Lucky Number Seven (II)

'Well damn.' I thought. Now I was in the middle of nowhere, and I'd lost the game. In fact, I couldn't imagine doing worse at the game, except possibly by accidentally boarding number 8. I sat down on the bench and sighed. Nothing to do but wait for another train I supposed. Or...
I glanced over to the old woman, who had just now made it to the door to the station. Finally I acknowledged what had been lurking in the back of my mind. I could still follow her. And the game could go on. It would be tricky in a ghost town like this one, but it certainly could be done. There were a couple of different doors from the platform to the station, so I walked through another one and saw a phone booth inside. There wasn't a whole lot inside besides a ticket desk - an oddity in and of itself, as automatic vending machines were the fad - and the phone booth, but I figured I could pretend to make a phone call while I waited for her to make the long (at her pace) trek across the station.
Or I could actually make a phone call. To work. To tell them I was sick or something. That was probably a good idea, I realized.
I put in a quarter, dialed work and put in my boss's extension. The woman was about a quarter of the way there. My boss picked up. I told him I wasn't feeling at all well and that I'd decided not to come into work. The woman was halfway through the station. He thanked me for calling in and hoped I felt better, than asked if I might look over the Prollit proposition while I was home. She had reached the ticket desk. I said it was no problem (after all, I had my briefcase with me - I'd been planning to go to work that morning) and that I'd see him tomorrow. She had stopped to exchange pleasantries with the ticket salesman. He said good bye and we hung up our phones. She was still chatting with the man at the counter. I decided to run across the station and make like I was late for something, than watch the door from outside. I played my part well, but I felt like I was out of place with the suit and the briefcase. Still, if the two noticed me at all it was with a passing glance. When I got outside I sat down at a bench, got out my newspaper, and waited for her to emerge from the door. It appeared that the only thing one could do after getting off the train here was wait for a bus to get to town, so a bench was handy.
I waited and waited. Ten minutes later she apparently had not concluded her conversation.
Perhaps she bought another ticket and went to wait for another train. Or perhaps she and the ticket seller were close personal friends. Or lovers. I recoiled from the grotesque mental image.
I reached for the door and then stepped back. My first scenario was by far the most likely, and were it true I would need to go back in and catch that train. But I couldn't shake the last scenario from my mind, and the thought of walking in on the two of them was enough to keep me from going in. Paralyzed with indecision, I finally walked back through the door, to find... no one. The desk was empty, with a "Gone to lunch" sign on it, and the woman was nowhere in sight. What now? And how could I even go home if no one was selling tickets? I looked around and saw no one in the station.
My wonderings were interrupted by the sound of a car starting up. As I rushed back outside, I saw a small old Honda accord driving off. I recognized the driver as the ticket salesman from his old-style fedora hat, and the form next to him could only be my elderly target.
As I broke into a run after the rickety old car, my mind raced with the implications of the scene. Why would the ticket seller leave work, with no one covering for him, to give this woman a ride somewhere? And where were they going?
Luckily, wherever it was, they were traveling their at AARP* speed, and I was actually able to keep up with the car on the dusty country road. Calling a cab was out of the question though, given the remoteness of wherever the hell we were, and I knew I wouldn't be able to keep pace forever. Also, they would almost certainly notice me in the rear view mirror if they hadn't already. Basically, if they didn't stop soon I was in trouble.
But things looked good! They had turned into a town, if it could be called that. I stopped to catch my breath and found it difficult to start again. I had winded my self more than I realized at the time. I looked down and saw that the bottom of my suit was coated with dust. I looked up again and didn't see the car. As I started walking down the street I was surprised to find that I wasn't panicked about losing them. In fact, I really didn't care that much. The game wasn't turning out to be so much fun. I noticed I was walking by a cafe and decided to go in. I ordered a cup of coffee, then sat down by the window and got out the Prollit proposal. As far as I was concerned, Lucky Number Seven had been a failure. I can't say I was surprised.

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*American Association of Retired People