A Bridge to Love

by Nancy Herkness

  Kate hugged him back. “Thanks, buddy. Tomorrow I go up to inspect the site. So tonight while you're doing your homework, I'll be doing mine.”

  Kate stood by the highway inhaling exhaust fumes and shielding her eyes from dirt thrown by cars whizzing past her. She had already driven every possible alternate route and eliminated each one. Her shoulders sagging, she walked down the hill to the old bridge to look at the site from a different angle.

  Now she really understood why this project was not popular. The bridge was in a valley cut by the river. Houses lined the riverbank right up to the right-of-way. Three lanes of traffic streamed steadily across the bridge in each direction. There was no room to build the new bridge beside the old one. There was no viable detour. Because of its location, using prefabricated components was going to be hard because there was no place to store them. They would have to be trucked in as they were needed. So much for speedy construction.

  Stymied, she suddenly recalled the words of her first engineering professor: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are doing engineering, not oil painting. Think in three dimensions!”

  Kate looked at the bridge again, and saw the new bridge over it. It would be longer and therefore more expensive, but traffic could continue to use the old bridge until the last possible moment! She could also justify the expense by pointing out that flooding would not be a problem if the new bridge were higher!

  She felt a rush of exhilaration.

  Flipping to a clean page on her drafting pad, she began to sketch the site and her ideas. She scrambled up and down the riverbank, noting where the new pylons would go, listing survey points, and estimating distances. She bit her lip in frustration when she checked her watch: she needed to get home to take Clay and Patrick to a chess tournament. As she trudged back to her car, she realized that this was just the beginning of the tug-of-war between home and work.

  And it was only going to get worse.

  Bringing an unconventional design in on your first day at the office was risky, and Kate packed her briefcase the next morning with some trepidation. Of course, Susan Chen was looking for an unusual solution, but still…

  Kate had to stop a moment to compose herself before walking into Susan's office.

  When she finished, Susan was silent for a long moment.

  “I wish I had thought of this,” she finally said. “We were spinning our wheels looking for detours or space to put up temporary reroutes, and the space was there all along, right over our eyes.” Susan gathered up the copies of Kate's drawings and stood up. “Phil told me you would deliver.”

  Kate sighed in relief and felt a small glow of pride. “I have a lot more work to do, obviously, but I'm glad that you like the concept.”

  “I'm going to run it by Bruce Adler right now, but I'm sure that he'll green light it. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable here. If you want to take a look at our design program, feel free to use my computer.”

  Within a half an hour, Susan was back. “Bruce says to go forward with the drawings and specs. He'll meet with us in two days to review the plans. Let me show you your new desk!”

  She led Kate to a cubicle that held a computer, a calculator, a drafting table, flat files for blueprints and drawers filled with angles, scales and T squares. Kate hung up her coat, made a mental note to bring in some family photos and was soon immersed in the nuts and bolts of designing a Connecticut state highway bridge. Time flew by and she had to race out of the office to catch her train.

  Kate had grabbed take-out Chinese food on her way home from the station in honor of Georgia's visit. Clay and Patrick were delighted but Georgia made a face. “This is what I always eat,” she complained. “I forgot that you're a working woman now, so I won't get any more home-cooked meals here.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel guiltier than I already do?”

  Georgia sighed dramatically. “No, I just miss that scrumptious French onion soup and your fabulous beef stroganoff.”

  “I haven't made beef stroganoff in years. No one liked it.”

  “Well, there is the Chocolate Orgasm Cake.”

  Kate laughed. “You wouldn't eat that because it was too fattening.”

  “So, how's the job going?” Georgia asked, as they all dug into fried dumplings and moo shu chicken.

  “Great!” Kate said and described her design and her cubicle for everyone's benefit.

  “And how are you guys doing without Mom?” Georgia asked Clay and Patrick.

  “No problem at all,” Clay said breezily.

  “We can handle it,” Patrick affirmed. “We're already paying for our own lunches by walking dogs. It's fun except for Mrs. Handley's German shepherd. He doesn't like to be on a leash.”

  “Maybe you should find a different dog to walk,” Georgia suggested.

  “No, Mrs. Handley pays the most,” Patrick said. “Because she knows that he's a pain.”

  “We don't need money so much that you two have to walk a difficult dog,” Kate said, between bites.

  “Mom, it's cool,” Clay said with a glare at Patrick.

  Kate let the subject drop.

  After the boys retreated upstairs to do homework, Kate and Georgia settled in the living room. “Maybe I'm telling them too much about our financial situation,” Kate worried. “I don't want them to feel pressure to take jobs just because they pay well.”

  “Kate, they are incredibly well-grounded children. And they know that if they have a real problem, they can tell you. Let them deal with it themselves,” Georgia said. “I think they like their new responsibilities.”

  “Now you're trying to make me feel better.”

  “No, I mean it. Let them stretch themselves a bit. They're ready for it.”

  “I hope you're right.”

  “I'm a lawyer so I'm always right, until proven wrong. But let's talk about your other problems. Have you heard from Oliver?”

  “Sort of. I've gotten two phone messages from him. Fortunately, I was working so I didn't have to talk with him. But I'll have to call him back soon.”

  “Is there any chance that you might reciprocate his feelings?”

  “No,” Kate said flatly. “It makes me sad, because I've lost a good friend and I need all the friends I can find right now. But I can't count on him anymore.”

  “You can count on me,” Georgia said.

  “That thought keeps me sane,” Kate said, saluting her friend with her wineglass.

  “Speaking of men and friendship, I thought this might entertain you,” Georgia said, getting up to pull two sheets of folded paper out of her suit jacket pocket.

  Kate flipped open the papers to a color photograph of Randall Johnson looking straight at the camera. She had to stifle a gasp. “Where did you get this?” she asked, glancing at Georgia to get away from those demanding eyes.

  “By a little illicit use of a database we have for doing background checks on people we might be dealing with in court.”

  The photo was followed by a list of Randall's business holdings. “The man owns everything except the Brooklyn Bridge,” Kate said scanning down the page. “And that might be part of Johnson Real Estate, Limited.”

  “He's impressive,” Georgia agreed. “But check out the biographical information on the second page. Not that there's much of it.”

  Kate switched pages.

  Born: Mason County, Texas.

  Father: Deputy Sheriff, deceased. Shot and killed during gas station robbery while off-duty, age 44.

  Mother: Assistant store manager, deceased. Known alcoholic, chain smoker. Died of lung cancer, age 46.

  Siblings: Five.

  Without looking up, Kate said, “Sounds like he had a rough family life. He told me that his mother was an alcoholic, and he knew what it could do to a family.”

  Education: B.A., Princeton University, economics. Full scholarship with work/study. Completed degree in six years. M.B.A., Columbia University.

  “I guess he has to be smart to be a CEO,” Kate mutter
ed. “Wonder why it took him six years to finish Princeton.”

  Marital status: Single.

  Sexual orientation: Heterosexual.

  “Someone researches people's sexual orientation?”

  Georgia shrugged. “Knowledge is power.”

  “Well, I could have saved you the trouble,” Kate said without thinking, as she skimmed through categories such as drug use, psychiatric treatment, gambling and gun licenses, all of which stated unequivocally none.

  Noticing her friend's uncharacteristic silence, Kate lowered the papers. Georgia was watching her over the rim of her wineglass.

  “What?” Kate said.

  “You told me that your date with Randall Johnson was boring. You also said that you didn't get along. But he told you about his mother, and now you're willing to vouch for his sexual preference. Something doesn't fit here.”

  Kate groaned and tossed the papers on the coffee table. Slumping in her chair, she locked her eyes on the ceiling light fixture as she confessed, “I didn't just have dinner with Randall Johnson. In fact, I didn't have dinner at all. We, um, were intimate.”

  Silence reigned again for several long seconds and then Georgia recovered her powers of speech. “You had sex with Randall Johnson?”

  Kate winced at Georgia's phrasing, but she nodded.

  “Two Saturdays ago?”

  Kate nodded again.

  Georgia stood up and walked over to look down at Kate's face. Evidently, she saw something there that made her ask, “And last Saturday?”

  “Yes,” Kate said, finally looking at her friend. “I'm not proud of what I did, but I wasn't thinking clearly. It's history.”

  Georgia stared at the fireplace. “Kate, I wouldn't ordinarily begrudge you some well-deserved fun, but messing around with Randall Johnson just isn't a good idea.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “He's very sexy, and brilliant in business, but he isn't interested in relationships...” She picked up the database printout and ripped it into pieces. “This is my fault! I should never have introduced you.”

  Kate was touched and amused by Georgia's sudden fit of protectiveness. “I'm a grown-up. I knew what I was doing.”

  Shaking her head, Georgia said, “Not with this man. Did you read that bio? He came from worse than nothing and built an empire. You don't do that by being a nice guy.”

  “Don't worry. I'm done with Randall Johnson.”

  Ten

  The Comets were running “give-and-go's” when Kate spotted Oliver's tall figure sauntering across the soccer field. She turned her back on him and started the team on a complicated drill. Despite her body language, Oliver walked right up to her and kissed her on the temple.

  “Hello, gorgeous.”

  “Oliver's here!” Patrick shouted and raced over to punch him on the arm before returning to the drill. Clay raised a hand and said, “Hey.”

  Oliver nodded back.

  The referee blew the starting whistle.

  Oliver kept his gaze on the game as he said, “I tried to call you to apologize for Sunday.”

  “This isn't really a good place to talk.”

  “I can't apologize to your answering machine.”

  “I'm sorry,'' Kate said uncomfortably. “I've been so busy with work. I've got an engineering job in the city now. I'm still adjusting to the new schedule –”

  “I found that out from Patrick.”

  Oliver sounded both hurt and annoyed.

  “It came up very suddenly – way to go, Robert!” she yelled as the ball flew past the opponent's goalie. Deciding to face the inevitable sooner rather than later, she said, “Why don't you come over to the house after I take the team for pizza? We have things to talk about.”

  Oliver's eyebrows rose. “I don't rate an invitation to the pizza party?”

  “Of course you're invited. I just know your opinion of Marzullo's pizza.”

  “If the Comets win today, I'll choke down two slices.”

  The Comets won 2-1. As the parents and boys milled around collecting water bottles and sweatshirts, Denise Costanza followed Kate to the far side of the field to gather up flags and cones. “I see that Oliver is staking out his territory now,” Denise said as she bent down to pick up a red marker.

  “What do you mean?” Kate took the cone from her and added it to the stack.

  “I don't think it's a coincidence that the week after Randall Johnson comes to a soccer game, Oliver suddenly shows up. He hasn't been here in months. Not only that, but he hovered over you the whole time.” She handed Kate two more cones.

  Kate yanked a flag out of the ground with unusual force. “Did it really look that way?”

  Denise relented slightly. “It wasn't that bad. I imagine that most people figured he was here as the proverbial family friend.”

  “You didn't.”

  “Yes, but I'm particularly observant.” Realizing that Kate was genuinely distressed, Denise stopped picking up cones. “It's been over a year since David died. You're allowed to start dating again.”

  Kate sighed. “I don't want to start dating again. And I hate being pushed.”

  As Denise started to apologize, Kate said, “Oh, I don't mean by you, I mean by Oliver and Randall.”

  “Well, it ought to be real interesting when they both show up at the same soccer game,” Denise replied. Seeing Kate's expression, she added, “Don't worry, I'll run interference for you. Just assign me Randall.”

  Kate forced a smile and grabbed another cone.

  “Kate, I'm very sorry for the way I behaved last Sunday.”

  This was the conversation she didn't want to have. She had lingered with the team over pizza as long as she could. Now they were home on the porch, the boys were upstairs, and she had no choice but to hear Oliver out.

  She started to say something politely soothing, but Oliver raised his hand to stop her.

  “My only defense is that I was shocked and disappointed. I had hoped that when you began to think of another relationship, you would think of me.” He produced a rueful smile.

  “It was my fault,” Kate said. “I was trying to shock you. I just didn't get quite the reaction I expected.”

  Oliver winced. “I reconsidered your questions about Sylvia. I'll answer them if you still want to know about her.”

  Kate was stunned into silence. She supposed that this was a peace offering – or a bribe – if one were cynical. Suddenly, she wasn't sure that she did want to know... Maybe it was better to keep the images vague and fuzzy.

  Oliver noticed her hesitation. “I can't tell you all that much. But you have a right to know what I know.”

  She couldn't go on being the only person in the dark about her husband's secret life. “Who was she? How did they meet?”

  Oliver sighed and stared at the ceiling as he said, “Sylvia Dupont. She was the interior designer on the DePaolo house in Baltimore. She's one of those high society designers, very connected, doesn't need the money. The DePaolos insisted on hiring her. David wasn't happy about that since he'd never worked with her before and the house was an important commission.”

  “Evidently, she won him over. How long did it take him to go to bed with her?”

  Oliver sat down on the swing and leaned his elbows on his knees, keeping his eyes on his hands. “I don't really know. David said that she went after him in a big way. I think that their affair lasted about six months.”

  Kate rocked back in her chair. Six months. Her husband had been making love to another woman for six months, and she had been totally unaware of it. He had been in Baltimore often during that time but when he came home, he had been as enthusiastic about their physical relationship as ever. Kate shivered as she wondered if David had come from Sylvia's bed to hers.

  “He broke it off,” Oliver continued. “I think that Sylvia tried to get him back for a while afterward.”

  “Where did they do it? In a hotel? At her house?”

  “Christ, I don't know!” Then he soft
ened his tone. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I'm trying to understand why the man I loved and trusted betrayed me. And why I had no idea that he was betraying me. Did he do it for the thrill of leading a double life? Was Sylvia unbelievable in bed? What does she look like?” Kate asked, leaning forward.

  “I've only met her once. She's pretty: blond, tall, slim, well-dressed. She looks like what she is.”

  “So she's spectacular.”

  Oliver came over to Kate's chair and knelt beside her. “Kate, stop. It's not worth it. David did a stupid thing, a terrible thing, but he loved you. I know that.”

  Kate felt tears welling up and she blinked furiously. “It's a strange kind of love that lets you cheat on your wife.”

  Suddenly she was sobbing as pain and confusion swept over her. Oliver drew her up from the chair and put his arms around her, cradling her against his chest. In some small corner of her mind, Kate knew that she shouldn't allow him to do this. But his comfort lessened the frightening sense of being alone. She cried until she was exhausted. The moment she started to straighten, Oliver let her go, digging in his pocket to find her a package of Kleenex. Kate accepted the package with a watery smile. “I've already used your shirt as a handkerchief.”

  Oliver pulled the wet fabric away from his chest. “Luckily, I wore the extra-absorbent one today.”

  “Excuse me for a minute. I'm going to go throw cold water on my face.” Kate escaped to the bathroom.

  “You're an idiot,” she told her reflection as she turned on the taps. “Now Oliver has every right to think you were encouraging him.” Kate washed her face and then blotted it with the towel. “Well, let's go see how much damage you've done.”

  When she emerged from the bathroom, Oliver was standing in the kitchen. “You probably want some time alone, but my shoulder is here for you to cry on anytime you need it.”

  “Thank you,” she said as he opened the back door.

  She couldn't see the satisfied smile that spread over Oliver's face as he drove away.