The Bridge Tender

by Marybeth Whalen

  “I’m Kyle? If you remember I came by a few weeks ago?” He gave her that smile that she once knew only onscreen and her heart sped up. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get back here but Ada was hard to catch up with. It’s safe to say she’s enjoying her time with her sister.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Emily said. She felt as stupid as she sounded. When the movie came out she often felt a kinship with the slightly nerdy girl who fell for his character, the one he rescued at the end. Standing there with him, she had no doubt the kinship was real. She felt as nerdy as the character was—and yet she wasn’t acting.

  He gestured at the room behind her. “I hope I’m not being too forward but if you don’t mind, Ada told me where she left the log I was telling you about. I kind of need it for tonight. For this meeting I’m going to.”

  She knit her eyebrows together at the mention of the meeting. “The meeting about saving the bridge?”

  “Yes, that one. How do you know about that?”

  “I’m going.” She hitched her thumb in the direction of Claire’s house. “My neighbor invited me.”

  A smirk came over his face. “So Claire’s told you how she feels about the bridge?”

  “Yeah, she’s for it. She’s really passionate about saving it. You know Claire?”

  The smirk stayed. “Sunset’s a small place. Everyone knows everyone. You’ll see.”

  “Oh, well. I mean, I guess if you want to come in and get the book, that would be fine.” She widened the door opening and stepped out of the way to allow him in. As he passed she waved her hands in the air and mouthed to the back of his head, “Brady Rutledge is in my house!”

  She dropped her hands to her side and tried to compose herself just as he turned back to look at her. “She said it’s in the guest bedroom closet.” He gestured to one of the side bedrooms she hadn’t ventured into much. Marta had said there was some old stuff back there that Ada had left behind but she’d brushed it aside, intending to just get rid of the stuff later. Now she was glad she had put that particular chore off. Sometimes procrastination did pay.

  “Okay if I just go and get it?” he asked.

  She did her best to act cool. “Yes. Sure.” He disappeared into the bedroom and she took a seat on the couch where she’d been sitting before he knocked. She debated turning on the TV so she could look absorbed in a program and feign nonchalance when he came back. But before she could retrieve the remote he was back, his hands full with some old papers and books.

  “I just grabbed it all if that’s okay. I’ll sort through it unless, I mean, you’d like to first?”

  “No, no. It’s yours. Take it. Ada obviously wanted you to have it.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. I’m sentimental about this stuff. History and all.” He held the bundle of musty-smelling papers up.

  She nodded. “It definitely looks . . . old.”

  “Old things are worth saving, right?”

  “Yes. I guess they are.” She knew he thought that those papers would help save the bridge somehow. For his and Claire’s sake, she hoped he was right.

  “Well, I better get cracking. I’ve got a lot to look through before the meeting. Thanks again!” He strode to the door and opened it before she could get to it for him.

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

  He turned back and gave her that grin again, the one that, in spite of herself, made her breathless. “You bet,” he said, and was gone, toting relics from the house she’d bought, a house that none other than Brady Rutledge himself had a tie to.

  She couldn’t help but think of the joke she and Ryan had made on their honeymoon, that Brady Rutledge was “no match” for Ryan. But if Ryan could set her up with anyone, Kyle would be the obvious and comical choice. “Well played,” she said to Ryan in the silence, ignoring, as always, that no one answered back.

  Emily stuck close to Claire as they waited for the meeting to begin. She hadn’t seen Brady yet—ugh, Kyle, she corrected herself—and couldn’t admit to herself that she was keeping a close watch on the door for him to walk through. Instead she busied herself with giving Sara and Noah gum from her purse, then plying them with some old church bulletins and pens that she found there as well, relying on her mother’s old tricks for keeping her quiet in church all those years. “Thanks,” Claire mouthed as the meeting got underway.

  The Sunset Taxpayers Association (or STPA as they referred to themselves) began by weighing the financial costs of continuing to operate the old bridge versus the substantial expense the state would spend to replace it. The owner of the restaurant where they were meeting stood up and spoke about how her restaurant would be affected by the removal of the bridge. According to the state’s plan for the new bridge, cars would never come far enough to even see her restaurant, which could mean a loss of business for them. Other longtime residents shared sentimental stories about the history of the bridge.

  Then the state representatives presented their concerns about continuing to operate the existing bridge. The biggest of which, Emily noted, was the safety factor. The bridge was notorious for breaking down and causing no way to get on or off the island for hours. Also at low tide and high tide fire trucks couldn’t cross because the bridge was either sitting too low in the water or too high. It was a floating bridge dependent on water levels and the trucks were just too heavy. Emily thought of her father’s heart attack years ago and how the quick response of the EMTs was the only reason he was still alive. How would she have felt if it had happened here, on the island, and rescue crews couldn’t get to him? She studied Claire’s face to see if she was swayed by this relevant argument.

  Sara tapped her on the shoulder and shyly handed her a picture she’d drawn on the back of the church bulletin. Noah, she’d noticed, was drawing bombs hitting the photo of the church on the front of the bulletin with flames coming out the windows. But Sara had drawn a woman and a little girl holding hands. Their hands, she noticed with a smile, were huge in proportion to their bodies. “Is that you and your mommy?” she whispered to the little girl.

  Sara shook her head. “No,” she stage-whispered back. “It’s me and you.” Emily couldn’t explain why tears unwittingly filled her eyes. She glanced back at Claire, guessing that she had received hundreds of these type of drawings, so many she hardly even registered when one was placed in her hands. Her neighbor was overwhelmed, but in Emily’s opinion, in the best possible way. She squeezed Sara’s shoulder and whispered to her, “I’ll treasure it.” Sara gave her a shy smile in return, tucking her chin into her chest.

  When Kyle, who had slipped in late, began to speak, Emily looked quickly back to the front, her eyes trained on him, hoping that Claire couldn’t hear her heart pounding, grateful she couldn’t see the way it had risen in her chest at the sound of his voice. She was taking this schoolgirl crush a bit too far, clearly. Perhaps because it was safe since there was no way Kyle knew she was alive beyond the fact that she lived in Ada’s house now. She guessed that if she passed him on the beach he’d blink at her without a trace of recognition.

  Either way as soon as she got home she was calling Marta to tell her about it. If nothing else they’d have a good laugh at the absurdity of it all. And maybe it would incite a visit from Marta that much faster. If she knew her friend, she’d show up just for the possibility of a glimpse of him.

  She shook her head and made herself focus on Kyle’s words. They’d saved him for last—probably because he had acting experience or maybe because he’d just been late. He commented on the cons of the bridge, acknowledging the trouble it caused when the bridge broke. He shared how the restaurant they were meeting in had installed a special freezer just for people who got stuck with perishable groceries in their cars so no one would lose their meat or ice cream to the heat. At the mention of ice cream, Noah piped up, “I want some ice cream, Mommy,” a bit too loud and everyone laughed as Claire shushed him, embarrassed. Emily made a mental note to offer to take them for ice cream after t
he meeting if Claire said it was okay.

  But after Kyle acknowledged the cons of the bridge, he went on to tell about his father and grandfather before him who had been bridge tenders. How he’d “pursued another profession” for a while, but ultimately returned to the bridge, the pull of the place too strong for any amount of distance to be enough. “It’s in my blood, this bridge,” he said to the state representatives. “It’s part of my history.” He looked around the room.

  “But it’s not just my history. It’s our history.” He held up the dusty old books he’d carried out of her house earlier. “These are logs from one of our first bridge tenders. They’re filled with more than just documentation about an old bridge opening and closing. They’re filled with slices of North Carolina history: The barges that carried pipes to develop this area of the country. The pleasure boats that carried young people headed down to Ocean Drive to shag. The shrimping boats that carry the meals we’ve eaten here for many years.” He held his hands out to indicate the room they were using. “These logs carry my history and yours. Another bridge—the big fancy one you’re talking about building—might be more efficient, but it won’t have the heart and the history of this one.” He turned to face the state representatives and continued speaking as if there was no one else in the room.

  “I ask you to consider that as you decide what is best for this island. We’re a little place where people come to forget the world on the other side. Crossing this old bridge means they’re crossing over to a sanctuary for their souls. I just can’t help feeling that a new bridge like you’re proposing won’t mean the same to all of us.” He thanked the men for hearing him out, then took a seat at the front of the room. Emily wondered if everyone else was as moved by his speech as she was. She stared at the back of his head, her mind recreating the scene in the movie when the heroine did the same thing.

  After Kyle was finished speaking, the owner of the restaurant, a woman named Ruth, thanked everyone for coming and adjourned the meeting. People broke off into clusters, clearly familiar with each other. Claire hugged Ruth and bantered back and forth with her for a moment, allowing Ruth to introduce her to the state reps. Emily watched as Claire poured on the charm, her laughter carrying across the room. Emily stayed seated with the children, hoping Claire hurried up before they got restless. She had a hunch that Claire had invited her because she would have help with the kids. Emily didn’t mind so much, she liked Sara and Noah and felt bad for Claire, being a single parent much of the week. Like Kyle, she seemed intent on preserving history for the sake of history, even when some of the arguments for moving forward sounded more rational. Emily didn’t intend to ever voice that to Claire though. Let her have her history. She certainly knew what it was like to want to hang on to what was.

  She looked around the restaurant, remembering as she did how she’d pouted to Ryan about not being able to afford to eat here when they were on their honeymoon. “When we buy a house here someday we’re going there and taking our kids,” she’d said emphatically. Now as she looked around she realized she had finally gotten to the restaurant, she did own a beach house. In a way she had everything she needed and much of what she’d ever wanted. And yet none of it was what she’d dreamed.

  “Deep in thought?” she heard the unmistakable voice ask. She looked over and realized he’d sidled up to her while she was thinking. While she was lost in thought Noah had ventured over to his mother and was pulling on her arm to get her to leave. Sara, quiet, sweet Sara, had stayed seated beside her, thankfully. She was clearly not the best babysitter.

  “Just remembering. Your talk on the history of this place got me thinking,” she said, turning to face Kyle and being shocked again at the reality of him. He was Brady Rutledge, and yet, here in this place, he wasn’t.

  “Good memories, I hope?” he asked.

  Ryan’s face filled her mind, the way he’d promised her when they came back one day they’d bring their children to this restaurant. He’d be a successful attorney by then. She’d go back to teaching when the kids were in school, which would provide the money they’d need to afford two homes and fancy dinners out. They had it all figured out, they’d thought.

  “Bittersweet ones,” she admitted.

  He gave her a half smile. “I get that.” Something about the look on his face told her he wasn’t just making small talk. His smile widened and he seemed to want to lighten the conversation. “Thanks for coming out tonight. It helped just to have people show up so the state knows that it’s more than a handful of people who want to save the old bridge.”

  “So you’re the bridge tender?” she asked, stating the obvious and wishing she’d thought of something better as an opener.

  “Yeah, I gave up Hollywood because this was so much more glamorous,” he joked.

  She laughed. “I’m sure it’s nice. Quiet. Private. Maybe that’s what you wanted.”

  He nodded, thinking it over. “Yeah. Hidden in that tender house no one can see who you are, and no one cares as long as you open and close that bridge on time. It’s much simpler, I can tell you that.”

  She was about to say something inane when Claire came over and pulled on her arm. “Sorry, gotta go. Natives are restless.” She regarded Kyle for a moment and gave him a dismissive wave.

  “Hello, Claire,” he responded dully. Emily sensed a tension between the two of them. She would have to ask Claire about it later. He gave Emily a smile and gestured for her to follow Claire, who was headed toward the door with both kids’ hands firmly grasped in hers. “Wouldn’t want to keep Her Highness waiting. Nice talking to you. Thanks again for letting me bust in on you this afternoon.” He gestured at the state reps, who were now paging through the logs he’d held up as he spoke. “I think they were a nice touch.”

  “I do too. Hope they made a difference,” she said.

  “Me too,” he echoed. But his voice didn’t sound hopeful, and Emily didn’t blame him. As she followed Claire out of the restaurant she couldn’t help but think of the cons they had listed. If she was keeping score, she would have to admit one side outweighed the other. History and heart, she was finding, had little place in the real world. Everyone seemed intent on forward motion. There weren’t enough people who thought like she and Kyle did. At the thought of lumping herself in the same category with Kyle a smile filled her face. She smiled all the way to the ice-cream store.

  They drove all the way to Ocean Isle Beach for ice cream, where Emily learned a bit more about her young neighbors. Noah liked sprinkles and cared very little about what flavor ice cream held the sprinkles up. The ice cream only served as a vehicle to get the sprinkles into his mouth. Emily sympathized: she felt the same way about fries and ketchup. Sara liked bubblegum, mainly because it was pink.

  Emily watched as Claire patiently waited for them to make up their minds, then placed the order, surprising her with an ice-cream cookie—two large soft-baked chocolate chip cookies with a thick slab of vanilla ice cream between them—that she insisted they split. Claire groaned as she took a bite. “Oh man, are my thighs going to pay for this. But it’s so good!”

  Emily agreed, finding that that smile remained on her face, this time for a different reason than the attention of a lost movie star. She recognized that she was having fun. She took a big bite of the ice-cream sandwich, giggling over how wide she had to stretch her mouth to actually get her teeth into it. Marta had recently commented that she was glad to see Emily’s appetite returning, and that she could stand to gain some weight back from all those months she barely ate while Ryan was sick, and after. Food was starting to taste good again and she even enjoyed the occasional indulgence. It felt like progress, and she suspected the long days in the sun and the briny beach air were helping things along.

  She looked around them at the store filled with customers milling around, enjoying a summer evening. And while she still wished more than anything that Ryan was here splitting that ice-cream sandwich with her, she had to admit that she was still gr
ateful to be here at all. She had the feeling this is what her mother had meant when she intoned before she left that she hoped Emily would start living again. “I hope you find a life there,” she’d said, her voice wistful and hopeful. It must’ve been hard for her mother to watch her mourn Ryan and not be able to do anything to take away the pain. Almost as hard as it was to bear it, in a different way. She knew her mother wasn’t used to feeling helpless, to not have the answers. And yet, though they had both searched the scriptures that had always brought comfort, it wasn’t as easy this time. The easy answers eluded them all.

  They moved out of the way so the folks in line could have more room and Claire motioned for them to take a seat outside on one of the benches. She nodded and followed, shepherding the children in the right direction, her eyes scanning the crowd automatically, used to picking out familiar faces. Ever the preacher’s daughter, she rarely went anywhere without running into someone she knew back home. Old habits died hard. She smiled at herself, searching strangers’ faces, forgetting that here she was a stranger herself. She wondered if, though she was a homeowner now, this place would ever feel like home. She hoped so, hoped that she would find friends, put down roots, feel a sense of homecoming when she crossed the Sunset Beach bridge.

  She turned to face Claire and the kids, who were giddy over being out past bedtime indulging in a sweet treat with their mother and a new friend. But as her eyes swept over the crowd she thought she saw a familiar face after all and looked back. They were sitting off at a picnic table to the side of the building, folded into each other. She could see the amber-colored hair falling over a bare shoulder onto milky white skin that probably never did anything but burn. Though it was night, there was enough light on the porch and surrounding lampposts to illuminate Amber and her mystery man as she fed him ice cream and giggled. Emily stared a moment too long, prompting Claire to ask what she was looking at.