The Last Bridge (9 page)

“I’m coming up on my tenth anniversary. What’s that—rock, paper, or scissors? I get them confused.”

“How long are you going to do this?” he said as he threw his muffin in the garbage like he was tossing a fastball.

“Do what?”

“Hold me responsible. I am NOT responsible.” He came toward me and I flinched. “I did not ruin your life.”

I put my cigarette out in the sink and stared him down.

“If my life is a mess, it is my own. I take responsibility, Jared.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“And your mess is yours. You live with what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything, Cat. I helped you. I saved you.” Jared was shouting with an intensity that mirrored my father’s when he was angry.

“You saved me?” My voice and my resolve cracked. I gripped the counter to steady my shaking hands. It was drink time.

“I wouldn’t have let him kill you,” he said.

“You should have. It would have been easier.”

“Christ, I said I was sorry.” He threw his mug into the sink with a force that made it shatter. I couldn’t catch my breath or focus. I had a feeling that the floor beneath me would open up at any moment and swallow me whole. Outside a car horn honked. Jared walked to the window. “It’s Wendy, she’s got groceries.” He stopped fishing for broken pieces and went out to help.

Wendy came in carrying a clear plastic cup filled with a pinkish liquid. “It’s a smoothie. Can’t have caffeine. Do you mind putting that out?” I had lit another cigarette in a lame attempt to steady myself. It wasn’t working; I was crying.

I turned away and wiped my tears with my sleeve. “I’m going to take a bath.”

“Help me with this stuff,” she said, as she buzzed around the kitchen, wiping the counters and scraping the plates from breakfast. “Willard is going to make a big Italian feast for our last dinner together. We also got staples for you.” She handed me stuff from the bags to put away. “No caffeine or nicotine, though. You’re on your own there.”

“Sounds like you and Jared have everything figured out. Remind me not to fall asleep on you again,” I said.

“You didn’t fall asleep. You passed out. All you have to do is get the bills and stuff in order. We have to wait to see what happens to Dad. I’m sure Mom took care of most of it ahead of time.” Wendy shoved cans and boxes into all the right places. She had Mom’s arms and had taken to wearing her apron. From behind, it was like watching Mom return from the store. “Besides, we figured you could use a break.” She stopped to think about what she thought I needed to get away from.

“For all you know I could have a fabulous life in New York,” I said, heading toward the stairs.

Wendy grabbed my arm and turned me toward her. “Do you?” she asked, with a tenderness that caught me off guard.

I
WENT TO SCHOOL
the next day with a black eye. No one suspected anything was wrong; cuts and bruises were a regular part of being a Rucker kid. People assumed we played hard.

I told Nell that I would walk home. I wanted to be by myself and wasn’t in a big hurry to get back. I thought a lot about leaving for good that day and I toyed with the idea of getting a bus ticket for New York and just taking off. The more I thought about it, the happier it made me. There was no reason to stay. Going home would mean facing my father, who would act like it was my fault for getting between him and his pie, and Addison, who would … God, what was I thinking?

Addison was weeding my mother’s flower beds when I came up the drive. He had made good on his warning to get up early. His truck was gone by the time I woke up. On the days he worked at his grandma’s he was usually home by late afternoon.

“Where’s the fire?” He sat back on his heels and waved his small garden shovel at me as I hurried past.

I went through the side door and up the stairs to my room. The house was empty. There was a note on my bed from my mother.

So I get a black eye and Wendy and Mom get steak? Great. As if things weren’t bad enough she leaves me with him. I started thinking about my plan again. I opened my backpack and pulled out some sketches I had been doing for Kitty’s big fight with the Hand.

Addison rapped on the doorway. I ignored him.

“How about I take you to dinner?” Addison took a bandanna out of his back pocket and wiped his hands. He wore a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball hat and baggy overalls.

“I have homework,” I said, putting away my sketchbook.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m busy.” I gave him a fake smile. His cheeks were flush, like they were after he finished fucking her.

“What happened to your eye?” I touched my face. I had forgotten.

“Nothing.”

“It’s black and blue,” he said, coming toward me.

I put my hand up to stop him.

He stepped back into the doorway.

“There’s macaroni in the fridge; help yourself.”

“Was it an accident?”

I ignored him.

“Did you put some ice on it?”

I pulled out my homework and laid it on the bed.

“Are you angry with me?”

I opened my
World Cultures
book and found the chapter I was supposed to review for the test tomorrow and pretended to study. But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on reading, I could feel him in the doorway.

Outside the wind made the screen door bang open and closed. The room was filled with the honey glow of the setting sun. In a few minutes it would be dark. I would have to get up and hit the switch by the doorway—by Addison.

The space between us filled with shadow.

“I saw you last night… at the truck.”

“Were you spying on me?”

I laughed. “Yeah, Addison, I’m obsessed with you. Can you go now? I’ve got work to do.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m sorry if what you saw upset you. I didn’t think anyone was around. I wouldn’t have done it if I had known you were—”

“If I was what? Alive?”

“Alex, you’re young, you don’t—”

“I understand what was going on. What I don’t understand is why you need to be here now.”

“I thought we were friends,” he said.

“Please go.”

“Besides, that girl doesn’t mean anything.”

I was done listening. If he wasn’t going to leave, I would. I started for the door with the intent to blow past him before he knew I was coming. But he sensed my movement before I could react and threw his body in the doorway to block my exit. I jumped back and looked up, giving him a full view of my black eye.

“Who did this to you?” His hands were on my shoulders holding me in place. He had the sweet iron smell of my mother’s flower beds mixed with that orange shampoo. I could feel his breath on my neck and the pressure from each of his fingers pushing into my shoulders.

My mind raced with snappy retorts. I wanted to say something that would prove I didn’t care about him or who he slept with or who hit me. His lips were inches from mine, smooth and pink and glistening. The same mouth that whispered in that woman’s ear and made her giggle. What were the words? Would they make me laugh?

“My face collided with a piece of pie,” I said.

He reached into my room and switched on the light. I tried to squirm away but he held me steady. “Stand still,” he whispered gently.

“God, you act like you’ve never had a black eye,” I said as he inspected me.

“And you act like it’s normal.” He touched the swollen crescent lightly with his cool fingers.

“Stop,” I said, but he didn’t.

“Did someone hurt you?” He traced the outline of the bruise and brushed the hair off my face. I reached for the wall to steady myself.

“You are,” I said, pushing away.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. He fixed his gaze on me, and although he appeared to be listening, he studied me as if I were an object he wanted to possess.

“You do this to everyone, don’t you?” I said as I struggled to regain my footing. Before I could stop him, his hands enveloped my face and his thumbs held the corners of my mouth as his fingers reached toward my neck and lifted me toward him. Before I felt his lips, I felt his warm breath on my eyebrow and his chest brush against mine, and then, when I thought my legs would give out, he kissed me lightly on the lid of my black eye.

We went to the Omega diner out past the airport for dinner. I didn’t have to look at the menu to know what I wanted. The Omega had the best chocolate milkshakes and onion rings in the world—well, at least in my world. After I ordered, Addison didn’t say anything grown-up, like, “Is that all you’re having?” or, “Maybe you should have a salad;” he smiled and said, “Good choice; I’ll have the same.”

“Stop trying to get me to like you. It’s not going to work.” We didn’t say much after the doorway. He asked me to go with him to eat and I found myself following.

“Come on, are you really immune to my charm?”

“Is having sex on my driveway part of your charm?”

“I guess that depends on who you ask.”

“Does your girlfriend think so?”

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a woman I met at Walt’s—no biggie.”

The waitress brought our food. I lifted the long metal tumbler to my mouth and began to drink. I closed my eyes and felt the chocolaty smoothness coat my throat as I bent my head back and smiled in milkshake ecstasy.

“You look like a little girl when you drink.” Addison was giving me that look that made me feel like he was touching me.

“I was never a little girl, Addison. Just a smaller version of this.” I pointed to my eye.

“I bet you were sweet.” He tried to touch my hand but I pulled away.

“You said we were friends.”

“So?”

“So friends don’t do this.” I imitated him trying to touch me. He laughed.

“You’re right. I’ll try to control myself.”

“It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

He laughed. “It’s harder than you think.”

We ate the onion rings in silence.

After a few minutes he looked at his watch and said, “I have to make a call.” He slid out of the booth and looked around for the phone as he searched his pockets for change.

I waited for him as I watched the straw wrapper unwind in the sweat from the water glass. The scrunched-up paper blossomed from contact with the water, unfurling and opening, only to flatten and dissolve into a wet paste that fell apart if you tried to hold it.

He slid back into the booth.

“So what’s your story?” I said. He raised an eyebrow.

“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” he said.

“I’m sixteen, you’re twenty-one—you have a better one, I’m sure.”

“I’d like to know what happened to your eye.”

“You’re changing the subject,” I said.

He had a way of looking at me that made me feel like he saw who I was and it didn’t scare him.

“Let’s start with the woman. Is that who you called?” Addison shifted in his seat and picked up the knife and tapped it against the table. I took the knife out of his hand and put it down.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “The woman from last night—it was … a … quickie—hell, I didn’t even remember her name until I found her number in my pants this morning. And yes—that was who I called.”

“Is that all there is?”

“With her? Yeah.”

I nodded and looked away.

“Hey, I’m not ready to settle down, and I’m not the looking-to-fall-in-love type. I’ve seen what a mess it makes of people’s lives.”

“Whose lives?”

He was slipping away again. He drummed on the table with the knife and checked his watch.

“Whose lives?”

“Everyone’s.” He thought for a moment and then reconsidered. “No that’s not true. Your family’s life doesn’t seem ruined by it. Not like my parents. Man, talk about a train wreck.”

I wondered how bad a mess his parents’ life must be for him to think mine had it better.

“That’s why I came here to work on Grandma’s house. I needed to get away from all that…” He looked out the window and lost his train of thought.

The check came and as he paid he said, “Listen, you’re young. You probably have all these romantic notions about love. You’re expecting some guy to come and sweep you off your feet and everything will be all right. Maybe that will happen, but as you get older you’ll see that there are two kinds of sex: sex for love and sex for sex, and both are great.”

I laughed.

“Why are you laughing?”

“There are more kinds of sex than that.”