Page 1 of Signed With Love

Chapter One

Claire

I’ve never done anything extraordinary with my life. My mother taught me at a young age that I should leave my mark on this world. I haven’t, and I'm okay with what others would call a mediocre life. My sister was the one who saved lives.

Maddie was always the overachieving twin. Everything I did in life paled in comparison, so I became her shadow. I was okay with that until I started walking in the sun alone. Since I’ve lost her, nothing has ever seemed the same.

My phone buzzes from my back pocket, dragging my attention from my wandering thoughts while I wait for the train. I pull the phone out and open the text message from my mother as the early spring breeze whips my long honey hair across my face. The silky texture caresses my fingertips.

Be careful and have a safe train ride up. We’ll see you soon. Dad made your favorite soup for lunch.

I smile at the text message, then type a quick response. My cashmere sweater caresses my forearms as my thumbs make quick work of the keyboard.

I usually drive the couple hours from my place in Anchorage to the small town of Casper my parents call home. But the train ride allows me an unhindered view of the Alaskan land and time to reflect. To clear my anxious mind and wandering thoughts.

I’m always careful, I text back.

The low rumble of the approaching train shakes the ground with sharp vibrations as it reaches the station. It lasts only a few moments before the train comes to a complete stop. Someone accidentally shoves into my shoulder, jolting my body forward and knocking my oversized purse to the ground. Thankfully, my phone doesn’t drop. Still, I tighten my grip on it.

I bend down to quickly gather the fallen items before I miss my train. Once the purse strap is back on my arm, I take the metal steps onto the train and walk down the narrow aisle. There are quite a few other passengers today since it’s tourist season, and I let my gaze catalog each of them.

An elderly woman, grouchy-faced while wearing a subdued smile, glances up from her craft magazine. She seems not as thrilled about the ride north as I am. A younger man sits across the aisle from her. He’s barely old enough to take a solo train ride, but he’s dressed well enough that it appears he knows how to handle himself. There’s a young woman behind him, her face buried in a hardback book, earbuds already in her ears.

A firm and heavy hand lands on my shoulder and jerks me to a halt. I turn wide-eyed and watch as the man’s lips move so I can attempt to understand what he’s telling me. He’s speaking too quickly to read what he’s saying past that burly mustache he has. His eyes are crinkled from days in the sun, and his skin looks worn. Focus on his lips.

I shake my head. I don’t know what I can say in return even if I could get the words out. A wave of adrenaline rushes through my body, and sweat breaks out under my arms. My hands tighten harder around the phone that I press close to my chest. I can’t pry them away to type a message either.

The colorful yet worn wallet Mom bought me from a flea market last spring is waving in front of my face. The man’s eyes narrow as he extends the wallet toward me again. I grab it from his weathered hand. He’s speaking again but moves his head to the side, looking out the window toward the platform.

The prickling sensation overtakes my body when the man’s dark eyes land on me again. He’s waiting for something. Does he want a reward for returning it? I open my wallet and search inside, but I already know there won’t be cash to give him. Money has a wretched scent to it, and I nearly gag when I come in contact with it. Dad warns me it’s not always accessible to use a credit card.

I could write him a check, although I don’t want this stranger to know my name and address. I hesitate and look up. He’s shaking his head, his jaw clenched. This time I stare hard at his lips when they move and catch what he’s saying. You dropped it.

I take my right hand and raise it to my chin, then lower my hand toward the gentleman with a weak smile. Thank you.

He nods and turns to find his seat after he waves a dismissive hand in my direction, the dull gold band of his wedding ring glinting in the morning sunlight. I turn back around to my seat and sit. I failed at that social interaction, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m really rusty with hearing people.

The worn velvet of the armrest scratches at my forearms, so I roll my sleeves down. The scenery becomes my only comfort the rest of the train ride. The Chugach Mountains stretch far in the distance as the wave of unease finally passes.

I make this same trip at least once a month to check on my parents. They moved north to a small village when the hectic city life of Anchorage became too much for them. My father asked me to move with them, but I wasn’t willing to uproot my life on a whim like they had. I liked my routine and structure. I like my home, a quaint studio apartment downtown with everything I need to live comfortably. I wasn’t willing to give up my teaching job yet; my students mean too much to me, and it is close to the nursing home where Maddie worked. It keeps her close to me, even when all I have of her now is memories.

When we arrive in Casper, a few passengers rise to leave the train, and I blend in with those ready to see the sights the last frontier holds for them. Perhaps they’re gold-seeking enthusiasts searching for a lost treasure. Or perhaps they know the real boon Alaska offers—the raw and untouched nature. As for me, I take a deep breath and prepare for the weekend ahead instead.

My love for my parents is mingled with unmet expectations and unguarded grief. Since they lost my twin sister last year, my mother expects me to do so much more with my life because Maddie can’t. I’m just focused on surviving without her. Dad looks at me and sees her. I’m still trying to see myself and not remember her all the time.

The walk through town isn’t much; Casper contains nothing but a strip of businesses, old but charming and welcoming to the small group of tourists they do get. There’s an airport where the bush pilots work to get goods in and out of the small surrounding towns, a few places to rest like the Bittersweet Inn or Nora’s Diner to grab a meal. There’s a bar named O’Reilly’s somewhere, but drinking isn't something I partake in often, so I haven’t sought it out.

With my bag secure, I take the mile walk to my parents’ home. They rent a small place from one of the locals. They wanted to buy, but I warned against making such a purchase in case their wandering hearts took them somewhere else. Despite their obtrusive personalities, they’re reasonable. Sometimes.

My hiking boots allow me to make up the distance from the train station to their home in no time. I'm a nature-seeker, I suppose, but not to the extent of my father. Not only is he a fisherman, but he’s an old treasure hunter, although any caches he came upon in their journeys were minimal. Now Mom hunts flea markets, and Dad has retired to showing his loot to any unsuspecting visitors.

Like Jamison. With my mind conjuring his name, a vision of him flashes before my eyes in a vivid reminder of my parents’ handsome landlord. I shake my head, removing the image as quickly as it comes, focusing on the path through town, the pavement hard beneath my boots and the fresh spring air whipping my hair against my cheeks, not on the firm set of his chiseled jaw or the way his emerald eyes always seem probing and curious, like they are searching for the next grand adventure.

Another whip of wind brings the scent of cologne to me, one that hides the lingering smell of a woman’s floral perfume. I glance at a passing gentleman who tips his head in a hello. His eyes scan the length of my body with interest.

I give him a once-over. His eyes are dull and lack any real truth or connection. His suit is pressed, but his white shirt is no longer wrinkle-free. Someone found another escape in Casper today.

Before I know it, I’m in the heart of downtown Casper, between the few two-story brick buildings that make it up. There isn’t but a handful of people milling around town, and they’re laughing, heads tilted back, sharing conversations with others as they travel to their destinations. The traffic is minimal, and a Jeep and two other older trucks are parked near the curb. With springtime in the air, there are more people coming out to enjoy the nicer weather.

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