Blindly trusting David, that was my first mistake.
        It’s been said that it takes a lot of bravery to open your heart to someone, and it’s true. Think of those “trust-building” exercises where one person shuts their eyes and falls backwards, believing that another person will be there to catch them. I found out that allowing someone to come into your heart is far more dangerous—especially if that someone is David.
        Looking back, I still can’t understand why he did it. Why I was the one he had to hurt so badly. And why I ever trusted him to begin with. Usually I don’t do that sort of thing. I’m much more of a wary, overly-cautious person. But every once in a while—this being one of those whiles—I see a reassuring grin, and I forget myself. That smile of his, the go-weak-in-the-knees one, is probably what got me into the whole mess.

My alarm had been buzzing for nearly forty-five minutes before it managed to drag me out of another bad dream and into another bad day. I was already running way behind schedule when I remembered I had run out of toothpaste and found a run in my nylons. The forecasted temperature was 92°, and I’d planned on wearing a comfortable skirt, but the company dress policy required nylons with skirts. I grabbed the first pair of pants I saw—I discovered, on my way out the door, they were wool. No time to go back and change; I had to make it to the station before the eight o’clock train left. I couldn’t afford to be more than twenty minutes late, or my job would be as gone as [unsure what to put here].
        I owe my sincerest thanks to Hermes for the two spots of luck in my morning, because miraculously I made it to the station in time to catch the 7:50 train. Then, since of course there was hardly any room once I got on, a young man stood up and offered me his seat. Blessings from on high! Sitting down gave me a chance to breathe for the first time since I’d woken up. It also meant I could spend the train ride people-watching, which would take my stress level down two or three notches.
        “I’ve tried everything, I can’t get him to stop,” the lady next to me was complaining to someone on her cell phone. She had flaming red, inch-long nails to complement her flaming red lipstick, which in turn matched the cell phone. “He just doesn’t believe me when I tell him that rubbing honey in your hair doesn’t make it grow faster.”
        Three or four heads turned suddenly to look at her as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Man, the stuff you overhear on the way to work these days …
        Across the aisle was a couple in their mid-twenties, oblivious to the world. “Oh, [name], it’s just perfect,” the girl cooed, admiring a gaudy diamond ring on her finger. “Mama and Daddy will be so happy for us!” I hoped “Mama and Daddy” could afford a wedding that would suit this girl’s tastes. Her lavender high heels alone must have cost $200. Did she know how many people she could feed if she sold those shoes? And I imagine a small country could be fed using the profits from that hunk of a diamond.
        In front of me was the guy who gave up his seat for me. Now that I had time for a good look at him, I was impressed. He was wearing a three-piece suit (probably also capable of providing food for the hungry for a few days)—beige, with a navy blue patterned tie. Not bad. But what really intrigued me was a leather book he was holding. It looked like something out of an adventurer story, with thick covers and a strip of leather to tie it shut. From what I could see, the pages were handmade. Definitely not something you stumble across every day, even on the train. I glanced at my watch and back to him, only to find he was looking at me. I quickly turned away; people-watching is only fun when I go unnoticed.
        On the right side of the love-struck couple were three teenage boys, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. They were passing a section of the newspaper back and forth, and I wondered what they were looking at. One of them was saying something—but Miss Cell Phone next to me was yakking too loudly for me to be able to hear. Wait, she paused for a minute. I strained to hear the boy in the middle. “Twenty-seven across says ‘Send home.” Six letters, the fourth is O.” 
        —Hold on, are these kids really doing a crossword puzzle? I thought to myself. —Most kids their age would rather do cocaine. 
        “Deport,” the boy on the left promptly answered. —Wow. They’re better than me. Impressive.
        Miss Cell Phone apparently got tired of listening to someone other than herself talk, and was back to complaining at maximum volume. I tried to ignore her end of the conversation, which now seemed to be about … well, not anything I want to repeat. Luckily the train pulled into the station just then. Miss Cell Phone stood up, the newly-engaged couple kissed, and the teenagers figured out fourteen down (the clue was “Broken,” five letters, second letter A; the answer was “tamed”). As I stood I peeked over at Mr. Beige Suit. He had opened his book and was flipping through it. If I hadn’t been so late already, I would have made an effort to get a glimpse of what was inside, but it was a risk I couldn’t take. I was amazed to have caught the train; better not push my luck with getting to work on time. As Miss Cell Phone headed for the door I turned my head back for one last look at Mr. Beige Suit and his book, and our eyes met.
        “Have a beautiful day,” he said.
        I opened my mouth, then closed it, since no response came to mind. Besides, I was late. Really late. I dashed out the door.

My daily quota of “Things that go well” must have been filled before I got off the train, because life went downhill very quickly after that. I checked my watch just before I opened the door to the main office. —No, I groaned inwardly, don’t let my watch be right. The train doesn’t take that long. It can’t be 8:30 already.
        It was.
        Scott didn’t even look up when I came in. Sorting papers, he said mildly, “One more late arrival, Caitlin, and I mean it—you’re out. Do you know what time you’re assigned to come in every morning?”
        “Eight o’clock,” I sighed. “But my alarm didn’t wake me up, my car is still in the shop from when—”
        “Save it,” he interrupted. “I don’t want excuses. I want punctual employees. Just punch in and get to your desk.” He continued to sort papers as he talked. I knew if I said anything else he’d fire me right then and there, so I reached for my purse to get my company ID.
        My purse!
        I moaned as I put a hand to my head. I wanted to cry. My purse was still on the train, underneath the seat Mr. Beige Suit had given me. “This can’t be happening. Not today,” I said out loud.
        “Excuse me, why are you still standing here? I said to clock in and get to work!” Scott had stopped sorting and was glaring at me. —Perfect, now I’ll get fired anyway. I wanted to curse Hermes. —So much for being the god of luck, I thought bitterly.
        “I left my purse on the train just now,” I explained desperately, hoping for understanding. “It has everything—my driver’s license, my ID, my credit card . . . what am I gonna do?” My voice was beginning to rise in panic, and I felt like I was about to burst into tears.
        The look in Scott’s eyes told me there would be no understanding. “Here’s what you’re going to do: go down to HR, ask for a new ID, clock in, and get to work!” he nearly shouted. “Stop wasting time!”
        That pushed me over the edge, but I couldn’t stand in front of his desk and cry. I walked out of his office as fast as I could, fighting to hold back tears as I waited for the elevator to come. After a minute of impatience I realized that the button hadn’t lit up when I pushed it; pushing it again—and even slamming it with my fist—had no effect, so I headed for the stairs. With the kind of morning I was having, I tripped over my own foot and missed a step, almost falling down the stairwell since tears were blurring my vision. What was I going to do? How on earth was I going to get my purse back? And once I managed that, would Scott let me come back to work? I stomped past the doorman at the entrance, ignoring his cheerful “Good morning, Miss Vaughn.” So far, nothing had been good about it.

“Hello, operator? I need to place a collect call.” I sniffled and attempted to wipe away the mascara lines I surely had from crying. “Yes, Mr. Brent Vaughn please.” I told her the number and wished my headache would go away.
        “One moment and I’ll connect you.” The ringing of the phone did nothing to ease the throbbing of my head, so I was doubly glad when someone on the other end picked up.
        “Hello?”
        “Brent! It’s Caitlin, I need a favor. A big one.”
        “Aw, is my poor baby sister in trouble again?”
        “This is serious, Brent, I’m having the worst day of my life, I’m stranded down here at the train station without any money or any way of getting home … I lost my purse and probably my job …” He had to help. I needed him.
        “Alright, just calm down. I’ll head over and get you. I have to bring Keira with me, though. Gwen went to the gym, so I’m babysitting until I leave for work in a few hours. Tell me which station you’re at.”
I was so relieved, I wanted to jump for joy. After giving him directions and deciding on a meeting place, I hung up and left the payphone booth. —No money, no ID of any sort, no credit cards, no nothing … how am I supposed to fix this mess? I wondered again. —And as though losing my purse wasn’t enough, I walked out at work and Scott will absolutely love firing me. I sat down on a bench and realized the day was already beginning to warm up. —Why, why, why did I have to wear wool pants?
        “Aunt Caitlin!” The cutest little three-year-old voice interrupted my self-pity. I looked up to see Keira struggling to break free of her dad’s hand to run over; but, knowing him, she was stuck until he decided otherwise. He finally let go when they reached me, and she threw herself at my legs.
        “Thank you so much, Brent,” I repeated as I picked Keira up for a hug. “Sorry to make you come all the way out here.”
        “Hey, what are big brothers for?” he smiled. “Have you talked to anyone at the station about your purse?”
        I nodded. “Yeah, they just said that they aren’t responsible for lost or stolen items, blah blah blah, they’ll give me a call if anything turns up.” It didn’t sound like I’d ever get it back. —Time to go home and start canceling credit cards, I thought miserably.
        “Caitlin, have you had anything to eat today?” Brent asked in the same tone our mother used to use. “Let’s stop and get some food. You could probably use a relaxing meal.” —A three-year-old in a restaurant? It will be anything but relaxing. Still, I had to admit that I was hungry, and as I had no money with me, that meant I could make Brent pay …


Getting back into my apartment was an ordeal in and of itself. Mrs. Williamson was out of town, visiting her new grandson, so I couldn’t ask her to come open my door; my lock-picking skills were in dire need of some brushing up, and in the end I had to call a locksmith. At least I had left my checkbook at home that morning and could pay him the exorbitant fee he wanted.
        When I was finally alone (I never really pictured locksmiths as being very loquacious fellows, but this one sure wouldn’t shut up) I sunk onto my bed. Before I knew it, the exhaustion of the day caught up with me, and I was asleep in a matter of minutes. Maybe Hermes was on my side after all, because my slumber was uninterrupted for several hours. I didn’t wake up until the phone started ringing a little after four o’clock.
        “Hello?” I answered, yawning.
        “Hello … I’m trying to get ahold of a Caitlin Vaughn?” replied an unfamiliar male voice.
        “Speaking. May I ask who this is?”
        “My name is David [last name]. I was on the transit just a bit ago nad when I put my briefcase under the seat, I happened to see a purse shoved back under there. I hope you won’t mind that I opened it to try finding some contact information. I have it now, if you’d like to meet me somewhere? Or I can bring it over to you.”
It took me a minute to comprehend what he was saying. Then it clicked. My purse! I could get it back!
“Uh—you—it’s—thank you,” I managed. “Um, my car is actually in the shop right now. I hate to inconvenience you, but if you could bring it by … that would be perfect.”
        “Absolutely. Tell me where and when, I’ll be there.”
        My mind still reeling, I gave him the address and told him five o’clock would work fine for me. He agreed, then we said goodbye after I thanked him again. As I hung up the phone I couldn’t help but smile, although it was a tired smile. Suddenly I became aware of a throbbing headache, no doubt a leftover symptom from my less-than-stellar adventures in the last nine hours. Standing up quickly didn’t exactly make things better, but I made it safely into the bathroom cabinet. Painkillers are wonderful.
        For the next little while I tried to straighten up my poor, trashed apartment. Closets are also wonderful. It’s because of these blessed inventions that I had time for a much-deserved glass of orange juice before David came by with my purse. He was so punctual that he would’ve made Scott get on the desk and jump for joy. The doorbell rang right as the grandfather clock (interestingly enough, it was from my grandfather, but that’s not really important now) struck five.
        Somehow it occurred to me earlier (probably when I woke up uncomfortably warm in my wool pants) to change clothes, so I opened the door looking fairly presentable. Standing in front of my was a young man in a pale blue dress shirt and khaki slacks, holding—praises to thee, O Hermes!—my purse. He smiled as he held out his hand.
        “David [last name],” he said. “You must be Caitlin.”
        Have I ever been so glad to see a stranger? I doubt it. “Yes, yes, I am,” I answered. “Please come in, can I get you something to drink?”

*** This next bit is a part from much, much later in the story. Anyone want to offer ideas of what happens in between? Why is David in Houston? This has to end in heartbreak; should he be intentionally cruel or just accidentally do something horrible to make her cry? ***

I hadn’t planned to ever ride on a bus. My mother’s horror stories about murderers and freaks hanging out around the station and on the bus were always in the back of my mind, and I had no desire to subject myself to such dangers. But in this situation there really was only one option: take the next Greyhound to Houston.
        “Caitlin, I need you to come,” he pleaded. Although I could hear a hint of whining in his voice, it was the underlying—and more sincere—sense of anguish that caught my attention. “Please, Cait. It’s important.” He said something else, but either he was mumbling or the phone cut out for a minute and I didn’t catch his comment. “… if you’ll be here.” It must have been the phone.
        “I can’t just fly out to Texas in the middle of the night. I can’t just fly out anytime. I don’t have that kind of money,” I repeated. “And you have my car. David, this isn’t going to happen.” Yes, he needed me. But I needed to go to work the next morning, to keep the routine in my life, to let him figure out his problems on his own.
        “Then borrow a friend’s car, or take the bus, does it matter how you get here? For heaven’s sake, Caitlin, stop making excuses. Things will be fine if you just come. Please. Trust me.”
        Perfect. Now it was a question of trust. This was truly the pivotal moment—if I still refused to come, I’d lose him. And despite David’s issues … I couldn’t let him go. I’d fall apart the same way he was falling apart now. On the other hand, if I gave in, I’d be risking my life in a far more dangerous way—a twelve-hour bus ride from [place] to Houston. There it was in a nutshell: how much was I willing to give up for him? He wanted to know. He wanted to know if I trusted him, and I was pretty sure he’d have a complete breakdown if I said no.
Like I said before, I’m not a trusting person. But all of a sudden I could picture him smiling at me, that accursed “everything will work out because I love you” smile. In the same instant it I hated it and adored it, but the adoration won out. David had my heart and my trust. I said yes.


Two and a half hours later I was on my way through [place], clutching my duffel bag and biggest purse. It was still the dead of night, and the bus was pretty silent. There were only about eight or ten other people riding, most of them asleep. For me, sleep was out of the question. Sure, the other passengers looked innocent, but no way was I going to just give them free range to go through my belongings or, worse, slit my throat. Unfortunately, the emotional exhaustion alone was enough to knock me out, not to mention how tired my mind and body were. I dreamt about sharks again—they’d been phantom creatures in my dreams for the past three weeks, never close enough to harm me but always somehow haunting merely by their presence.
        When I woke up the sun was giving its faintest light at the edge of the horizon, and we were about 30 miles outside of [place]. Only [#] more hours until we arrived in Houston, [#] long, torturous hours. Impatience, frustration, and anxiety were all fighting for power over me, but as the Greyhound station came into sight, tranquility took control. David would be there waiting for me. I’d be off the bus, safe in his arms again. There he was, I could see him; he was sitting on a bench, reading. Maybe the book was engrossing, because he didn’t look up or even seem to notice me until I’d gotten off the bus and walked over to the bench.
        Had he been crying? Those gorgeous blue eyes were sadder than I’d ever seen them before. But there was a smile there too, a big enough one to convince me that I’d done the right thing by coming.
        “I’m here,” I said unnecessarily.
        He nodded. “I owe you bigtime, Caitlin. Thank you.”