Chapter 6
The rolling luggage made a different sound on the station tile than it had on the terrace. On the terrace it had been background noise, that light rattle on concrete. Here at Monaco-Monte-Carlo it was loud. Every seam in the floor clicked through the wheels and I could hear it even over the announcements echoing off the glass roof.
We'd walked from the taxi rank without talking much. Amber had her pink top tucked into her jacket now, the hoop catching the fluorescent light every time she turned her head. Her hair was still pulled back tight from last night. My suit jacket was folded over the handle of her suitcase because she said I looked too hot. I hadn't felt hot. I just held the handle and watched her hand stay close to mine without actually taking it.
The board flipped above platform two. Nice — 07:14. Ventimiglia. Marseille. Paris. Her car was second from the front. The letters clicked and settled and a woman's voice came over the speakers in French first, then English, saying boarding would close in six minutes.
"We've got time," Amber said. She didn't look at the board when she said it.
I nodded. We moved to the railing near the end of the platform, away from the crowd with rolling bags and backpacks. It was the same way we'd stood on the terrace, shoulder to shoulder, hands looking for something to hold. Only now the view wasn't marina lights. It was tracks and a concrete wall and the yellow line we weren't supposed to cross.
"You remember what you said last night," she said after a minute. Her voice was low. I could hear her breathing the way I had on the terrace, that small pause before she actually said the thing she meant.
I didn't answer right away. The announcement came again. Five minutes.
"I remember," I said.
She put both hands on the railing. Her knuckles went pale. "I didn't think this would be the hard part. I thought last night was the hard part."
Last night had been tears without movement. This was tears with a clock. I watched a train pull in on the opposite track and dump people and then take more on. The air smelled like brake dust and coffee from the kiosk behind us.
"It's just a few days," I said. It was the same line from the terrace, but it sounded different here. Thinner.
Amber gave a short laugh that wasn't really a laugh. "You said you didn't think saying goodbye for a few days would hurt this much."
"I know what I said."
She finally looked at me then. Her eyes were red at the edges, the same glossy way they'd been under the warm terrace light, only now the station light was flat and white and showed everything. "It's because this place only feels like home when you're in it," she said quietly, repeating my words back to me. "You still mean that?"
I swallowed. My throat was dry. "Yeah. I do."
The board chimed. Three minutes. Final boarding call for the Nice train. People around us started moving faster. A man dragged two big suitcases past us and the wheels screamed.
Amber's hands tightened on the railing like she was holding herself in place. I could see her deciding. Her luggage was right there, patterned fabric I had stared at all night on the terrace, now standing upright with the handle extended. All she had to do was step back, take it, roll it four feet to the doors that were hissing open.
"You can still change your mind," I said before I could stop myself. Then I corrected it, because that wasn't what we had agreed. "I mean — you don't have to. I won't make it harder."
"I know you won't," she said. She was crying now, not a lot, just that one track on her cheek like last night. She didn't wipe it. "That's the problem. You never make it harder. You just stand there and let me go."
I wanted to reach for her face the way I had on the terrace, both hands, forehead close. My hands stayed on the railing. If I touched her now I wasn't sure she'd get on the train, and she had to. She'd told me that morning why she had to go, the work thing in Lyon she'd waited months for, and I'd told her I understood. I did understand. It didn't make my chest feel any less tight.
The doors beeped. A sharp, impatient sound.
Amber flinched. She looked at the open door, then back at me. For a second neither of us moved. It was the terrace hold all over again — eye contact that held too long, breathing, tears, no resolution — only now there was a deadline.
She bent and took the handle of her suitcase. The wheels clicked as she pulled it off the tile seam.
"Hey," I said. It came out quieter than I meant.
She paused.
I didn't say don't go. I didn't say stay. I just looked at her. I knew my eyes were betraying everything I was trying to hold back. I felt them water and I didn't try to hide it.
Amber stepped toward the doors. At the last second she turned her head back over her shoulder, the hoop glinting, her mouth opening like she was going to say something else. Then the beep got louder and a staff member in a blue vest waved her forward.
May you like
She got on. The doors slid shut between us with a soft thump. Through the glass I could see her finding a seat, luggage going up, her pink top bright against the gray seats. She pressed her palm to the window for half a second. I lifted my hand but didn't touch the glass.
The train pulled. I stood at that railing until the whole thing was gone and the platform was just empty track and that yellow line and the next departures flipping over on the board. The station announcements kept going in French and English for other trains I wasn't taking. I was still holding my suit jacket over my arm where she'd left it.
