NORTH WASHINGTON, COLORADO

It was 3am when the bus crawled into the station. Beside the long lonely road, it shone like a beacon, brilliant, and offensively white against the darkest, flattest, and most boring landscape Jim had ever seen. A hiss of brakes announced the end of their journey, and lights like sunbeams invaded the gloomy interior, prodding weary passengers awake. Slowly, they gathered their things; spluttering as they mined the depths of their seats or groaning at the great effort to retrieve luggage from the overhead rack. And then, an undead shuffle of feet down the narrow aisle, as they filed outside, wincing like newborns. A moment longer, Jim waited for the crowd to disperse before turning to his companion.

“Aimee?” he whispered, “Hey, Aimee. It's time to go.”

She looked like a small pile of clothes on the seat. He gave her a gentle nudge, and she moved barely an inch, just enough to lift her head off the window. Beneath the hood, Jim imagined she woke with more grace than their fellow travellers, maybe a soft yawn and a flutter of the eyes. Although, after having lived under the same roof with several of them, he'd become wise to the fact that girls weren't entirely the dainty creatures he'd been led to believe. That went double for Aimee. Triple for Polly. When she righted herself, and he caught a glimpse of her face, Jim felt a twinge of guilt. It was less than two hours ago, as they passed through the jagged valleys of Glenwood Springs, when she finally succumbed to exhaustion. And from one glance it was plain to see fatigue still clung to her like an old coat.

“The coast is clear. Come on.”

Together they stepped out into the glare of the station, and cautiously, yet hastily, found themselves somewhere to sit inside that was farthest removed from everyone else. The station was long, miraculously white, and populated with clusters of plastic chairs between automated ticket dispensers, vending machines, and toilets. Footsteps echoed from end to end, so when people spoke to each other, they muttered. And the over-sensitive automatic doors were open more than they were closed, providing no refuge from the crisp night air – it was, however, a preferable alternative to the stuffy innards of a bus. On an overhead screen flickered the timetable for the incoming and outgoing traffic. Jim visibly deflated.

“Looks like we got an hour to kill. Did you remember to bring the Travel Scrabble?”

Slumped as she was in her seat, chin against her chest, Aimee was difficult to read, particularly with that hood hiding her face. Nevertheless, Jim hoped his admittedly weak attempt at humour had been afforded at least a courtesy smile. She didn't speak much. Sixteen hours of budget coach trips sandwiched between three hours of waiting around and doing nothing; it had been a long day preceded by another long day. The funeral had taken its toll on each of them, and after the events of the week previous, it was one last bitter pill to swallow. There was no closure for any of them. A family had been fractured and scattered, friends had been lost, everything had changed. Aimee often said that those who didn't learn to bend with the wind would break. Jim usually chalked her particular brand of hard-knock wisdom down to a defence mechanism she'd developed growing up on the mean streets of New York, but now that they found themselves returning to those mean streets, he finally understood. Gone were the palm trees and the warm Californian nights, gone were familiar faces on familiar streets, gone was the ritual of the morning bathroom rush and the clamour of chaotic meals; Anna's cooking, Jake's music, Alex's lectures, basketball with Ronnie, Scott's practical jokes, Jamie's illusions, Jennifer's impressions...

What a difference a day makes, Jim thought, as he looked around at the station; cold surroundings and colder strangers. It was the chill wind of change, of the unknown, but they had each other, and they would face it together.