“I hope Kyle knows he can kiss his beloved bridge good-bye now. The state’s gonna tear it down for sure after this. Guess that means he won’t be able to hide in that tender house anymore.” Claire wasn’t really talking to anyone but herself, that was clear. Her voice was angry and tense. She turned to face Emily, as if she only just realized she was there. “Ten bucks says he’s back in Hollywood before the week ends.” She hitched her thumb in Xandra’s direction. “She’ll make sure of it.” Claire shook her head with disgust. “I literally cannot believe he brought her here.” She gave a bitter laugh.
Emily wanted so badly to ask what was going on, but she knew better than to say anything more at that moment. Instead they stood silently and watched the fire, a sense of reverence in the air as more and more of the house succumbed to the flames, the police and firemen keeping a perimeter so the onlookers were safe, their eyes always watching the house with a hopeless look on their faces. She noticed that Marta and Phil gave up and went inside her house. A policeman strolled over to Claire. “Claire, the fire trucks are on their way. The tide’s gone out enough now to get them over the bridge. Once they’re underway, we’ll need to take your statement and talk to your husband.” The man looked over his shoulder, in the direction of Claire’s house. “He inside with the kids still?”
She nodded mutely. “They were pretty upset.” Her eyes as she searched the policeman’s face were pleading. “It was an accident.”
“We know that. Kyle and I were just talking about it. Coulda happened to anyone. Especially this time of year. We’re not supposed to shoot off fireworks but we all do it.” He snickered. “But you didn’t hear me say that.”
Claire grinned in spite of herself. “Don’t try to make me feel better,” she said.
He clapped her on the back. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He nodded at Emily. “Ma’am,” he said and walked away.
Claire leaned in after he was gone. “His name’s Roy. He’s a good guy. Single. Cute. Gainfully employed.”
Emily looked at her with a shocked expression. “Claire!” she said.
Claire shrugged. “I’m a hopeless matchmaker,” she said. She gestured over to where Kyle still stood beside Xandra, who was being grilled by two women who had lost interest in watching a house burn down and turned their interest on her. “You can do better than him.”
Even with everything that had happened, Emily doubted that. “I don’t want to be match-made, anyway,” she mumbled.
Claire linked her arm through Emily’s and pulled so that the gap between them was closed. There was a beat of silence. “When you’re ready then,” Claire finally said.
Emily nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Claire added. “For your loss.” She caught Emily’s eye and gave her a look of understanding. “I couldn’t imagine.”
Emily wanted to say that no one should have to imagine. But the lump in her throat was too big to talk around. She nodded as a tear escaped from her eye. Claire slid her arm around her and together they watched the house burn, the flames leaping up to try and touch the sky.
Twenty-Four
It was late that night when the last flame was extinguished and all the city officials and onlookers finally left. The burning house had become somewhat of an odd party site, people both repelled and attracted by tragedy, as people are. They wanted to be close to the action but they also wanted to make sure it didn’t come anywhere near them. Sitting on the dock with Phil and Marta, they rehashed the events of the evening, the smell of smoke strong in the air, the sky above them hazy. But they could still see the stars and the lights of the bridge twinkling in the distance.
“You sure you want to go back tomorrow?” Marta asked. Her voice sounded skeptical.
Emily considered Marta’s question. She hadn’t thought again about leaving in all the excitement. There hadn’t been time. Did the burning house change anything? She thought about Xandra’s hand on Kyle’s arm, pictured Claire’s face when she went inside, whispering before she did that she had no choice but to leave town for a while now. She glanced over at her house, sitting still and safe a few yards away. She had discovered how much she loved her house when she thought she might lose it. And yet she didn’t feel the need to stay. Not when Claire was leaving, and Kyle would surely be gone as well now. Staying would only amplify her loneliness. She glanced at the bridge, the lights a kind of touchstone she’d come to rely on in all her nights on this dock. Soon they would be gone too, and that thought made her sadder than any other.
“We might all sleep a bit later, but yes, I’d like to follow you guys back home if that’s okay.”
“Fine by me,” Marta said. “Maybe we could stop for lunch on the way home?” They both wanted to return to the little hole-in-the-wall barbecue place they’d found by accident on their first trip down.
“Sounds perfect.” She stood up, stretched, and looked at her friend and her friend’s fiancé, who had been there for her in so many ways lately. “Thanks, guys. For dinner tonight and for . . . everything. I—”
The sound of a slamming car door and squealing tires silenced her. They all glanced at each other in confusion. Emily wondered if perhaps the owners of the house had arrived and were upset. Or maybe an emergency personnel had left something behind at the house and was returning for it. But the noise sounded closer than a few houses over. It sounded like it came from her own front yard. She found herself heading toward the sound as Marta called for her to wait up.
The three rounded the corner of the house in time to see a figure crouching on all fours in Emily’s front yard. They heard the sound of sobbing. Whatever car had been there was long gone and the person—whoever it was—had clearly been left behind. Whether by choice or not remained a mystery. “Excuse me?” Emily called out to the figure, bolstered by Marta’s and Phil’s presence. “Can we help you?” She took a few steps closer and the sound of the crying got louder. In the darkness, Emily couldn’t make out the face. Her heart hammering in her chest, she crouched down beside the person and put a tentative hand on the shoulder. “Is there someone I can call? Do you need a ride or . . . something?” she asked, her voice quavering. Marta and Phil had come to stand directly behind her but were silent.
The figure turned her face toward the light coming from Emily’s house, her eyes searching for, Emily knew, a sense of home or welcome or at least not outright rejection. She heard Marta gasp when she realized who it was. “I . . . I didn’t know where else to go so I told him to drop me here,” the familiar voice said. Amber raised her hands toward Emily with a hopeful look that nearly tore Emily’s already fragile heart in two. She glanced over her shoulder at Marta with a fraction of hesitation. This girl here, now, when she was so close to making a nice clean break, was the last thing she needed. Marta nodded vigorously and Emily turned back to nod at Amber. Taking both her extended hands she helped her to her feet. And then she wrapped those hands around Amber’s neck and gave her a hug that told her she was welcome.
After settling Amber down with a warm blanket and a glass of water, Marta took it upon herself to pepper her with questions while Emily stood by and listened. Amber probably wouldn’t have answered the same questions coming from Emily, but Marta’s teacher persona was working for her, goading the girl into submitting to authority. Amber looked like the child she was as she picked at the blanket and avoided their eyes while relaying her story. Phil had gone to bed and Emily was glad for that. When Amber had stood and walked beside her across the yard, Emily had noticed she had started to show, her body pushing her to finally tell the truth because she just couldn’t deny it anymore. She’d watched how Amber’s hand had gone to her belly, a protective gesture that touched Emily’s heart and told her this girl wasn’t a lost cause.
“He doesn’t want a baby, that’s what he said,” Amber said now, tears sliding silently from the corners of her eyes and making tracks across her face. She had put on more makeup than usual, Emily noticed, dressed up a little nicer than she
normally did, probably in preparation to tell him about the baby, to make him want her more. The fact that it didn’t work probably only made her feel worse. Was it possible to feel more rejected?
“He said I was a stupid kid and he should’ve known better than to mess with me. Said I wasn’t to tell anyone about him and not to even think of asking him for a dime of help.”
“That’s illegal. He doesn’t get a choice,” Marta said, taking a seat across from Amber. Emily noticed her movements were slow, the way one might move around a grizzly bear or lion. “We can help you with that part of it,” she said.
Amber raised her eyes to meet Emily’s for the first time. “You knew this is what he would do, didn’t you?”
Emily thought about lying, but then decided against it. “I suspected.”
“That’s why you were trying to get me to go ahead and tell him, wasn’t it?”
“I figured it was better to know right away what you were dealing with. It helps with decision making, to know all the facts.” That is what Ryan’s doctor had told them when he delivered the diagnosis. Was that even true or was it just something people said? Was it possible to make a good decision when there wasn’t one to be found? “I just wanted you to know what you were facing.” She sat down beside Amber and rested her hand on the girl’s knee. “I didn’t want to hurt you but I guess I suspected the hurt was coming.”
Instead of pulling away as Emily expected her to, Amber leaned over and put her head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I should’ve.” Amber yawned.
“What does your dad say?” Emily asked.
She could feel Amber’s shrug. “He says I’m no better than my mother. That I’ll end up like her. He says my life is ruined and don’t count on him for help. You know. What I expected him to say.” The girl’s sigh was world-weary. “God forbid he should act like a father.”
Marta and Emily exchanged glances. Marta’s said, This girl is all alone in the world.
And Emily’s said, What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you?
“Well, your room is still all made up for you, if you want it,” Emily said, running her hand through Amber’s auburn hair, her fingers catching in the tangles and snarls.
Amber looked up. “You kept my room?” she asked.
When Emily looked into those gorgeous green eyes, her heart nearly broke. How could she ever help this girl see how beautiful she was, how valuable? How could anyone possibly undo the damage her own father, and now this jerk, had done to her? She wasn’t a piece of trash to be discarded, and yet Emily doubted she’d believe anything else for a long time to come.
“Of course I did,” she said, her voice falsely bright, full of a hope she didn’t have for a future she couldn’t see. She led Amber to her room, hoping at the very least they could all get some much-needed sleep and that things would look brighter in the morning, like her mother always said.
Her mother. She would call her in the morning, ask her if she knew of any charitable organizations who could help Amber. If she had to take her home with her she would. For sure no one would miss her here. She yawned, her body shutting down in spite of her. Tomorrow. She would think about all of it tomorrow. For now she just wanted to lie down and quiet the many thoughts zipping through her brain at the speed of light. She tucked Amber in first, pulling the covers to her chin and saying a quick, quiet prayer for the girl as she did. Before she could walk away, Amber grabbed her hand. “Thank you,” she said.
“It’s nothing,” Emily assured her.
“Huh!” Amber scoffed at Emily’s downplay. “To me? It’s everything.” She rolled over to face the wall.
Emily didn’t know what to say in response so she just offered a weak “thank you.” She started to slink out the door so Amber could drift off to sleep, but she heard Amber sniffing and worried she was starting to cry all over again. “Are you okay, Amber?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m just wondering what I smell? Is that . . . smoke?” she asked.
Emily laughed with a kind of manic relief. There were no more tears to soothe for now. “You missed a lot of excitement around here tonight. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning, okay?”
She started to walk out but Amber’s sleepy voice stopped her once more. “I wish you were my mom,” the girl said.
Emily pretended not to hear and slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.
She woke the next morning and, for a moment, thought that perhaps she had dreamed the events of the night before—seeing Kyle and Xandra at dinner, coming home to find a neighbor’s burning house with the community gathered to watch, her decision to go home, and Amber’s unexpected return. Of course, she thought as she stared at the ceiling, Amber’s presence locked her into staying a bit longer. At least until she could figure out what to do with her. She would call her mother later, beg her to call in favors at whatever maternity homes she could think of. Their church had supported several different ones so surely her mother had some pull. She just had to talk Amber into going to one.
She opened her bedroom door to find a quiet house and was relieved to have a few moments to herself before the chaos of the day hit full force. When she took a deep breath, she could still smell the smoke that lingered from the night before. She went to the front door and pulled it open so she could see the burned out house, part of her wanting to verify that the odd night had actually happened. She’d heard the owners of the burned house were driving up today to see the damage, that they’d been on the phone with onlookers who knew them throughout the night trying to process what was happening.
“They should’ve taken out that bridge a long time ago,” she’d heard that the man who owned the house had said. According to the talk among the crowd, he’d added a few expletives to make sure everyone knew how he felt about the bridge and said he was going to file an official complaint with the state, and possibly even sue for damages. It wasn’t that the man didn’t have a point, people had said to each other. Suddenly the public sentiment about the bridge began to change. She hoped no one told the angry man exactly who was responsible for the fireworks that started it all. Claire certainly didn’t need him showing up on her doorstep. She was already feeling enough guilt. Although it was an accident, Emily suspected there would be some sort of charges filed. It was probably best that Claire was already looking toward leaving town for a while.
She stepped out onto the front porch to get a look at Claire’s house, see if anyone was up and moving around. Perhaps Claire would want to talk. But no one was milling around and she stepped back, not wanting to look like she was spying. When she stepped back, her foot came down on some foreign object—a sharp foreign object. She hopped around, trying to grab her foot without being too loud while trying to see what she’d just stepped on at the same time. When she looked down, she saw a beautiful pink conch shell resting on her deck. Beside it lay a creamy white envelope with the word “Emily” written across the front in sharp, black ink. The handwriting was unfamiliar and blocky. She stopped hopping and reached for it, her curiosity overcoming her pain.
She carried the offending shell and the envelope inside, wondering who could’ve left it for her. In spite of the rather masculine handwriting on the envelope, she told herself it was from Claire, probably saying what she couldn’t say last night. That sounded like something Claire would do. Unable to sleep after Rick and the kids fell asleep, she’d probably decided there were some things she needed to say before she left. Things were changing, she was upset, and the emotions were flowing. Hence the letter Emily held. That made perfect sense.
She ripped into it, using her thumb to dig into the seal and tear an opening large enough to pull out what was inside. Impatient, she bent the paper because she pulled it out before she’d made a big enough opening. She didn’t care about the condition of the paper, she just wanted to see what the words on it were. She closed her eyes as if in prayer before she opened them and focused on the words that someone had written to h
er.
Emily,
Last night I wanted to talk to you but with Claire around I didn’t think it was a good time. I’m sure she’s told you why she hates me. It’s not like she doesn’t have a good reason, but sometimes I wish she could let it go. Claire was probably the hardest part about coming back here. Her and people like her. People who don’t understand.
I wanted to explain about Xandra being here and tell you that I’m sorry that things went wrong with us. When you didn’t want to kiss me, I should’ve been happy with a hug. I should’ve stuck around and not let you push me away.
I left you the shell because it reminds me of you, and of me. I found it a long time ago and kept it to remind myself to let people in. If you look at it, you see it’s tightly coiled, one protective layer after another. For a long time, I was like that. After everything happened and I came back here, I had so many layers around me, no one could get to me. I suspect you’re the same way. I know what it feels like to not want to be hurt again, to lose something, or someone, you care about. I know it feels safer to stay wrapped up tight, and to be afraid to let anyone else in. But I also know how lonely that can feel. I don’t know your story, but I’d like to hear it. I think we’d have a lot to talk about. Which leads me to why I’m leaving you this note.
Please meet me tonight at the bridge. I have to work, but I’d really like to see you, to tell my side of the story so you don’t only hear Claire’s. I know I don’t deserve it, but I hope you’ll look past that and agree to hear me out. After that, if you don’t want anything to do with me, at least I’ll know I tried. If you come by around 9:30, I’ll have some time to talk. I hope you’ll come. I’ll be in the tender house and we can talk there.
See you then?
Kyle
Emily read the letter through twice before she realized she’d stopped breathing and exhaled, the air coming out of her in one loud whoosh. Kyle wanted to see her. Kyle wanted to talk to her. Kyle actually thought she might not respond to his humble, precious request. She clutched the letter to her chest with a big smile and kissed the shell, then held it aloft to inspect the coils he’d written about. Was she like that shell? She’d invited Marta and Phil into her life, and Claire and the children, even put herself out there with Amber. She’d beg to differ with him when she saw him this evening. He might not know her as well as he thought, but it was sweet that he was trying to. She wasn’t afraid to open up to others. And she hadn’t not kissed him because she was closed off. It was just because she’d been overwhelmed by the reality of kissing him. That was all. Somehow she’d find the words to explain all of that—preferably without sounding like a ninny—when she saw him.
The Bridge Tender Page 22
