SIXTEEN: Taryn

SIXTEEN

TARYN

Traveling on I-80 East

The green van in the right lane ahead of us isn’t moving.

A woman and three bundled kids are standing beside it, while a man is working under the hood.

Other cars are passing them by as if they don’t exist.

“Hold on,” James says, pulling next to them and rolling down the window. “Need some help?”

“A boost would be nice,” the guy says. “And a car jack if you’ve got time to help me with one.”

He glances at me. “Do we?”

I nod, and he steps out.

“You’re free to get inside and warm up while we work.” James opens the backdoor for the mom and the children.

I offer them our snacks, and we watch as James and the husband work on fixing the problems.

“All set.” James opens the backdoor two hours later. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Oh gosh, thank you.” The woman wipes tears from her eyes and hugs him. “Thank you so so much, sir!”

“You’re welcome.”

She doesn’t let go of him.

Her husband has to practically pull her away.

We wait for them to pull onto the road first, and then James resumes the drive.

“Are you okay?” He looks at me.

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

I say nothing for several miles, simply staring straight ahead.

“That was a sweet thing you did back there, James,” I finally speak. “I wish someone had helped my parents long ago. It would’ve changed everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“The only reason they bought a last minute train ticket was because their car stopped working and no one stopped to help,” she says. “They called a cab and thought it was ‘fate’ that we were all taking the train with my aunts.”

A flash of the past—the same scene that haunts my nightmares from time to time crosses in front of me. I’m drinking a hot cocoa as the train rattles forward, and then I’m pushed to the floor before everything burst into flames.

The phrase ‘sole survivor’ still hurts.

I shake my head, refusing to let the moment play any further.

James leans over to wipe my tears as I cry.