Bridger

by Megan Curd

  Mom begged me to agree with what made sense in light of what had happened in the past few days. “Honey, there’s going to be plenty of chances to go to Cork. The family isn’t going anywhere and those tickets are good for a year.”

  Memaw wedged herself between Jamie and I – her usual spot whenever she could manage it. “Your mother’s right. I’ll go over with you if you’ll just wait until spring break. I’ve been meaning to go and see everyone.”

  Memaw was offering a lifeline to get out of the trek. However, I didn’t want to disappoint Jamie. Plus, no amount of “quality time” with Memaw was a good idea. The last time we tried that, the next month had been miserable with mutterings of me being kidnapped by little Irish body snatchers. The woman was a piece of work when angry.

  I argued and hoped it was convincing enough for them. “Guys, I love you, but we’ve already got the tickets. It’s four hundred dollars to cancel and use them another time. There’s no reason to put out that kind of cash to wait on doing something I want to do now.”

  Jamie flashed a quick, encouraging smile behind Memaw’s back. Mom sighed and put the car in drive as she realized she was fighting a losing battle. “Well, at least take it easy until you leave,” she said, her eyes on the road.

  Chris pushed his seat back and put his feet on the dash, flipping through the songs on his iPod he had connected to the radio. “Ash, you really need to leave. Stay over there if you want. The vanilla body spray you use is stinking up the car and sticking to me. I can’t go to school smelling like a girl.” He wrinkled his nose, pretending to be completely disgusted.

  “It would be an improvement over what you smell like now. You might actually get to say three words to a girl besides ‘Where’s the bathroom?’” I said, laughing. My head spun from the minor movement. I leaned back and rested against Memaw. She patted my head absentmindedly as she looked out the window, avoiding the stitches above my right eye. It was the first time I could remember that we had touched voluntarily.

  Chris laughed and continued to flick through his music, never settling on one song for long. I fell asleep on the way home, the past few days’ craziness finally catching up.

  * * *

  Christmas day came quickly. It was a nice morning, and spending it inside seemed like a waste. The snow sparkled in the sunlight, prisms dancing off the perfect flakes. It didn’t look like it could be real.

  Memaw sat at the picnic table bundled up, enjoying watching Chris make a fool of himself. He was trying to snowboard on a sled down the small hill behind our house. She looked so happy, so at peace. I couldn’t feel the same way, having lost Dad not even a week ago. Sitting on a snow-covered swing, I halfheartedly coached Jamie as she tried out my snowboard. Once more, she crashed and burned, laughing the entire way down.

  Silently, a group of young men came around the side of the house. They eyed Memaw with what looked like caution. Before I could call out to see what they needed, their faces took on a hungry look, all of them focused on Memaw. It was unnerving. Why were these men so interested in an old lady?

  As the men neared her, chains appeared around their waists, ankles, and wrists that hadn’t been there a moment before. Moving forward in seamless synchronization, they each pulled daggers from their hips and charged Memaw. She was so engrossed in Chris’ theatrics that she hadn’t noticed the danger.

  I screamed for Memaw to look out so loudly it hurt my ears. Instead of running toward her, I hunkered down, unable to watch them murder her. Would the men come for the rest of our family after they’d finished with Memaw? Why was this happening? Hadn’t we lost enough losing Dad only a few days ago? Terror flooded through my veins, ice replacing the blood. I was involuntarily rooted to the spot.

  Although terrified to look, the thought of not knowing what was happening to Memaw was worse. I barely opened my eyes to see the outcome of the men’s grisly attack. My jaw dropped to the ground at the sight.

  Where Memaw once sat, stood a gorgeous woman no older than twenty. Her golden hair was wild and unkempt; her eyes were black as pitch like mine. Smiling at her assailants, she unsheathed a thin bow and pulled three arrows from her quiver, one for each man coming toward her. In one fluid motion she released all of them at once, each one finding its mark. The men fell.

  To say I was shocked would be the understatement of the century. The woman kneeled down and pulled her arrows from the bodies of the men while I crept toward her. She wiped each one off quickly with the hem of her long, white skirt. As she stood up, the rim of her skirt came into view. It was covered in dried blood. She had probably cleaned the arrows in the same fashion countless times before today. I tore my eyes away from her skirt to look at her face.

  The young woman was no longer there. Memaw stood hunkered in her place. Still wearing the long, white skirt, Memaw dropped to her knees. She grabbed the man closest to her and pulled him to her chest. She sobbed uncontrollably over his body.

  After a few minutes, Memaw let the man fall to the ground, his shirt covered with her tears.

  It was my dad.

  Looking back to Memaw, I expected some answers. The action brought only more questions.

  Instead of the emerald green eyes Memaw always had throughout my childhood, I was met with the gaze of the young woman. Memaw’s eyes were jet black.

  As she got up and took a step forward, Memaw extended her hand as a token of peace. I took a step back in fear. According to Chris, hadn’t Memaw been knocking on the nursing home’s door yesterday? This had to be a hallucination. I’d finally cracked. They were going to have to take me to the loony bin with Jamie and lock us away forever.

  “It’s okay, Ashlyn. There’s a logical explanation for everything,” Memaw said gently as she took another step forward.

  Jamie appeared in the corner of my eye. If Memaw happened to see her, she might try to take her out like the men. I shook my head minutely. Hopefully Jamie would get the hint.

  No such luck. Memaw stopped, whipping around to face Jamie. With a small gasp, Memaw shuddered. Jamie had a look of expectance on her face. It was quickly replaced with sheer exultation.

  Memaw slowly turned back around, her eyes their emerald green again. There was one difference.

  Memaw dropped her gaze to her chest. Her hands clasped the hilt of a dagger that was lodged where her heart would be. Blood slowly blossomed on her shirt surrounding where the dagger had entered.

  Where the men had failed, Jamie succeeded. With a scream of triumph, Jamie came forward to pull the dagger from Memaw’s chest. She ran away and headed toward the neighbor’s pond. My eyes returned to Memaw, unable to look away.

  Falling to her knees, Memaw looked at me. Pleading was etched in every line of her weathered, ancient face. She had only one request.

  “May you never forget what’s worth remembering, nor remember what’s best forgotten,” she choked, holding out a closed fist to me.

  Stepping forward, I took her hand in mine, too shocked and confused to comprehend what had just happened. She placed something into my hand. The end of a golden chain hung from my now closed fist.

  “Run,” was all she said before she crumpled into the snow. When her body hit the ground, all that was left were her clothes.

  FIVE

  I woke up screaming.

  Lying there trying not to hyperventilate, I focused on breathing in and out. Coming to the conclusion that Jamie was not a soulless murderer and Memaw was probably upstairs snoring on the couch, I let out an audible exhale. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath.

  Kicking off the comforter did nothing to stop the uncontrollable sweat. At this rate I would soak the entire bed if I didn’t get out. Grabbing some fresh clothes, I leaned against the dresser. My hands were balled in fists, ready for a fight that hadn’t happened in reality. Letting them relax, my nails left perfect crescents in the palms of my hands. It had all seemed so real.

  Jumping at the sound of the door opening, Chris thundered down the stai
rs in his usual fashion. “Merry Christmas, Midget.”

  I smiled at him sadly. It looked like he was hurting from the absence of Dad as much as I was. “Merry Christmas to you too, Sasquatch.”

  He put his arm around me and placed a small package in my hands. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

  He had printed a picture of us and put it in a metal frame. He took it once more, holding it out for both of us to examine. “I made it in machine shop.”

  “It’s awesome.”

  “You don’t have to lie.”

  “I’m not.”

  He smiled. “Then thanks. Don’t tell anyone, but you’re all right. You know, as a sister, I mean.”

  I laughed and set the picture on my dresser. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “You ready to open presents?”

  “I’ll be up in a minute. I really need to take a shower.”

  Chris gave me a once-over. His eyes lingered on the stains starting to appear around the collar of my old, green softball t-shirt as my sweat dried. “What were you doing last night? Running a marathon?”

  “Bad dream.”

  He nodded. “I’ve had a few of those lately. Get ready. We’ll be upstairs.” Bounding up the stairs, he disappeared in an instant, leaving me to collect myself.

  In the absence of a necessity to keep myself composed, I crumpled to the floor in a heap and allowed the horror of my nightmare to wash over me. It was simply Memaw’s prejudice coming to a head with my overactive imagination, but I had felt more aware in the dream than since waking up in the hospital yesterday. Apparently concussions were good for altered states.

  Then it hit me. Dad wasn’t going to be upstairs, waiting to hand out gifts. Dad was gone. Feeling that realization hit like a cement truck, I leaned back against the dresser. Air hitched in my throat and it had nothing to do with an allergic reaction. The emptiness in my heart threatened to pull me under in the same way Dad had been pulled under the frigid water four days ago.

  I stood up and walked to the mirror, curiosity overtaking the crushing grief. Sadness took control once again when I realized my eyes had returned to their regular black. The medications in the IV at the hospital must have done crazy things to my system, causing my eyes to catch a hint of color yesterday. I reached over to grab contacts from the top of the dresser. Today my eyes would match the feeling of the entire family: blue.

  I walked to the bathroom to shower and pulled outer garments off along the way. Briefly stopping to turn my iPod on shuffle and place it on my stereo, I didn’t wait to see what came on first. I turned on the shower and tossed the last of my clothes in a heap on the floor, while turning back around to get in.

  As the shorts hit the floor, I heard the clink of metal against the tile.

  I turned to see what it was. A gold chain hung out of the right pocket.

  SIX

  I dressed mechanically while examining the chain. It was draped over a nail holding up the bathroom mirror. The necklace had to be a figment of my imagination. There was no way it could really be here.

  There had to be a rational way that the necklace ended up in my shorts. I pulled it off the nail, wrapping it around my index finger. The charm hung delicately on the thin chain.

  Intricately woven, the golden design came together in Celtic knots. A flower was the end result. In the center was a brilliant emerald, surrounded by diamonds. It was inconsequential in size, but it was gorgeous. Although it had been in the room throughout my shower, it was still ice cold. It was strange. I wished I could figure out how it ended up in my pocket.

  This pendant was exactly what Memaw had handed me as she had breathed her last wish. It had been about not remembering what wasn’t important, or something like that. The details were slipping away like sand in an hourglass. I was losing important details, but how could what have happened in a dream mean anything? It was like trying to connect dots in the dark. I was all over the board attempting to make something connect, but only making things worse.

  Chris stirred me from my preoccupation by slamming his fist against the bathroom door. It sounded like a crack of thunder not even three feet away.

  He growled playfully through the door. “Any day now, Midget. I’d like to open presents before I turn fifteen.”

  I balled up the necklace in my fist and pulled my favorite t-shirt over my head. I ran my hand through my wet hair to comb out the rats, then put on the shell necklace I always wore.

  “Beauty takes time, butthead.” I opened the door and shook my head to soak Chris. The water works was given to Memaw instead. I blushed and rushed out an apology, handing her a towel to dry off with.

  “We need to talk,” Memaw said.

  “Where’d Chris go?”

  Memaw wasn’t deterred. “Ashlyn, we need to talk now.”

  “Um, okay.” Confusion had been a regular part of the past few days. I couldn’t figure out which end was up at this point. Treading water was good enough. Getting away from home was a necessity to escape from the pain here.

  We walked up to Dad’s office. None of us had entered this room in the past week. It was a safe bet we wouldn’t be interrupted in there. This was going to be a serious monologue, and I wasn’t the one that would be doing the talking. I steeled myself to hold my tongue, no matter what she said.

  “Ashlyn, do you trust me?”

  That wasn’t the introduction I had been expecting. Neither one of us was fond of the other, but I was still afraid to hurt her feelings. “Memaw, we haven’t exactly seen eye to eye over the years.”

  Memaw looked away, eyes focusing on a family photograph of her, Mom, Dad, Chris, and I. We were sitting in a pile of leaves, laughing. It was one of the last photos we took before… I swallowed and looked back at Memaw, but her emerald eyes were far away in thought.

  “I know we haven’t been close. I apologize. You just weren’t what I was expecting for my first grandchild,” she said simply. Her eyes were apologetic as she said the words that hurt much worse than they should have. I knew she never expected a granddaughter, but the verbal confirmation made the rejection more tangible, measurable. I wasn’t wanted. Chris was what she had wanted.

  “Well, that’s never been a secret,” I stated coldly. Her recoil was satisfying in a petulant way. Let her have some of her own medicine, the old hag. The anger I’d bottled up for so long was building; it felt like acid eating away at my stomach. Knowing that staying here any longer would result in me saying something I’d really regret, I headed for the door.

  She grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling me back to her with the strength I had witnessed last week. She looked too frail to be able to do that. I stood frozen and silent, eyeing the door. What were the chances of catching her by surprise and bolting? If she caught me, she would definitely use that cane of hers. Staying put was smarter. A family brawl on Christmas day was probably not in the best interests of anyone involved. “What else do you want to say that I already know?”

  “What you think you already know is a prejudiced hatred toward me,” she said, her words coming out slow, cautious. “If you would give me the benefit of the doubt, I could explain.” She was throwing the words out like white flags of truce. However, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to accept them. She had verbally slapped me across the face not five minutes before.

  The floor became much more interesting as I studied my feet, unable to look at Memaw. The words that had been locked away for years rushed out without thinking them through. “What I know is ever since I was born you regretted it and treated me like a dirty, old sock. You’ve never loved me. You love Chris because he’s a spitting image of Dad. I’m nothing like the McVean name you so proudly cling to like it means something,” I spat, stopping only to inhale and continue the heartless diatribe. “No one cares if we’re McVeans. No one cares if we’re Irish. No one cares about any of that. Do you even remember what I did to that paramedic when he came to take Dad away? Do you not think when school starts back up every per
son won’t have heard about it? You go out of your way to alienate Jamie as much as you can when you know she’s my best friend. Do you really expect me to think that you care about me at all just because you say you do now? It’s a little late to recover sixteen years of disgust in one conversation.”

  Anger was seeping out of every pore. Heading toward the door I stopped, remembering the necklace in my pocket. “One other thing, too. I don’t care how bad you feel about showing your favoritism; I don’t want your stupid necklaces or anything else you want to give me. You can just keep treating me the way you have for the entirety of my life. I’m used to it.”

  Pulling out the necklace, I shoved it into the robe she was wearing. She stood perfectly still, eyes wide with shock from my vicious outburst. Tears welled up in her eyes. Pangs of guilt stirred in the pit of my stomach.

  Word-vomit. It always got in me trouble.

  Biting my bottom lip and exhaling loudly, I shook my head, frustrated. I didn’t want to feel bad for what I had said. Memaw didn’t feel bad saying she preferred Chris, so why should I feel bad telling her she was a lousy grandma? She should have already assumed it from her honest assessment of not being there anyway. I looked around the room, the anger ebbing away. The tirade began to seem petty in the light of everything else.

  Stealing a glance at Memaw, I saw she was toying with the necklace. She looked up slowly, incredulity on her face. Holding the necklace up to the light, the sun caused the diamonds to create tiny rainbows, throwing them in all directions across the room.

  Memaw’s eyes were fixed on the necklace. She seemed as shocked to see it as I had been to find it this morning. “How did you come across this?”

  “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me. It’s your necklace. I’ve seen you wear it in pictures.” The necklace had been in photos from when Memaw was young. She claimed to have lost it ages ago when I asked about it last year before winter formal. I secretly loved that necklace. Hoping she would share it if I brought it up, I’d been denied.