The Bridge Tender

by Marybeth Whalen

  Emily glanced over, trying hard not to be obvious and praying her eyes didn’t meet Kyle’s. She would rather die than have him see her see him, looking like some rejected wannabe still pining away. And yet if he looked into her eyes at that very moment, she knew that’s exactly what he’d see. With a quick glance through the window she took in his dark hair and her blonde. Saw a flash of jewelry as Xandra reached for him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Emily had rested her head on that same shoulder, been just that close. She reached for the water the waiter had put on the table and took a big sip.

  She looked around the restaurant, seeing the other people who were also trying hard not to look at the bona fide movie stars in their midst. Funny how Kyle had existed in this autonomous fog all this time, the citizens of this hamlet content to let him be, a humble bridge tender who scarcely warranted a second glance. But let a star fall from the sky and land among them and his star suddenly began to shine again. Suddenly the men wanted to be him and the women wanted to date him. If she hadn’t lost him before, she most certainly had now.

  Dinner was a quiet, stilted affair, with Phil pontificating and Marta readily agreeing, an eager, adoring expression on her face that made Emily uncomfortable, as if she was witnessing something meant for just the two of them. Or that she was witnessing a transformation no one should see another human go through. She hoped her friend wasn’t contorting herself just to fit into whatever mold Phil had for her. But it was none of her business. Her friend deserved her chance at happiness and if this was all she ever got, who was she to tell her not to take it?

  Emily was almost finished with her she-crab soup (the mildest, blandest thing she could find on the menu with her stomach doing flips because of Kyle) when Marta brought up their conversation with Claire. “Em,” she said. “I didn’t realize you’d never told Claire about Ryan.” Emily looked up, avoiding looking at Phil, aware of Kyle’s presence, forcing herself to focus solely on what Marta was saying. “She seemed confused about your . . . situation. Said she’d assumed you were recently divorced and it had been painful and that was why you were still wearing your wedding ring. Did you know that?”

  Emily put her spoon into the bowl, watching the whole thing slip into the creamy white soup until it completely disappeared. “We started to talk about it one time and I just . . . changed the subject. I didn’t want to go into it.”

  “Well, I set her straight.”

  Emily sat up a little taller. “What do you mean, you set her straight?”

  “I told her. She’s your next-door neighbor. She’s been a friend to you. I’m not sure why you wouldn’t have told her. It’s kind of odd. I mean, it’s been over a year. And what he did for you. That house. It’s all part of your story.”

  Emily wanted to leave, to get away from all of them. She didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Phil, with Kyle just a few feet away from all of them. She could feel a warm blush move across her chest and up her neck. She couldn’t look at Marta so she studied the bowl of soup, the outline of the spoon barely visible just under the surface, like a sunken ship. “It’s my story to tell, though, Marta. When I’m ready.”

  Marta glanced in the direction of the balcony and back at Emily. “You didn’t tell him either, did you?” She hitched her thumb in Kyle’s direction and it was so obvious Emily wanted to reach across the table and grab her hand, but that would’ve been even more obvious. Sometimes a best friend could be so dead-on that it hurt. Marta’s mirror was much harsher than her own. Hers had softer lighting, better angles. Marta’s had that fluorescent glare only found in department stores and waves that made her look like the funhouse version of herself. And yet Marta’s mirror was one she needed to force herself to look into.

  She had withheld her story from these new people for reasons she couldn’t explain. She’d made it through weeks, spent hours with Amber, Claire, and Kyle, yet never told any of them the truth about what brought her to Sunset. In her silence, they had filled in the blanks on their own. They’d been wrong about her, yet she’d felt no need to correct them. Was that even a real relationship if she wasn’t being real? And what had stopped her from talking about Ryan’s last gift to her? Grief? Shame? Fear? None of those reasons made any sense.

  When she looked up at Marta, she didn’t see judgment in her friend’s eyes, just understanding and compassion. The last few days—and all the changes—had made her less certain of Marta’s friendship, but in that moment, she knew that in spite of it all, she still had her back. Marta spoke up. “Maybe the reason things didn’t work out between you is because you’re holding back. Not because he is.”

  She glanced over at the table outside and saw that Kyle and Xandra were getting up to leave. She watched him move and smile and felt a sense of loss as she did. She looked back at Marta with a sad expression behind her pasted-on smile. “No, I think the reason things didn’t work out is because I can’t compete with that.” She nodded toward the balcony just as the door opened. Heads turned as Kyle and Xandra breezed through the dining room, a buzz of whispers flowing through the room as people watched the two most beautiful people in Sunset make their exit. She forced herself to look down at her bowl of soup, busying herself with extracting the spoon just as Marta punched her in the arm. “Ow!” she yelled and looked at her friend like she’d lost her mind.

  “He was looking over here. At you,” Marta hissed. “He was trying to catch your eye.”

  She looked in Kyle’s direction but he and Xandra were already past them. She watched him walk away, and as she did, something fell into place. Sometimes, she reasoned, life was just like that—a series of near-misses and almosts, all signaling that, for whatever reason, something just wasn’t meant to be. She had to let this go and stop obsessing. She had to quit living in a dream world and start rooting herself in reality. Maybe this little foray into romance had been just something God used to show her happiness with another person was possible someday. Her love life didn’t have to be over. And God knew that just any guy wouldn’t have gotten that far, so he sent Kyle. She had to hand it to Him. He knew what motivation to use.

  She looked at both Marta and Phil. “I think I might go home with you guys tomorrow if that would be okay,” she said. “I could follow you back.”

  Marta’s mouth fell open and Phil knit his brows together. “I thought you were staying the summer.”

  She shook her head. “I never knew how long I wanted to stay. I figured I’d know when it was time to go.”

  Marta chuckled. “And now that he’s off with her that’s your cue to exit stage left?”

  Emily shook her head. “No, not really. I mean, sure, it’s not easy to see your crush find his way back to the girl who got away all those years ago. But I just realized God used Kyle in my life for a purpose and I think that purpose was accomplished.” She rested her hand on Marta’s forearm. “I think I was supposed to just be open to love again, to realize I could have feelings for someone besides Ryan again. And who better than Brady Rutledge to help you figure that out?”

  Marta laughed out loud. “You got that right.” She gave Phil a sidelong glance. “Sorry, honey.” He held his hands up to show no harm done. “But what about Amber? And Claire?”

  “Claire said she might go home with Rick. He really wants his family together and I don’t blame him. This place is nice but it gets lonely just like anywhere can. And as for Amber, I wish her well. I tried to help. But you can’t help someone who doesn’t want your help.” She shrugged. “I did all I could.”

  “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, then I guess you’re right. Maybe you could go home awhile. Then come back here toward the end of summer. It’s close enough that you can divide your time.”

  “Exactly.” Emily felt better as she said it. She loved Sunset. She wanted to have time here and she was glad she’d bought the house, grateful to Ryan for his last gift to her. It had been his place; then he had shared it with her as only he could, and in a way that lasted
. And yet it made sense to go home. She could see her parents, go to her church, tend to her yard, and maybe take that landscaping class. She could get ready for school to start, get a jump on her lesson plans and communication with the students’ parents. Maybe she’d get a puppy.

  The bill came and Phil looked at the two ladies. “You ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Emily said. And she meant it.

  She didn’t mean to see Kyle and Xandra inside the bridge tender’s house when they drove back over the bridge after dinner. But when her eyes traveled that way she caught sight of that blonde hair, a perfect, expensive rendition of a color that mostly occurred only on young children. She saw that yellow hair and his black hair, two heads inclined in the same direction. It was just a flash, but it was enough to cement the rather impulsive decision she’d just made. She would return home tomorrow.

  She wouldn’t pack up the whole house, just take the essentials she would need for some time back home. Phil and Marta could help her pack and load. She’d come back for a few weeks at the end of summer. By then she was willing to bet that Kyle would be gone back to Hollywood with Xandra, coaxed back into the limelight by her megawatt smile. Emily hoped that her leaving might inspire Claire to go home with Rick. Maybe she and Claire could time it to come back for a last hurrah at the end of summer. She’d like more time with her new friend and Noah and Sara. She’d grown quite fond of the children and hoped she could serve as a kind of summer aunt to them. And when she got back she’d make a point to drop by the motel and check in on Amber. She was sure the girl wanted her space, but she also knew she needed to show her she still cared. Amber didn’t have enough adults in her life who did care and her failure to really help the girl still nagged at her. Merging tough love and unconditional love was harder than it looked. It had given her a new perspective on parents of teens.

  She was thinking of Amber and her absentee father as they turned on her street and saw the smoke, the people in the street looking up and gesturing, the cars parking haphazardly as more people jumped out. Something was on fire. Emily was willing to bet it was someone’s house. Her heart began to pound. What if it was hers? She thought of Ada’s heirlooms, the few happy memories she’d managed to make there thus far, the journal Kyle had come in search of the first time she’d met him. What if there were other things inside that mattered to the history of the island? As one of the oldest houses there, it was surely possible.

  “Is it my house?” she asked Marta and Phil, who in the front seat could see just slightly ahead of her. “Can you tell?”

  Marta looked back at her, a panicked look on her face. “We’re not far enough yet. Don’t worry. It won’t be your house.”

  “Oh, what if it’s Claire’s? She loves that place.”

  Marta reached for her hand and she took it, grateful for the human contact and the show of support. Marta squeezed. “It’ll be fine,” she said.

  But Emily didn’t know it would be fine. Not anymore. Once she had been a girl who had believed that everything did turn out fine. She believed that God took care of those He loved and a happy, blessed life was a sign of His care. She knew God didn’t play favorites, but she also knew that, as the daughter of a preacher, she and her parents had enjoyed a good life because they lived a good life. Church attendance, volunteering, and living the Golden Rule paved the way to safe living. But then Ryan had gotten sick and she’d felt the walls of her spiritual fortress begin to cave in. Blackness swirled in the air where once there had been light. All the memory verses and rote prayers and knowing the books of the Bible in order had done nothing to keep it away. And while her faith in God had stayed mostly intact through the loss of Ryan, her certainty of a good life was as dead and buried as her husband was. Nothing would ever be fine again.

  She strained forward to see ahead, sticking her face in the space between Phil and Marta as all three sets of eyes focused on the point of origin of all that smoke. She steeled herself, expecting to see her house in flames. She’d learned to hold all things lightly since she lost Ryan, but this house, she realized, had become precious to her. In a way it was all she had left of him, a haven he’d provided when his arms were no longer available. And while she’d made the decision to return home for a while, she didn’t want to lose it entirely. Tears filled her eyes as she faced what she’d decided was the inevitable outcome. Of course it would be her house on fire.

  Except it wasn’t. And it wasn’t Claire’s house either. It was the house on the other side of Claire’s that was usually rented each week to a new set of vacationers. But Emily didn’t think she’d seen people there this week. She heard Marta expel the breath she’d been holding and Emily let out a sigh of grateful relief, even as she felt terrible for whoever’s house it was.

  “I knew it wouldn’t be your house,” Phil said, pulling the car to a stop and parking on the side of the road. “I could tell by the direction of the smoke.”

  She ignored him and got out of the car, spotting Claire standing alone near the house on fire. She hurried over to her. “What happened?” she asked, looking around for Rick and the children. “Are the kids okay?”

  Claire nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s our fault,” she said. “Rick’s got the kids inside calming them down. They were in the backyard shooting off fireworks and one just caught the breeze and flew up to that roof deck. We thought it just fizzled out up there but then . . .” She gestured at the flames and smoke. “We saw that.”

  Emily realized something. “Wait. Why aren’t there any fire trucks here?”

  Claire pressed her lips into a grim line. “The tide’s too high. The truck can’t make it across the bridge until it goes down.”

  “But that could be hours!”

  Claire nodded, her face unchanging. “The house is going to burn down unless a flash storm comes along to put it out or God sends along a wind to magically blow it out.” She pointed at a pickup truck with the fire station insignia on the side, parked off to the side with a few other police cars. A collection of men in uniform stood staring up at the disaster with strangely impassive faces. The group of people had resigned themselves to the loss of the house. And most of them, she suspected, were just glad it wasn’t their house affected.

  Emily had seen that same response so many times from people when Ryan was sick. They felt bad but there was nothing they could do. And while they wanted to bring food and write cards and offer pithy words of comfort, mostly they just didn’t want to catch whatever dose of misfortune Emily had contracted. They still held on fiercely to their belief that things would be fine. Their faces were always kind, but distant. Get too close and you might breathe in the bad air around her.

  She didn’t blame them, exactly. On a certain level she understood it. And now she understood it all over again as she remembered the moment when she realized it wasn’t her house on fire. She was relieved for herself and Claire. And while she felt sorry for whoever owned this house, she was mostly just grateful.

  When someone approached her, she assumed Marta was coming to get the lowdown from Claire. But when she turned to fill her in on what she knew, it wasn’t Marta she found standing next to her. Kyle’s large form filled the space beside her, his salt-and-sun scent lost in the acrid, smoky air. Just behind him trailed Xandra, looking sheepish and frightened. Emily squinted up at him and over at Claire, who had noticed him too.

  “What’s going on?” he asked them both. He looked stricken by the sight of the burning house, but also nervous to talk to either of them.

  Emily was about to answer when Claire interrupted. “Kyle, just take the princess back wherever you came from. This doesn’t concern you.” Claire’s venom toward Kyle never failed to surprise Emily. She wanted to pin her down and make her explain its origin.

  “I live here, Claire, so it does concern me.” He swept his hand out, indicating the onlookers all around them. “If you haven’t noticed, not everyone here lives on this street but you don’t seem to have a pr
oblem with anyone else’s right to be here. I was here to see if I could help. I thought maybe I could clean up after the fire’s put out.”

  “Fine,” Claire said. She gestured at the police and firemen. “Go talk to them. I’m sure they’d love to fill in the local hero.”

  “I never said that, Claire.” When he spoke her name, it sounded like a loaded weapon.

  “You never had to, Kyle. Or should I say Brady? Which is it this week?”

  Kyle smirked at her. “You beat all, you know that?” Emily and Xandra, the onlookers, blinked at each other and looked at the house on fire, the ground, the ridiculously lovely setting sun above them. “How long has it been, huh?” Kyle continued. “And you still can’t let it go.” He shook his head. Xandra moved closer to him, placing her hand on his bicep, a movement that was at once protective and proprietary. Emily took a step back.

  “Please. Just. Leave,” Claire said. “I can’t handle this right now.”

  Kyle looked from Claire to Emily. He opened his mouth and, for a moment, she thought he was going to say something to her. Her heart fluttered erratically in response. She was pathetic and had clearly not advanced much beyond the teeny-bopper who once loved him from afar. Mustering all the gumption she had, she spoke to him in defense of her friend instead of following her heart and waiting to hear whatever it was he had to say to her. “You should probably go. Claire’s upset enough right now.”

  His shoulders slumped and he gave her a sad smile as he leaned toward her. “I wish things hadn’t turned out like they did,” he said and, with Xandra hanging on his arm, turned to make his way over to the police and firemen, leaving Emily and Claire alone again. She glanced over at Phil and Marta, who had watched the whole scene from a few feet away. She gave Marta a wide-eyed, “No idea what is going on” look and turned back to Claire, who was still seething.