The Bridge Between

by Lindsey Brackett

  “So they left him?”

  “They at least called the rental company and asked for a shelter recommendation first.” Grace shrugged. “Sometimes that’s me.”

  “Ah, food distribution and local humane society. That’s quite a reputation, Mrs. Watson.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Don’t forget I’ve been voted ‘Edisto’s Favorite Hairdresser’ for at least five years running.”

  “I suppose it helps when you’re the only one.”

  “Oh”—she lay a hand on her heart—“that was cold, David. And after I served you my special peppermint tea.”

  He grinned. Grace made everything—even their entwined lives—seem simple. Though her tea could do without being that hippie green stuff.

  “Well, we all have our own pet projects. Pun intended.” She laughed and leaned on the counter. “Heard you’re taking on Colleton High.”

  “That’s the plan. Wanted to ask you about it, actually.”

  She arched one brow. “Looking for the local gossip?”

  “Just want to know what I need to do so this can become a more permanent position.”

  “Aha.” She straightened and crossed her arms. “I do the assistant principal’s hair you know.”

  He did know, but he sipped his tea in innocence.

  “People around here are proud. Don’t go in there thinking you’ve got a better way of doing things.”

  Well, he knew better than that. Though, his ex-wife may beg to differ.

  Grace continued. “But volunteer. Pick up the slack. There’s never enough parent help for anything and those teachers get run ragged.”

  Typical of every high school where he’d worked. He could do that, though. Be the default. Long as he didn’t let it interfere with helping Lou. He hoped not to repeat that particular issue. “Think I got it. Thanks, Grace.”

  “Anytime. Boys are at the middle school, right?”

  “Indeed. Taking them to baseball tryouts next week.”

  “Glad you aren’t holding with some high-falutin’ private education for them. Patrick’s mother, bless her cold heart, has never let it go we sent Tennessee to public school. But Pat believed if we were going to live in this world, he better learn it, and sooner rather than later.”

  “I’ll remember to tell Lou that.”

  Grace winced. “Well, don’t tell her it came from me.”

  He shook the ice in his drink. “Y’all okay?”

  “We’re fine as two people can be with all that water under the bridge.”

  A truck rumbled over the gravel drive and Hank rushed the door, knocking aside a potted plant in his descent, barking like an army was coming.

  “Oh, you.” Grace strode the short distance between kitchen and front door. “That’s just Tennessee and Cora Anne.” She opened the screen, letting Hank bound across to the truck like a literal welcome wagon.

  David helped her right the potted succulents that had spilled dirt all over her clean pine floors.

  “Thank you.” Her gray-green eyes met his, over those plants that thrived no matter how dry the soil.

  “Mom! Call off this yacht, please.”

  Together, they chuckled, and David felt a stab of guilt. He hadn’t laughed easily with a woman in a long time. Lou had tried on New Year’s Eve, but there had been stiffness as they stumbled through once familiar banter.

  “Hey, Dad.” Cora Anne came up on the porch with Hank at her side.

  “That dog is the size of my boat and still growing. Hey, Mr. Halloway.” Tennessee stuck out his hand for a shake.

  David grasped it, putting all his strength behind the clasp. But his middle-age history teacher’s grip was never a match for Tennessee’s. Like his mother, Tennessee bore simple strength, coming from more than his physically demanding job as the island’s top contractor.

  “Are y’all here for supper?” Grace eyed the bucket in her son’s hand. “I hope you brought a contribution.”

  “Flounder so fresh it was swimming ’til half an hour ago when Cora Anne made her first catch.”

  “Supper-sized too.” She beamed and David felt envy nudge back. He and Lou should have given her that confidence, but she’d found it for herself in the company of this young man. Cora Anne flung an arm around his waist. “Why don’t you stay and be impressed, Dad?”

  She didn’t even glance at Grace when she issued the invitation, but he did. Grace’s grin was directed at their children, and he figured she’d worked hard to make his daughter feel at home here.

  “I’d love to stay.” He wanted to get to know these people who made his daughter happy. Looking to Tennessee, he said, “Give you a hand with those fish?”

  “Never turn down an offer to help, so my mama always said.” Tennessee winked at his mother and led David out the back door.

  Over the porch utility sink, he and Tennessee gutted and skinned fish. The winter sun sank low over the creek, bathing the yard in its auburn glow. Tennessee worked swiftly, and David struggled to mimic the man’s movements that seemed as natural to him as breathing.

  “You fish much?” Tennessee dropped a fillet into a stainless bowl.

  “Used to, as a kid. My dad loved a good trophy trout stream.” David’s chest pinged, remembering. Even now his heart ricocheted with grief at unexpected moments. “Taught me to cast a fly same weekend he taught me to throw a curveball.” Mostly because he’d been a lonely eight-year-old kid in another new town.

  Tennessee paused, the flurry of his hands ceasing. “Sounds like a guy I’d have liked.”

  “He was ...” David slit the belly of a flounder and spread it. “Memorable.”

  “Cor’s never really mentioned her grandparents.” Tennessee fished for information like he did dinner. Subtly and with good bait.

  David finished the flounder and flipped it in the bowl. “They died long before she was born. Car accident. Lou and I were barely engaged.” The fish all done, he reached for the soap and let the bite of the cold water wash over his hands. “You know this family. We avoid talking through sadness like the plague.”

  Tennessee rinsed his hands. “Yeah, but no one should carry grief alone.”

  David rolled his shoulders, like he did when planning a game’s defense. But Tennessee was right. Which only made his chest twinge again, remembering the haunted look in Lou’s blue eyes.

  Chapter 8

  Edisto Island, February 1976

  “You should tell them.” Carolina, Lou’s nosy younger sister, lined a basket with a linen napkin and filled it with neat rows of saltine crackers. “They might like him.”

  “Might like who?” Their mother sailed into the farmhouse kitchen. “Carolina, where are my knives?”

  “I put them right there, Mama.” She pointed to another sweetgrass basket. “Lou met someone.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Lou snatched the crackers. Her parents always had an opinion, and while she respected them, she wasn’t ready for one formed about David. Mama and Daddy had enough thoughts already about what she should do with her fancy education. “I’m going out to the fire.”

  Her mother’s hand on her arm stopped her at the door. “You met someone?”

  She shrugged off Mama’s touch. “Just an undergrad student. We’re friends.”

  “Friends who talked on the phone all night.”

  Lou wheeled around. “You’re one to talk. John Calhoun kept you out so late Daddy locked the door.”

  Carolina grinned. “But not the window.” Her sister never had been a stickler for rules.

  “Girls.” Their mother rarely raised her voice. She didn’t need to. “Louisa, if you have a friend, we’d enjoy hearing about him. Especially since your father invited someone else tonight.”

  Lou swallowed hard. “Not Patrick.”

  “No, not him.” Mama’s smile faded as she nudged Lou out the door.

  Outside, dusk settled over the farm. The guests for the oyster roast gathered around the fire where the hissing steam and the popping of oyster shell
s harmonized with conversation.

  Lou went to her father, tall and sturdy in his canvas overcoat and work boots. “Sounds about ready.”

  “Nearly there.”

  Beside him stood a young man she didn’t know. Daddy tipped his head. “Lou, this is Liam Whiting. He’s going to intern with me.”

  “You’re interested in growing trees?”

  The man laughed. “Well, yes, but in a broader sense, I’m interested in conservation. Specifically of our waterways.”

  “Lou wrote a big paper one time about our little creek and how far-reaching its impact is. Impressed her professor so much he had to come see it for himself.”

  Four years since she’d fulfilled an extra science credit with an ecology course, and her daddy still bragged.

  “You get it, then?” Liam moved around her father to stand beside Lou. His eyes widened with excitement, and his voice thickened with passion. “We have to start taking action now because everything won’t be like this forever.”

  “I get it, sure.” She’d heard that her whole life from her father. “But I’m planning to work in medical research at the Center for Disease Control. Then get my doctorate in biochemistry.” She eyed her father. No reaction. “That’s why I’m at Emory right now.”

  Liam shook his head. “Everyone wants to cure cancer. But this—” He waved his arm at the creek glimmering under the winter moon. “You grew up here, so you’d be an ideal candidate for teaching conservation.”

  “Exactly. I grew up here.” Lou closed her eyes for a moment, blotting out the images she loved. Her family, her home, and her father’s pride.

  He’d taught her to love those creeks, but she’d also seen him work sixteen-hour days his entire life. One storm, one dry summer, one late frost—there were a thousand factors outside his control that could destroy his work.

  And Lou preferred to be the one who had control.

  Chapter 9

  Letting David take the boys for their first day back to school was no doubt a concession—and necessity. Only taken her the last five years to realize, punishing him by refusing his help really only hurt the boys—and made her life that much more difficult.

  Having him here was an opportunity to start over. Like this interview could be for her career.

  Would be.

  She had to think positively. Otherwise, she’d wind up substitute teaching like David because bills had to be paid.

  Lou smoothed her hair in the rearview mirror. Lipstick—too bright? Makeup had always given her qualms, so she kept it clean and simple.

  David told her once he liked that.

  But of course, he’d spent his whole life surrounded by perky cheerleaders, classy baseball moms, and flirty first-year teachers, so the novelty of her bare face had surely worn off by now.

  She’d worn her only pantsuit, navy blue with a cream shell underneath, low heeled pumps, and pearls of course. Because every good Southern woman understood the power of accessories. She could practically hear her sister’s voice in her head.

  Professional. That’s all she wanted. Put together enough to be a professor at the College of Charleston.

  The icy wind blew off the Atlantic and through Charleston’s harbor as she walked. Lou wished she hadn’t left her fleece in the backseat out of dignity. By the time she pushed through the heavy doors of the science building, she had decided Southern propriety had nothing on practicality. She should have worn the fleece.

  She blew on her hands to warm them and stomped her heels waiting for the elevator. Ought to take the stairs and warm up.

  “Louisa, you made it.” Liam Whiting greeted her when the doors slid open. With his tousled brown hair, barely showing its silver, and perfectly balanced smile capping off khaki cargos and a flannel shirt, he could have been mistaken for an angler’s magazine model. Perfect polished casual.

  As usual, she’d tried too hard.

  When he took her stiff hand, he gasped. “You’re freezing. Cold outside?”

  “Just a bit with the wind is all.” She drew back. This made twice in the last week there’d been concern about her wellbeing. Remembering the weight of David’s coat on her shoulders still unsettled her.

  “Let me get you some coffee, and we can talk.” He turned down the hall. “You’re awfully spiffed up today. Meeting with more than just me?” In his office, he went straight to the coffeepot under the window.

  Lou took a deep breath. “No, only you, Dr. Whiting. I’m very serious—”

  “I’ve told you for years, call me Liam.” He handed her a hot mug of black coffee. “Need anything in it?”

  She shook her head. “This will be fine.” But the first sip made her eyes widen.

  Liam grinned. “I like it strong. Too much?”

  “No.” The cup had already warmed her hands, and his informality thawed her nerves. “No one ever makes it as strong as I like.” An indulgence she’d regret tonight.

  He raised his brows. “How’d I do?”

  “Quite well.”

  “Excellent.” He indicated the leather chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat. We’ll talk roasting our own beans—because that’s how you get the best flavor—and credentials.”

  She perched on the edge of the chair, one leg tucked neatly behind the other as she’d learned long ago in debutante class. They chatted nonsense about the weather and holidays, and then switched to Edisto. He’d built a small house on Steamboat Creek, not far from the Watsons.

  Once Lou had drained her coffee, she pressed her hands to her knees to keep from shaking out caffeine and impatience.

  “Louisa, here’s the deal.” The professor had leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, studying her. Lou felt like a specimen in one of the college’s labs. “I can’t bring you on full-time. I tried, but it all comes down to the college’s accreditation. You’ll need a doctorate to teach.”

  She kept her face polite, though inside frustration built like a storm. “I thought I could work in one of your labs.”

  “I already have grad students filling those positions, so I can’t use you there, either. Unless you want to finally pursue environmental studies?”

  She tossed her head. “You know that’s what my father wanted. Not me.”

  He cocked a brow. “You promised him if things didn’t work out—”

  “Things have worked out just fine. Only slower than I expected.”

  He sat forward. “I did speak on your behalf to the head of the Education Department. They have an adjunct opening and would like to speak with you.” He waved a hand at her. “I thought maybe they’d already called you for an interview.”

  All dressed up and nowhere to go. The old cliché rumbled through Lou’s mind. “Dr. Whiting—”

  “Liam.”

  “I really have no desire to teach others how to teach. My first passion has always been science—research, actually.”

  He leaned back. “Then I’m not sure I can help you. You’ll have to get your doctorate to be a viable candidate.”

  She bit her tongue before the gale of emotions swirled out. It wasn’t his fault those plans had derailed long ago.

  He stood. “I’d like to have you here. You’d be an excellent asset to the education and science programs, but my hands are tied.”

  She nodded, standing as well. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Dr. Pierce and see if she can meet with you?”

  She ought to say yes. The paycheck would cover so many extra expenses headed her way, and she desperately needed a focus before the ebbing waves of grief broke. But she couldn’t see herself with idealistic students, fiery and ready to change the world one classroom at a time. She fell into teaching out of necessity, not calling. “No, thank you. I’m ready for a bit of a break from that right now.” She forced a smile. “Time to try something new.”

  “Consider a doctoral program, then. I recommend Clemson, of course.” He waved at the large framed diploma b
ehind his desk. “And study this.” He handed her a graduate catalog from the stack on his desk. “My Environmental Studies program could use someone with a unique understanding of this area.”

  She took the small book, felt the weight of it shift in her hand from a mere collection of class offerings and degree programs into a time capsule of all the plans she’d once had.

  Clenching the book to her chest, Lou offered her hand. “Come by the house next time you’re on Edisto.”

  His eyes brightened, and his grip was strong, secure. “Thank you. I just might. Your father was a viable asset as we built this program.”

  Lou nodded. “He knew his creek.” Though he’d never really understood her.

  Liam came around his desk. “Let me see you out.”

  He guided her down the hall, and she barely registered the light touch on her elbow. Numb beyond any cold, Lou even allowed him to push the elevator’s buttons. When the doors cranked open, she pressed her lips into a thin smile. Best she could do. “Thank you again, Dr. Whiting.”

  The doors jerked to close as soon as she stepped in, but he stuck his foot and then his head between holding them open. “Liam, please, Louisa. I’d like you to call me Liam.”

  She tipped up her chin, and all the anger swirling beneath her surface stilled for a moment when she noticed two things. One, his tone held a slight plea, and two—he wasn’t wearing a ring.

  Chapter 10

  Lou hadn’t asked for his help in a long time, and David didn’t figure she’d change now. But she had invited him to the boys’ birthday dinner, and anyone cooking three different meals on one Saturday afternoon deserved support. He hadn’t moved to Edisto so they could keep operating like a Venn diagram in his classroom—only overlapping what they had in common.

  Once, more than their children had filled that space.

  At the farmhouse, he knocked and pushed open the screen door. “Guess locking’s only for the city.”

  In her mother’s kitchen—he would think of it as Annie’s until Lou put some of herself into this place—counters overflowed with groceries and serving dishes. Lou hefted a large bowl of chicken pieces and buttermilk and nodded at the fridge. “You’re early. Now make yourself useful.”