�I�ve seen this happen a time or two,� she said, not wanting to disturb the quietness between them. She fell silent, knowing her words were enough. She looked up at him, removed his glasses, let him kiss her gently.

�Is that better?� she asked gently. He nodded yes.

�You are ready,� he said, getting to his feet, helping her stand beside him.

�Let�s go feed the ducks at the park. An then we�ll go pick out that cake!�

 

 

Copyright © 2010 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"