Bridge to Forever

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  The girl didn’t reply.

  “Yes, your aunt won’t care, will she?” Belle said, taking her friend’s hand. Jennie Anne continued to stare at the floor, but Belle bent her head to look at her face. After a minute, she straightened and nodded at Mickelle. “She’ll come.”

  Mickelle wondered how she knew but didn’t ask. She needed to get home to Tanner and Bryan. “Let’s go, then.”

  With Belle prompting her, Jennie Anne gave directions to her home. Shortly Mickelle parked in front of a small, run-down house surrounded by an overgrown lawn made up of more weeds than grass. Weathered papers, chunks of shingles from the roof, plastic sacks, and soft drink cans peeked out of various hiding places in the long grass and in the scrubby bushes that marked the line between the neighboring properties. A huge willow tree sprouted desolately in the front yard, looking as though it wept for times gone by.

  Mickelle frowned in dismay. Her own clapboard house had been in sore need of repainting until the task had been undertaken recently by her brothers-in-law. The shingles on her roof still curled, and the wobbly black railing on her porch needed replacing. In all, there was still much work to do. Yet her home had never, even in its worst state, projected this air of despair, this complete and utter neglect—the same neglect that was reflected in little Jennie Anne. Even studying it carefully, she wasn’t sure what color the original paint had been. Gray? Yellow? Impossible to tell. The only positive thing Mickelle could determine about the house was that the weeping willow hid much of the shocking disrepair.

  Mickelle had a sudden desperate wish not to let Jennie Anne leave the car. This was no place for a child.

  “See you Jennie Anne,” Belle shouted as her friend exited the car.

  Jennie Anne nodded, unsmiling. She paused on the gravel outside, shifting her feet as though itching to run away. Instead she met Mickelle’s pitying gaze. “Seven hundred eight-four,” she said, a bit breathlessly. Without another word she turned on her heel and ran across the weed-infested lawn, up the single cement step, and disappeared from sight behind the battered door.

  A full minute passed before Mickelle realized that Jennie Anne had given her the answer to Jeremy’s equation.

  “Are you sure Jennie Anne can’t read?” Mickelle asked Belle, staring at the closed door thoughtfully.

  “Yep. I’m sure. She’s got some words memorized, but if you show her a word she doesn’t know, she can’t say it. She learns quick, though. I taught her all the ABC sounds today. You know, like they do on that video Camille’s little sister watches.”

  “She didn’t know the sounds?”

  Belle shook her head. “No. A few of the kids don’t know all of them, but Jennie Anne didn’t know any. The kids laugh at her because they think she’s stupid, but she’s not. She just never learned it before. I don’t think she went to kindergarten or preschool. She’s afraid of the kids and the teacher, but she’s not afraid of me ’cause I’m littler than her. And I can help because I’m the best reader in the class. Miss Palmer gives me big books from the third grade.”

  “I’m a good reader too,” Jeremy put in. “Today I read a Halloween story. The house in it was just like this one, all old and crumbly. I wonder if Jennie Anne’s house is haunted.”

  “It might be.” Belle bounced on her seat with excitement. “She’s got an aunt who I bet’s as wicked as an old witch!”

  “Now kids,” Mickelle warned.

  “Well it could be,” Belle insisted.

  Mickelle felt reluctant to drive away. Whoever did take care of Jennie Anne was doing a poor job of it. She chewed on her bottom lip. Maybe it was time someone found out what was going on in that house.

  * * *

  “Did you hear?” Bryan met them excitedly as they came through the side door into the kitchen.

  “Hear what?” Jeremy asked, puzzled.

  Mickelle had been so preoccupied with Belle and Jennie Anne that she’d forgotten her wonderful news. “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “We’re rich!” With uncharacteristic joy, Bryan grabbed Jeremy and twirled him around.

  “Mom’s marrying Damon!” Jeremy shouted happily.

  An abrupt silence filled the small kitchen, and Tanner, who sat at the small table, quickly focused on his homework, frowning fiercely.

  “No!” Bryan shouted. “It’s Dad’s life insurance company. They’re giving us a hundred thousand dollars!”

  Jeremy’s eyes grew big. “We are rich,” he said with awe. “Does this mean we can go to Disneyland with Aunt Brionney?”

  “Maybe.” Mickelle laughed and hugged her sons. “We’ll have enough money for piano lessons and soccer, if you want, and I can go to school. But we’re not exactly rich. We have to save as much as we can so it can make interest. I’m not sure exactly how it’ll work; I’ll have to look into it. Maybe we can ask . . .” She had been going to say “Damon,” but with their relationship the way it was, she didn’t know if she dared. “Maybe we can ask Uncle Jesse to help us. He knows a lot about investing.”

  “So does my dad,” Tanner volunteered.

  Mickelle realized she wasn’t fooling him for a minute. “Yeah, he does.” She decided to change the subject. “So, how about an afternoon snack while we do our homework?”

  “I don’t have homework,” Belle said, with a touch of arrogance. “And I’m not hungry. Isn’t it time for my piano lesson yet?”

  “In about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you practice your songs one last time before you go next door?”

  “All right.” Belle dropped her backpack on the table and started for the living room. “But I know them all perfectly. Didn’t you hear me when I practiced this morning?”

  Mickelle had heard. In fact, she’d made a mental note to ask Belle’s piano teacher to find more complicated books. After having her cast removed, Belle had been so anxious to finally use both hands, that over the weekend she had gone through most of the books she already owned.

  While the boys worked on homework at the table, Mickelle started dinner. She hummed as she worked, feeling content. Life wasn’t uncomplicated, but it was going tolerably well. At one point in the preparations she turned to see Tanner staring at her. There was a subtle longing in the fifteen-year-old’s gaze, and also a memory. Mickelle wondered if he still felt deeply the loss of his mother, or if he felt guilty because he didn’t miss her enough. She often felt this about Riley.

  There was a big difference, of course. Tanner’s mother had been sick for years before she died, and she suspected his memories of her when she was healthy were faded in his mind.

  Mickelle met his brown eyes. “Tanner?”

  He shook his head. “I . . . for a moment I remembered . . . my mom used to hum as she cooked. I only just remembered that now.”

  “I’m sorry, Tanner.”

  He held her gaze. “Why? I know she’s happier than she was here. And we have you.” He reddened, as though he hadn’t meant to say the last sentence aloud.

  Why did he say that? Mickelle thought? Why say they had her and not their father? Suddenly she felt very confused, but her compassion for this motherless child glossed over the confusion, making it unimportant. “I’m glad,” she said simply.

  Then she caught sight of Bryan’s face where he sat at the table across from Tanner. He was a bright red, a sure sign of anger, an anger Mickelle believed stemmed from jealousy. “So, boys, shouldn’t we call Grandma and Grandpa and tell them about the money?” she asked, trying to defuse the situation. Despite his recent opposition to Damon, Bryan practically worshiped Tanner, and she didn’t want that to change.

  “Yes!” screamed Jeremy.

  “I get to call first!” Bryan, his color returning to normal, lunged for the phone on the counter.

  Mickelle sighed and turned back to her dinner preparations, feeling Tanner’s eyes still following her.

  Chapter Eight

  Damon had tried to call Mickelle to let her know he’d be late to pick up the children, but her
phone was busy. He made a mental note to try again later and promptly forgot. Now as he drove from his Orem office to her house in American Fork, he remembered that he’d never reached her.

  He shrugged the worry aside; Mickelle had never minded when he was late. Of course, after Friday’s dramatic events, things were very different.

  He tried to twirl the ends of his blond moustache, though he now wore it much too short to do so. He’d been trying to break himself of the habit for months, and thought he had until now. Instead, he rubbed his jaw. He could feel the tiny hairs growing there already, a five o’clock shadow.

  Or seven o’clock, he amended, peeking at the clock on the CD player in the dashboard. He ached to see Mickelle again but feared it at the same time. Would she try to return the ring again? Why the heck wouldn’t she marry him anyway?

  He sighed loud and long. Patience, he told himself. That was difficult when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and show her how much he loved her.

  Another thought had plagued him all day. Why hadn’t she mentioned the roses? He’d spied them on her counter by the sink, and she had seen him looking at them. Yet she’d said nothing. Her reaction went against everything he knew about her. Maybe she really did want him out of her personal life.

  Then why did he feel so strongly that they were meant to be together?

  Belle was waiting for him on Mickelle’s porch when he drove up in his Mercedes. He still preferred this car over the new forest green Lexus he had recently bought. He wanted to give that car to Mickelle once they were married—he knew she wouldn’t accept it before—or the Mercedes if she preferred. Darn it all, he would buy her any car she desired, if she would just leave behind the fear he believed was holding her back.

  Silently he cursed the man who had left that legacy. Of course, if Riley Hansen hadn’t killed himself, Mickelle might still be enduring emotional abuse.

  No. She had begun fighting back. That’s why Riley did what he did; he could no longer control her.

  Even as the thoughts came, Damon wondered if he was any better than Riley. He couldn’t believe that. He only wanted to take care of her. But it had to be her decision, or it wouldn’t be enough on which to base a relationship. An eternal relationship.

  These torturous thoughts filtered away as Belle raced across the lawn toward him. “I’m getting new piano books! I’m too good for the other ones! Can you believe it?” She launched herself into his arms.

  He held her tightly, breathing in the flowery scent of her hair and the earthy scent of the rest of her. She, at least, was all his.

  “I really was Jennie Anne’s friend today, Dad. I like her. The kids say she’s dumb, but she’s not. She has all sorts of ideas. And she’s a math whiz.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Damon knew she’d been a little nervous about her important job as an assigned friend.

  “Oh, and Mickelle’s rich. This guy went and got her money for her husband dying. Now they’ve got just tons of money! Though not as much as we do. Come on and see for yourself.”

  Belle pulled him into the house, where the delicious fragrance of roasting meat made his mouth water. His hopes reared to life. Maybe Mickelle had reconsidered her decision. Maybe even now, she would come toward him, wearing his ring and . . .

  Mickelle did come toward him, but she wasn’t wearing his ring or even a smile. “You’re late.” Her face was worried, but she looked even better to him than she had that morning, if possible. Her honey-blond hair was shiny and styled, curled slightly under and full on the top the way he liked it. She wore a blue dress that made her eyes even more prominent and which accented the womanly curves that drove him to distraction.

  “I meant to call,” he said apologetically. She went back into the kitchen and he followed her. “Actually, I did once, but the line was busy.”

  “We were probably talking to Grandma,” Jeremy offered, glancing up from the DS console in his hands. Damon knew Jeremy’s mother had given him a daily limit on the hand-held computer game, so his using it was a sure sign that his homework was finished. He glanced at Bryan and Tanner who also had their homework stashed in their backpacks. Maybe he could interest the boys in a game of basketball. Mickelle might play with them as she often did, though she’d have to change out of that very becoming dress. At the very least she might invite them to stay for dinner as she had so many other times. Never mind that their own cook would once again be upset that they hadn’t eaten her prepared meal.

  “That’s what I was telling him,” Belle said. She tugged on Damon’s hand. “They’re rich now, Daddy.”

  “Yep,” Jeremy confirmed. “And we were telling Grandma. Or Bryan was. I only got to talk to her after.” A wide grin filled his thin face. “Mom says now we can get a trampoline for Christmas like the one you guys have. I’ve always wanted a tramp.”

  Damon could make no sense of the conversation. “What?” he asked, directing the question to Mickelle.

  Mickelle folded her arms and leaned against her refrigerator. “A guy—a friend of mine—did a little research and found out that Riley had paid his life insurance with a check dated before the contract so the insurance company has to pay us a hundred thousand dollars.” She spoke quietly but excitement radiated from her face. “I know it’s not a lot of money compared to what you’re used to, but if I invest it . . .”

  “Uncle Jesse can help with that,” Bryan put in.

  “Jesse?” Damon nearly laughed. “Jesse doesn’t know beans about investing. He puts his money where I tell him to.”

  Mickelle stiffened. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it work, and meanwhile, I’m going to celebrate by getting a few things that we’ve needed. And I’m going to school . . .”

  Damon wanted to be happy for her, but with each passing minute he felt her growing more independent, more able to live without him.

  Don’t you want her to be independent? a voice asked in his head.

  The truth was he would give her ten times a hundred thousand dollars if she would only agree to marry him. All the money in the world meant nothing without someone to share it with. That much he had learned.

  He slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. “I’m happy for you, Mickelle. I really am. I would be happy to help you with investment opportunities if you’d like.”

  “Thank you,” she stated politely, but she didn’t outright accept his offer.

  He tried to smile, resisting the nervous urge to twirl his moustache. “I hope that doesn’t mean you plan to make us find another sitter.” He spoke the words casually, though his heart thumped unevenly in his chest, so thunderous he was sure everyone in the room could hear.

  Her face paled, and her eyes went immediately to Belle, who gaped at them, and then to Tanner who sat at the table frowning. “Of course not,” she said. “I enjoy having the children here.” The sincerity with which she spoke partially filled the gnawing emptiness inside his soul.

  “Good because we don’t know what we’d do without you.” He glanced at the boys. “Anyone up for a quick game of basketball?”

  Tanner shot to his feet and Jeremy cheered. Even Bryan managed to appear pleased. But not Mickelle. She shook her head. “Not tonight.” She paused, as though suddenly nervous. “Look, Damon, I’ve got company coming over tonight for dinner. They’ll be here soon and I have to check the boys’ homework and . . . stuff.”

  Meaning she didn’t want him around.

  “Aw, Mom,” Jeremy wailed. “Just a short game. I gotta practice and we haven’t played since way last week.”

  “No,” Mickelle’s voice was firm. “Besides, Damon bumped his head pretty badly and . . . well, he shouldn’t be jumping after balls.”

  “He could just watch.”

  “Jeremy.” Mickelle’s blue eyes flashed.

  As much as he wanted to stay, Damon reluctantly supported Mickelle. “Your mother’s right. Besides, we need to have family night.”

  “But we always have family night together,” Bell
e protested.

  Damon hadn’t realized they’d fallen into a custom, but his daughter was right. “Not tonight,” he told her.

  Mickelle cast him such a grateful smile that he was almost angry at her. Why had his accident made them near strangers? Did she really not care about him any longer? How could he know what was in her heart if she wouldn’t tell him? Last Saturday he had been so sure she would come around, but now he didn’t know what to think.

  “Besides,” he added, “I am feeling pretty bad right now. My head’s pounding, and I don’t know if I should be out of bed after what happened. I think I might have to go see the doctor.” He darted a glance at Mickelle and was gratified to see worry spring to life. So she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended.

  She twisted her hands. “Do you need a ride home?”

  “No, I can make it, thank you.” He felt remorse for even suggesting that he was feeling sick—although come to think of it, he did have a headache. He wished he could shake Mickelle, beg her to talk to him, but he had promised her all the time she needed.

  He grabbed Belle’s hand. “Come on, ma Belle.”

  Reluctantly, the children followed him outside. Mickelle went with them as far as the porch, looking down the street as though expecting a disaster.

  What was she hiding?

  He paused at the door. “Nice roses.”

  “What?”

  “The ones by the sink.”

  She flushed a deep red. “Oh, uh, thanks.”

  Not exactly the effusive response he’d hoped for. Hadn’t she noticed they were nearly the same color as the gold-dipped one he had given her last month?

  She said nothing more and he had no choice but to join Tanner and Belle, already waiting in the Mercedes parked halfway down the driveway. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you.” Her voice was abruptly strained. He followed her gaze to watch a white new-model Nissan Z pull up to the curb behind Mickelle’s old gold station wagon. A man with dark silky hair climbed out, wearing a double-breasted suit with an expensive cut. Though Damon was not a fanatic for clothing, he would bet it was an imitation. This joker looked like a corporate version of the stereotypical used car salesman—and Damon had dealt with enough of those types to know one when he saw one. In his hand the newcomer held a single gold-yellow rose, the same color as the ones Damon had sent Mickelle on Saturday.