When he was gone the girl turned her emerald gaze in Emily’s direction. Emily could see why the guy was acting foolish around her. It wasn’t just that the girl was beautiful, it was that she had no idea she was. There was something attractive about that. Her red hair was down, brushed into silky scarlet waves that flowed around her shoulders. She seemed to be trying harder with her appearance today. Emily glanced at the door the guy had exited through and wondered if she’d made an effort for him. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. That guy was too old for her. She resisted the urge to say something teacherish and decided it was none of her business. Better just to get the bike and leave the parenting up to the girl’s father.
She turned back to find the girl staring at her. “Can I help you?” the girl asked.
“Yes, I’d like to get one of your bikes to use,” Emily responded, then gave her her best smile.
The girl hitched her thumb backward, indicating an area behind her. “Just go back out that door you came in, turn left, and you’ll see the storage room.” She held out another key with a green disk attached. This one said “Storage” on it. “That’ll get you in, then you can take whatever bike in there looks like it’ll work.” The girl made a face that told Emily there wasn’t much chance of that.
Emily took the key from her outstretched hand, noting that her nails were painted a very pretty red, a grown-up color. She thought of the guy from earlier and again decided not to say anything. “What’s your name?” she asked instead.
“Amber,” the girl said flatly. She pointed at the top of her head. “For obvious reasons.”
“It’s lovely,” Emily said. “I mean, your name. And your hair.”
Amber blushed. “Thanks.” The hot pink coloring in her skin traveled up her neck and across her cheeks. She waved at the key. “Just bring it back after you’re done with the bike. Or you can just turn it in when you check out. We don’t get many requests for bikes these days.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.” The two blinked at each other awkwardly for a moment, Emily thinking of all the things she’d want to say to this girl if only she had license to do so. Realizing how stupid she looked to this teenager, she gave a little wave. “See you later.” She started for the door, then turned back to catch the girl’s eye one last time, saying the one thing she could think to say. “Be careful.”
She turned and fled the room, hoping the girl took her inferred meaning and sent that guy away the next time he came sniffing round.
She pedaled up and down the streets of Sunset aimlessly, traveling past the houses she’d spent the past two days peeking inside, a running commentary playing inside her head of why each one hadn’t been “the one.” She took to saying the names of the houses aloud as she whizzed past: Time in a Bottle, Sea La Vie, Marsh Madness, Pier Pleasures. She wondered what she would name her house when she got one, if she got one. She wondered if just going to look at Ocean Isle would be cheating since Ryan had intended for her to buy a place at Sunset Beach. Arthur seemed to think that she’d find a house there.
But it was Sunset that held their memories, Sunset that captured their hearts, Sunset that Ryan had mentioned in his letter. She thought of their trip, how they’d always meant to come back but never made the time or had the money. She wished they had. Maybe a return trip would’ve seemed less magical, would’ve made Sunset seem like any other place. Maybe then Ryan would’ve changed his mind, canceled the policy and used the money to take her out to dinner more often or buy her a piece of jewelry. If he had, she wouldn’t be here right now. She’d be at home, listening to Marta’s blow by blow of her new relationship with Phil.
But of course that didn’t sound a whole lot better.
She pedaled away from the house that was sinking into the ocean, putting distance between her and the memory. The opposite direction took her toward 40th Street, the end of the island. She pedaled until she ran out of road, staring at the miles of undeveloped coastline known as Bird Island. She’d heard there was a mailbox there known as the Kindred Spirit. She and Ryan had said they’d go there, but they ran out of time before he had to be back for school. She’d heard that people left notes in that mailbox addressed to soldiers overseas, lost loves, and God. Maybe she would leave a note to Ryan there, if not on this trip then the next. If she was going to buy a house there, there would surely be more trips. She didn’t plan to ever live there full-time, but perhaps she would spend summers there.
She straddled the bike and stared out at the windswept beach, her hand making a visor for her eyes. She scanned the horizon, wondering if just beyond it heaven awaited, if in that intersection of sky and water there was a place called eternity. She’d believed that as a little girl, imagining the great cloud of witnesses her daddy preached about waiting there for the souls who crossed from this life to that. Though she didn’t subscribe to such simple beliefs anymore, she liked thinking those little-girl thoughts, believing that Ryan waited there, far away yet closer than she realized.
She and Ryan used to talk about things like that all the time. It was how their relationship formed, in a religion class at their small Christian college. The professor had initiated discussions that sparked debate, sometimes passionate, sometimes lasting more than one class. He hadn’t been afraid to broach the subjects some of the “good Christian kids” were afraid to touch. He’d insisted they think beyond just regurgitating what they’d been taught, challenge themselves to look deeper, probe into the things they’d always accepted at face value. Oftentimes a group of the more passionate kids would reconvene after class at the local coffee shop to continue the debate or talk more freely. Though at first the questions scared Emily, she felt drawn to them. And to the cute pre-law student who always seemed up for a good fight, if truth be told.
They’d been discussing the concept of grace the day he asked if he could walk her back to her dorm when everyone stood to leave. Talkative, bright, and quick-witted, he’d grown suddenly quiet and even shy as they crossed the quad toward her dorm. She’d found herself to be the one initiating the conversation and, by the time they got back to the dorm, she’d been convinced she’d turned him off somehow, that he’d rethought any interest he’d had. Later that night she’d been reading an assignment for her English class when the phone rang. Thinking it was her mom calling to check in like she always did, she answered with a lazy, barely understandable “Hello?”
His voice was a voice she didn’t recognize with her ears. As strange as it sounded, her heart knew it before any other part of her did. When he said her name, it echoed through her whole body. She could never have explained it to anyone—though eventually she did fess up to him—but she knew then and there that she was, somehow, some way, talking to her future husband.
Usually one to enjoy the thrill of the chase, the buildup that came with making small talk and discovering compatibility with Ryan was infuriating. She found herself wanting to just shout it out: “Oh, come on already. We love each other. We were meant to be.” As cheesy and trite as it sounded, she was that certain, that fast. But she played along and, though it seemed like the days dragged by, eventually he kissed her. And eventually he proclaimed his love for her. And eventually he met her parents, asked for her dad’s blessing, gave her a ring. In some ways it dragged by—that year they spent together before becoming engaged.
But looking back now she realized it had gone by in a flash, an instant. How she longed to go back and do it all again. To sneak glances at him in that coffee shop. To wait for his phone call. To wonder if tonight was the night he’d kiss her. But the question was, if she’d known she would lose him in the end, would she have even accepted that invitation to walk with him? Sometimes she thought that perhaps a safer love—one less consuming—would’ve been the better route. People who said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all must not have gone through what she had.
She hiked herself back up onto the bike seat and turned the rusty contraption around. There was a small k
ink in the chain that caused an annoying hitch in the rotation of the tires, making for a bumpy ride. It was clear no one used these “courtesy bikes” at the motel. No wonder the girl had been more than glad to hand off the key.
She turned up 40th Street, reasoning that she would ride to the end of the street and then head back to the motel and find something to eat for dinner. Her stomach was starting to rumble and the sun would soon start its descent. The bike sometimes seemed more like an untamed horse with its tendency to sputter and shake. She was nearing the end of 40th when she noticed there were some short side roads. Curious, she ventured down one, then another, idly noting the houses. Closer to the intracoastal waterway than the ocean, some of the houses had a good view of the bridge. It might be nice to sit and watch the boats coming and going, watch the cars wait in line to cross over. She’d heard there were rumors they were going to replace the bridge but she didn’t want to believe it. The bridge added to the personality of Sunset Beach. Remove that and—as far as she was concerned—you were removing its heart.
When she saw a small For Sale sign tacked to the porch of one of the smaller, older houses, she started pedaling slower.
She turned around at the end of the street and made another slow pass by the house, her eyes taking in the details as fast as she could without seeming too obvious. There were lights on inside and she didn’t want whoever was in there to see her stalking the place. Just as she was about to make a clean getaway, the front door of the house opened and an old woman peeked out. “Can I help you?” she asked, stopping Emily in her tracks. Half of her was still hidden behind the door but Emily could see most of her face through the crack. She looked frightened by Emily’s presence, her eyes wide and darting, her mouth void of anything close to a smile.
“I’m sorry. I was just looking at your house.” She pointed at the small, nondescript sign tacked to the railing. “I saw your sign and I’m, um, actually looking for a house.” She slid down off the bike seat. “Here. At Sunset.” She gave the woman a smile and hoped she looked nonthreatening.
“Not used to strangers milling around this time of year.” The woman still sounded hesitant, but Emily noticed the door opened a bit wider as she spoke. “In summer, sure. But it’s pretty deserted right now.” The woman scanned the street as the door opened fully. Emily noticed the floral print housedress she wore, the moccasins on her feet. She took a step forward, her white calves flashing, laced with enlarged blue veins.
The woman motioned to the porch she was now standing on. “The house, it’s not much,” she said. “But it’s been my home for thirty years.” She walked over to the railing, running her hand lovingly along the peeling paint, a caress.
Emily shifted her weight, feeling as if she was observing something intimate, something she didn’t have the right to see. Her nosiness had landed her in an odd situation. That would teach her to be a stalker. She searched for the right thing to say but remained silent as her eyes took in the house and the houses on either side of it. A child’s tricycle was turned upside down in the yard on the left, one pedal missing.
The woman looked up suddenly, her reverie interrupted for no apparent reason. “You want to see inside?” she asked.
The sun was rapidly descending in the sky and Emily didn’t want to bike back to the motel in the dark. And yet, she felt a sense of urgency as she took in the house, the porch with the peeling paint and the small, overlooked sign. She met the woman’s eyes, saw something recognizable there as she did. Emily’s head began to nod almost reflexively. Before she knew it she was agreeing to come inside, following the old woman past empty flower boxes affixed to the porch railing, the soil gone dry and cracked inside. She kept her eyes on the doorway that led into a house she almost missed completely.
Seven
The backyard led to a small dock, the last thing she saw on her tour of the house, although the land was mostly hidden in shadow as the sun disappeared, the last amber rays slipping below the horizon. The house was perfectly positioned for viewing the breathtaking sunsets the island was named for, and Emily found herself drawn to it for the view alone. It was true the inside of the house wasn’t much to look at—nice enough, but certainly lacking designer touches. Those were found outside and not made by human hands. She took in the sweeping view of the marsh and Blaine Creek, which fed into Mad Inlet on her left.
To her right she could make out the lights of the bridge twinkling in the distance like a beacon. While touring homes that day Arthur Groves had been chatty, filling her in on the battle over the bridge that waged in the community. Divided almost neatly down the middle, some thought that it should be replaced by a bridge that wouldn’t break often or stop traffic every hour on the hour. Others—the romantics, Emily thought—didn’t want a large bridge to take the place of the old one. They didn’t like the thought of how accessible it would make the island, didn’t want more people to find the place. They thought part of the island’s charm was the quirky bridge, a good indicator of what waited on the other side.
At the moment all Emily could think of was that the view was perfect just as it was, bridge and all. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes for a moment as if to seal it in her mind. It was clear that the old woman had left this part for last on purpose; it was the house’s best (only?) selling point. Emily stole a glance at her host, whose name she had learned was Ada, to gauge whether she was appreciating the view as much as Emily was. The look on Ada’s face was pure reverence, but it was mixed with that pain she had recognized before, on the porch.
The evidence of pain had told Emily they shared something and, as Ada walked her through the house, she had come to learn just how similar their circumstances were. Ada’s husband had died a few months earlier after a battle with emphysema and a stroke that weakened and crippled him. Left alone, Ada had made the hard decision to leave this place she loved so that she could go and live with her sister in Florence, South Carolina. “My sister, Ida”—she winked, presumably at the cutesy similarity between her and her sister’s names—“she says we’ll have a good time, and I like to think that’s true,” Ada said. Then her voice grew wistful. “But sometimes I can’t bear the thought of leaving all this behind.”
Emily nodded. “It would be very hard,” she agreed, but her words sounded empty and useless even as she said them.
Ada sighed. “But he made me promise, when he knew he didn’t have long. He said, ‘Promise me you’ll go be with Ida, that you won’t try to keep this place alone.’ ” Emily thought about the irony: this woman was giving up a house at Sunset Beach because her husband made her promise, and Emily was buying a house at Sunset Beach because her husband had made her promise.
Ada shrugged, her next words almost as if she’d read Emily’s mind. “And we have to keep our promises, don’t we? Especially to the dead.” She turned to her. “I put that sign out there thinking it was so small no one would see it for a while, it being the off season and all. It was my little test to see if this was meant to be.”
Emily thought about Gideon’s fleece, one of her father’s favorite topics to preach on. He liked to debate whether it was right or wrong for him to lay it out, what it said about Gideon’s faith. And yet, it seemed we all laid out fleeces of our own at times. This trip, if she was honest, was her own version of a fleece, telling herself that if she found the perfect house, she would know she was supposed to do what Ryan wanted. Had she not stumbled upon that tiny sign, what would’ve happened?
Ada spoke again, smiling in earnest for the first time, her words again a reflection of Emily’s own thoughts. “I was trying to get out of it, I guess.”
Emily smiled back, thinking about being with Arthur Groves that afternoon, the way part of her had felt relieved when none of the houses were right. She could say she tried, but she could also avoid Ryan’s wishes with a clear conscience. She chuckled at the thought of the two of them, widows both, trying to get out of what their departed husbands wanted for them and finding each other in t
he process.
She shivered a little. The temperature had dropped now that the sun had set. She took one last good look at the view from the dock, thinking of how she’d sit out there at night and think, and pray. How she’d feel closer to Ryan on this dock than in the bed they shared in some ways. It was as if he’d arranged a place for them to meet, there by the water. He would’ve loved this place, of that she was sure. She wondered if he and Ada’s husband had finagled this deal from the great beyond. That would be just like him, scheming to get his way. A smile crept over her face. Even now she could feel him nodding and pushing her to say the next words. She followed Ada back into the house and accepted her offer of tea, waiting until the cup was in her hand to speak.
“Thank you for showing me your house,” she said. “I like it very much.”
Ada nodded and took a sip of her own tea. “I suspected you would.” A few seconds of silence passed before Ada spoke again. “You like it enough to take it off my hands?”
Emily nodded, her eyes meeting the older woman’s as something passed between them, a look that acknowledged the pain that comes with letting go, and starting over. “I promise to take good care of it,” she said.
“It’s a special place. You’ll see,” Ada said.
Emily couldn’t say that the place already felt special to her. That she suspected it was the place Ryan had somehow led her to. Instead she finished her tea and carried her cup to the sink, rinsing it as she looked out the kitchen windows into the dark spring night, trying to make out all that would be hers.
Eight
June 4, 2007
She’d waited until school was out to close on the house, giving Ada time to make the huge transition of leaving the home where she’d spent thirty years. What would it feel like to lose someone you’d loved all your life? It had been hard enough to lose Ryan and they’d had less than a decade together. What if you’d been with someone for multiple decades? Her heart clenched at the thought. She’d never know that now.
The Bridge Tender Page 6
