Bridge to a Distant Star

by Carolyn Williford

  Maureen sat back, absentmindedly chewing on a cuticle, pondering the significance of her discovery. Then Bobo brought her attention back to the mundane, stretching himself up to scratch her bare foot. “Need to go outside? As always, great timing, little one.” She unlocked and opened the back door, depositing Bobo outside. And caught a flash of blue.

  Maureen turned toward the birdhouse and discovered a male bluebird perched on top. Mesmerized, she took in the entire scene. Noted bits of lint in his beak, remnants from a dryer vent. And then, to Maureen’s ultimate delight, he fluttered into the birdhouse. Was out of sight for only a few seconds before he flew out of the small round hole—and was off again. Obviously in search of more materials for building a nest.

  The female soon followed, carrying a twig that Maureen doubted would fit through the hole. But as she watched, enchanted by every move the bird made and smiling in her delight, the female skillfully maneuvered the twig into her home.

  “Bobo,” she cried out, sweeping the startled dog up into the air. “The bluebirds are moving in! They’re making our little house a home.”

  Maybe now … maybe this is the turn I’ve been hoping for, she excitedly thought to herself, the ringing of the phone intruding into her raised hopes. Running inside to catch it in time, panting in her excitement, Maureen grabbed the receiver from its cradle. And then—she couldn’t help herself—she moved to the window so she could continue watching the busy papa and mama.

  “Hello?”

  “Maureen? It’s me. Emilie. Surprised I got you. Thought I’d have to leave a message, that you’d still be at work.”

  “No, um, long story.” Maureen felt instantly uncomfortable, as if Emilie could see into her memories of the morning, read her thoughts. She felt herself blush in shame all over again. “What’s up?”

  “You won’t believe it. God’s answered our prayers. Mo—he’s come home. Ed came home for good last night, can you believe it? I just can’t wait to tell everyone about it tomorrow. Won’t it be fun?—I can hardly wait.” Emilie was nearly babbling, giddy in her excitement.

  “Em, that’s … wow, that’s wonderful news.”

  “He says he realized what a horrible mistake it all was. Missed the kids. Hated the motel room and being away from us.”

  Maureen gathered her thoughts, seeking the best way to obtain delicate information. “You mean he’s moved back into the house? Clothes and everything?”

  “Yes, he has. His razor’s back where it belongs. I even tripped over his sneakers this morning and it made me cry out of happiness.”

  “But do you mean … I mean … did he?”

  “If you mean”—she coyly giggled—“did he move back into our bedroom? Oh yes. And we are really serious about having another baby now. Isn’t that great news too?”

  Maureen slumped against the wall, mouth dropping open, struggling to find words that Emilie would want to hear. “Um, sure, Emilie, what an answer to so many prayers.”

  “I’ve got to run. Just couldn’t wait another moment to tell someone. What luck that I found you home. Oh, and don’t call Sherry—she’s been so critical of Ed—or breathe a word to Vanessa yet either. I want to tell them myself—see their faces. What fun. We’re meeting at that fish place near St. John’s pass, right?” Without waiting for an answer, Emilie trilled on. She was nearly babbling again. “That reminds me. I want to fix something special for dinner. What do you think? Steaks? Or should I make lasagna? Ed loves that recipe his mom passed along to me.”

  Emilie didn’t give Maureen a chance to answer. “I probably won’t have time to do lasagna or the Spanish dish. Better stick with the steaks. I made an appointment to get a manicure. And a hair cut. Can you tell I plan on looking good when Ed gets home?”

  Emilie finally stopped to catch her breath—granting Maureen the opportunity to jump into the void. “Em, this is wonderful news, it really is. So, did you and Ed talk about counseling? I know you told me you didn’t want to go by yourself. But shouldn’t both of you go now?”

  There was an awkward pause. When Emilie finally did speak her tone was noticeably more subdued. “Ed and I discussed it. And we don’t think that’s necessary now, Maureen. I thought that would be pretty obvious, given the circumstances.”

  Maureen clamped her jaw shut, willing herself not to react hastily.

  “God’s worked a miracle in Ed’s heart, and he’s said he’s sorry. As a Christian, I’m to forgive him. Simple as that.”

  “But how can you not …?” Emilie cleared her throat loudly, and Maureen, sensing the indication of unwanted advice, immediately stopped. She’d overstepped her bounds.

  Emilie’s voice was icy now. “I would’ve thought you’d only be happy for me, Maureen.”

  “Oh, I am, Emilie. I’m really sorry, I was just …” she groped for the right words to say, anything that would heal the ugly break she’d caused in the midst of her friend’s joy. “Oh, Em. I’m just worried for you—that you could get hurt again. Please forgive me if I’ve offended you.”

  “I know you want to help, Mo, I really do.” The tension in Emilie’s voice eased, but it was replaced by weariness. “It’s just that everyone has advice for me. And everyone’s way is the right way, you know? The Christian way. Ed and I need to do what’s best for us. Can you understand that?”

  “I guess Sherry, Vanessa, and I can be a bit overbearing, huh?”

  “You all mean well.”

  “Then can you believe I mean well about you and Ed talking with someone? Tell you what.” Some nagging stubbornness pushed her to persist. “Could you just think about it?”

  “I’ll tell you why it’s not necessary, Maureen, if you really need to know.” Emilie’s voice broke, her emotions were so close to the surface. “I don’t need a counselor or anyone else to tell me it was my fault, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That everything was my fault because … because I wasn’t the wife that Ed needed me to be. I failed him.”

  Maureen started to disagree, but the words caught in her throat, for her own heart convicted her of the same guilt. Aren’t you failing as a mom? As a wife? And only moments ago … you let Emilie down too.

  Emilie took in Maureen’s silence. “I knew you thought that. All along I knew you blamed me.”

  Too late, Maureen found her voice. “No. I didn’t mean … honestly, you misunderstood, Emilie! I was too busy thinking about my own issues. It’s about … about Colleen and Bill and me … and I couldn’t—I can’t share that.”

  “Can’t share what? Why?”

  “Because it’s too … it’s just too—”

  “Oh, please. You’re embarrassed? While my life is displayed like a tawdry soap opera and everyone’s busy gossiping about me?”

  Again Maureen was reminded of the women at the shop and she closed her eyes, attempting to shut out the ugly statements. The cruel laughter. But more so—the void of what she didn’t say in defense of her friend.

  “What on earth do you have to be embarrassed about, Maureen? And why couldn’t you confide in me—your closest friend—or at least, I thought so?”

  “Emilie, you are my best friend. And I was—”

  But Emilie hammered on as though Maureen hadn’t uttered a word. “Let me guess: It would’ve unmasked you, right? Couldn’t have Maureen looking bad, now could we? Besides, whatever you were dealing with, it sure didn’t look as nasty compared to poor ole Emilie, huh? I’m sure you were too busy helping me too, judging me and mine. Even you.”

  “Oh, Emilie, no. I wasn’t … I didn’t mean that.”

  “I think I’d better go, Maureen. I’ve already said far too much. And tell you what. How ’bout you try to find a smidgen of happiness for me before we meet for lunch tomorrow. Could you do that for me? Bye.”

  “Emilie, wait—please let me try to explain.” But she
heard only the harsh finality of the dial tone.

  She had just sat down in the kitchen, morosely putting head in hands when the phone rang again. Eagerly she grabbed it, hoping it might be Emilie calling back to patch things up.

  “Em?”

  “No, sorry to disappoint you.” Bill’s voice fortunately revealed only humor.

  “Oh, hi, honey. I had a … well, a strained conversation with Emilie a few minutes ago. I was hoping it was her again … that we could … well, fix things.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “She called to share her good news: Ed moved back home last night.”

  “Wow. That is great news. So what on earth were you arguing about?”

  “I never said it was an argument!”

  “O-kay,” Bill said, clearly changing his tone. “Then what were you discussing?”

  “That she’s taken him back without any … with nothing, no consequences. He said he’s sorry and they’re carrying on like nothing’s happened now. Bill, they’re even talking again about having another baby.”

  “Sounds a bit premature.”

  “A bit—? Bill, there should be consequences for what Ed’s done. And they both need to see a counselor.”

  Bill’s silence stunned her. With an unsteady voice, she defensively offered, “I can’t believe you’d think Emilie should’ve immediately welcomed Ed back into their home, literally with open arms. And I take it you don’t agree they need counseling?”

  Another pause, long enough to make Maureen wonder again what Bill was thinking. “Let’s just say I don’t think counseling’s the miracle answer to everything,” he said.

  “Bill, I never said that—” She stopped, rubbed the base of her neck. Took a moment to gather her thoughts. “You know how it feels we’re relating lately? Like how your beard feels against my cheek when you haven’t shaved.” A lump formed in her throat, reaction to the intrusion of the sudden intimacy. Maureen swallowed, and when she spoke next her words were softer. “We’ve been grating against each other, Bill. And I just don’t know … I’m so tired … and …” She let her voice fade away and subconsciously held her breath.

  The silence became a living force.

  When Bill finally broke into it, he spoke in a near monotone. “I called to tell you that I’ll be home late tonight. A nasty virus is going around. The waiting room’s packed. And after office hours, I’ve got a boatload of paperwork waiting.”

  Maureen was tempted to echo the flatness, but chose otherwise. “Can I drop by your office later? Bring you something to eat?”

  “Don’t bother. I’ve got some leftovers here I can heat up. I need to go, the staff’s waiting.”

  Once again she heard the abrupt sound of the dial tone. Mechanically reaching for her coffee, she made a face as she discovered it was tepid. And when she took the mug to pour the ruined coffee into the sink, the salt of a few tears mixed with it.

  After a dinner with little acknowledgment from Colleen that her mom and sister existed—and the complete opposite from Aubrey, who assumed they wanted to hear her chatter on about every aspect of her day—Maureen decided it was time to be more forceful with her elder daughter. “Colleen, how about if you load the dishes into the dishwasher while I give Aubrey a bath?”

  “I don’t wanna bath. I don’t wanna go to bed.”

  Maureen ignored Aubrey’s outburst.

  “Mom, I have like a ton of homework to do. I need to get seriously busy, right now.”

  “Weren’t you on the Internet when you came home? You had time for that.”

  Colleen glared at her mother, but Maureen ignored her as she rinsed a washcloth to clean up Aubrey.

  “I don’t believe this. This isn’t fair—I have stuff to do.”

  “So do I. I need to give your sister a bath.”

  Aubrey, her own battle temporarily forgotten, centered her total attention on the conflict between mother and sister. She was so focused on Colleen’s next move that she sat uncharacteristically still while Maureen wiped her hands and face, only squirming when Maureen’s head blocked a clear view of her sister.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Maureen caught a glimpse of Colleen, who’d added full-scale bodily revolt to the earlier steely glare. She stood ramrod straight, arms crossed in front of her chest, muscles twitching.

  “But that’s what you’re supposed to do—make dinner, clean up, stuff like that. What else do you have to do all day besides that stuff? How come you’re making me do your job? Don’t you want me to get good grades?”

  Maureen hesitated only a second, and in that gap, Colleen seized the upper hand. “I have to get busy now, Mom, or there’s no way I’m gonna get my homework done.” She held up her hands, ticking off the list: “I have a test in math, a quiz in history, and a book report due for English. And I haven’t finished the dumb book yet either.” She waited, boldly meeting her mother’s gaze, and when Maureen closed her eyes, Colleen quickly turned on her heels. Threw over her shoulder, “It’s not my fault my teachers are so mean.”

  Maureen’s gaze followed Colleen’s retreating back until she disappeared; then, shoulders slumped, she walked to the window to look at the birdhouse. Leaning heavily against the window, crossing her arms over her chest, Maureen searched for the beloved bright blue.

  “Want me to help you wash dishes, Mommy?” Aubrey asked. “I’ll help you.” Mimicking her mother, she cupped small hands around her eyes to peer outside just beneath Maureen. “Hey, whatcha lookin’ at?”

  Maureen reached down to twist a soft red curl around her finger. “Just looking for the bluebirds, little one.” She sighed and scanned the backyard again. “I don’t see them anywhere, do you?”

  “Nope.” Aubrey pulled her eyebrows together in a puzzled frown. “Do mommy and daddy birds get married?”

  “Not like people do.” Maureen smiled down at her. “But maybe God marries them?”

  The frown remained. “Will they stay together for always?”

  “Yes,” she said very firmly, and nodded emphatically at Aubrey’s concern. “They will.” Maureen reached out to take a dimpled hand. “Now, let’s get you in the bath, shall we?”

  “Aren’t we gonna wash the dishes?”

  “How about if we just throw them into the bathtub with you?”

  Aubrey giggled. “Oh, Mommy, no.”

  Later, putting an ear to Colleen’s door, Maureen asked, “Colleen? Are you heading to bed soon? It’s getting late, sweetie.” She could hear books being slammed on top of one another, papers shuffled. To Maureen’s slight pressure, the door cracked open.

  “Mom. I’ve got a lot more stuff to do.”

  Maureen pushed the door open farther so she could peer in, saw Colleen stuffing tiny headphones and iPod into her desk drawer. Although plainly caught in the act, she gave her mother a mutinous look.

  “Apparently not that much. Or you wouldn’t be listening to music, hmm?” To Colleen’s continued unblinking stare, “Just wanted you to know I’m making French toast in the morning, ready at six thirty sharp. So whatever you decide about staying up late, I don’t think you’ll want to miss out on breakfast.”

  “Whatever.”

  Maureen looked at Colleen a few more seconds, waiting. “Well then. Good night.” She closed the door, feeling the familiar weariness settle over her like she’d pulled a heavy coat over her head and shoulders. A drenched wool coat, she thought to herself. Scratchy and weighing roughly the size of a petulant thirteen-year-old girl. Despite the too-real imagery, Maureen smiled.

  Surprisingly, she slept so soundly that she was only vaguely aware of Bill’s climbing into bed with her later, a mumbled exchange of You okay? Sure. Love you. You too. Breakfast felt like an extension of that unsatisfying connection: muttered conversations, hazy encounters with one other, and a d
reamlike quality to all she viewed and did. Turned out that only Aubrey enjoyed the French toast; Bill slept in as late as he could, which meant he only had time to grab a breakfast bar in his rush out the door, and Colleen was obviously still on strike. The only accessory she’s lacking is a placard, Maureen observed.

  After dropping Colleen off at school and Aubrey at Bill’s folks’, Maureen drove along the shoreline toward the restaurant where the gang had agreed to meet. Her first glimpse of the dark greenish-blue gulf waters prompted her to open the van’s front windows. She wanted to breathe in the salty air. Listen to the sounds of rippled laughter from the beach. Concentrating, Maureen hoped to hear the soothing heartbeat of the waves hitting the shore, the familiar rhythm that calmed her like nothing else.

  The seafood restaurant was adjacent to the boardwalk, and as she turned her car into the parking lot, the smell of fish was heavy on the air. Though a majority of boats had left early in the morning and were out fishing for the day—they wouldn’t be back until dinner time, many displaying their catch for the tourists to admire—a few remained docked.

  Maureen stood on the boardwalk for a few moments and watched the men hosing down equipment, curiosity enticing her toward the railing. Those who went about their tasks were a class unto themselves: skin tanned and wrinkled from the sun, nonfussy clothes for ease of movement, hair tied back or tucked into stained hats faded to indistinguishable colors. They were all pleasant looking in their weathering, blending in with their boats, their livelihoods. The camouflage attire of the people of the sea.

  Maureen turned toward the restaurant, but she just stood there, staring intently but not reaching for the door handle. She smoothed her hair, checked that her blouse was neatly tucked in, opened her purse to make sure she’d put the keys in the side pocket. Finally she took a deep breath and opened the door, the cool air hitting her face and bare arms like the icy blast from an opened freezer. She blinked her eyes, attempting to adjust to the dimmer lighting, and retreated a step, taken aback by the noise from within. Glasses and dishes clinking, voices attempting to be heard above the background din, elevator music all competed and joined together to create a raucous cacophony.