The sun was just beginning to push through the clouds that draped over the Greyhound Bus Terminal on the corner of Mission and First in Downtown Los. Angeles when the six o’clock bus screeched to a halt. It was nearly half an hour late when it pulled into Gate 2, and the line of passengers waiting to go east shifted their weight from one foot to the other and checked their watches. 

Arlene was no exception. One glance at her wrist confirmed that she and her son would begin their journey twenty-seven minutes late. Yet despite the delay, and the weight of the overstuffed duffle hanging from one shoulder, and Jason’s equally heavy Thomas the Train backpack hanging from her other shoulder, Arlene relaxed. She looked forward to sitting in the back of the bus, listening to the rumble of the engine, setting aside the events of the last two weeks.  

“Is this our bus?” Jason pressed against his mother’s thigh, trying to get a better look.   

Arlene tightened her fingers around his. “Yeah.”

“But my daddy can’t come, right?”

Instead of answering, Arlene dragged their red suitcase closer. It made a screetchy-scratchy sound as it edged across the concrete.

“But will my daddy find our new house?”

Arlene slipped her hand in her pocket and brushed the edge of their tickets. She didn’t know what to say. It was the same question he had asked again and again, ever since they started packing the apartment. She had no idea how to make Jason understand that his daddy wasn’t coming home. He was dead.

She swallowed. It was no use, not really, for he had only turned three. Although he had been told that his daddy was dead and that now he would live in Heaven, it meant nothing to the child. For whether Jason’s daddy was deployed in Afghanistan, Iraq, or Heaven, it was all the same. Daddy had been away “fighting bad guys” and “helping people who need help” throughout all of his young life.  

Arlene watched the driver step off the bus. Soon they would be on their way; through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and then past a whole bunch of “M” states in the middle. If Arlene remembered right, and she knew she did, the bus would also stop in St. Louis. After St. Louis it would continue through Pennsylvania and New York, probably driving through the night till it arrived in Boston.  There Arlene’s sister would meet them in her Volkswagen — that is, if she still had the Volkswagen.  Either way, Arlene planned to strap Jason in the back seat and instruct him to sit still and look out the window. — Just play with your Hot Wheels, honey.  

She was sure it would keep Jason busy. For amidst all of Arlene’s preparations, packing the red suitcase and carrying out cardboard boxes stuffed with the last remnants of their life with Frank, the child remained engrossed in play, pushing his Hot Wheels across the carpet, and talking to himself. — Now we’re in Texas, Yellow Dump Truck. Daddy’ll meet us later.  

They were an odd contrast: the little boy who couldn’t wait to go on his first bus ride, and his young mother with bloodshot eyes. 

**

The first time Arlene rode the Greyhound she was excited, too. She had just turned nineteen and was on her way to California. Her plan was to live with her aunt in the land of sunshine and California poppies. She had one whole year to decide what she wanted to do with her life. Her short-term plan was easier: find a waitressing job. 

That first morning on the bus Arlene pressed her cheek against the cool glass and thought about her future, watching the landscape until her eyes quivered shut. Looking back, Arlene had to confess that she didn’t have to go all the way to California to find her future. She found it in Saint Louis, in the stranger with broad shoulders and a dimpled smile. Frankie – the man who would later become Jason’s daddy. 

His full name was Franklin Benjamin. It was his parents’ twist on the inventor, straight out of the history books. They hoped the name would ensure their son a promising future as an engineer, a scientist, or maybe a doctor. Something, anything better than what their small-town in Indiana offered. 

Frankie was dressed in shorts that day. Arlene looked up to see him staring at her, and for a moment, their eyes met. Then he turned away, and she felt a strange twinge of regret.   

But forty-two hours, in Albuquerque, Frankie climbed off the bus and stood behind Arlene at the food counter. She could hear him speaking with another traveler in line – the slight pause he took at the end of the sentence – and she matched her breath to his. 

It was in Arizona, in the middle of the night, that they spoke for the first time. They were sitting across the aisle from one another, and Frankie spoke first, his voice soft so as not to awaken the other passengers.  

 “Are you going to California?” The moonlight caressed the edge of his cheek as he leaned across the aisle.

“Yeah.” 

“Me, too.” 

In the dim light they talked, their eyes holding tight to a whole different conversation. When they talked about it later, curled up in each other’s arms, wrapped in a tangle of sheets, Arlene confessed she couldn’t remember the details. 

But Frankie remembered everything. They talked about her aunt in California, and his parents’ dream that he become a pilot, a doctor, or lawyer. Only the first held any interest to him, but Frankie had chosen his own destiny. He shifted onto his elbow as he explained this to her. When he was finished, he grinned, revealing a single dimple – a tiny crescent – on the left side of his cheek. Then he pulled her close, and his body warm and damp.

He was on his way to join the Army. He was inspired by the idea he could be “all that he could be” and travel to foreign lands. And somehow, in the middle of the days and weeks and months that followed, Arlene became Frankie’s wife, and the slogan took on a new meaning. In her memories, it merged with Frankie’s kiss, his smile, his touch, and it carried her through the long nights of sleeping alone, staring at his pillow.

 Two years passed, and Arlene found herself still staring at Frankie’s pillow, but this time, their child was snuggled under her arm. Not a day went by that she didn’t think of her husband, so far away from home. This is not to say that Arlene didn’t understand the terms of his deployment, she did. She took what she could — phone calls, letters, short visits – patiently waiting for the time when she would have Frankie home forever. And Jason would have his daddy.  

One week before Jason’s third birthday, Arlene received the good news that Frankie was coming home to stay. As he explained it, the conflict that wasn’t a conflict was over. He promised to call soon with more details.

Six days passed quickly by. On the seventh day, the day of Jason’s birthday, Arlene picked up a birthday cake and an eight-pack of Hot Wheels on the way home from work. She kicked off her shoes by the front door, left the cake on the kitchen counter, and tiptoed into the front room. A brand-new yellow dump truck was hidden in her pocket. 

“Mommy!” Jason tumbled off his babysitter’s lap when he saw his mother. 

“He was very good…,” old Miriam stood up, her eyes crinkling into a smile. 

Arlene pulled out a five from her purse and handed it to her neighbor. When old Miriam

left, she sank into the sofa. Jason climbed into his mother’s lap

 “How many days now?” 
             “Soon, very soon…”  Arlene wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

“Will he ‘member me?” He turned to look at her, his eyes serious.

“You silly… of course.” Arlene brushed her fingers through his curls. They were Frankie’s curls: thick, dark, and stubborn

It was then that Arlene remembered the dump truck in her pocket. She wrapped her fingers around the cold plastic, but before she could pull it out and surprise Jason, “Five O’Clock News Hour” flashed across the television screen.

There, in front of her, was a smiling enlistment picture of Jason’s daddy.  

**

The knock on the door came the next morning. It confirmed that the caption under Frankie’s picture had been accurate. For on the other side of his date of birth, beside the hyphen and beside the word “died,” there was a date: the day before yesterday. Because Frankie was dead. 

Arlene closed the door behind the uniformed officer. She sat down at the kitchen table and watched Jason — now three years and one day old — pour Cheerios into his bowl all by himself. Near the end, a handful came tumbling down too fast. They missed the bowl entirely and crashed onto the floor.

 Jason looked up. “I’m sorry, Mommy. It’s an accident.” 

It was too late. Arlene had already started to cry. 

**

“Can my daddy find the new house?” Jason repeated.

Before Arlene could answer, the boy began to wiggle from side to side, pointing at the line in front of them.

“Look, Mommy, look!”

Boarding at Gate 2 had begun. One at a time, passengers were climbing aboard. In minutes, it would be their turn.

Arlene felt a tightening in her chest. It crept upwards and pressed against her throat. It made it hard for her to breathe. She knew she had to move on. She knew she had to start over, but she was leaving the best part of her life behind, including the husband she buried.

Tears gathered in her eyes. It was hard to see the line of passengers. She blinked, and at that very same moment, a burst of sunlight streamed in through the Greyhound terminal window. It rippled across her sleeve and settled on her wrist.

Arlene studied the splotch of light, now shimmering on her finger, inches away from her wedding ring.

In one quick motion, she knelt down beside Jason and wrapped him in her arms. His breath was warm against her cheek.

“Listen,” she whispered, her eyes locking into his. “Your daddy will always be able to find our house.” She raised her hand to his chin and smiled.

Jason leaned closer to his mother, then smiled back. And Arlene noticed, for the first time, the crescent-shaped dimple on the left side of his cheek. 

Four minutes later, Arlene was standing in front of the door to the bus, her fingers circled around Jason’s. It was time. She handed the conductor their tickets, and then glanced back at the terminal, which was now bathed in bright, white six-forty-five-in-the-morning sunshine. 

A new day was beginning.

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