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  Switch: A Novel

  Copyright © 2022 by Heather Vines. All rights reserved.

  Published by:

  Aviva Publishing

  Lake Placid, NY

  (518) 523-1320

  www.AvivaPubs.com

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. Any resemblance to real people and incidents is completely coincidental.

  Address all inquiries to:

  Heather Glenn Vines

  [email protected]

  VinesLines.com

  ISBN: 978-1-950241-16-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2022905869

  Editor: Tyler Tichelaar, Superior Book Productions

  Cover Design and Interior Layout: Fusion Works

  Every attempt has been made to properly source all quotes.

  Printed in the United States of America First Edition

  2 4 6 8 10 12

  To my parents

  Grizel and Sterling

  For showing me that the impossible isn’t.

  Acknowledgments

  A heartfelt thank you to Greg for offering to wade through my early manuscript and provide invaluable feedback. To Peter for volunteering to do the same and then going one step further by recruiting Jennie. A special thank you to Jennie, to Terry, and to Percy for their insights, edits, and encouraging words. And to my editor, Tyler Tichelaar, for his expertise on all levels of the editing process, as well as his subtle humor and warmth.

  Chapter One

  Monday morning, 8 a.m.

  Maggie hadn’t really thought about what she was doing; she was just doing. Moving. And right now, that seemed to be what mattered most. Moving in some direction. What that direction was, well, she’d figure that out later—hopefully. Right now, as the train pulled out of the station, she breathed deeply, letting out what felt like two weeks’ worth of stale air.

  Phoebe was sound asleep beside her, snoring softly, with her little head bobbing up and down, in rhythm with the train’s rocking motion. Maggie reached her hand over and softly stroked her daughter’s curly blond hair. Her fingers unconsciously worked to smooth out the tiny tangles that had formed at the bottom of the strands. A little conditioner, Maggie thought, or even a brush. Things will be different now, she promised herself.

  “Tickets. Tickets, please!” the conductor bellowed as he made his way through the car, rocking and swaying his way down the aisle. By the time he reached Maggie’s seat, Maggie was convinced he’d been walking on trains for so long that he probably had a difficult time walking on land.

  She handed him her two tickets and smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and he nodded. It had been at least twenty years since she’d been on a train—not since she was a little girl, traveling across the country with her father. That trip had also been in March, at the tail end of winter, with the promise of spring and just a hint of newness in the air. Her favorite part, as she recalled, was the dining car. She remembered when she was a young child how difficult it had been to get there without falling. But once there, it was a world unlike any other she’d known. Linen table clothes, a waiter dressed like a penguin, and people from all over the country coming together to this one moving car to dine. She and her father had once shared a table with a gentleman from Nebraska. And another time, a family from Florida. Her father loved nothing better than striking up a conversation with a complete stranger, something she’d never been comfortable doing.

  Oddly, though, Maggie felt safer now than she had in years, on this train, traveling sixty miles an hour, to nowhere in particular, with Phoebe sleeping peacefully by her side.

  Chapter Two

  Monday morning, 8 a.m.

  “Hey, buddy, you know how long ’til we arrive at the next stop?” Jack asked as he leaned over the seat in front of him. The guy in the pin-striped, gray suit hardly lifted his face, he was so engrossed in his laptop. He simply shrugged Jack off with a slight wave of his hand.

  Not the friendliest person, thought Jack as he settled back into his seat and faced forward again. He didn’t have to be a jerk about it, though. The man’s reaction didn’t really surprise Jack; in fact, he was becoming more and more aware of such responses, as if he didn’t matter or hardly existed. To be honest, he wasn’t really looking for an answer. He just wanted someone to talk to, a distraction from his own thoughts. He was returning home, coming back to clean up his mess. No easy task, he considered. Unsettling, at best. Just a few months ago, he had felt differently—so confident and strong. Now he seemed anything but. Going home was just part of his new path. Necessary but terrifying.

  Jack stared out the window again, this time noticing the ground was carpeted with a soft dusting of white snow. Warm, peaceful, inviting, he thought as he wrapped his coat a little tighter around his shoulders and closed his eyes.

  How long had he slept? Jack couldn’t say. Based on the early morning light, he guessed it must be around eight o’clock. And guessing was as good as it got with Jack. Because, unlike 98 percent of the population, he didn’t have a cell phone. And unlike the other 2 percent, he didn’t even have a watch. Up until now, he hadn’t really needed one. He rubbed his eyes slowly. When he opened them, Jack found himself being stared at by a little girl with curly blond hair and crisp blue eyes. She was just standing there, watching him—fascinated. Initially, he wasn’t sure where he was. Or what was happening. And this young child? Where had she come from? He sat up quickly and wiped the drool off the side of his mouth. She tilted her head to the side, as if to change her view slightly.

  “Hello?” he asked with hesitation. She said nothing.

  He blinked.

  She smiled.

  He blinked twice.

  She giggled.

  Suddenly, the woman one row back on the opposite side of the train jumped up, grabbed the little girl by the arm, and returned her to her seat.

  Chapter Three

  Monday morning, 8:15 a.m.

  “Phoebe, sit. You can’t go wandering off. You need to stay right here with me,” Maggie scolded. Phoebe lowered her head and stuck out her lower lip a tad. She never liked to be reprimanded. Maybe that was why she seldom if ever crossed the line.

  “Let’s get out your coloring book and work on that a little,” said Maggie, softening a bit. In their hasty departure, Maggie had managed to grab a few essentials—the coats on their backs, a change of clothes for Phoebe, two of her favorite bedtime stories, and her coloring book with crayons. Maggie watched as Phoebe carefully stayed in the lines. Her daughter thoughtlessly twirled her hair with her left hand, and colored with her right.

  “Mommy,” Phoebe asked as she filled in the outline of a tree with small green strokes, “why didn’t Daddy come with us?”

  Maggie quietly considered her response. She had known this question would come. She’d been hoping she’d have a little more time before it crossed Phoebe’s lips.

  “Is your name Maggie?” he had asked softly. It had been eight years earlier. Maggie was much younger. Less worldly. It was a time when she thought of herself as feisty and invincible.

  “Yes. It is Maggie. And your name?” she asked even though she already knew the answer. Matt, she said quietly to herself.

  “Matt. Matt McCauley,” he replied as he offered his hand. They shook hands a bit too softly for Maggie’s liking. His hand lingered. Hers, on the other hand, was more forceful than it needed to be. She was ne
w to this world of handshaking. It seemed so manly. So definitive. She liked it. The very act of extending her hand out made her feel like she was part of this world to which she didn’t belong. This handshake, however, seemed oddly out of sync. Awkward, she thought. She would have to work on this some more.

  “Are you from the area?” he asked. He smiled in such a way as to suggest he knew damn well she wasn’t.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “Then maybe you can show me around,” he whispered as he lowered his six-foot, three-inch frame down to her level. They were standing in line at the cafeteria. She’d just assumed he was from here. She’d heard his name a few times before at the office. He worked in accounting, one office over from hers.

  “Well, sure,” she said, adding, “I could do that.”

  “Tomorrow after work?” he asked. “You could be my tour guide. And for your time and effort, I would treat you to dinner, of course. Is there a good Italian place in town? I could really use a pepperoni calzone!” She had nothing going on tomorrow. Or for the rest of the week for that matter. And for once in her life, she wasn’t prepared with a quick reason to say no.

  “Great! Tomorrow night it is then,” he said. He reached out to shake her hand again, as if closing a business deal.

  What? Maggie thought, a little puzzled by what had just happened. She’d been caught off guard. She wasn’t really looking to connect. Not just yet anyway. She wanted to get settled first. To figure things out a bit. Oh well. She needed to get to know people anyway. She was already isolating too much.

  Maggie finished her day at work and headed home. It was a short ten-minute drive through neighborhoods with houses that had been home to three generations, shaded by towering elms. Front porches lined the streets, and tricycles littered the sidewalks. She drove slowly. There was no hurry now. The evening was all hers. Once home, she settled into her routine: dining at the kitchen counter, yesterday’s left-over chicken from the deli, this morning’s unread newspaper. It wasn’t the most exciting life, but it seemed to suit Maggie at the moment.

  As she sipped on a slightly warm cup of coffee, Maggie slowly rubbed her temples and thought of her father. “Every object will remain at rest or in uniform motion,” he would start. And she would finish “unless compelled to change.” “Precisely!” he would exclaim excitedly as if the two of them had just now discovered this theory all by themselves, once again.

  Oh, how she wished she could pick up the phone and call her father. She missed his world. The lack of ambiguity. The straightforward simplicity. Even the beautifully clean, irrefutable laws of physics. But he was gone and had been for two years now. A heart attack. That’s what the doctor had said. But Maggie knew. Nothing had attacked his heart. It simply broke.

  “Motion,” she said out loud as she stood up to clean the morning dishes. “Motion. In spite of me. You would’ve been proud of me today, Dad.”

  The next morning, Maggie spent an extra ten minutes getting ready for the day. Her favorite sweater. Best pair of jeans. And a touch of blush she found tucked in the back of her drawer. She now knew where to get the best—and only—calzones in Whitefish. Just a few blocks from the office actually. Yet she hadn’t found out anything more about Matt. Tonight should be interesting, she thought. It had been months since she’d been on a date. Okay, maybe years. And she hadn’t made the effort to become friends with anyone here in Whitefish. Only acquaintances, she considered as she slid into her car, turned on the engine, and headed left to the office.

  Maggie’s world was structured with predictable routines. She liked it that way. She had the same breakfast every morning. One cup of black coffee, two pieces of dry whole wheat toast. Took the same route to work. Stopped by the mailroom on the way to her desk. And started each new workday with a blank Post-it note, where she jotted down five things she had to accomplish before she could call it a day. Routines aren’t boring, she reasoned. They’re efficient. Less time wasted with minor decisions. As she reached for her Post-it notepad on this particular day, she noticed it wasn’t blank at all, which rattled her a bit.

  “DINNER WITH MATT. Looking forward to calzones tonight. Meet me in the lobby at 5:30?—Matt.”

  Maggie looked suspiciously around but saw nothing unusual. Just Rachel at her computer, clicking away mindlessly. When she noticed Maggie staring at her, Rachel stopped typing for a moment, looked up, and said, “Matt from accounting stopped by earlier. I hadn’t realized you two knew each other.”

  “Just met,” replied Maggie. “What do you know about him?”

  “Not too much. He’s kind of cute. I hear he was from this area but moved away years ago. Got married. But something happened there. Not sure what. Something happened to his wife, I think. He’s been back for a while now.”

  Maggie and Rachel had a pile of stuff to work through, so the day went fast. Before Maggie knew it, it was 5:20. She quickly cleaned up her desk and headed downstairs to the lobby.

  “Well, hello there,” Matt greeted her with a big, warm smile. “Have you figured out where you’re taking me?” His smile seemed to grow. It was an odd mixture of warmth, a touch of sarcasm, a hint of playfulness, and a trace of something unsettling. Maggie was intrigued.

  “I have, in fact,” said Maggie, “discovered where the finest calzones are in all of Whitefish. And fortunately, they are within walking distance from where we are standing right now!” she exclaimed with mocked excitement.

  “Perfect,” he said. “I’m starving!”

  Within minutes, they were entering a cute little Italian pizzeria. Maggie had found it online, but she hadn’t actually taken the time to try it in person. They stood at the counter and ordered. The place was somewhat busy, but they spotted a table in the back, which they both instinctively moved toward.

  “So, what don’t I know about Maggie Larkin?” Matt asked as he bit into his pepperoni calzone.

  “What do you know?” she replied.

  He rattled off a fairly extensive list of facts. “Born in Kalispell. An only child. Mother died when you were eight. Moved out East. Graduated from the University of Virginia. Returned just a few months ago.”

  “I’m impressed,” she said. And she was. “I think that covers everything.”

  “It couldn’t possibly,” he flattered her. He had this way of looking at her that made her feel like he was really seeing her. Like she couldn’t hide from him. Which made her feel uncomfortable. Exposed. Even vulnerable.

  “And I know nothing about you,” she said. “You said you weren’t from here, yet you grew up here?”

  He paused for a moment and then rubbed his left palm with his right hand, back and forth a few times. “Yes, a long time ago,” he said. She noticed just a tinge of irritation as he answered her question. “But that was a long time ago,” he repeated. “You are by far more interesting. What did you think of Virginia? And how long were you there?” he asked, redirecting their conversation before taking another bite of his calzone.

  Back to me, thought Maggie. She wasn’t used to talking about herself. And she certainly wasn’t used to all of this attention. But she rather liked it.

  “Oh, I went for school. Then stayed after that.” She thought for a moment. I was there because that’s where Dad was at that particular time. After her mom died when she was eight, she and her dad had moved a lot: one side of the country to the other, and then back again. Maggie always thought in some way it was as if he were looking for what was no longer there.

  “And you’ve been here in Montana for about three months?” Matt asked.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “What do you think of Whitefish? People generally love it or not,” he said with a whimsical expression.

  “It’s perfect. It’s just what I need right now,” she said. Which was true. She loved how small town it felt. And that the people here were friendly without being nosy. There seemed
to be enough to do if she were interested. But not so much that it struck her as overwhelming either.

  As they finished their calzones and made their way out onto the street, Matt suggested they wander around downtown a bit. “It’s a great night for it. Not too cold and the sky’s as clear as they come,” he said.

  They walked along the trail beside the river. The streetlamps softly illuminated their path, making it seem at once eerie and familiar. It wasn’t long before Matt had linked his arm through hers and seemed to be guiding her along. Ordinarily, this would’ve put Maggie a bit on edge, but she found herself comforted by it. The longer they walked like this, the more Maggie opened up to Matt, telling him all kinds of things she’d never shared with anyone else. As Maggie recalled, the entire evening seemed magically surreal.

  Years later, when Phoebe asked where she came from, Maggie always thought back to that night. It wasn’t the night Phoebe was conceived. But it was the moment Maggie’s life changed direction and the space for Phoebe was created.

  Chapter Four

  Monday morning, 9 a.m.

  “Mommy, I’m hungry,” Jack heard a little voice say from one seat back and over. It must be Phoebe, that cute little girl with the blond curls, he thought. He kind of wished the mom had let her visit with him a bit longer. He loved kids and had always been considered good with them when he was younger. He hadn’t had much exposure to them the past four years. But he was pretty sure they hadn’t changed much in that time.

  “Mom, I want something to eat. Please, Mommy,” Phoebe begged.

  I’m hungry too, thought Jack. How long had it been since he’d eaten? He wasn’t too sure. He was definitely hungry now that he thought about it. It had to be around eight o’clock in the morning, figured Jack, as he gazed out on the snow-capped mountains. Because of his tall frame and fast metabolism, he never seemed to get quite enough food to round him out. He had always had that long, lean, hungry look about him.