Page 59 of Whistle

Charlie walked through Choo-Choo’s Trains as though still emerging from a dream. He remained so exhausted from his hours of

nonstop bicycling that the enormity of what had just happened had yet to sink in. His legs ached, his chest hurt with every

breath he took, even his arms were sore from holding on to those raised handlebars. Looking back, he realized that bike ride

had been similar to one of this sleepwalking episodes. Had he actually been awake as he pushed on those pedals, or under some

kind of spell from Mr. Nabler?

He’d been functioning while under a delusion, that was for sure, thinking that his father was alive. He knew that wasn’t true

now. But other facts had not quite come into focus. Had he really been inside that toy train, looking at his mother through

the top of that dome car? Had his mother really said goodbye to him? Was she really staying here to help that bad man and

sending him, Charlie, away?

Or had she been trying to tell him something?

He walked through the store, paying little attention to the boxed train sets that lined the shelves. They no longer held any

interest for him. If he never played with trains again in his entire life, that would be just fine.

Charlie came to the front door of the shop and stepped outside.

Whoa.

He hadn’t seen any of this when he got to Lucknow. After he had hopped into the van with Nabler, and not long after he’d managed to guess which railroads were represented by many of the patches on his vest, he had fallen asleep, and it wasn’t until the van was parked in the alley behind the shop that Nabler had said, “We’re here!” They had entered through the rear of the store, so the first thing Charlie saw was Nabler’s bizarre model railroad, and at first, he had to admit, he thought it was pretty cool. Totally weird, but cool.

And then he saw the watch.

That was when Charlie knew he’d been tricked.

So as he came out the front door of Choo-Choo’s Trains and stood on the sidewalk, he stared openmouthed at what must have

been, at one time, a vibrant street. It didn’t take him long to notice that the various businesses were just as he had arranged

them, albeit rather crudely, on the floor of his mother’s temporary studio. In his mind, he’d already been here, but when

he imagined Lucknow, it wasn’t deserted like this. The stores weren’t boarded up, didn’t have their windows smashed in. There

certainly wasn’t a moose walking down the middle of the street.

He took a moment to get his bearings, then looked left, saw the downed tree, and beyond it his mother’s car. He started running

toward the car, slipping quickly under the downed tree like he was sliding into home plate, then back on his feet.

He went around to the back of the car, intending to open the hatch, but the bumper was all smashed in, the glass shattered,

and the liftgate damaged to the point that when Charlie hit the button to activate it, it would not budge.

No problem.

He went to the back door on the passenger side, opened it, and crawled in. His booster seat was there, and he got onto it on his knees and leaned over the top of the backseat so he could reach into the cargo area.

Supposedly he was out here to get some fresh clothes, although he also suspected his mother didn’t want him to see something

bad that was about to happen between her and Nabler. He didn’t think it was the sex thing, which he knew plenty about, and

what kid didn’t in this day and age, but it was definitely something not nice and maybe even a little scary.

And, again, he wondered if she had been trying to get some message across to him without sounding like she was.

Like that bit about how when you step on a crack you break your mother’s back? Which made him wince at the recollection, because

he’d lied to her, saying he’d never rattled off that rhyme. He’d said it while skipping along the sidewalk on Bank Street,

but he’d done it without thinking about the words or what they meant. It was a silly rhyme, that’s all.

His mother must have already packed a lot of stuff before finding out that he had slipped out of the house in the night. And,

pushing the various bags around, he found his mother’s clothes and the books she had brought up and her things from the studio.

And, just like she’d said, there was a bag with some of his things in it. Some jeans and shirts and underwear. He pulled out

one of each, and a pair of socks. Should he get changed here, in the car? He felt a little funny about that. Or he could do

it outside of the car, right next to it. No one was going to see him. There was no one left in Lucknow, by the looks of things.

He stopped thinking about putting on fresh clothes and instead recalled something his mother had said. What was it, again?

When you hurt something that’s pretend, it makes the real thing feel the pain.

Charlie began to look through the other bags, at items that were not his. Things that belonged to his mother.

And then he saw the bag his mother had specifically mentioned. The one from Bloomingdale’s, with medium brown bag printed on the side.

When he looked inside, Charlie understood what it was his mother had been trying to tell him.