Bridge to Forever

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “That’s good, right?” He still wasn’t sure how to read this reaction.

  She nodded. “Then I had a terrifying thought. Colton’s coming back, and what if he somehow takes it all away?” She began to cry softly.

  Damon pulled her close. Tears streamed down her face as he held her. He had worried about the reality of the attack hitting her, had been warned by the doctor at the hospital that it might happen, but Mickelle had seemed so sure that it was over, so ready to put it behind her. Thank heaven he hadn’t dumped Bryan’s trouble at school on her today.

  “I think he wanted to kill me,” she whispered. “He was that mad. But first he was going to make me suffer.”

  “You didn’t let him!” he reminded her.

  “I fought.”

  “You did.”

  “I should have kicked him harder.” Her watery smile came as quickly as the tears.

  “Mickelle, I’m doing everything in my power to make you safe. There is no way he can come here. He’d be crazy to try.”

  She sniffed. “I know that—logically. He’s got everything of monetary value that I had. And he’s got to be long gone, running from the police. But somehow I’m suddenly . . . scared. I know it’s stupid, but there it is.”

  “It’s not stupid; it’s a normal reaction. But you’re wrong about something.” He paused for dramatic effect. “You still have this.” From the pocket of his suit coat, he pulled out a small box and opened it.

  She gasped and then hugged him. Exactly the reaction he had planned. “You found the ring!”

  “Actually it’s another one.” He slid the thick band with the heart-shaped diamond onto her finger. “It took some doing, getting it here today, but the company bent over backwards. They found it in one of their stores in another state and had an employee fly it to Utah. He was waiting for me out front when I got back with the kids.

  She held her hand out to admire it. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Well, they do those things when you get in that price range. Especially when it’s the second one you’ve bought from them.”

  “What range are we talking about?”

  “Oh no,” he said. “It’s a gift and my lips are sealed. Don’t worry. We can afford it.”

  More tears slipped from her eyes, and she wiped at them impatiently.

  He grabbed her hands. “I’d give you the moon if I could.”

  “I don’t want the moon. I just want you.”

  His lips met hers but drew away as she winced at the pressure. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I keep forgetting.”

  “We have so much,” Mickelle said, “and then there are people like Jennie Anne—”

  “I saw where she lived.”

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it? And I’m almost certain she’s being abused in more ways than one. Do you mind—” She stared at him earnestly. “I’d like to help her.”

  “I would too.”

  “It shouldn’t cost too much.”

  “I don’t care if it does. I’d be happy living in a shack as long as I have you.” He half laughed, half snorted, and then said quite seriously, “Of course, with my luck, the land under the shack would have an oil well.”

  She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What I want to know is whether I’m going to become gold.”

  He searched her blue eyes. “You, Kelle, are much better than gold.”

  “Good.” She swayed against him slightly. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to carry me to that couch in there.” She pointed into his sitting room.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  She tried to hide a grimace. “Think of it as practice.”

  “Practice?”

  “For after we’re married. If I remember correctly, the groom has to carry the bride across the threshold.”

  He picked her up. “Up the stairs too, no doubt.”

  “Why not?” she said with a smirk.

  “Why not indeed? You’re light.”

  “I haven’t always been. When I was pregnant with—” She broke off, and Damon instinctively tensed. They had promised to talk, but so far both of them had avoided the issue.

  He set her carefully onto the tan sofa, expecting her to continue. She didn’t. Instead, she reached for the remote lying on the arm of the couch. “I think I’ll watch just a little bit of this nice TV here while you pack. Coming up the stairs is about all the excitement I can handle tonight. I believe I’ll also have to eat dinner up here on a tray. Okay?”

  He smiled uneasily but was all too ready to let the issue slide for now. They had a lot to deal with as it was. “Sure. The kids can eat downstairs and you and I can eat here in front of the TV.” As he moved to the door her voice stopped him.

  “Damon?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  Warmth filled him. “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mickelle’s scrapes and bruises faded gradually over the next few weeks. The fear she had admitted to Damon faded as well. Except that sometimes when she was alone in Damon’s room the events of that terrible day came rushing back, utterly real and terrifying. She wished he could stay with her, but that couldn’t happen until they were married. Besides, she was never really alone because Mrs. Mertz was home during the day and the children at night. Damon also spent most of his off-hours at the house. He was always around at bedtime for the children so he could read Belle and Jeremy a story.

  Mickelle’s happiness grew. She became accustomed to the vaulted ceilings, and the openness no longer gave her the feeling of being outside and unprotected. At first she passed her time focusing on her recovery, but all at once she suddenly had nothing to do. The housework was taken care of by Mrs. Mertz, the dinner by Cammy, and the outside by Old Bobby, the weathered groundskeeper. Damon urged her to take a hand in everything, but she preferred to hold off until she felt more at ease with their employees.

  Instead, she concentrated on the children, who flourished—especially Tanner who had been so long without a real mother, and Belle who had never really known her own because of the cancer. She took them shopping, talked to their teachers and friends, and was home for all their comings and goings.

  Jennie Anne continued to come to the house after school and on Saturdays as well. The child had changed drastically during her time with them, though she continued to curl into herself in misery each time she had to return to her great-aunt’s. Mickelle thought constantly about Jennie Anne on Sundays when her aunt refused to allow her to come over, and had taken to packing food in her backpack on Saturday nights. The bruise on Jennie Anne’s face disappeared, and Mickelle saw no signs of further abuse. Even so, it took all her courage to drive Jennie Anne to her home each Saturday evening and leave her. Yet she couldn’t help wondering why Jennie Anne rejected any overture to talk about her home life.

  Only Bryan was unhappy, despite Mickelle’s increased attention, and he made every attempt to annoy her and Damon. Mickelle also noticed that while he and Belle often exchanged name-calling, she usually escaped his real torture, as did Jeremy, who rarely took offense at anything. Bryan completely ignored Jennie Anne, but Tanner, formerly his idol, had become a victim for every taunt, every harsh word, and a few well-aimed basketballs. As a result, Tanner would no longer play basketball with Bryan unless Damon was present, and when Damon played, Bryan refused to join the game. Mickelle didn’t know what to do about Bryan’s attitude but begged the others to have patience. Tanner, to his credit, held back and hadn’t given the younger boy the beating he likely deserved.

  A few days after the attack, Damon had told her about Bryan’s fight at school, and they had agreed to let it go without further discussion as long as he continued to uphold his part of the bargain. Mickelle did talk briefly to Bryan about it, just to let him know that she was informed and concerned, and he had promised that he would never do it again. He had accepted his five-day grounding silently, but his anger and sullenness always seemed to b
oil just under the surface.

  Mickelle’s relationship with Damon deepened, until it was almost a physical pain to bid farewell to him each night as he left for her sister’s house. Knowing she wouldn’t see him until the following evening was pure torture. Had she ever loved anyone so much?

  Yet the subject of a baby continued to loom over them like an ominous shadow. Mickelle didn’t know if she could or should give up one dream to have another baby. So she simply didn’t face the problem, and though Damon constantly brought up their pending marriage, she avoided setting a date.

  Soon, she told herself.

  On Saturday morning, more than two weeks after the attack, she used the treadmill in Damon’s personal sitting room. She felt good, if not completely well. Only a few deep bruises remained on her upper arms and on one cheek, yellow-green now and fading fast. After exercising, she took a hurried shower. Damon was on his way over from Brionney’s, stopping first to pick up Jennie Anne, and she wanted to be ready when he arrived.

  She was in the kitchen making blueberry pancakes on the large electric griddle when Damon finally entered. Jennie Anne was with him, and something else she hadn’t expected.

  “What’s that?” she exclaimed, bending over to hug Jennie Anne.

  Damon staggered over to set his burden down on the counter. “It’s a pumpkin. What do you think?”

  Indeed, it was the most monstrous pumpkin Mickelle had ever seen. “We have pumpkins.” Mickelle and the kids had gone over to her house after school last week and picked the pumpkins and other produce in the garden, saving them from certain frost. Today was the Saturday before Halloween and they were going to make jack-o’-lanterns.

  Damon grinned at her, his amber eyes shining. “Hey, if we’re going to have this pumpkin seed fight that Jeremy keeps talking about, I am going to be armed.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Mickelle shook her head. “Where did you get it?”

  “I know people,” he said mysteriously.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “We got it from a guy selling vegetables at the side of the road,” Jennie Anne volunteered. She sniffed the air appreciatively. “Those pancakes sure smell good.”

  “They’re blueberry. If you’ll go get the others in the game room, we’ll eat. They’re watching Saturday morning cartoons.”

  As Jennie Anne left the kitchen, Damon took Mickelle into his arms and kissed her soundly. Mickelle laughed softly as white-hot sparks crawled up her spine. “Good morning to you, too.”

  “I missed you,” he whispered huskily.

  “I missed you.” She lifted her lips to be kissed once more.

  Their brief tête-à-tête was interrupted by running feet and screams of “pancakes!”

  “Great,” Mickelle muttered. “I can never get them away from the TV on Saturday morning, but this morning they come running.”

  Damon gave her another grin. “It’s the seed fight, I tell you. It’s causing all sorts of havoc.”

  “Oh, should we cancel then?” she asked innocently.

  “Not on your life. This is one of your traditions I’m going to perpetuate—because I’m going to win!”

  Mickelle reached behind her and drew out a pair of scissors. “We’ll see.”

  “What’s that for?”

  “Your hair. We are not carving one hole into any of these pumpkins—especially not your inferior-though-large pumpkin—until you get a haircut. I did Tanner’s last week, and you are in for it today.”

  Damon grabbed at the yellow hair on his temple, pulling it up for a look. “I guess when a guy can see his hair like this, it’s time for a cut. At least I’ve kept my moustache nice and trim.”

  Belle giggled from her stool in front of the breakfast bar. “I can cut your hair, Daddy.”

  “Uh, I think I’ll let Kelle do it this time. Maybe when you’re older.”

  Unperturbed at the refusal, Belle held out one of the plates Tanner was passing around. “A pancake please.”

  “First the prayer,” reminded Mickelle. She scanned the children, wondering whom to pick. Her eye caught Bryan’s but she knew better than to put him on the spot.

  “I’ll say it,” offered Belle.

  “Okay, Belle,” Tanner said with a groan, “but can we at least eat while the pancakes are still warm?” Belle had a tendency to bless everything and everyone during her prayers.

  “Tan,” Damon warned.

  Tanner sighed but bowed his head.

  Belle was uncharacteristically quick with her prayer, though still blessing most everyone she knew. Afterward, Mickelle set a plate of pancakes on the counter and everyone reached for them. She noticed that Bryan served Belle before himself because her little arm didn’t quite reach the plate. Mickelle helped Jennie Anne, who still held back during most family activities, before returning to the griddle. For a moment there was blessed silence as everyone munched happily.

  Before long, breakfast was over, and Damon was sitting on a chair with a towel around his neck as Mickelle expertly trimmed his hair. She enjoyed the opportunity to run her hands through the wet locks that smelled clean from his shampoo. At one point he pulled her to his lap and kissed her until her lungs begged for air. “You’re getting hair all over me,” she complained lightly.

  He only tightened his hold.

  She blew some hair from his forehead and it stuck in his thick eyebrows. “Hey, you’re getting it in my eyes,” he protested.

  “Serves you right.” Mickelle threw back her head and laughed, her heart feeling almost too small to contain her emotions. She landed a kiss on his nose and resumed cutting.

  An hour later, a pall was cast over Mickelle’s day in a way she hadn’t anticipated. They had unanimously agreed to set up the contest on the patio outside the game room, and giggles soon filled the air. The day was beautiful for late October, and the warm sun shining down on them went a long way toward mitigating the brisk chill in the air. On a newspaper-covered table, they went to work slicing into and cleaning out their chosen pumpkins, with Damon’s arm and entire head disappearing inside his as he scraped the bottom with a kitchen knife. Mickelle laughed so hard at the sight that she nearly cut herself. She ran inside to get her camera.

  That was when she noticed Bryan by the sliding glass door, arms crossed as he scowled at everyone. “What wrong?” she asked. “I thought you were helping Belle?”

  “This is stupid.”

  She studied him silently for a few seconds. “You never thought so before. You always loved carving the pumpkins.”

  He grimaced at her and said nothing.

  Mickelle retrieved her camera, trying not to let Bryan’s attitude bother her. When Damon saw what she was doing, he stopped to set up his video camera on a tripod. In minutes they were carving faces into their pumpkins.

  Jeremy threw the first seed, or so Belle claimed later, but Mickelle was so busy making sure the knives were out of the way that she didn’t notice. She did notice when Damon came toward her with his cupped hand full of seeds and squishy pulp from his monstrous pumpkin. “Oh, no you don’t!” she shouted, ducking around him and grabbing a handful of seeds herself, sending them hurtling toward him.

  Splat! They landed right in his face, one clinging in his blond moustache. The kids giggled furiously.

  “Oh yeah?” He threw his seeds which hit Mickelle in the chest and slopped down her old sweater.

  After that it was a melee, with everyone slinging seeds and laughing themselves helpless. Even Sasha, released from her new pen, got in on the action, barking excitedly as she ran around the patio. When they were spent, each plopped down on the ground or at the table, breathing heavily and grinning at each other. Damon looked as though he’d received the worst of the blast, and Mickelle suspected she came a close second. Jennie Anne was the least touched, though she’d joined in a good share of the mess and now picked seeds from her jeans.

  “How wonderful!” Damon exclaimed.

  “What?” Mickelle asked, trying to get a s
eed out of her ear.

  “I haven’t had so much fun since our first soccer game together.” He reached over and combed some of the seeds from her hair with his fingers.

  Mickelle returned the favor by picking off a small mound of sticky pulp from his sweatshirt. “What’s wonderful is that you have three oversized water heaters and enough bathrooms for us to all clean up at once.”

  She redeposited the pulp from his sweatshirt on Damon’s head, under the pretense of kissing him.

  “Hey,” he said, scooping the mess from his hair.

  “You’re it.” She grinned, and the play began again.

  When they were thoroughly exhausted, the children left to bathe, while Damon and Mickelle cleaned up the patio. Bryan had vanished, though Mickelle was sure she had seen him earlier staring at them through the sliding glass doors.

  Damon got out the hose and directed the water onto the patio, forcing the pumpkin seeds into the grass. “Oh, I did pay Jennie Anne’s aunt.” He shook his head and sighed. “That old woman . . . I don’t know how a person can be so greedy.”

  Mickelle paused in gathering up the newspapers from the table. “I know . . . except then I kept thinking how desperate I felt after Riley died. Not having a sufficient income makes you feel mean and greedy inside. Maybe we should give Nedda the benefit of the doubt.”

  “What about the bruises?”

  Mickelle frowned. “I don’t know. But there haven’t been any since. At least not that I can see.”

  Damon took her hands in his, which felt cold from the water. “Jennie Anne hasn’t been around her enough to provoke an attack.”

  “I know. I’ve thought the same thing myself. Is it possible Jennie Anne really did fall into something?”

  “It’s always possible.” He sighed, rubbing her hands. “What does your heart tell you?”

  A lump as big as Damon’s pumpkin seemed to grow in her throat. “My heart tells me someone hit her.”

  “Then we’ve got to do something about it.”

  “We are, aren’t we?”