The Christmas Train by Rexanne Becnel

wasn’t exactly surprised, it still felt like another stab in the back.
    Why did her mother hate her so much?
    Nana Rose had always denied that. “It’s all about Carrie” was what she would say, trying to dismiss Anna’s mother’s behavior with a shrug. But to Anna that felt just the same as hate.
    â€œWait. You lived with your grandmother, not your mother?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œFor how long?”
    â€œSince I, um . . . since I was almost five.”
    She half caught his muffled curse. “Son of a—”
    â€œIt’s okay,” she said. “I love my grandmother. A lot. But . . . she died in October.”
    â€œWow. I’m sorry to hear that, Anna.” She heard him take a deep breath. “You know, you have another grandmother. And a grandfather, too.”
    Anna’s breath caught in her throat, and inside her chest her heart began to thump real hard, like when she rode her bike too fast down a hill. She hadn’t thought about more grandparents.
    â€œYeah.” He nodded and gave her a crooked smile. “More grandparents.”
    â€œIn there?” She turned to look at the three-story brick building with its long rows of balconies.
    â€œNo. Not here. They have their own house not too far away. We’ll meet them soon enough. Meanwhile, time to get you two inside.” While he helped Miss Eva, Anna carried both of their bags. She knew Miss Eva had to really be out of it to let anybody else carry her bag. On the train she’d guarded it like it was worth a fortune.
    They took an elevator to the second floor then down an open, wind-whipped balcony, past three doors until they got to apartment 207. Most of the other doors had a little wreath or something else Christmasy hanging on them. But not his. Just a plain brown door with a peephole and a number on it.
    She didn’t realize how cold she was until they closed the door against the bitter weather. Once he settled Miss Eva into a chair, she seemed to perk up a bit.
    â€œAch, Karl. Mein Brüder.” She blinked when he flipped lights on in the living room and kitchen. Then, as she stared around the apartment, her eyes got that foggy, confused look. “What is this place?”
    â€œKarl moved,” Anna said, kneeling next to Miss Eva. She patted her arm, trying to reassure her. “It’s okay, though.”
    â€œMoved? But . . .” The old woman turned a stricken face up to Tom. “But why, Karl?”
    Again Anna replied before he could. “You know. The war. Everything is different now. But it’s good, right? Nice chairs to sit in. A nice kitchen, too.” She held her breath, praying Miss Eva would just go with the flow and not get all agitated.
    Miss Eva clutched the chair arms, her knuckles tense as she looked around, and her expression worried. But when her gaze returned to Tom she smiled, and beneath her hand Anna felt her relax. “Oh, Karl. Is so good to be with you again.”
    Anna gave her father a pointed look. Don’t spoil everything.
    As if he heard her silent plea, he nodded and managed a smile. “I’m glad you’re here, too. So.” He rubbed his hands nervously together, then unzipped his jacket and shrugged out of it. “How about we get you two settled for what’s left of the night. Anybody hungry?”
    Anna was starving, but Miss Eva refused food. While Anna helped the exhausted woman into Tom’s giant king-size bed—she’d peeked into the other bedroom to see no bed, only a mountain bike, some ski equipment in the corner, a computer desk, and a tall bookshelf—Tom heated soup for her.
    Anna only managed to remove Miss Eva’s coat and shoes before the woman collapsed back onto the bed. So she pulled the soft comforter over her and let her sleep in her clothes.
    In the dining area between the living room and the kitchen bar Tom had laid out crackers, butter,