The Bridge Tender

by Marybeth Whalen

  She finished grilling the sandwiches, plated them, and called the kids. They took their sweet time coming to the table, but once there they wolfed down the sandwiches. “Mommy never lets us have these!” Sara said, a big approving smile on her face. Emily felt proud of her babysitting ability. She had scored big with the kids and the evening was going smoothly. Claire and Rick deserved a nice evening out and she was making that possible for them. It almost made her feel better about how badly things had gone with Kyle.

  After dinner she gave into the begging and scooped ice cream for them, being careful to only give them one little scoop. They whined and begged for more, but she stood her ground, distracting them from the ice cream with an offer to play a round of Uno. She had to help Noah a bit, explaining to Sara—who objected—that they were a team. She thought the game would pass the time, but after several rounds the clock only said six forty-five. They had another hour before she could put them to bed. “You guys want to watch a movie?” she asked. They agreed, rushing over to turn the TV back on.

  They all snuggled together on the couch, Emily enjoying the feeling of closeness. That was the thing about being single again. She often went days—even weeks—without physical contact, missing the time when she had a husband, when she could always count on a kiss or hug or hand to hold at any given notice. She missed a lot of things about being married, but that was perhaps the biggest. She thought of Kyle holding her hand the other night and how familiar yet strange it had been to her. She had been terrified of it, yet craved it all the same. Touch was important, and anyone who said it wasn’t didn’t understand the human heart. A person could starve for physical affection the same way they could starve for food. She was sure of it.

  The feeling of comfort overtook her and she could feel her eyes growing heavy the longer they sat there. She wasn’t interested in the cartoon movie the kids had chosen and she hadn’t slept well since her date with Kyle, tossing and turning as she sorted out her complicated array of emotions. She figured Kyle hadn’t lost a wink of sleep since their date—probably hadn’t given the night a second thought—and that only made her feel worse. She felt herself slipping into the sweet oblivion of sleep, the noises from the TV and the wiggling children fading away as she did, dreams replacing reality.

  In her dream Ryan was still alive. She could hear his voice, feel his arms around her, watch his eyes crinkle as he laughed. He teased her, sometimes disagreed with her, offered her advice. In her dreams it was as if they were still married. She often woke up confused as to which world was real—the one in her dreams or the one she found herself in when she awoke. This time her dream took place in Claire’s house, only Sara and Noah were her children, her and Ryan’s. The three of them were waiting for him to come home, the kids asking her again and again when he would be back. The more they asked, the more desperate she became, pacing in front of the window that overlooked the street, watching for a car that never arrived. After what seemed like hours in the dream, little Sara pulled on her arm. “Is Daddy ever coming back?” she asked. She opened her mouth to say yes, but instead she just started to cry. And as she cried, Sara joined in, her howls escalating until Emily put her hands over her ears.

  She woke up with wet cheeks, her eyes blurry from tears when she opened them. She blinked them away, looking around the room, confused about where she was for a moment. That was when she realized that the crying from her dream was still reverberating through the house. She looked around as it started to dawn on her what had happened. She had fallen asleep and the kids were not on the couch beside her anymore. She jumped up and headed in the direction of the crying.

  She found Sara in the kitchen sobbing, a trail of sticky ice-cream droplets leading from the table to the sink where she had tried to wash away the evidence. A bowl lay cracked in the sink, and a melting carton of ice cream sat on the counter, the scooper still sitting inside. She took in the mess and the crying child, realizing in a split second that the other child was nowhere to be found. “Sara,” she said, crouching down beside the little girl, “where is Noah?”

  Sara turned her sticky face to Emily. “His tummy hurts. I tried to help him.”

  “Oh, Sara honey, you should’ve woken me up,” she mumbled as she turned and went in search of Noah, calling his name. The house looked like a hurricane had hit and she wondered how she could’ve slept through all of it. There were more ice-cream drops leaving a trail through the house and she followed it like bread crumbs. The closer she got to Noah’s room, the more she could detect a faint moan. She rushed inside feeling more and more like a failure the more she uncovered. How long had she been asleep?

  She found Noah sprawled across his bed, moaning and hugging his pillow. He looked up at her. “I don’t feel so good,” he said.

  “Oh, Noah, how much ice cream did you have?”

  “Just a little bit more. Sara made it for me while you were sleeping.”

  Emily realized that the ice cream was probably enough to send their lactose intolerance into overdrive. She pulled Noah to her and hugged him close. “I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she whispered.

  He groaned and crossed his arms over his stomach. “I’m sorry I ate the ice cream.”

  She ruffled his hair. “Get your pj’s on, honey. I’ve got a mess to clean up in the kitchen.” She slipped from the room and went back to the kitchen where little Sara was tearfully trying to clean up by herself. “Sara, I’ll do it,” she said. “You go get your pj’s on.” She took the sponge Sara was using out of her hand and put her hands on the little girl’s thin shoulders. “I’m sorry I wasn’t watching you guys like I should’ve. This is my fault.” She wanted to plead with Sara not to tell her parents, but held back. She scanned the kitchen and checked the clock, gauging whether she could clean up the place before Claire and Rick got back. Maybe it would all work out and the kids would be sleeping like little angels in a clean house by the time they arrived home.

  Sara shook her head. “I shouldn’t have gotten Noah the extra ice cream. He begged and begged and I thought it would make him happy. Now he’s sick.”

  “Look, we’re going to get this cleaned up. And Noah will feel better soon. Right now I just need you to get ready for bed so I can clean this up before your mommy and daddy get back.” Sara looked doubtful, surveying the mess with a pinched expression on her face. Emily tucked a stray strand of hair behind the girl’s ear and smoothed down her hair, thinking of how Sara had had a similar expression on her face in the dream. Now, and then, she had only wanted to put the child’s mind at ease.

  Thankfully Sara trotted off to her room while Emily quickly and efficiently tackled the mess in the kitchen. She rinsed the dishes and stowed them in the dishwasher, then began wiping down the counters. She was about to mop the floor when Sara came running back into the kitchen. “Emily! Emily! It’s Noah, he’s really crying bad!”

  She grabbed the mop from Emily’s hand and motioned for Emily to follow her. Panicked, she ran back to Noah’s room. She found Noah in a fetal position on his bed saying, “My tummy hurts,” over and over. She sat down beside him on the bed and attempted to pull him into her lap to comfort him. But it turned out that moving him was not the smartest decision. As soon as he sat up, he vomited all over Emily, himself, and his bed. From the doorway, Sara gasped as Emily sat frozen, stunned by what had just happened, the warm contents of Noah’s stomach pooling on her shirt and in her lap. She and Noah blinked at each other and for a few seconds there was complete silence.

  The silence was broken by the sounds of voices in the kitchen. She heard Claire calling for her, heard Rick’s heavy footsteps clomping through the kitchen. “Mommy,” Sara said and walked toward the sounds of her parents’ voices before Emily could respond. She held her shirt away from her body to keep the liquid from seeping through but she could feel it soaking through her pants. She was grateful she hadn’t worn shorts that night. Noah sat up and was struggling to get down from the bed when Claire walked in. “What is going on
?” she asked, her voice not angry but confused.

  “Mommy,” Noah said, reaching for Claire, who started to pick him up until Emily stopped her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said, flipping on Noah’s bedside lamp so Claire could see what had happened. Claire grimaced as she simultaneously registered what she was smelling and seeing. Instead of hugging her little boy to her, she helped him out of the bed and led him to the bathroom, motioning for Emily to follow them. Uncertain what to do first, she followed like one of the children and came to stand in the bathroom with Claire and Noah. In the other room she could hear Sara’s bright voice relating to Rick all that had happened.

  “From the looks of things,” Claire said to Noah as she removed his shirt, “you guys got into the ice cream.”

  Noah nodded seriously, coming clean in more ways than one. “And we told Emily we wanted to have grilled cheese. It gave me a tummy ache just like you said it would.”

  Claire looked at Emily, biting back a smile. “Mommy tells you things for a reason, Noah. That’s why God gave you a mommy. And Emily didn’t know the rules but you did.”

  “I fell asleep,” Emily confessed as well. “The kids were watching a movie and I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.”

  Claire pointed at Emily. “You need a clean shirt,” she said. “And maybe some yoga pants?” She gave Emily a look that told her she didn’t blame her. Emily nodded in response. Claire disappeared from the bathroom and returned quickly with an old T-shirt and some worn yoga pants. “Use my bathroom to get changed and cleaned up while I finish with him and get his bed changed.”

  “I’ll help,” Emily offered.

  Claire held her hand up. “You just get dressed. I’ll handle it from here.” Though Emily knew she was being nice, she couldn’t help but wonder if deep down Claire was disappointed to find the chaos she’d come home to. Emily would’ve been if the tables were turned. Poor Claire had so looked forward to going out alone with Rick. How positively unromantic it was to walk back into vomit and mess after a romantic evening alone. In the privacy of the bathroom Emily dressed quickly, balling up her dirty clothes and carrying them out to the kitchen in search of a plastic bag to stow them in. She found Claire stuffing the soiled sheets into the washing machine in the laundry area just off the kitchen, her expression pinched. Emily couldn’t help but notice her face looked a lot like Sara’s. She started to say so, but sensed this wasn’t the time.

  “I’m really sorry about tonight. I thought I had everything under control. This was the last thing I wanted you to walk into. I was hoping I could get it cleaned up before you got home.” She checked the clock. “You guys are home much earlier than I thought you’d be.”

  Claire looked over at her, her expression grave. “We kinda got . . . in a fight. So I said we should just come home and he said fine.”

  Poor Claire, this night was just bad all the way around. There was no way she was bringing up Kyle to add to it. “I’m so sorry.”

  Claire shrugged. “Rick wants me and the kids to come home. He thinks that our original plan isn’t working. He says this way of living is just too hard. But I love being here so much and I told him that he should find a way to spend more time here. He said I wasn’t respecting how hard he has to work to provide for us because I was pressuring him.” Claire started to cry. “So the night was already ruined. You didn’t ruin it.” She gave Emily a weak smile. “I mean, I could’ve lived without dealing with throw up, but I know how relentless they can be. Trust me.”

  “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” Emily said. Rick walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, staring at the two of them as they both fell silent. Emily looked from Rick to Claire and back again. It was clear he wanted to speak with his wife. “I’ll just, um, go. Now. Just tell the kids I’ll see them later.”

  Claire gave her a little wave as she squared her shoulders and turned to face Rick. Emily let herself out, crossing the yard toward her house. She noticed the lights were off and assumed that Amber must’ve already gone to bed for the night. Slipping into the house, she fumbled with the light in the kitchen, switching the darkness to light.

  She didn’t know whether it was the sound or the movement that caught her attention first. But either way, she was instantly aware that there were people in the dark den. She saw the flash of skin, the flurry of activity, and heard someone curse as she realized what was happening. “Amber?” she called out, crossing toward the den as whoever was with Amber fled, scurrying into the room Amber had been using and slamming the door. Amber, left on the couch under an afghan, blinked at her, her breath coming in frightened gasps. Emily looked down at her, understanding what was going on, yet still wishing it wasn’t true. She looked from Amber to the closed bedroom door and back again.

  “You’re home early,” the girl said, her eyes wide.

  Emily clenched her fists and took a deep breath. She was too young to have a teenager, but she felt that in that moment she knew what a parent of one must feel like, the warring emotions of wanting to string the child up and wanting to protect her from herself wreaking havoc inside her.

  “One of the kids got sick,” she managed to say, surprised at how level she’d managed to make her voice sound.

  “Oh,” Amber said. She pulled the afghan closer to her chin and looked away.

  “Is that him?” Emily asked, gesturing to the closed door.

  Amber nodded without looking up.

  “Did you tell him?”

  Amber shook her head no.

  “So you—what?—invite him over here for a little romantic rendezvous while I’m out of the house? What did you think would happen after that? Why would you do that, Amber?” She couldn’t keep the betrayal out of her voice. She knew she should be more diplomatic, less emotional, but she couldn’t. She had offered this girl shelter and friendship, reached out to her when no one else did.

  “I wanted to see him,” Amber said weakly. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.” She played with the fringe of the afghan, still not looking up.

  “I would assume you would know that wouldn’t be cool with me,” Emily said.

  “But I was going to tell him.”

  “When?” Emily’s voice was getting louder.

  A few seconds ticked by as Emily watched Amber wrap the fringe of the blanket around her finger and let it go a few times, resisting the desire to yank it out of her hand. “Later,” Amber finally said.

  “You are being a fool,” Emily spat out, unable to hide her frustration. This had been a monumentally bad evening and this new development was salt on the wound. She was past politeness and decorum.

  “Well, I’m sorry I’m not so under control like you,” Amber countered. “I’m sorry I have feelings for him.”

  “But he doesn’t have feelings for you, Amber! He’s using you!” She was being too harsh, spitting out all the things she’d held back from saying since she became aware of Amber’s situation. Her anger was getting the best of her and she suspected she would regret her outburst later. But in the moment she couldn’t hold back.

  Emily watched as a look of hurt flitted across Amber’s face that was quickly replaced by a look of steely resolve. Her eyes flashed as she stood up and gripped the afghan to her. “Maybe I should just leave then.”

  Emily stepped back, leaving room for Amber to walk away. “That’s your choice, Amber.” A lump rose in her throat. This wasn’t her child; she wasn’t even really her responsibility. Yet somehow she was. This girl had captured her heart, made her feel an unexplained connection almost from the minute she saw her. She couldn’t help but feel saddened at the thought of her walking out the door. And yet she also couldn’t ignore the fact that Amber had been wrong to invite him over in her absence. She willed Amber to admit it, to say she was sorry, to beg Emily to let her stay. But instead Amber just walked away with her head held high, disappearing behind the door to the room Emily had quickly come to think of as hers. She waited until the door closed behind
Amber to cry.

  Twenty-One

  Marta and Phil would arrive that afternoon to a sunny, clean house and fresh-baked cookies artfully laid out on a platter, a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade beside it. In an effort to keep busy and ward off thoughts of the night before, Emily had thrown herself into scrubbing the house and getting ready for her guests, a welcome distraction. She thought of Ryan’s messiness as she cleaned, remembering how angry she used to get as she tidied and scrubbed—and how oblivious he seemed to it all. She pushed harder on the sponge in her hand, the elbow grease relieving the stress, sadness, and confusion she’d been battling.

  Though she still wished Marta was coming alone, she was determined to make the best of things. No matter how she got her there, it was still good that her best friend was coming on this day of all days. She needed to process all that had happened, talk about the sequence of events ad infinitum as they had always done. Marta’s wry sense of humor and no-nonsense approach to things always helped set things straight for her, and she looked forward to the visit. Marta would help her figure out what to do about Amber, how to talk to Claire even though she felt totally awkward after the babysitting fiasco, and get her mind off Kyle. So far in Sunset everything she touched turned as sour as the vomit that coated her clothes the night before.

  That’s a nice image, she imagined Ryan saying.

  You hush, she silently retorted. You’re the one who got me into this in the first place. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be well on my way to becoming a master landscaper back home and maybe have run off with the yard guy.