Night Train

By Tom Watts

Albert Fleming, a seventy-eight year old father of five, calls his son, William, to tell him that Albert’s beloved dog, Night Train, has died. Albert’s wife, Emily, is on the last day of a visit to one of her nieces. Albert, saddened and panicked by Night Train’s death, decides he should tell someone. He chooses William, Night Train’s original owner. William and Albert have never had a good relationship, and as adults have never done anything to improve it.

The early morning call surprises William. Albert cannot explain why he has called and William, civil at first but soon exasperated, becomes increasingly upset and finally demands to talk to his mother. After more fumbling, Albert is able to say only that there has been a death and he does not know what to do about “the goddamn burial.”

William decides he must be his father’s champion. He asks for no additional information and Albert, surprised by his son’s sudden helpfulness, offers no further details. William insists that his father allow him to tell his brothers and sisters. He calls his siblings, explaining that their mother has died and their father is in terrible condition. He flies to his parents home, arriving before all the others, determined to be a tower of strength for the entire family. The other four children, two sisters and two brothers, arrive later. One sister, Marcia, has fought life-long with William and dreads their time together. Albert is napping when William and the others arrive. After a short time, the children wake their father, and have begun to console him when their mother returns from her trip.

The children and their mother are astonished at each other’s presence. Their mother is angry when she learns that she has been reported dead, and that no one can explain how the report began or was circulated. William and Albert disagree over the culpability for the confusion, and Albert moves from happiness at the attention his dog is receiving to despair over the arguing that he comes to believe is his fault. Emily does her best to straighten things out, and formulates a tentative peace before the family agrees to retire for the night and finish the resolution in the morning.

The story ends with attempts at reconciliation between Marcia and William, and between William and his father. Albert is unsure about life without Night Train, but decides that he will devote the day to making the children feel better, and suggesting to Emily that they get another dog.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Watts
• Release date: Mar 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463036778

Tom Watts

Tom Watts was born and raised in New Zealand and has spent some time living in Perth, Australia and London, UK. Since graduating from university he has been pursuing a career in urban planning and design, and when possible, enjoying a bit of travel to break up the grind. In terms of the book, Tyson & Joey has been a background project for Tom, developing organically over several years as a response to his mental health challenges.

Book preview

Night Train

Copyright 2020 Tom Watts

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Thanks

Chapter 1

Albert Fleming decided to call William immediately, while the right words were clear in his mind.

He would say only, Night Train has died. Nothing more.

Albert knew that was the best thing, even though he and his son had never communicated successfully. About anything. Of course, in the last few years, talking to anybody, even about simple things, had become difficult. And the death of his dog was not simple. It was the most awful thing he had experienced in a very long time. Even a short, simple conversation about Night Train would be hard. But it had to happen. Night Train was special. He had been William’s dog once, and he needed know that Night Train was gone.

Albert’s wife kept a phone directory on her meticulously ordered desk, in a converted bedroom that was now her meticulously ordered office. This morning he was glad for Emily’s organization. He found the number quickly, obviously a good sign. Sitting at her desk, Albert dialed, not realizing it was before six a.m. in Seattle, where William lived. At the first ring, he congratulated himself on his good start.

William had opened his eyes at the 5:30 alarm, uninspired to get up and work out. He promised himself every night that he would exercise early, but today he hit the snooze button, too tired for healthy habits. The alarm rang again ten minutes later, and again he shut it off, staying in bed. Once more the alarm chirped, and once more William chose ten more minutes of sleep instead. When the phone rang, he was dozing lightly, anticipating the alarm’s next nudge, unsure whether he would finally rise or sleep just ten minutes more. The phone decided for him, as he realized the repeated rings were not part of a dream, or the alarm. The number was vaguely familiar. He chose to answer instead of letting it go to voice mail, certain that it would be nothing and he could go back to sleep.

Hello?

William, good morning. It’s your Dad. Albert could barely manage the words. He tried to speak softly, hoping his son was in a good mood.

William wondered whether he had heard correctly and looked at the time. Not yet six. He tried to understand what he had just heard, then answered again.

Hello. This time his voice was stronger, no longer a question.

William, it’s Dad. Do you have a moment? Albert grimaced. It was a dumb thing to say, the sort of question William probably thought was really stupid.

William glared into the phone, trying to see if it really was his father speaking.

Father? The question was tentative, non-committal.

Hearing his son’s groggy response, Albert realized he should have waited to call. Their approach to time was only one of the hundreds of differences between them.

William, I’m sorry for calling. I just need to talk to you for a moment.

Father? He finally understood who was calling. But why so early? What could he possibly want? He tried to sound cheerful. Father, hi? What a surprise.

I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I wanted to talk before you left for work. I can call back later if that’s better.

No, it’s fine. I was almost awake. Another hesitation, perhaps a moment too long, In fact, I’m glad you called. I was going to call you, but you know how things are, work and everything. So, really, this is a good time.

William was unsure what else to say. The call was not a welcome or pleasant surprise. It was early, but his father never did anything at the right time. And this morning he called him by name and said good morning. Based on their communication history, that qualified as cheerfulness. And he said he could call back. That meant the call wasn’t important, that there was no reason for the weird timing. It was simply his father doing the wrong things at the wrong time.

It’s just that I don’t expect calls until a little later in the day. William wouldn’t say that no one in his right mind called at six a.m. on a workday just to chat. Nor would he mention that because of the call he wouldn’t have time to work out, that his morning routine was ruined. No matter how nicely he said those things, his father would think he was criticizing.

William, I want to tell you something. Albert swallowed and tried to take a deep breath, preparing to break the awful news. Instead, he choked. Unable to stop his cough, he hacked sharply into the mouthpiece.

William jerked the phone away, the loud burst hurting his ear. Father, are you okay?

Yes. His throat burned as he gasped out his answer. Albert covered the mouth piece and tried to recover his breath, wishing he could wait to speak again until his throat felt better. I’m fine. The words squeaked out.

Are you sure? Just take your time. William heard slow, careful breathing on the other end. After a few seconds of waiting, he added, I’ll need to get to work soon.

That wasn’t true, but truth was never an obligation when he talked to his father. This morning, there was an extra awkwardness about the call that upset William. He didn’t want his father to think he was trying to get rid of him, but it would be nice to hear a full sentence. William waited for his father to recover, to say something. Anything.

He was relieved that at least it wasn’t bad news. His mother would be calling if there were anything wrong. She was probably asleep, like all the normal people in Albuquerque. Besides, his father would never call for anything important, anyway – good or bad.

William recoiled from another loud cough and wondered how long he should wait before he told his father he would call later from the office. The reason for the call didn’t matter, anyway. They would probably just end up getting pissed off at each other. Like all the other times.

William, Albert was amazed he couldn’t say anything more. His throat felt a little better, but now he had trouble speaking for a different reason. He couldn’t say Night Train has died out loud. If he tried to speak, the words would be gibberish. He decided to say nothing.

Father, are you still there? William closed his eyes and let his head roll back.

Jesus, he must drive Mom nuts. Please, what do you want?

He opened his eyes and stood. Father, are you still there? His tone was sharper. Still silence on the other end.

Goddamn it, just give the phone to Mom? Wake her up, for God’s sake, I need her to get on the phone.

William was upset he couldn’t hang up, blame a bad connection, and call back later and explain the abrupt end. Or, better yet, call later and explain to his mother. Talking to her would help. As far as William was concerned, he and his father got along best if they didn’t speak too often, or for too long.

Father, are you all right? He tried not to yell. Why didn’t his father say anything? Why did he call but then say nothing? And at six a.m. Father, are you still there? Why don’t you put Mom on the phone, okay?

Albert resented William’s exasperation, intensifying each time William asked if he was still there. Albert gave himself a pep talk, trying to find the energy to finish his message.

He’s already mad, so just hurry up and tell him. Then hang up and let him get to work. Besides, I have work to do, too. I have to take care of Night.

Albert took a deep, careful breath to compose himself. It was important that his son didn’t think he was stupid for calling. Especially about this.

William, I have some bad news.

He had one chance to tell William about Night Train, or else give up and ask Emily to call later and explain. But hanging up wasn’t the answer. William wouldn’t listen to Emily’s explanation, but only complain that it was impossible to talk to Father. Albert knew what William would say: Mom, don’t let Father call. He gets confused and doesn’t make any sense. He emphasized Father, contorting his face as though saying the word was painful. Albert wondered why his son always said Father so oddly, so coldly, without much, if any, emotion or friendliness.

Father. William’s voice was flat and very clear. Please, you have to tell me what you’re talking about. What was so important that it had to be resolved at six in the morning? The coffee pot wouldn’t work, the paper boy didn’t show up, K-Mart ran out of flannel shirts.

William, we had a death this morning. It was the best he could do. The rest was too awful to say out loud.

The words jolted William.

What the fuck? Mom would never let him call to say someone died. What the hell is going on down there?

Dementia was his first thought. Everyone knew that was where this was all headed, anyway. William stood and shook his fist. He pictured his father fumbling with the phone and trying to say something far too complicated for him.

Father, what happened? Please, just tell me again what you’re talking about.

Albert was distraught and flustered.

All I have to say is Night Train has died. Just that. Why can’t I just say that?

And why did William have to get angry, why couldn’t he just wait a minute? Just one more minute. Albert breathed deeply, then started again.

We were together so long, William, and now, he faltered, his ability to speak gone.

Damn it to hell, why can’t I just say what I want to say.

Where’s Mom? William became more and more agitated each time his father started a sentence he couldn’t finish. "Please, put Mom on the phone." He was insistent, but there was no response.

Why do we have to go through this shit every goddamn time? Jesus, just say what you have to say.

William told himself to calm down, to speak slowly, to use his sense and good judgment to figure out the problem.

Father, please give the phone to Mom. I need to talk to Mom. The softer tone was better. It wouldn’t help to get angry now. William knew if he didn’t help his father say whatever it was he was trying to say, he would never know what was going on.

In a panic, Albert was certain now that the call was a terrible idea. Why had he thought William would care? He never cared about anything, and now he was mad. And Emily would be mad when she got home and found out they had another argument. Another stupid argument.

He closed his eyes and hung his head.

Why isn’t Emily home? Why didn’t I wait for her to get back? Why, why, why?

His wife would have saved him from this awful call.

Father! Please. Put Mom on the phone. I need to talk to Mom for a second. Okay? William was proud at how calm he was. He knew his father would be pleased, too.

He’s right. The best thing is for Emily to call later. She can tell him about Night Train without stumbling around for words.

He straightened himself in the chair and took another slow, deliberate breath.

William, your mother is gone. I can’t put her on the phone. The two sentences required a monumental effort.

Albert hesitated and William spoke before his father could continue.

Father, I need to talk to Mom. This was important, after all. Now, he was worried but had to be calm. Very, very calm. Congratulating himself that even at six a.m. he was a clear thinker, William stood and paced in a tight circle, running his free hand through his hair. He knew his father would appreciate his patience. Father, please, where is Mom?

Albert’s sadness turned every thought to his dog. How would Emily tell William about Night Train’s death? What words would she use? Albert couldn’t simply tell William that his mother would be calling later with some important news, and leave it at that. William wouldn’t be satisfied. He would want to know more. Who wouldn’t? No, Albert couldn’t wait for Emily. But how could he tell William about Night Train if he couldn’t speak, if all he could do was stammer and choke and cry?

Suddenly, the theme from Final Jeopardy started in Albert’s head. Time was running out and soon he would have to give an answer to the hardest question of the day. He and Night Train watched Jeopardy every day, and Albert wanted to be on the show just so he could tell Alex Trebek about his wonderful dog. Then he remembered William was on the phone and that he had to say something to him. The theme music reminded Albert he had no time to spare.

William? Speaking was still harder than he ever imagined.

Yes, Father? Please, what is it? William hung his head.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Just tell me what’s wrong.

William, Albert faltered. He knew it was now or never – if he didn’t blurt out the news all at once it would never come out. It’s the burial, William. I don’t know what to do about the goddamn burial. He hung his head and began to cry.

The phone call was a disaster.

His powers to explain were gone.

He couldn’t say the right things to his son.

His wife had abandoned him.

He was the only one who cared that his dog was dead.

Then Alex Trebek smiled and said, ‘Okay, players, pens down, please!’ Final Jeopardy was over. It was over and Albert couldn’t think of a single thing to write.

* * *

William put his hand over the phone and stared at the wall. Now, he understood. Now, he knew exactly why his father had called. Everything was obvious. The evidence was clear, so easy to understand, so unbelievable. A death in the family, someone who had been with his father a long time, his mother gone, a burial.

And his father’s grief.

His father, solitary and paralyzed with sadness, was William’s only concern. No wonder it took him so long to explain. No wonder he could barely speak. Everything was different, in the most horrible way.

William put the phone down, then stood up and ran both hands through his hair. Immediately he thought he was going to throw up, and sat back down on the bed to calm himself.

I have to be strong. I have to be calm and clear. Father needs me not to panic.

He was thankful he had listened so carefully, so patiently. It was time for him to be helpful. And he would be, speaking gently and considering his father’s feelings carefully. William picked up the phone.

Father? William couldn’t believe his saint-like patience, showing powerfully as he spoke in soft tones. Don’t worry about the burial. Don’t worry about anything. I know what you’re trying to tell me. I understand, and I’ll help you with everything. He breathed deeply, remembering how difficult it had been for his father to tell him the horrible news.

Thank you, William. Albert was grateful his son finally understood. It had been so much harder to tell him about Night Train than he imagined.

William didn’t need specifics. They weren’t necessary, and his father couldn’t provide them. It wasn’t the right time for more information, anyway; neither of them needed that pain. It was hard to speak, but he had say the right words, the perfect words, to ensure they made it through this horrible ordeal.

You were together so long, and you loved her so much. We all loved her so much. Everyone could tell you were best friends. Just by the way you were around each other. The gentle words of comfort would prove he was a good son.

"Thank you, William."

Father, I am so sorry. I know it was hard, but thank you so much for calling. William wanted to stop, to lie down, fall into a heavy sleep, and wake up again to a more normal day – a day where everyone was alive and his father wasn’t incoherent at six in the morning.

Albert almost cried when William said We all loved her so much, then smiled at the soft, gentle words. His son understood how he felt. Everyone did love Night Train. Albert was glad William didn’t say it was stupid to have a dog for his best friend. And it wasn’t important that William didn’t remember Night Train wasn’t a her. Not really. He wanted to hang up and leave everything like this. His son had stopped being mad, and spoke kindly and listened and didn’t act as though what he heard was stupid or wrong.

Thank you. Albert hoped ‘thank you’ was enough. He was impressed with his son’s kindness and wanted to reassure him he would be all right. Maybe in a couple of days, a couple of weeks, perhaps in a month or two. Certainly by this time next year. But those words were as hard to say as telling William about Night Train’s death.

He’s been so nice this morning. Maybe I’ve misunderstood him. It’s nice he understands how hard it is now that Night Train is gone.

Father, I know there’s nothing anyone can say that’s very helpful right now. It’s awful and I know I can’t really imagine all the sadness you feel, but it’s a terrible day, a terrible, sad day for me, too. He wanted to say more, so much more, but would wait until he got to Albuquerque and they could talk face-to-face. It was a miracle they hadn’t pissed each other off already.

Thank you, son. Again, those words were the only ones Albert could manage. The call was a good idea, after all. He waited for what his son would say to him next.

William took a moment to compose himself, then cleared his throat and began.

I’ll get a flight home as soon as I can. I’ll be there by mid-afternoon or early evening, no matter what. I promise, Father. I promise.

William’s words were a surprise and a bit frightening, but Albert felt less upset about his own inability to deal with his loss, now that he knew his son was so saddened he was flying all the way from Seattle for Night Train’s funeral. It was helpful to know his own response was not, apparently, an over-reaction. Despite the sympathy and promise of help, Albert knew he should give his son an opportunity to bow out gracefully. He wanted him to understand he wasn’t expected to come home.

That’s not something you have to do.

William was stunned at his father’s unkind words.

Jesus Christ! Why is he telling me that? Of course it’s something I have to do. I have to be there. What’s wrong with you, Father?

Instantly ashamed at his anger, he vowed not to say anything even mildly critical. It was normal, this sadness that prevented his father from realizing what he’d said. Who wouldn’t be uncontrollably sad? And his father had more calls to make. William thought of his brothers and sisters. How would his broken father tell them the awful news?

It was obvious to William that his father had called him first to ask for his help, and it was equally obvious that the best way to help was to take on the task of telling the others. It would be much easier on them, too. If he didn’t make the calls and explain, his brothers and sisters would be stymied by his father’s inability to communicate, unable to put the evidence together like he had. It was unfair to blame them, but they would surely make their father feel worse.

That’s the real reason Father called me first. He wanted help, but didn’t know how to ask.

Easing his father’s pain was William’s newest focus. Father, why don’t you let me tell the others? I’ll let them know what’s happened. That way you don’t have to worry about making any other calls. Okay?

Albert was astonished at William’s reaction and unsure what his son was asking. After all, he had barely asked about Night Train after abandoning the puppy fifteen years ago. The strange turn in the conversation was unnerving. Should he tell his son he didn’t know who else would want to know, that probably no one, besides Emily, would be as interested in Night’s death?

Keeping up with his son tired and confused Albert terribly. Maybe William felt guilty about not paying attention to Night Train and wanted to make up for it now, at the end. Albert knew some people were like that. He took a deep breath before he began.

William, faltering, Albert wondered how to tell his son that he didn’t want to talk to anyone else about Night Train.

Yes, Father.

Albert closed his eyes and spoke quietly, I’m not sure who else will want to know.

The words scared William. How could his father say such horrible things? How could he forget his other children, think they wouldn’t want to know? Didn’t he understand they would be devastated? This was a dangerous level of grief.

Also, William hated to admit it at this sensitive time, but he was disappointed, again. His father wasn’t relieved to have his help and didn’t appreciate the effort he was making. Then, in a revelation, he realized why. It was simple: his father was embarrassed asking for the help he desperately needed. William sat up straighter, determined to prove his resolve to be a good son.

Please, I’ll tell the other kids. No one else. Then I’ll get to Albuquerque as fast as I can and help with everything else. He had never been impressed with his father’s way of dealing with anything, and this strange conversation proved nothing had changed. William knew he had to be the link to his brothers and sisters. He would be very careful, telling them gently about the awful death and explaining sensitively their father’s condition. His help was vital.

It was insanity to let his father even think of talking to anyone else. The frail, shocked, and distressed man didn’t know what he was saying. He surely didn’t need to be more upset than he was now. William alone would know how overwhelmed their father was by strain and grief. His head spun at all he had to do, the difficulty of his task slowly dawning on him.

Oh, dear God, this is getting so damn complicated. But stay calm. Remember, you have to be calm.

Father, please, don’t worry about anything. I’ll call Robert and James and Mary. I’ll even call Marcia.

At the thought of talking to Marcia, his youngest sibling, William closed his eyes tightly and scowled in anguish. Now his father would surely understand what a good son he had.

Okay? Please let me do that. Please let me tell them. I’ll still get home first, but I’ll call the others before I leave. Believe me, everything will be okay.

Albert offered no resistance, again thinking he should have waited for Emily to come home and take care of everything. She would have made him think before he said anything. She would have told him how to break the news gently, not blurt out the awful news, agitating William so badly. Even better, she would have explained everything for him. Now, William was so sad he was trying to be helpful. Albert had no idea his son was going to take Night Train’s death so hard.

Fine, William, you may tell your brothers and sisters. Albert was sure William was overstating the other children’s interest, but it would be nice for them to know.

Thanks, Father, I’ll call them right away. His voice reflected his relief.

Thank you. When you talk to them, tell them I’m fine, please.

I’ll do that. I’ll call them all this morning and let them know you’re okay.

Of course, he would lie to his brothers and sisters. Their father wasn’t okay, but he would be soon. Everyone was depending on him and William was relieved he was responsible for this important task. He had been called first and would be the first one home. That was very important. Then his father would be better, and, after awhile, they would all be okay. It would save his father from revisiting his grief with each call, and would make up for his own uncharitable thoughts, before he knew the reason for the call.

I’ll make sure I get to Albuquerque this afternoon. He smiled to reassure his father. And please don’t worry, I’ll help with everything.

That’s very nice, William. Thank you.

Why don’t you get some rest? When I get home, we can talk some more.

Yes, we’ll talk when you get here. Albert knew he had to say something to prepare William for their later conversation. But, please, don’t be mad. I know I can explain. He knew William would probably be mad anyway, but he couldn’t say anything more. Right now, everything was too confusing.

William frowned, not understanding what his father meant.

Why would I be mad? Jesus, what have we done to each other?

I won’t be mad, I promise. He would have hugged his father if he could. Everything is going to be all right. It will take a little time, but you and I – all of us – will get over this. Please, just get some rest.

I will. I’ll rest until you get here. His son was right. He would rest. Albert smiled, wishing there had been more smiles between them over the years. He also wanted William to know how much he appreciated his concern. I think I feel better.

That’s great. William flinched at the effort that talking to his siblings would require. Well, I think I better get going on those calls.

Okay. Thank you for doing that. Albert hoped William would explain Night Train’s death gently.

Don’t worry about anything. I’ll see you soon, okay? William stood up again, worried about all he had promised to do.

Yes, that will be very nice.

There was so much to do and William wanted to hang up and start being a good, helpful son.

Have a good flight, William.

I will. And you rest, okay? Maybe you should go back to sleep.

I will. I’ll be rested when you get here. Albert wondered how to end the call. Then we can talk.

Yes, we’ll talk about everything. When I get there, okay?

That will be nice. Albert was glad they would talk about everything, even though he had no idea what that included.

We’ll talk when I’m there. And not here. Why wouldn’t his father hang up?

Goodbye, William.

Bye, Father.

William, eat. Albert wondered once more whether he had said something stupid. But he knew Emily would have told her son to eat.

I will. Well, goodbye.

Thanks very much, William.

William hung his head and stared at the floor, wondering whether his father had any idea how much he had to do. Bye, Father, I can’t wait to see you.

Goodbye, William. Thanks for coming home.

You’re welcome, Father. Bye. William hung up, hoping he had done the right thing.

Why had they not talked more, he wondered. It wasn’t so hard, after all. Despite the horrible news, they still managed to get some very important things straightened out. And he would help his father to get through the staggering sadness.

And this, he knew, was only the beginning of the sadness. The calls to his brothers and sisters would be very, very hard. He decided to make them later. Right now, he needed to rest, to think, to console himself with the reminder that he was the child who rescued his father from his grief and softened the imminent and profound mourning for the rest of his family.

William was proud that his father had chosen him to be the first to know.

Softer than a whisper, he spoke out loud to himself. God Almighty, Mom is dead.

Return to Table of Contents

Chapter 2

William? Albert spoke gently into the phone. William, are you still there? No answer, then a dial tone. I guess we’re done.

He hung up, not believing the things his son said, or understanding exactly what had happened.

But his son was coming home. That much was clear. It amazed Albert that William still cared so much for Night Train. And he had said that everyone loved Night. Albert was grateful for such considerate children. He also wondered what his wife would think.

God, I hope Emily gets home before William.

He thought of what he had to tell her when she returned from her trip. First, that he upset William, but that their son was not mad and was going to tell all the children about Night Train. He would ask Emily to call William, to let him know he didn’t have to come back if he didn’t really want to. If he didn’t have time, if he decided it was a mistake and he couldn’t come after all, then he didn’t have to. But the idea that his son would change his mind made Albert’s heart hurt. Then Emily could call the others to tell them he would understand if they couldn’t come for the funeral, either.

He considered looking for the itinerary Emily had left, to find out