Bridge to a Distant Star

by Carolyn Williford

  “To plow through twice?” To Maureen’s nod, Vanessa replied, “I understand. And besides,” she gestured toward their destination, “conveniently, we’ve arrived.”

  As they pulled into the restaurant, Maureen pointed out, “Look—there’s Sherry. And Emilie’s car is already here too.” She opened her door, calling out, “Hey, Sherry.”

  Sherry waited, hands on hips. In her typical tailored business suit, Sherry looked very much the professional she was. She kept her light blonde hair neatly bobbed, and the intelligent eyes that peered at them through tortoiseshell-framed glasses were without makeup. What softened Sherry’s entire look, however, was her wide grin and outstretched arms. “Been looking forward to this since we set it up. Give me some hugs, you two.”

  The three linked arms as they walked up the sidewalk. Vanessa conspiratorially winked at Maureen. “The Clarkson family is into decrees these days—more on that topic later, Sherry,” (eliciting another laugh from Maureen) “so I’m gonna propose yet another one: Today, no salads allowed. Only glorious, fatty entrées for us. And dessert. Something tells me we’re all gonna need the happiness that only fat can bring.”

  “Sounds like a divine idea,” Sherry agreed, and all three were laughing together as a smiling host held the door for them.

  The cozy, intimate restaurant was a converted home from the late 1800s, and was one of their favorites. As the three walked in, they noticed the intermingling smells of spices and freshly baked bread, at once enticing and soothing. An assortment of brightly colored flowers—large baskets of pansies—looked welcoming on windowsills and tables scattered throughout the gracious interior. They glanced at each other and grinned in anticipation, hugging each other closer within their locked arms.

  The host, mirroring their happiness, gushed, “Welcome to The Cottage, ladies.”

  “Thank you. We’re meeting one more, Emilie Esteban. I think she’s arrived?” Vanessa inquired.

  “Yes, I believe she has. Follow me right this way, please.”

  Leading them to a corner table, he motioned to a secluded niche where they would have a good deal of privacy. There was still much bustling about as they distractedly greeted Emilie, decided who would sit where and settled in, at last giving Emilie their total attention. And then simultaneously, as though choreographed, all gaiety came to an abrupt end.

  Emilie appeared stricken, shrunken, weak. Her shoulders were slumped over, head tilted down, hands clenched together in her lap. When she did glance up, they saw that her eyes were red and swollen, her face raw and chapped, every flaw of her deathly pale skin—wrinkles, sags, lines—highlighted. Emilie looked like an old woman.

  Maureen reached over and clutched Emilie’s hands. “What is it? What’s happened, Em?”

  Emilie lifted her chin, but closed her eyes as she slowly shook her head. The silence was unbearable. And so they filled it, voices overlapping with peppered questions.

  “Is it one of the kids?”

  “Is it Ed? Is his business in trouble somehow?”

  “Has someone been in an accident?”

  “Oh, Em … is it you? Have you been to a doctor? Is that why you missed the meeting this morning?”

  “Let us help.”

  “Tell us what to do.”

  “Emilie?”

  When she finally spoke, the flatness of Emilie’s voice was like a generated recording, devoid of personality and emotion. “Ed’s met another woman. He’s moving out.” She glanced down at her wrist, checked the time on her watch. “Right now, as a matter of fact.”

  They stared at her, mouths open. And though they didn’t realize it, each one held her breath, features frozen in disbelief.

  “He told me just as I was about to go out the door this morning. Oh, sorry I wasn’t there today, Maureen.” An aside, eerie in its calm. “Says he’s in love—for the first time in his life. And so he knows this is what God wants him to do. Go to be with her, of course.” Emilie began to speak faster, slurring one word into the next. “After all these years … he was living for me and the kids, he says … sacrificing his own personal happiness … and finally it’s his turn in life to be happy. So he says now … with God’s blessing, he says … that …”

  Emilie stopped then, allowing the words to slip away as though she were a music box that gradually wound down. Silenced now, she was smaller still.

  The three friends exchanged quick, horrified glances and then Maureen, still holding Emilie’s hand in her own, squeezed tighter. One thought raced frenetically through her mind: Say the right thing. Whatever you do, Say the right thing. “I don’t believe Ed would follow through with this, Emilie. He’ll come to his senses.” Maureen looked around the table for affirmation from the others. “I bet he’ll be back before you know it. Certainly he’ll change his mind.”

  Vanessa started to add something, but hesitated and stopped, flustered.

  And then Sherry whispered under her breath, “Maybe it would be better for Em if he didn’t.”

  That drew an astonished look from Maureen, but a shrill, staccato laugh from Emilie. It was nothing like her usual beloved, boisterous laugh, and that sarcastic sound—more than anything that Emilie had said so far—brought a stab of pain to Maureen’s heart.

  “Funny, I was thinking some of those same things when Ed was first telling me his ‘news,’ shall we say. My mind was racing, thinking surely he’d change his mind, he’d come to his senses, blah, blah, blah. And then he’d beg my forgiveness for this … this temporary insanity.” She reached for a crumpled, much-used tissue from her lap, dabbed at her eyes.

  “And then he put his briefcase on the counter, pulled out papers. Turns out my efficient husband has already contacted an attorney.” She blew her nose and then closed her eyes. “It’s been going on that long. And here I was …”—she glanced over at Maureen with a look on her face like she’d just been slapped—“so blind that I was actually considering having another baby.”

  Maureen rehearsed their conversation of the night before, trying to remember Emilie’s exact words. “Em, it … this makes no sense. Didn’t you and Ed just discuss this? Recently? Did I misunderstand?”

  “Oh, no, you didn’t misunderstand a thing.” Emilie grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, gripping it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “He was falling all over himself with apologies about that ‘small but well-meaning indiscretion,’ he called it, this morning. A lapse in judgment. But he was only trying to ‘pacify you, dear Emilie,’ as he so thoughtfully put it.”

  Maureen felt sick to her stomach and leaned down to find a tissue in her purse. Anything to break eye contact with Emilie—and those piercing, accusing eyes. She had no idea what to say now … how to respond. All she could do was glance up from her search to meet Emilie’s gaze momentarily before looking down again. Like a puppet on a string, Emilie followed Maureen’s lead, looking down at her purse too. It was like a bizarre, synchronized dance. And in the midst of that ballet, Maureen could only think, Why is she so intently focusing on me? What am I supposed to say? What does she want me to say?

  “That is just … disgusting.” Sherry had been married to an apparent charmer who turned out to be a total fraud. He had cheated—not once, but repeatedly. Once she discovered his infidelities, she divorced him without a backward glance and often pointed out that she’d never trust another man again. Not in that way. With narrowed eyes and grim line of her mouth, she slowly shook her head in disdain.

  “It’s also pathetic.” From Vanessa.

  Emilie turned again to Maureen, eyebrows raised.

  “I just don’t know what to … Ed’s always been such a godly … he’s an elder at church. And he’s the head of your home, Emilie, and …”

  “Maureen.” Sherry gave Maureen a piercing glare, cutting her off. And then, before anyone could say anything
more, a server arrived at their table.

  “Welcome, ladies. I hope you’re all having a great day.” Not waiting for an answer, she chirped, “My name’s Becky and I’ll be your server. What drinks can I get you to start with? May I suggest a nice merlot or maybe a margarita? We’ve got a special going on mango margaritas today, if anyone’s interested?” She appeared totally oblivious to the tension that sat like a grey cloud over the table.

  “I’d like water with a lemon, please,” Sherry answered succinctly.

  “Sparkling water? We have—”

  “Tap water will do fine.”

  “The same for me, please,” from Vanessa.

  “I think I’d like iced tea.” Maureen looked over to Emilie. “Em, isn’t this where we got the peach tea that we both liked so much?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “Would you like that too then?” Still no response from Emilie. “Two of those for us, please. Thanks.”

  “Any appetizers today? We have avocado and crab dips with one of our specialty breads?” Her cheerfulness was like a laugh at a funeral.

  Several responses of no before she continued, “Okay then. I’ll be right back with these and then we’ll get your order.” She turned and bounced away, four sets of eyes following.

  “Better look at the menu now,” Sherry suggested.

  Vanessa and Maureen glanced over at Emilie, who merely stared at the closed menu before her. Making no move to open it, she sat completely still.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, Maureen pushed the menu aside and quietly asked, “Emilie, are you going to feel up to eating anything at all? I mean …”

  “Of course she is.” Sherry responded with authority like the professor that she was. “She’s got to eat. And we’re going to make sure she does.”

  “But maybe that’s not what Emilie needs. I mean, we could just leave and—”

  “No,” Emilie emphatically interrupted, surprising them all. “I want to stay here. I don’t want to go home! I can’t walk back into the house just yet …” She caught her breath, stopped. And then the tears came.

  As if on cue, everyone reached for Emilie’s hands, arms, anything to touch her, reassure her. Emilie began openly weeping, the other three tearing up also, feeling the heartache along with her.

  But then, as suddenly as the tears had arrived, Emilie pleaded, “Um, we’ve got to get ourselves together.” Flustered, she grabbed for the rumpled tissue again. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this yet. It’s been hard enough telling you all, and …” she paused, swallowing, “well, I’m not ready for this to get out. And then there’s the kids. Oh, God, how am I ever going to tell the kids?” Despite her resolve, she had to wipe away more tears.

  “Em, are you positive this isn’t just some huge misunderstanding?” Maureen asked. “Or maybe … maybe we need to look at this from God’s perspective, like Joseph. You know, he meant it for evil, but God meant if for good?”

  Sherry’s intensity pulled her toward Maureen, and though she whispered, her words came out like a snarled hiss, “Maureen, listen to me. Shut up. It doesn’t work that way in the real world, and you know that.” Seeing Maureen’s hurt response, Sherry purposefully eased herself backward, resettled, closed her eyes a moment, and then took a deep breath. “Look, Maureen, I think I understand what you’re trying to say. But the idea that if we can only figure it all out, then God will simply make it vanish—”

  “I’m so sorry.” Maureen’s eyes darted from Sherry to Emilie. “I didn’t mean … I’m only trying to help Em see, to help us all see, that sometimes there’s a blessing underneath. That good can come of the worst. Isn’t that right?” She searched Emilie’s face for answers, but it was Sherry who spoke into the tense atmosphere again.

  “Quite frankly, I don’t think it’s time yet to search for the good in this mess. Because there’s not one thing good about this!” A pained look covered Sherry’s features, telltale remnants of her own past. “And if God really is God, then I wish he would skip the heartbreaking life lessons for the children’s sake, and stop Ed in his tracks right now.”

  Maureen instinctively jerked backward. And then she looked to Emilie, fully expecting her to vehemently disagree. Yet Maureen watched in absolute amazement as Emilie nodded her head, and then added, “Oh, Sherry. That’s exactly what my heart has been crying out. That God would … be God. And do something!”

  Never before had Maureen heard any of these friends express such caustic cynicism, such blatant anger at God. Wasn’t that blasphemy? she asked herself, realizing that she was nearly frozen in fear, waiting for … What? Am I expecting God to strike us dead?

  “I think we need to let go of … I don’t know … searching for reasonable answers for any of it,” Vanessa said. “This is horrible, Em. And no amount of fanciful rationalizing of God’s part in this will ever make one bit of it acceptable. And it won’t make sense simply because we interpret this as ‘God’s will,’ the wonderful catchall that every one of us”—Vanessa looked from Maureen to Sherry and then to Emilie again as she emphasized her words—“has used way too often in the past.”

  Vanessa had spoken in such a rush that she had to pause to catch her breath. “Emilie’s hurting, and you know what? I think we should just … hurt with her.” Her eyes filled with tears as she stared into Emilie’s equally tear-filled eyes. “No explanations or answers. Just love. Loving her the best we can, in the way that she needs us most.”

  Sherry took charge then, as she usually did whenever a decision for the entire group needed to be made. “I’m guessing that no one feels much like eating, am I right? But Emilie, you don’t want to leave yet, either.” Emilie firmly shook her head, and Sherry continued, “Then how about if we order just soup and some of their breads? Good idea?” Relieved nods all around. “Okay. That solves the dilemma of eating versus not eating.”

  The server returned then, delivering drinks and taking their orders. Once she’d left again, Vanessa, Sherry, and Maureen turned their attention back to their friend.

  “Do you want to tell us more details about what Ed said?” Sherry asked, gently probing.

  Emilie stared down at the table rather than meet anyone’s eyes. “I think I need to tell you. Get some … perspective, I guess. I keep thinking this can’t be happening to me. It can’t be real and I’ll wake up.” She sniffed and wiped at her nose with the pathetic-looking tissue.

  “I heard the garage door opening, heard him coming in, felt surprise and yet delight that he was there. Assumed he’d forgotten something.” She shook her head slightly, chagrined at her eagerness to see him. “Then when I saw his face, at first he scared me.” She looked up momentarily, the emotions of genuine concern and fear reflected still, mirroring the past. “I thought something was wrong, so I went to run into his arms and—” Emilie’s voice faltered. “He put out his hand to stop me.” Again she paused, struggling to regain her composure. “I was really bewildered at that point. Started asking him if he was okay, if he was sick, maybe had the flu or something and didn’t want me near him to catch it. And suddenly something about the look on his face—the fact that he wouldn’t or couldn’t look at me.” Emilie put her head in her hands. “As blind as I’ve been for … weeks now … in that moment I just knew.” She looked up, and a single tear ran down each cheek. “What a naive idiot I’ve been.”

  Sherry spat out, “Emilie, you trusted him. It’s ingrained to trust our husbands.”

  “How did you find out who she is?” From Vanessa. There was no need to explain the who.

  “I knew instantly. Put it all together. Ed’s talked nonstop about a woman—she’s in marketing, working with their new ad campaign—who’s been visiting his office. ‘This Denise, she’s something else’ and ‘Denise really knows her stuff’ and ‘we invited Denise to join us for lunch today.’” Emilie’s unfocused gaze looked off i
nto the past, remembering. “And then suddenly he stopped talking about her. I bet you anything that’s when the relationship changed.” She laughed, but once again it was a deformed imitation of her true laugh. Maureen cringed. “After that, I imagine she continued to be invited to lunch, all right. But with only one person in particular. I swear I don’t know whether to cry or scream. And the worst part?” She gave them a beseeching, apologetic look. “I still love him.”

  “A part of you always will.” Sherry’s voice was filled with a longing that caught Maureen off guard, and then Sherry met and held Maureen’s gaze. The marks of naked pain were still there, residing in deep shadows around Sherry’s eyes, defined in lines and valleys that would never fully go away. Maureen noted the offering and accepted it, nodding.

  The server brought their meals at that point, placing cheery, bright-colored crocks of steaming soups before them and adding a large basket of assorted warm rolls and muffins. As enticing as the array of food looked and smelled, the scene was out of sync with reality.

  Once their server was gone, a palpable awkwardness descended over them. Maureen looked around the table, seeking an answer to the unspoken question, Who would volunteer to pray? Emilie certainly wouldn’t be expected to—she was the one they needed to pray for. Maureen took in Vanessa’s fussing with her napkin, signaling that she had no intention of venturing into that abyss. And Sherry nonchalantly picked up her spoon and ladled the hot soup, indicating her desire to skip the ritual.

  “I suppose we ought to pray,” Maureen offered. Emilie and Sherry avoided her eyes, but Vanessa shot her a look of relieved gratefulness. Maureen closed her eyes and bowed her head, acquiescing. “Lord, I pray now for our friend, Emilie. We love her so much and we … we hurt with our dear friend. Please comfort her, God. And please bring Ed back to you. Back to Emilie and the children. In your name, amen.”