The Other Side of the Bridge

by Camron Wright

  Jared stepped to the window beside his mother and watched Dave for a moment with her. “How come he gets to sleep outside and we don’t?” he whined.

  She was losing her patience. “I told you to get in bed. Right now! I’m not going to tell you again.”

  Glen was still in the kitchen getting a drink of water. When he returned, she marched beside both boys to the bathroom and waited while they brushed their teeth. After they had been duly tucked in, she kissed them on the cheek and then offered her final threat, as if it would help.

  “If you get out of bed, there will be extra chores in the morning. Hear me?” When they both agreed, she left to check on Gracie. Thank goodness one of the three was asleep.

  Then, in stocking feet so the boys wouldn’t hear, she slipped back to the window to watch Dave.

  He was such a pleasant guy, though his appearance was still perplexing. He didn’t seem as rough as he looked, as threatening as his image led one to believe. He simply wasn’t your average biker. Or was he? She’d seen them riding in groups down the freeway from time to time. But as she thought about it, she’d never really stopped one. Were they all this nice?

  Even from the window, she could tell he was awake; he kept shifting his position on the hard ground. The voices—the arguments—started once again in her head. Five minutes later, she stepped outside and marched toward him. She didn’t bother with the typical good evening.

  “Listen, if my mother knew, she’d kill me. If word gets around town, I’m done for. For the record, it’s against my better judgment—but why don’t you come inside and just sleep on the couch.”

  “Can I bring my guns and knives?”

  “Sure, why not?” she answered. It had been such a long time since a guy had made her laugh.

  Dave picked up his sleeping bag and a few things from the bike. Once inside, he rolled out his bag on the couch.

  “Can I make you some coffee?” she asked.

  “That would be great.” He followed her to the kitchen, and while they waited for the water to boil, they sat at the table and talked. It was small talk at first, though it didn’t take long to get to the questions each wanted to ask.

  “No husband . . . does that mean you’re divorced?”

  She nodded. “He took off when I was pregnant with Gracie. Eight months pregnant, to be exact. He left a note—a note, can you believe that? Like I was a one-night stand.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay—though to this day it amazes me that a person could be so cruel.”

  “Another woman?”

  “There’s always another woman. I haven’t seen him, though, in five and a half years—since our last court date. I heard he moved to someplace in Florida. What kind of father would walk away from such terrific kids?”

  Dave didn’t need to answer. “Do the kids remember him?”

  “The boys? Not really. Probably better that way. So, how about you, Dave Riley? I noticed you’re wearing a ring, and you said you have three children—I take it you’re married?”

  He hated to go into detail, so he kept his answers short.

  “My wife was killed in a car accident a few months ago.”

  She winced. “I am so sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I’m still a little—well, confused about it, actually.”

  She was surprised when he continued. “I had three children—I lost them also. I’m sorry if earlier I implied otherwise.”

  “You’re talking to the woman who told you her husband was coming home.” More smiles. “That explains it, though,” she added.

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you’re great with the kids. You’ve had some practice.”

  The coffeemaker on the counter beeped as it finished draining. Crystal retrieved the pot and poured two cups.

  After taking a few sips, Dave opted for a change of subject. “Is this your hometown?”

  “No. We’ve been here four years now. We lived in Kansas City. I tried to keep the house there as long as I could, but it was a big house, and—well, things don’t always work out like you expect, do they?”

  “No, they don’t. What brought you here, then?”

  “Two things. A job, for one. The district had an opening, and I needed the work.”

  “And the second?”

  “To get away from the memories—to have a place where I could start fresh, create my own life. Does that seem too weird?”

  “Not at all.”

  After their cups were empty, Crystal poured more.

  “The boys said you coached a baseball team,” she said. “Tell me about that.”

  She found his company pleasing; he seemed to feel the same about her. They laughed at the same jokes, reflected when no words needed to be spoken. Each listened. It was one-thirty in the morning before she noticed her watch.

  “Oh my, have you seen the time?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry to keep you up.”

  “No, it was a pleasure. And I didn’t mean to talk your ear off. With the three children at home, and then more during the day when school is on . . . well, I don’t get much of a chance to carry on normal adult conversations.”

  Before she stood, she reached out and touched his hand resting on the table. It was a casual touch, a token of friendship, and yet a soft touch. As her fingers rested on his, his arm tensed, as if he wanted to pull it away but couldn’t. She spoke sincerely while holding her grasp. “Really, thank you . . . for listening.” When she let go, he moved his hand under the table.

  “I have the same problem—and I don’t even teach school.”

  “Well, good night, Dave Riley.”

  “Thanks again. Good night.”

  • • •

  Dave could feel his quickened pulse as Crystal walked from the kitchen, down the hall, and into her own bedroom. He listened to the sound of her door closing before he clicked off the light and dropped back into the chair.

  The sounds of her getting ready for bed permeated the small house. He looked down, then shook his fingers as if they were asleep, as if the blood had stopped flowing and he needed to start it again. The air was suddenly stifling, and he wished that he’d stayed outside beneath the stars. Still, he didn’t move. He waited until her room was quiet, until the rhythm of his own breath had slowed, before moving to the bathroom to get himself ready for bed. He undressed in total darkness.

  After he’d climbed inside his sleeping bag, he listened again for any further sound, any hint that anyone else was also awake. Nothing. His eyes burned. The sun would be coming up in just a few more hours, and he needed to sleep. Instead, his thoughts swirled in a tangled mix of confusion.

  He didn’t have time for this delay. He had to get his bike fixed. Most important, he had to get to the bridge.

  chapter thirty-five

  When Crystal entered the living room, Dave was sitting on the couch reading one of the books he’d picked up off the coffee table. Gracie sat at his side watching cartoons on the TV. Crystal did a double take. His clothes were clean, his hair was brushed back, and the beginning of a beard still cloaking his face was now neatly trimmed. It had been difficult to study his features the night before. Now she found herself not wanting to look away. He noticed the prolonged stare and stood.

  “Good morning. I hope it’s okay, I took a quick shower and . . .”

  “Yes, I can see that. You clean up nicely, Dave Riley.”

  “Morning, Mommy!” Gracie beamed, proud to be the one at the side of their visitor.

  “You’re up early, kiddo. Are your brothers still asleep?”

  “Guess so,” she answered with a shrug.

  Crystal turned back to Dave. “If you’ve already made breakfast, then I’ll have to hurt you.”

  “I haven’t. Thank goodness.”

  “Well, g
ive me ten minutes to shower and then I’ll come back and see what we have. Gracie, would you get your brothers up? We have church in an hour.”

  Dave had attended church with his family regularly. Since the accident, he’d been back just twice.

  “You’re certainly welcome to come with us, Dave. The service lasts a little over an hour.”

  “I thought you said people would talk if they knew that you had let a stranger stay.”

  “That’s true; I did say that, didn’t I? Of course, on the other hand, it would be a shame to waste a good shower and beard trim on just us.”

  “I appreciate the invitation, really, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I didn’t bring any clothes for church. All I have are jeans and T-shirts.”

  She rolled in her lips but said nothing.

  “What is it?” he finally asked.

  “It’s completely up to you if you come or not, but I was just wondering, will God really care what you wear?”

  Then she walked out of the room to get ready.

  • • •

  They arrived at church late, and Dave was grateful. The only open benches were in either the very front or the very back. They opted for the back and slipped in through a rear door. Halfway to their seats, Gracie dropped her bundle of colored markers that she’d brought along to keep herself busy. The noise caused several heads to turn.

  Dave expected a look of embarrassment from Crystal—instead, her mouth turned up slightly. She bent down as best she could in her skirt and helped Gracie retrieve them. Dave pointed the two boys toward the open bench and ushered them in to sit down. When Crystal arrived, she let Gracie enter the pew first to sit next to Dave.

  The pastor was an older gentleman, but certainly none the worse for wear. He delivered his words with a balance of experience and passion, as if his own conviction would leech out to those listening. For some, it appeared to.

  Even in such a small town, the place was full—surprising to Dave, who had come from a city many times the size but where filling only half the Sunday benches was the norm. There were drawbacks, however. Dave couldn’t help but notice at least three ladies, all seated in separate benches, cast Crystal wondering glances. Small-town curiosity. It was only at the last minute that he’d grabbed his jacket—a futile attempt to dress up. From the expressions on the women’s faces, it may not have worked.

  Will God really care what you wear? He considered Crystal’s earlier question—or was it an admonition? Either way, it was advice that could have come from Megan.

  Meg. If she could see him now: sitting in a small-town church somewhere in Colorado, wearing his Harley jacket. He wasn’t sure if she’d laugh hysterically or be appalled. It was a ridiculous question to even pose—she was gone and she wasn’t coming back.

  Since the accident, he’d found that by staying busy, by keeping his mind going, he could drive away thoughts of Megan and the children—trick himself into thinking about better times—forget the pain. It was hard to do, however, during quiet times, times of solitude, like last night in the living room, for example, or when riding on long stretches of open road. Sitting in church reflecting on his own existence, it became almost impossible.

  He missed his wife—missed her desperately.

  Gracie’s touch interrupted his thoughts. She’d drawn a picture of his motorcycle and was presenting it to him. “I drew it green ’cause my black marker didn’t work,” she whispered up to him. Crystal watched with a grin.

  “Thank you,” Dave replied. He studied the image. Indeed the bike was green, and she’d drawn stick figures of a man and a little girl standing beside it. She grabbed another sheet of paper while Dave carefully folded the masterpiece and placed it in his front jacket pocket. Dave understood she’d drawn a picture of herself and him by the bike. How could she know the picture would remind him of his own daughter, Angel?

  By now the pastor was in full swing. He was talking about giving our hearts to God, about living our lives according to God’s will. Dave found himself wondering what the message meant for him, asking silent questions. What should I do now that God has taken away my wife and family? While he had the urge to stand and pose the question out loud, he didn’t.

  The sermon ended with no answers. Dave hadn’t come expecting any.

  On their way to the door, Crystal introduced him to half a dozen women who had meandered over. Dave couldn’t remember their names. He didn’t try. He offered a quick nod, a simple, “Nice to meet you, too.” Soon they were in her car.

  After a quick drive around to show him the town, they headed back to her place for lunch. Then, at the coaxing of the children, everyone walked over to the park.

  “Show us some more batting stuff,” Jared begged.

  Dave was happy to help. They were younger than the kids he was used to coaching, but the basics remained the same. Dave added to the simple techniques he’d shown them the day before. He taught them how to grip the bat properly, how to make their swing level and consistent. He showed them how they could direct their power, increase their distance, by working on form and follow-through. It was baseball, and all three were in heaven. After an hour, the boys would have followed Dave to the ends of the earth.

  Crystal watched with curiosity while Gracie played on the bleachers. Despite the intent direction he was giving Jared and Glen, he found himself casting glances back in Crystal’s direction.

  Once the boys were hitting consistently, Dave yelled over to the two spectators, “Okay, it’s time for a game. Let’s go!”

  At first Crystal glanced behind her, as if he were speaking to someone else.

  He clarified. “Yes, you. I’m talking to the two blondes.”

  “I’m not very good,” Crystal responded.

  “Well, practice can’t hurt then, can it?”

  Crystal grabbed Gracie’s hand, and they walked out onto the field. Dave surveyed the talent. “Okay, it’ll be me and Gracie against you three.”

  Both Glen and Jared protested that the teams were not fair.

  “What? You want Gracie as well?” Dave inquired. They weighed the offer but clearly realized any trade negotiations at this point would be in vain. The teams were divided and the game began.

  Crystal and the boys took first ups. Dave pitched; Gracie stood near first base; Glen batted. The batting lessons had apparently helped. On the first pitch he smacked the ball past Gracie and out into right field. Gracie watched the ball soar by, then gave Dave an I’m-not-gonna-go-get-it look. Everyone laughed as Dave ran to the outfield to retrieve the ball. By the time he returned to the pitcher’s mound, Glen was firmly planted on third base.

  Jared was next. He missed the first pitch, but on the second he hit a solid grounder past third. Glen ran home to Crystal’s cheers while Jared slid into second.

  Next up was Crystal. When she stood up to the plate and took the bat, Dave couldn’t help but grin.

  “Okay, what’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Nothing, really. Except for the fact that you bat like, well . . .”

  “Don’t you dare say girl,” she threatened.

  “Okay, how about rookie?”

  “I don’t believe that’s meant as a compliment.”

  Dave pitched the ball as gingerly as possible over the plate. Crystal swung late. Jared called the play from behind.

  “Strike one.”

  She pulled the bat back into position, ready to try again. Dave’s brow furrowed. Her batting form was hideous, painful to watch. He thought about giving her some pointers, but instead pitched the ball.

  She swung soon enough this time, but several inches high.

  “Strike two,” Jared called.

  “Whose team are you on?” Crystal mumbled over her shoulder.

  When she pulled the bat back for her third try, it was more than Dave could handle.

  �
�Time-out! We have a training time-out on the field.” He stepped toward Crystal, who lowered her bat and waited.

  Dave continued, “Okay, I realize this is helping the opposing team—but, quite frankly, you’re killing me.” He took the bat from out of her hands and began to give pointers.

  “Am I that bad?” Crystal asked.

  Dave hesitated, then confirmed. “Yeah, that bad. You need to follow through with a full swing, not swat at the ball.” He gave Crystal a quick demonstration, then handed her the bat to try again. She looked as if she were fighting off an attacking mugger—and it wasn’t pretty. Dave’s wince let anyone watching know: she just wasn’t getting it.

  “No,” Dave replied, “not like that at all.” Crystal began to laugh. Dave grabbed the ball and tossed it to Jared. “Go about halfway to the mound and then toss a few easy ones over the plate. Glen, you play catcher.” He moved with Crystal to home plate. “This will have to do for now, but really, you need a smaller bat.”

  “That’s what the boys said. Is this a conspiracy?”

  “Get them a size twenty-eight, perhaps even a twenty-nine, but nothing bigger. When they grow out of it, you can use it to keep stray bikers away.”

  “Good idea, I’ll do that.”

  “Look, take the bat in your hands—grip it like this.” After letting her watch him grip the bat, he handed it to her and then stepped behind. He reached an arm around each side to help her grip it as well.

  “Okay, now feel the motion as I swing through.” Dave swung the bat, showing her the path it should follow. “Can you feel the difference?”

  She exhaled, letting her body relax and drop slightly back against his. “Do it once more,” she said.

  He swung the bat again, more slowly this time. With the slower swing, his tone hushed as well—somehow an innocent situation was becoming something more.

  “How was that?” he asked.

  When she answered, her voice had softened. “That was better,” she replied.

  He turned to look in her eyes, to see if the moment was imagined, but her face was too close, their cheeks almost touching. Her words now were almost a whisper.