The Bridge Tender

by Marybeth Whalen

  His face broke into a grin to match hers. “I knew I liked you.” He couldn’t know the fireworks those words set off in her heart. She coached herself to cool it as they walked to the car. Just because her inner teen was lurking didn’t mean she needed to completely show up.

  And so the night ended with them out on her dock, listening to the rippling water and the sounds of an occasional fish breaking the surface, agreeing that this beat any movie, hands down. They watched the lights of the bridge in the distance as it opened and closed. He explained the process that was going on behind the scenes. “I’d like to go there sometime and see it up close,” she said, then wondered if that was too forward. He hadn’t said he wanted to see her again, and yet he hadn’t rushed off. Wasn’t that a good sign? She was so out of practice at this dating thing.

  “I’d like that,” he said, his eyes on the bridge, his face serious. She wondered if he was thinking about the fate of the bridge and felt a pang of guilt course through her as she remembered what she’d written. It wasn’t that what she’d said wasn’t true, it was that her words betrayed the cause he was so passionate about and could contribute to the destruction of something he loved. She wrestled with fessing up as much as she’d wrestled with telling him about Ryan. But there was never a right moment to do it. No sense making a first date so serious. Instead she concentrated on his every move, hoping—even though she couldn’t believe it—that he would kiss her again. Her stomach was filled with butterflies—monarch, painted lady, and swallowtails—all doing laps.

  She could almost feel both Amber’s and Claire’s watchful eyes on her, eyes peering from the windows of their respective houses. She would have to introduce the two of them so they could coordinate their spying. All they needed was her mother and Marta to complete the picture. But there was nothing to see except two people making small talk on a dock on a summer’s night under the stars. The setting was beautiful and perfect and she tried to focus on how already she’d gotten more than she ever expected when he’d first shown up at her house looking for Ada.

  He yawned and she felt a little crestfallen. She knew what that yawn meant and resolved not to make it hard for him to leave. She would be cavalier and fun, not serious and dry. He would like being with her because of it and maybe he’d ask her out again. And if not, she’d had this night, which was more than she’d ever dreamed of when she’d tacked that poster on her wall so long ago. She thought of the words on the poster: Tonight they take their one big chance. Going out with him at all had felt like taking a chance to her, a big, good first step to a life apart from Ryan. Perhaps there would come a time when she could explain that to him. She hoped he could understand when she did find the words.

  “You tired?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. Promised myself no matter what I’d make this an early night.” He looked over at her. “But it’s hard to leave. I’ve enjoyed just relaxing with you.” He stretched his legs out ahead of him and leaned back to look at the stars.

  “I’m glad. I had a nice time too.”

  “Nice enough to do it again sometime?”

  She glanced up at the stars above them, the quarter moon hanging just over the bridge. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” she breathed, unable to keep a victorious smile from filling her face.

  “Good,” he said and pushed himself to a standing position. He looked down at her and for a moment she thought he was going to extend his hand again. “I can show myself out,” he said. “Don’t get up. I like thinking of you out here, enjoying this view. Now when I look in this direction while I’m working I’m going to picture you sitting here.” He stretched and shook his head. “It’ll be the highlight of my day.”

  “Unless of course someone else tries to jump the bridge with their truck,” she said, looking up at him.

  He leaned down so that his face was inches above hers, so close she could feel his breath on her face, smell his skin. “Can I kiss you good-bye?” he asked.

  She meant to say yes, of course, please, ask him what he’d been waiting for. Instead her heart raced and she fumbled for the right words, her brain short-circuiting at the time when she most needed to think clearly, her heart stuttering when she needed it to pound. This wasn’t the fantasy of kissing Brady Rutledge. This was the reality of kissing Kyle Baker. This wasn’t Just This Once; it was real life. So instead of merely nodding—which would’ve been just fine and what people in the movies did as the music soared—she began babbling, her mouth working independently from the rest of her as she tried to offer an answer to his question.

  “I just can’t believe I’m here, with you. I mean, you’re Brady Rutledge. Of course I know you’re not Brady Rutledge, I mean, duh, of course I know that now. But I mean, to me you were Brady Rutledge for so long and I guess in some ways I’ll always think of you that way and so the idea of kissing you—I mean, my goodness, I just can’t even process that.”

  She stopped babbling and noticed that he’d moved his face away and that obviously she’d ruined the moment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. I mean, it’s just that we hardly know each other. I mean, last night I was Googling you, for crying out loud, just to know more about you. And you asked me earlier about this ring and, well, that is a story and it’s a sad one. And isn’t it weird to think of kissing someone when you don’t even know their sad stories? I mean, I found a story on you that said you came back here because of some sort of tragedy. So that means you have a sad story of your own.”

  He took a step backward, his face registering his shock over her outburst. And as she said it, she realized this was why she hadn’t wanted to kiss him. “I mean, what if one of us doesn’t want to deal with the other’s sad story?”

  He stood motionless for a moment, blinking at her as if he didn’t speak English and had no idea what she’d just said. “Point taken,” he finally mumbled. “I guess I’ll see you around.” He started to walk away and she could see in the set of his shoulders that she had hurt him.

  She jumped up, humiliated at what she’d done and wondering why in the world she’d sabotaged what could’ve been a beautiful, relationship-defining moment for them. What was wrong with her? Barefooted, she ran across the grass, already wet with dew, forgetting all about the sand spurs that lurked in her yard. “Ow!” she hollered as a spur caught her flesh, embedding itself in the sole of her foot. She tried to hop forward, but the injury made it impossible to keep going. She began to feel around in the dark for the offending element to pluck it out of her skin when she felt him coming near.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She felt his hand on her shoulder, steadying her as she yanked out the burr. “Dang it, that hurt!” she said as she tossed the burr back into the grass. As she did, she knew why she’d ruined the moment. Just like she wasn’t ready to tell him about Ryan, she wasn’t ready to kiss him like that. As much as the girl inside her found it appealing, the woman she’d grown into was still grieving her husband. And while Kyle was a nice distraction, he wasn’t Ryan. She looked at him, flustered, her foot throbbing as he put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, somehow knowing that what she needed most in that moment was a hug.

  “I’m sorry I’m such an idiot,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, which smelled like him.

  “You’re not. You’re just not sure what you want. And no one said you had to be.” He pushed her back slightly, his hands on her shoulders so he could look her in the eye. “I had a nice time,” he said. He pointed to her foot. “I’d pour some peroxide on that if I were you.” Even in the darkness she could see the smart-aleck grin cross his face. “Sure you don’t need help getting inside, oh wounded one?”

  She shook her head. “Nah, I’ll hobble in alone, thank you. I’d actually prefer you walk away so I can try to reclaim some scrap of my dignity.”

  He took a few steps away. “See you around?” he asked.

  �
��Yes,” she said, noticing that his phrasing pretty much meant there would be no more dates. And who could blame him? She’d acted crazy, babbling on instead of kissing him, dodging his questions about why she wore a wedding ring. Most men avoided crazy like tearjerker chick flicks.

  As promised she waited until he was gone to half hop, half limp inside, wishing that her wounded pride would heal faster than her foot. She’d just gone on a date with a movie star and managed to blow it in the last fifteen minutes of the night. Maybe this was Ryan’s doing too, proof that he wasn’t any more ready to let go of her than she was of him. Before she went inside she looked in the direction of the horizon. But it was too dark to distinguish the sky from the water.

  Twenty

  “I rambled, Marta. Babbled. Like an idiot. Pretty much came out and said, ‘I’m a complete loony and you should run.’ And he did, Marta. He practically broke into a run to his car.”

  “I’m sure you’re blowing this out of proportion,” Marta said. She was at Phil’s house taking this phone call. He was washing her car for her out in the driveway and wasn’t that sweet? Marta had gushed. Emily had never heard Marta gush over a guy before. She didn’t quite know where to put it. And frankly she just didn’t want to hear about Marta’s happiness at that particular moment. Not when she’d single-handedly ruined any chance at her own. Unless of course Ryan wasn’t really dead and this had all been a big mistake. Sometimes she wished he would walk in the front door of the house, smile at her, and thank her for getting them the perfect house. She’d give him a tour that ended in the bedroom. Then they’d go to the beach. Walk back to that house that was sliding into the ocean and marvel over how their dreams came true.

  But of course that was as likely to happen as Kyle ever speaking to her again.

  “Marta, you weren’t there. You didn’t see his face. He was scared. Polite because he’s a Southern boy and he can’t help but be, but I’m telling you he was out of there. He said, ‘See you around.’ What do you take that to mean? That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “Okay, I admit that’s not really what you want to hear at the end of a date, but I’m sure he’ll come around. You can’t judge the whole date off the three little words he said at the end.”

  She thought of the three little words most women want to hear and wondered if she would ever hear them again. If she would ever want to. Was her love reserved just for Ryan forever? Emily listened as Phil came into his house and spoke to Marta who laughed uproariously at whatever he said. Phil, as Emily recalled, wasn’t that funny. “What did he say?” she asked, not really caring but just wanting to get off the subject of her disastrous first-and-only date with Kyle.

  “Oh, inside joke,” Marta said. “It would take me too long to explain and then it wouldn’t even be funny.”

  Emily tried not to let it hurt her that Marta was forming inside jokes with Phil, that their relationship had grown to something that excluded her, that they had formed a couple world where only the two of them existed. It was normal, natural, and Marta deserved it. She had waited so long. She wanted to be genuinely happy for her friend, not petty and selfish.

  “So,” Marta said. “I have an idea. Since that girl is living in my room”—Emily had spent the first part of the conversation filling Marta in on all that had happened with Amber and, to her credit, she hadn’t once said how crazy Emily was—“and I’m not bitter at all about that.” She paused to let Emily laugh. “But if I am recalling correctly, there are still two unclaimed bedrooms, no?”

  “Ye-es? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking Phil and I should come down there. Spend some time with you. Assess this situation with the girl—Phil is a lawyer, after all—and get your mind off things.”

  Emily sighed in relief. While in a perfect world Marta would come alone and not bring her own personal attorney, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Marta would make her laugh, help her stop obsessing over her ruined night. Maybe it was for the best that things had ended with Kyle before they really started. He hadn’t seen what she’d written on the state site, taking a public stand against something he cared about. That probably would’ve been the end for them and maybe it would’ve been harder than this. Sometimes things just weren’t meant to be no matter how much you hoped they were.

  “I would love that,” she said. “When can you come?”

  “Tomorrow?” Marta said. “We could stay through the weekend.”

  “I wish. But I actually have plans to babysit for the people next door tomorrow.”

  “Babysit? How in the world did that happen?”

  “My next-door neighbor never gets to see her husband because he only comes down on weekends. But he’s here for the week and she caught me in a good mood because I was excited about going out with Kyle—”

  “You mean Brady,” Marta interrupted.

  “No, I mean Kyle.”

  Marta laughed. “I was kidding. I just like saying that my best friend is going out with Brady Rutledge.”

  “Your best friend is most certainly not going out with Brady Rutledge—or his alter ego.”

  “Anyway, getting back to the story of how your neighbor took advantage of a weak moment and capitalized on your happiness,” Marta said.

  “She didn’t. I mean, she had no idea I was going out with him. She doesn’t really care for him for some reason. In fact, I’m seeing her tonight. I should ask her about that.”

  “Maybe he’s secretly a violent criminal. Maybe he’s a terrible person.”

  But Kyle wasn’t a terrible person and Emily knew it. Deep down in her soul she knew he was kind and caring, the type of person who had the foresight to leave himself an escape hatch out of Hollywood because he couldn’t be a celebrity. He’d rather be an anonymous bridge tender, making a way for other people to get where they were going.

  She pushed those thoughts out of her mind lest she start obsessing over what she’d done again. “Maybe so,” was all she said. She and Marta made arrangements for them to come the day after tomorrow and stay for several days. She hung up the phone choosing to feel happy over the visit, forcing her mind to think about the things she could control and not what had already happened that she couldn’t go back and make any different. Water under the bridge, she told herself. And smiled at the irony.

  “Now, they will beg you for ice cream, but do not give it to them,” Claire was saying as she and Rick left for their evening out. Claire looked stunning, a vast difference from the bathing suit top paired with old track shorts she usually wore, her face bare of any makeup. Even then she looked beautiful, but in an ordinary way. This Claire—the dressed-up, made-up version—was movie-star gorgeous. Emily was having a hard time not feeling jealous. It was Sara’s good fortune that she looked just like her mother. Emily glanced over at Sara, pouting on the couch at being left behind.

  Rick, who already had one foot out the door, pulled on Claire’s hand. “They will be fine,” he said softly. Behind Claire’s shoulder, he grimaced comically for Emily. “Tell her you will be fine and to stop worrying,” he pleaded.

  Emily could tell Rick wanted his beautiful wife to himself. And soon. Maybe she’d have a chance to ask Claire about Kyle when they got home.

  Claire looked from Emily to the kids. “I’m just a little worried because Noah was acting puny this afternoon,” she said. “You have my cell, right?” Her eyes darted back to Noah who was watching cartoons, oblivious.

  “I’ve got it,” Emily said. “Go have fun. Please.”

  From over Claire’s shoulder, Rick gave her the thumbs-up sign. “See, honey? She’s got it all under control. They’ll be fine.” He emphasized the word fine and this time, when he pulled on her hand, Claire let herself be pulled away. Emily waved at both of them and shut the door before Claire could rethink things and come rushing back in. She felt better when she heard the car actually leave the driveway.

  She turned to the children, who were alternately engrossed in the TV and pouting over their
parents’ departure. “Who wants chicken nuggets?” she said, forcing her voice to sound cheerful and certain. Children, she knew, could smell fear just like bears.

  “I don’t want chicken nuggets,” Noah said.

  “Me either,” Sara echoed.

  Emily looked over at the package of frozen nuggets Claire had pulled from the freezer. “They love these,” she had said, sounding so certain.

  “Well, if you don’t want nuggets, what do you want?”

  “Grilled cheese!” Noah called out.

  “Yeah!” Sara agreed.

  Emily walked over to the refrigerator and searched around for some cheese. She found a package of American slices, wrapped in individual plastic. She found a loaf of bread on the counter, thinking of that first night Amber was with her, how she’d made her grilled cheese and tomato soup. It was comfort food. For two kids upset about being left with a sitter, comfort food was probably just what the doctor ordered. Claire had said something about lactose intolerance but she was probably just fretting needlessly. Emily had been surprised she hadn’t bolted from the house as soon as she showed up, taken the chance to be alone with Rick for a few hours and literally run with it. Instead Claire had been clearly conflicted about leaving Sara and Noah. Motherhood was more complicated than Emily knew.

  Her thoughts wandered to Amber again as she got out a frying pan and heated butter. She had offered for Amber to come next door with her, but Amber had begged off, saying she was tired and wanted to rest. Amber didn’t seem to be struggling with nausea much but did sleep a lot. Since Emily had never spent a lot of time around a pregnant person, she assumed this was normal, though sometimes she wondered how much of Amber’s lethargy was pregnancy related and how much was mild depression.

  Emily would be depressed if she was Amber—unmarried, basically homeless, and not much hope for the future. She needed to help the girl figure out how to change at least one of those three things as soon as possible. Maybe refocusing on Amber would help her forget Kyle, who hadn’t called and was clearly out of the picture. She thought of what Amber had said about him when she came in from her date: “He’s cute, for an old guy.” Emily had told her it didn’t matter and slunk off to her bedroom to pour peroxide on her foot like Kyle had recommended and sulk. To her credit Amber hadn’t pressed for details.