Page 63 of Us in Ruins

Van turned on his heels. Angry red rimmed his eyes, their usual hardened peridot gone glassy. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

An older woman and her all-fluff white dog, both wearing matching blue sunglasses, stared up at them. All she was missing was popcorn.

“You don’t even know what I want to talk about,” Margot said innocently. “Maybe I want to talk about the renaissance of the thirty-minute sitcom or Atlantic gigantism or any number of unrelated things.”

“Don’t do that,” Van seethed.

“Do what?”

“Pity me.”

A voice buzzed over the speakers, fuzzy and distorted. “Arrivo a Napoli, dieci minuti.”

It cut the tension between them but did little to calm Van. He stormed toward the end of the train car.

Down the aisle, Dr. Hunt stood out of her seat and stretched her arms overhead. If she turned around, she’d see the remnants of chaos they’d left in their wake and order Margot and Van thirty rows back to their assigned seats. But here, they had a straight shot off the train at the next platform. By the time anyone noticed they were missing, they’d already be back in Pompeii. All they had to do was not get caught.

Margot and Van made it to the back of the train, but that only meant there was nowhere else for them to go. With Van on the brink of a nuclear meltdown, they needed cover, and they needed it fast.

The woman and her pooch looked up at Margot. Their blue sunglasses.

“I just need to borrow these for a second,” Margot said before stripping the eyewear off their faces.

“Fermati!” the woman shrilled.

The dog barked as Margot closed the distance to Van. Wrapping her arms around his torso like a linebacker, she dragged him into the last seats in the aisle.

“What are you doing?” He fought against her grasp. A stone-hardened elbow dug in between her ribs. Ouch.

“I’m—trying—to help—you.” Each staccato word was interrupted by a thrashing limb as Van tried desperately to eradicate himself from her vise grip. No way. Not when they were this close to Naples, to the next shard.

She wrangled the woman’s sunglasses over his face through sheer force of will, and then sat up, triumphant.

The dog’s tiny sunglasses barely covered Margot’s eyes, making her look like a John Lennon knockoff. She ducked behind the row in front of her, only peeking out far enough to watch as Dr. Hunt glanced toward the woman and her disgruntled Maltese, both now squinting in the sunlight. Decades could have passed by the time Dr. Hunt finally slid into the bathroom stall.

An exhale peeled out of Margot’s lungs. Except that the person who left the bathroom was beelining for their seats. He paused before them, clearing his throat.

“We were just, um... leaving.” Margot scrambled up, dragging Van with her. He wasn’t putting in his fair share of effort, basically reducing himself to defiant deadweight.

“Margot, knock it off,” he snapped. “I know what you’re trying to do but don’t. You’re just making everything worse.”

The jagged edge of his voice ripped through her. Elephant heavy, a weight pressed against her esophagus. But Dr. Hunt could come out of the bathroom at any moment. Margot was too stubborn to stop now. She strong-armed him into the luggage room and slammed the door shut behind them.

The closet was not... big. Or even close to being appropriately sized for two people.

Suitcases had been piled on shelves that rose toward the top of the train. A single bulb was plastered on the ceiling, and Margot tugged on the chain dangling between them. Harsh light filled the narrow room.

Van whipped off his sunglasses. Tension strained his neck, tightened his shoulders. “You’re relentless.”

“Thank you,” Margot said, flipping her sunglasses on top of her head.

A hoarse noise emanated from Van’s chest. He clearly hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

With every breath, her chest rose to meet his. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, so we won’t.”

And they didn’t. For a moment, they just stood there. Margot watching Van, and Van watching her right back.

“I wasn’t trying to ruin everything.” Her voice was annoyingly soggy.

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