The Bridge Tender

by Marybeth Whalen

  Kyle spoke up. “You know I was thinking that it might be good to get rid of this old bridge.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” She laughed, her nerves jangling and her heart thrumming. “And why do you think that?”

  “Because. This old bridge is part of the history of this place.” He stepped back from her but held on to her hand, looking down at her as he spoke. “We both have history, but I think we’re both ready to focus on the future. I mean,” he faltered. “I’d like to stop holding on to the past.”

  She felt the breeze on her face as the bridge began to close. The ride was ending, but a new life was starting. She reached for his hand and held tight, looking up at him as the lights of the bridge flashed across his skin, red, yellow, green. He kissed her again, this kiss already more certain, more lingering and familiar. She leaned into the kiss, into him. She didn’t worry about the bridge closing safely or anything going wrong. Instead she thought of the smell of his skin, the curve of his smile, the steady presence of him beside her. She sensed this was something she could count on, a bridge to take her somewhere she’d never been before, but couldn’t wait to see.

  Epilogue

  January 7, 2011

  Emily stood near the water, stamping her feet to keep warm, her eyes on the cluster of state officials and workers who were down on the bridge, officiating its dismantling. Over to the side, arcing across the sky above them, was the new bridge, an impressive and expensive structure that had been open a few months. She looked over at the new bridge and back to the old one, catching Kyle’s eye and winking as she did. He winked back and turned to finish the conversation he was having.

  Emily turned to the other ladies who had fought hard to save the bridge, making sure everything was on go for the old bridge to be salvaged. They had orchestrated a last-minute coup to save the structure, including the tender house, with big plans for it to be placed on a piece of land nearby. The idea was for the bridge to become a community gathering place. There was talk of future festivals and holiday celebrations for the residents and tourists. She had thrown herself into preserving the old bridge, working tirelessly to garner donations and solicit the needed help to physically move the structure to its new home when the state retired it today. It was good to honor the past, and Emily knew that.

  Behind her she heard a cry that had become as familiar to her as her own voice. She turned around to find Claire carrying a crying child toward her. “There’s Mommy,” Claire was saying, pointing Emily out in the crowd. “There she is. See? I told you we’d find her.”

  Claire handed the little girl to Emily, who snuggled her daughter and covered her little cheek with kisses, then ruffled her red hair, which was no longer in the little ponytails she’d spent time on this morning. She didn’t bother asking Claire what had happened.

  “I swear,” Claire said, leaning against a railing. “This is taking forever. Don’t these guys know how cold it is out here? This child is cold. And so am I!”

  Emily sighed and cast about for a solution. “Maybe you should just take her home with you and I could come get her later?”

  “No way! You promised Amber a photo of her on that bridge.”

  “Amber and her obsession with history. I’m so glad she’s majoring in it. Though who knows what she’ll do besides teach. Bless her heart.” She looked into her little girl’s emerald green eyes, who studied her silently and intensely. She was past due for a nap and Emily hoped this wouldn’t drag on much longer.

  “Thanks again for being here today,” she commented to Claire. “Where are Rick and the kids? Did they have enough of the cold and decide to go home?”

  Claire waved her arm, indicating the area behind them where people were milling around. “They’re around here somewhere. Trust me, they’ll surface soon.”

  “Thanks so much for coming out.”

  “That’s what friends are for. I knew you’d need my support. That big jerk down there is no help at all.” She pointed at Kyle and giggled. Claire had forgiven Kyle gradually once Emily told her the rest of the story, the part that Kyle had never been able to share with her. She still loved to tease him but it was all in jest. The truth was, Claire and Kyle had finally bonded over their mutual loss, each one looking to the other to help them remember the remarkable girl who once graced their lives.

  Kyle saw them looking at him and gesturing and walked over to make sure things were okay. “Are you sure we shouldn’t get her out of this weather?” he asked, stooping down to kiss the little red-headed girl. “I’d hate for her to get sick.”

  He scooped his daughter out of Emily’s arms. “Lily, Lily, Lily, you are Daddy’s girl, aren’t you?” he crooned, balancing her on his hip with the confidence and ease of an experienced dad. He put his arm around Emily and together they watched for a moment as the engineers scurried around, making the necessary notations and adjustments as they prepared to open the bridge one final time and then take it out of commission forever. Many of the former bridge tenders had gathered for one last ride, a sentimental occasion that had brought tears to more than one eye.

  After that, the bridge would be pushed up the intracoastal by a barge and beached until the construction company they had hired could move it piece by piece to its new home. But as she watched, all Emily could think of was her late-night ride with this man who now stood by her side, this man she had fallen in love with, the man who had suggested they get married so Amber’s little girl could be adopted by a mother and a father. It had all been so fast, and yet not once did it feel wrong. As the three of them stood there together, it felt very right indeed.

  “You want to get the picture for Amber now?” Kyle whispered, interrupting her thoughts. “We better do it soon or we might not get it at all.”

  “Yeah,” Emily said, feeling weepy and sentimental. She summoned Claire over to snap the photo, wishing Marta and Phil could be there, but Marta was on bed rest for her first child, a child, she had said often in the last few weeks, who would most certainly be an only child.

  “I’ve heard that just because it happens with one doesn’t mean it will happen again,” Emily offered the last time she visited her friend, bearing her chicken salad and stacks of mindless magazines.

  “Look, just because the baby fairy showed up at your house and dropped a gorgeous child on your doorstep doesn’t mean you’re in any position to be doling out helpful advice, Missy,” Marta said, rolling over in bed. “We can’t all be so blessed,” she groaned as she positioned her girth.

  Blessed. Once she had been blessed, then she wasn’t. Then for so long she felt anything but. And now when someone used that word to describe her life it took her breath away. Not because she was surprised, but because it was true.

  She took her place beside Kyle on the bridge and together they coaxed Lily to look at the camera, waving their arms and acting silly to get her to smile, generally looking like fools, but happy fools. Fools who had taken a chance on love again and found more than they bargained for. Though they couldn’t have known what waited on the other side, they’d trusted the bridge to take them there.

  Recipes

  “Meaning of Life” Chicken Salad

  6 chicken breasts, cooked and shredded

  1 1/2 cups mayonnaise

  Salt

  1 cup toasted pecans

  1 1/2 cups red seedless grapes, cut in half

  Combine mayonnaise and salt (to taste). Add shredded chicken with enough of the mayonnaise to cover, then add pecans and grapes. Serve at room temperature on a bed of lettuce or croissants.

  “Miracle” Chocolate Chip Muffins

  2 large eggs

  2 cups sour cream

  1 cup milk

  3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

  4 Tbsp. sugar

  2 tsp. baking powder

  1 tsp. baking soda

  1 tsp. salt

  2 cups (1 12-ounce bag) chocolate chips

  In a bowl, beat eggs. Stir in sour cream and milk. In a large bowl, comb
ine flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Pour egg mixture into flour mixture and stir just until moistened. Fold in chocolate chips. Spoon batter into greased muffin tin, filling cups three-quarters full. Bake in 400-degree oven for 20 to 25 minutes.

  “Comfort Food” Custard Pie

  1 unbaked pie shell

  3 large eggs

  ½ cup sugar

  ½ tsp. salt

  ½ tsp. nutmeg

  2 2/3 cup milk

  1 tsp. pure vanilla extract

  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Beat eggs slightly, then add sugar, salt, nutmeg, vanilla, and milk. Beat well and pour into the unbaked pie shell. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes. Remove from oven and cool. Sprinkle the top of pie with nutmeg and serve.

  Author Interview

  Marybeth, where did you get the idea for this book?

  This book came from being a regular visitor to Sunset Beach, North Carolina, and being aware of the debate within the community about the pros and cons of a new bridge. I wanted to write about that debate and someone who gets sucked into it but is not really part of it. I also thought that the symbolism of the bridge would be so great to delve into.

  Why have several of your books been set in Sunset Beach?

  I just love it there. I say it’s where my heart lives. While I’m not a resident, I am like Emily in that I fell in love with the place on a trip years ago. I still dream of owning a home there someday so I can spend more time there. In the meantime, I venture there in my mind each time I set a book there—a mental vacation I take full advantage of!

  Was there really a fight over replacing the bridge in Sunset Beach?

  It was more a debate than a fight, but for the sake of the story I dramatized it a bit. People within the community definitely had views on whether or not the bridge should be replaced. There was, for the record, never a fire that couldn’t be put out by fire trucks, but it could’ve happened. Some residents I interviewed were actually the ones who gave me the idea of a fire that happened at high tide so the fire trucks couldn’t reach the island to put it out. That was always a danger and safety concern when the old bridge was in operation. I just made it happen in this story.

  Where did the character of Kyle Baker/Brady Rutledge come from?

  He came from my love of old John Hughes movies. Every girl who saw Sixteen Candles was affected by the perfection that was Jake Ryan. And yet the actor who played him opted for an anonymous life away from Hollywood after making just a few films. When I read that about him I thought, What would it be like for a girl who had idealized him as a teen to run across him years later in this completely different setting where he’s just trying to be a normal guy? And, thus, the character of Brady/Kyle was born in answer to that question. To put Emily in that rather surreal place was great fun for me and—I hope—for readers.

  While Sunset Beach is a real setting, your books are fiction. Do you ever take liberties with the place?

  Funny you should ask! I’m pretty meticulous about staying true to place and pointing to real landmarks that visitors can actually go and find should they want to. This is the first book that I took some creative license with the setting though. In the story, Emily and Ryan, and then Emily alone, visit a house that is falling into the ocean. That house is actually one beach over, at Ocean Isle Beach, North Carolina. But as I wrote this story I just couldn’t shake the image of Ryan and Emily visiting this house, and how symbolic it was. There they are starting their marriage even as they’re standing beside this collapsing house. Ultimately it is this house that is a touchstone for Emily and a place where she comes to understand her own journey. I had to leave the house in the story and alter the setting a bit. I hope the citizens of Sunset Beach and Ocean Isle will forgive me for playing with their geography. You can see the actual house—you just have to go one beach over to find it!

  What happened to the old bridge? Is it really preserved for visitors?

  The Old Bridge Preservation Society has created a park-like atmosphere near where the old bridge used to sit. You can walk on the bridge and go inside the tender house. They offer many special events and volunteers are there to share history and details about the bridge. For more information, visit www.oldbridgepreservationsociety.org.

  What’s next for you?

  I’ve got a few more Sunset Beach ideas I’d love to write. Plus a lot more women’s fiction up my sleeve. I hope to just keep telling stories!

  Discussion Questions

  1. Why do you think Emily didn’t immediately buy the house at Sunset Beach? Would you have waited or rushed out to fulfill your husband’s wish?

  2. Did you have a teenage film star crush? What would it be like to find him living an anonymous life in a small coastal North Carolina town?

  3. How did Jeremiah 29:11 fit into Emily’s life? Kyle’s? Marta’s? Amber’s? How does it fit into yours?

  4. Was Emily’s involvement in Amber’s life a risk? Why do you think she was drawn to the girl? Have you ever been compelled to reach out to someone in need of help, even though you barely knew her or him? Did you?

  5. Was Emily right to leave the comment about the bridge on the state site?

  6. How was Marta a good friend to Emily? If you have someone in your life like Marta, send a handwritten note or card thanking them for being a good friend.

  7. As you read the story, why did you think that Claire didn’t like Kyle?

  8. How did Ryan and Lily shape who Emily and Kyle became? Have you had a significant loss that shaped your life?

  9. The bridge is symbolic for both holding on to the past and moving toward new beginnings. How is God at work in both?

  10. In the end, Emily decides she’s going to share with her father what she’s learned about God—how He is the bridge we can rely on in our lives. How will this help her father? How has it helped her? How will seeing Him in this way help you?

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks go out to . . .

  My husband, Curt, and children, Jack, Ashleigh, Matthew, Rebekah, Bradley, and Annaliese. You all are my hope and future and I thank God for your love and support as I chase this dream of writing novels.

  To my mom, who never fails to encourage me with her unwavering belief in me.

  To the team at HarperCollins Christian, who made this book possible in so many ways.

  To Nicci Jordan Hubert, who served as both editor and cheerleader. I don’t think I’ll ever forget our initial discussion about this book.

  To the lovely folks from the Old Bridge Preservation Society who shared their information and experiences: Karen Dumbrowski, Jean Hutchinson, Alan Theimer, Chris Wilson, and Ann Bokelman. You welcomed me into your home (Ann) and your cause. I am so glad you worked tirelessly to save the old bridge the way you did so we will all have it to enjoy and remember. I hope this book honors what you’ve done in some small way.

  To Ariel Lawhon and Kimberly Brock, my She Reads team and dear friends, for aiding and abetting my particular brand of crazy. My life wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without you in it.

  To the book mavens of the Pelican Bookstore: Pat, Ann, and Suzanne. Your support is a mainstay and touchstone for me.

  To my friends IRL (in real life), thank you for the long lunches and long phone conversations, and short messages and texts. It all serves to bolster me in this sometimes lonely occupation. Without you all, I’d be a hermit. I’m not even going to try and name names, but you know who you are.

  And finally, to The Bridge, who takes me out of where I’ve been and shows me amazing new places waiting on the other side. Thank You for faithfully getting me where I need to go, and teaching me I can trust what’s waiting on the other side. Because You are already there.

  AN EXCERPT FROM

  THE GUEST BOOK

  Dear Macy,

  I feel like writing this is breaking the rules for us. That we aren’t supposed to need words between us. But I am going to set aside the rules just this once. I never liked rules much anyway, a
nd I have a feeling you don’t either.

  I think it’s time that we meet. In person. I’ve been drawing you pictures for most of my life, and I want to finally see the face of — hear the voice of — the artist who has captured my imagination for as long as I can remember. We communicate in pictures and not many people understand that. I’m ready to move past these pictures, which have been our connection all these years, and finally tell you who I am. And explain why I’ve never told you before.

  So this year, I’ve drawn you a picture of the place where we can meet. I will be waiting for you there on Friday at two o’clock. I hope you will come. Please say you will.

  Love, the artist

  one

  The first thing Macy Dillon noticed when she entered her mother’s house on her dead father’s birthday was the missing pictures. The front room—a place she and her brother Max had dubbed “the shrine”—was usually filled with photos and mementos from her father’s short life. It was a place Macy had a habit of breezing through, if for no other reason than to avoid the memories the room evoked. But this time she paused, noticing space where there had once been pictures, gaping holes like missing teeth. Macy looked down and saw some boxes on the floor, the framed photos resting in them. Perhaps her mother was just cleaning. That had to be it. Macy couldn’t imagine her mother ever taking down the shrine. She glanced up, her eyes falling on one of the photos still standing. In it, her father, Darren Dillon, stood beside Macy on the pier at Sunset Beach the summer she was five years old, the sun setting behind them, matching smiles filling their faces.