The Bridge Between

by Lindsey Brackett

  She jerked away. “I’ll be fine.”

  He wanted to pull her into an embrace, hold her tight, and let her break the dam holding back all those memories, though Lou had never been one for emotional displays.

  But he hadn’t followed her all the way to her childhood home to keep letting her weep alone.

  Chapter 2

  Edisto Island, Late Summer 1975

  “Found you a conch.” Patrick Watson passed the treasure to Lou while they squinted in the white sun bearing down on a strip of quiet beach. They’d left his car at the Edisto State Park and traipsed the low tide land bridge down the shore to Botany Bay, with its bare bones of trees. Haunting and romantic.

  Where they’d shared their first kiss.

  Lou ran her thumb over the points of the large shell, curve intact and streaked with hues of orange. “Whelk,” she corrected, her scientific mind always searching for precision.

  Patrick nudged closer along the driftwood log on which they’d perched, sliding his arm around her waist. “Well, Lula May was always calling ’em conch fritters when she’d fry up a batch in the kitchen.”

  One didn’t question Lula May, the Watsons’ housemaid, as native an islander as they came.

  “Go ahead, see if there’s a critter still inside.” Patrick’s voice teased in her ear.

  Lou turned the shell into her palm—and paused. Suddenly her head knew what her gut had been trying to tell her all day. “I have news.”

  Patrick dug his heels into the sand. But still, he cocked his head to listen.

  “The research study at Emory—I got in.”

  He pulled his arm from her waist and bent forward, hands clasped over his knees. “Oh.” He pushed himself up and faced the waves that eroded this shore a bit at a time until someday it would be no more. “How long does that mean you’ll be in Atlanta?”

  The man who looked back at her wasn’t the impish boy she’d fallen in love with—he was rock steady and knew what he wanted. So did she.

  “Two years, at least.” When his eyes narrowed, she added, “But we can trade weekends, maybe?” She knew the offer was feeble. Neither of them could afford that kind of constant travel. Not when she would be neck-deep in graduate work and research, while he tried to build a business—literally with his own two hands. His parents had flat out said no, they wouldn’t invest in construction on Edisto Beach.

  He nodded at the shell. “Told you there’s something inside.”

  She tapped it against her palm and the ring landed softly against her skin. Plain gold, simple solitaire. Exactly what she’d want.

  If she wanted this.

  “Patrick, I…” She looked at him, silhouetted against the sun.

  He dropped to his knees in the sand and took her hands. “Don’t do this. We can be happy here, I promise. You can research here—study the beach and the creeks and help me keep them safe.”

  “I’m a chemist, Pat. Not an ecologist.” She worked the ring from her palm to his. “We’ve been fooling ourselves a long time.”

  Defeated, he stayed on his knees. “You mean you’ve been making a fool of me.”

  The tears burning her throat rushed to the surface, stinging the corners of her eyes like the salt spray beating the shore. “That’s not true and you know it. I love you.”

  “But not enough to marry me.”

  “Do you love me enough to leave?”

  There, she’d done it. Said the words that hovered between them always, since the first time they’d shared each other’s dreams. She wanted nothing less than to leave. He wanted nothing more than to stay.

  They had reached an impasse, like the rising tide that could trap them here, with their sorrow and regret, on a beach made of bones. She stumbled away, promising herself she’d perfect the talent of leaving. He stayed behind, letting the bridge between them close.

  Chapter 3

  A kick sounded on his door. When David jerked it open, expecting one of his boys, the reprimand died on his lips. There stood Lou, a casserole tote swinging from one arm, plate of brownies balanced on her hand.

  “There’s a doorbell, you know,” he drawled, reaching for the salad bowl under her other arm.

  “Ha ha.” She shifted the brownies. “You really don’t mind me crashing your time?”

  “Do we look like we mind?” He gave her a tour of his new townhome, custom built by the man who might become their son-in-law. From the narrow front porch, one could hear the ocean crashing only a few blocks away. But the small balcony off the second story overlooked the marsh. “Just the right amount of yard work for me.”

  She laughed, a rusty sound he’d like to coax out more. “As in none, you mean.”

  “I do like to let nature do her thing.” He led her back downstairs, through a hall that emptied into the main living space, a kitchen-living-dining combo. Open floor plan, like he’d always wanted.

  Lou liked her spaces sectioned off, orderly. Each thing where it belonged.

  For dinner, they settled around the table, like the family they used to be. Lou still made lasagna with layers of heavy sauce sweetened by Italian sausage, but David resisted the urge to moan in homage to her cooking. Instead he refilled her wine without asking.

  To a new year—and a new beginning.

  After dinner, he made a pot of coffee, surprised when she asked for decaf.

  She nestled in a corner of his leather sofa without remarking on its stiffness, an age-old argument they’d had when choosing furniture. The boys tried to get her to play their game, and she only raised one brow at him when she saw the rating on the cover.

  He sweetened her coffee with cream and sugar and brought it over.

  “Thank you.” She smiled up at him, and he saw their daughter and sons in the curve of her jaw. But in her eyes, she still carried the anguish that had been there when she kicked on his door that afternoon.

  Biting off more questions, he nodded and brought his own mug over to settle in his old wingback, the only piece he’d claimed from the house during the divorce. Lou and he could enjoy tonight, the façade of family pleasing their boys, but they needed to talk and soon. He didn’t like her holing up in that house, dredging up past regrets that ought to lie buried in the Presbyterian Church cemetery.

  He propped his feet on the coffee table, blocking the boys’ view.

  “No fair, Dad!” Cole leapt up and delivered a final blow. “Ha! You’re done, J.D.”

  “You’re all done.” David crossed his ankles. “Get the cards out of the cabinet, Mac, and let’s see if we can take your mom at hearts.”

  Mac dealt, and David led with the two of clubs. “You know, boys, I taught your mom to play this.”

  “That’s not true. You taught me to play gin because it’s easier for two.”

  He tapped the cards against his palm, eyes on hers. She hid a grin behind the fan of her own cards.

  J.D. played and won the trick. “Looks like we’re going to take you both.”

  The boys did win the first three rounds, but on the fourth, Lou laid down a six of hearts. Mac collapsed against the sofa back, hand to his chest. “Mom did it. She broke our hearts.”

  But from that moment, Lou won trick after trick, chortling at the boys’ demise—and blushing when her eyes met his. He turned on Dick Clark around eleven and they got a crash course in popular music from the boys.

  J.D. picked along with Rascal Flatts. “Tennessee’s teaching me, you know.” The pride reverberated in his voice the way the strings sent music all around the little room.

  His brothers started a game of Slap Jack. Reluctantly, J.D. laid the instrument aside. David glanced at Lou, wondering if she thought what he did. They’d never discouraged the triplets’ individuality—but they hadn’t encouraged it either.

  Lou stood and gathered the empty mugs. She jerked her head toward the kitchen. He followed.

  “He’s borrowing one right now, but Tennessee can get us a deal on a used guitar if we want it for his birthday,” s
he whispered, rinsing mugs in his sink. “But I don’t have any ideas for the others.”

  He grabbed a towel and began to dry, noticing they’d slipped back into this habit with ease. “Do the other two have an obsession beyond baseball yet?”

  “You mean besides gory video games?”

  The lilt in her voice chided him, so he bumped her hip with his. “Or running your daddy’s old boat up and down the creek?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Ball’s dropping!” Mac shouted.

  The boys chanted with the screen, “Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three-two-one!” They catapulted around the room blowing the noisemakers he’d picked up at the Piggly Wiggly and causing the general ruckus they were known for.

  “Sparkler time.” Cole grabbed the package and headed out the door, his brothers on his heels.

  Outside was clear—a sailor’s dream sky. The boys set off the sparklers against the midnight black and whooped when someone a few streets over sent up a spray of light.

  Lou stamped her feet and rubbed her arms. “I’m going to freeze to death.” She’d traded her earlier t-shirt for a sweater, and David could tell it was thin by the way the fabric skimmed her body.

  “Here.” He slid his coat around her shoulders, pulling the collar close under her chin and brushing aside her chestnut hair. She’d let it grow beyond her jaw for the first time in at least a decade.

  “Thank you.” They stood that way for only a moment—but in the freshness of the new year under skies beaded with light—eternity could have come and he would’ve died a happy man.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Her eyes shifted from his. “Of course.”

  “Why’d you really come over?”

  Lou shrugged. His coat slipped from her shoulder. He reached to fix it, but she stepped away, tugging its folds back around her slender frame. She’d lost weight since her mother died. She might not think he noticed those things anymore. But he did.

  Arms pulled tight across her middle again when she said, “You invited me.”

  David tipped back his chin. He might never get tired of that clear Edisto night sky. “So I did.”

  “Cora Anne went to Charleston with Tennessee, and I was—” Her teeth clicked as she bit off her words.

  “Overcome with worry for the boys’ stomachs.” He gave her the out he knew she wanted, and she rewarded him with a crooked smile.

  “Besides, I figured if I brought dinner my chances were three times better for a New Year’s kiss.” Her eyes widened with the implication of what she’d said.

  The first time he’d kissed her had been on New Year’s Eve, so many years and ideals go. He’d have kissed her the day they’d met, if he’d thought he could get away with it. Getting this woman to bend her rules had always been one of his favorite pastimes.

  On that New Year’s Eve, she’d been wearing a long dress—with a deep V of a neckline that made him catch his breath when he picked her up for the party. “Thought I’d try something different tonight,” she’d said.

  Maybe tonight she’d want to be different again. He put his lips to her ear, testing. Murmured, “You never know. Might just be four times better.”

  But Lou pressed her hand to his chest. “We’ve had a good night.”

  David dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back from her touch. “Yes, we have.”

  “I’m going to head home, let you wrangle the three mischief-teers.”

  “You’re sure?” Stay, he wanted to whisper.

  But emotion-laden impulses had never served them well.

  “We both made choices, David.” Her eyes shone in the moonlight for a moment, then she blinked and any sheen of tears disappeared. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

  She walked away from him and called goodnight to the boys. Leaving, a tactic she’d long ago perfected.

  Chapter 4

  Atlanta, Georgia, October 1975

  The Emory green space on a sweaty October afternoon demanded pick-up games. Of course, touch football, as interpreted by David and his fraternity brothers, meant full body contact. Sorority girls lined the field’s edges and cheered for the makeshift teams.

  Winner got first pick for that night’s parties. This was no collegiate World Series, but he felt good.

  Almost strong again.

  The pass went long, and he took off, side-stepping the other team. He ignored the pop in his knee—it would just have to keep up—and stretched his arms. Fingertips grazed—then gripped—the ball. Momentum stumbled him past the designated end zone. His knee buckled and he fell.

  Into someone.

  His shoulder caught her squarely in the chest, and they tumbled down together. Her books and his legs sprawled across the sidewalk. Gasps and laughter, catcalls and whistles, pounded behind the sharp edged ache no longer confined to his knee.

  David tried sitting up, hoping that would make the green space stop spinning.

  “Get off me.” The girl’s voice shook. She shoved him aside. He nearly fell back again but braced himself, the football still cradled in his arm.

  “Sorry about that.” His tongue struggled with the words.

  “You frat boys have no manners.”

  Now the girl loomed over him, dark ponytail, eyes like blue flames. He blinked. Tried to clear the stars from his vision.

  She knelt. “You’re on my book.”

  He shifted, and she retrieved a thick textbook. The movement made him woozy. Such a good word for this feeling.

  “Hey, are you all right?” She touched his face, turned his chin, and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You’re bleeding, but there’s a big goose egg, so at least you didn’t smash your brains in.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it against his temple.

  He squinted at this girl who was straightforward—but with an ounce of compassion. She looked past him. “Aren’t your friends going to hold the game for you?”

  “I think I just made the winning touchdown.”

  She huffed. “Hope it was worth it.”

  “You know.” He focused his eyes on hers and the spinning eased. “I think it was.”

  “Let’s get you to the infirmary, frat boy.” She pulled him to his feet, and he slung an arm around her shoulders—for balance, of course.

  This girl could fit right under his chin, so he stooped a little and tried not to put too much weight on his bum knee. She smelled good, despite the stack of chemistry books in her hand. Nothing antiseptic, which was the first scent that hit him when she pushed open the infirmary door. He turned his nose to her dark hair instead.

  Lavender.

  “Are you sniffing my head?” She ducked away and waved him to a chair.

  “Sure. You smell clean.”

  “It’s called showering.” Her eyes went to the sweat stains on his t-shirt. “You should try it.”

  “Hey, David Halloway.” The nurse behind the desk came over with a clipboard. “What did you do now?”

  “Well…” He tipped a smile at the nurse—old enough to be his mother. “I got knocked down by this pretty lady. You better check her out too.”

  She crossed her arms. “You ran into me.” To the nurse, she said, “Better check his head. Took a hard hit to the concrete. Clearly he’s a little mixed up.” The nurse made a note, and the girl added, “And his knee. He’s limping.”

  David stretched his leg. “Nope, knee’s fine.”

  “We’ll get you back in a minute.”

  When the nurse walked away, the girl put her hands on her hips. “Your knee is not fine.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I busted it back in March playing baseball. You might have heard of my team—the Emory Eagles?”

  Arms back to crossed. Not impressed. “So now you’re a semi-professional clumsy athlete?”

  Ouch. Time to give some of that coldness back to her. “Nope. Just a college recruit who can’t play anymore and might lose his scholarship.”

  Her mouth rounded.
Then her lips—which he’d already noticed bore only the faintest sheen of gloss—pressed together. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” He held out a hand. “David, by the way.”

  She shook—no surprise about that firm grip—and sat down beside him. “Louisa Coultrie.”

  “Well, Louisa Coultrie …” What a lot of vowels. But he liked the way her name made his mouth stretch. He shifted and leaned into her. “Want to grab some dinner with me after this?”

  Her palms rubbed the knees of her bell-bottom jeans. “I … actually have plans.” He raised his brows, and she shrugged. “To get Chinese takeout and watch the World Series.”

  “You know … ” He feigned interest in his fingernails. “I might like baseball a little bit.”

  “Just a little bit?”

  Peeking at her, he saw the smirk. How it brought out a faint dimple in her left cheek. “Cincinnati’s going to take it all.”

  “No way. Boston’s got this.”

  “Want to bet on it?”

  The eye roll put her gaze squarely back on his. He liked her eyes, blue as a summer sky. “Sure, frat boy.”

  “Loser buys second dinner.”

  Laughter came from someplace deep, and David figured she didn’t let loose like this often. If ever. “Did you just trick me into a second date before we’ve had a first?”

  “I might not be able to play the game anymore.” He brushed a hand over her ponytail. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to win.”

  Chapter 5

  The next afternoon, Lou set a pot of collard greens and another of black-eyed peas on the stove to simmer. She’d wait to make cornbread when David brought the boys home. Maybe she’d invite him to stay.

  After all, those black-eyed peas were supposed to bring luck for a new year.

  Though they probably both needed to eat a double dose of collards since early retirement salaries weren’t going to raise—or feed—three teenage boys for very long.

  Feeling nostalgic, or maybe just masochistic, Lou retrieved the box of letters.