The Last Bridge Home. Linda Goodnight
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“About that.” A ghost of a smile pulled at her gaunt cheeks, more of a grimace than joy. “I was really stupid back then, Zak.”
Wary of apologies at this juncture, his anxiety jacked up another notch. “We were college kids. Stupid is normal.”
She fidgeted; her skinny hands twisted in her lap. From the kitchen came the sound of Jilly digging in the fridge, cellophane crumpling—normal sounds—while in his living room sat the biggest mistake of his life.
“I shouldn’t have gone with Tank that second time.” Her smile was wan. “Or the third. He was a jerk. Just like you said.”
Tank Rogers had gotten her pregnant and dumped her—on Zak. Then, the creep had come back “for his woman.”
“That was a long time ago, Crystal.”
Her sigh was tired and whispery and full of regret. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I don’t want my kids to suffer for them.”
Okay, what did that have to do with him? He sat with hands gripped together between his knees and waited her out, not knowing what else to do.
“I don’t suppose you have a cigarette,” she said.
“No.”
She made a wry face. “I thought about quitting, but now I figure, what’s the use? I’m sick, Zak.” She drew in a shuddery breath. Hollow eyes focused on the boy in the corner changing his sister’s diaper. “The doctors stopped treatment last week. I have cancer. I’m dying.”
Even though he barely remembered this woman, other than the humiliation he’d received at her hands, the pitiful statement made him ache. He was a certified paramedic/firefighter, a serve-and-protect kind of guy, who liked people and wanted the best for them. Crystal was too young to die and leave behind three kids.
He shifted, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” Sorry seemed a pathetically useless word in the face of death.
“That’s why I looked you up, why I’ve driven across the state to find you. You have to help me.”
Now they were getting down to the purpose of her visit, although he was still clueless. The sweat on the back of his neck said her reasons wouldn’t be good. “You need money? I don’t have a lot but maybe I can manage something.”
She shook her head. Her gaunt body sagged against the fat pillow of his napping chair. “No.”
“You sure you don’t want to go to the E.R.?” Even a paramedic was limited in what he could do without equipment.
She brushed away the suggestion like a gnat. “No time, Zak. Please hear me out.”
“Okay. Talk, but if you pass out again, you’re going.”
With effort, she gripped the chair arms and straightened. “Remember those days at college when you and I first got together?”
“Sure.” How could he forget? She was pregnant with some other guy’s baby, helpless and clingy, and he was an eighteen-year-old who thought he was the answer to her problems. She’d come to him, crying and needy, and he’d let her tears convince him to do something stupid.
Jilly reentered the living room, bearing a tall glass of orange juice, which she handed to Crystal. “You should drink something.”
Zak noticed the grass stains on Jilly’s shoes and the blades of grass stuck to the back of her shorts-clad legs. She’d raced to the rescue without a thought, leaving behind her uncut grass.
“Thanks,” Crystal said wanly. She wrapped skinny fingers around the glass but didn’t drink.
“I have sandwiches at the table if your kids are hungry.” Jilly barely got the words out of her mouth when the trio launched themselves toward the dining room. Eyes wide, Jilly looked to Zak who shrugged. What did he know about Crystal’s brood? Jilly hunched her shoulders and made a cute face. “I’ll make sure they wash their hands,” she said and hurried after them.
Crystal waited until the noise died down and Jilly’s voice drifted between the rooms. Then she said, “You were the only person who ever treated me with respect.”
What could he say except, “Thanks, I guess.”
She smiled again, that odd stretching of cheeks too thin to handle the movement. “I should have stayed with you, Zak. I’m sorry for what I did. For the way I did it.”
The unexpected visit was beginning to make sense. Crystal was seeking closure before she died. She wanted to make amends for her past mistakes, to the people she’d wronged. He couldn’t help but wonder if there were others besides good old Zak Ashford on her list.
“If you came all this way to apologize,” he said, “consider everything forgiven and forgotten. I have no bad feelings if that’s what’s worrying you.” In fact, he never thought of her at all. Hadn’t in years. “We did a dumb thing, but you took care of it and we both moved on.”
Crystal set the untouched juice on his ottoman. Her hand shook. She grasped it with the other in her lap and squeezed, her fingers turning white as a hospital sheet. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Zak. I didn’t take care of it. Never did.” She swallowed. “We’re still married.”
Chapter Two
Jilly lost her breath. She grabbed hold of the table edge to keep from crumbling the way Crystal had and strained to hear the voices coming from the living room.
Zak was married?
She put a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. She was in love with a married man?
Oh, Lord, what have I done? Why hadn’t Zak told her? They’d been fast friends since the day he’d moved in across the street and she’d loaned him a pipe wrench. How could he keep such a thing from her?
“Can I have more milk?” the smallest boy asked, holding up an empty glass.
With horror, she considered the three kids gathered around Zak’s small, round table, cramming food into their mouths by the fistful. Were these Zak’s children?
“Sure.” The word came out in a croak. Numbly, she went to the fridge and poured more milk.
The blood that had drained from her head came roaring back to pound at her eardrums. She had to get out of here. She had no business listening in on this conversation, although she wanted every sickening detail. Common courtesy and the desire not to make a fool of herself kicked in. She slapped a package of Zak’s favorite cookies on the table. “You can each eat three. Okay?”
The oldest boy, Brandon, nodded. “I’ll pass them out.”
“Thanks.” Not wanting Zak to know how upset she was, she took a minute to regain her composure, straightened her back and patted her hot cheeks. Then she walked as calmly as possible into the living room. The conversation ceased. “The kids are eating. I’ll be at home if you need anything.”
To his credit, Zak looked as he had the day he’d taken a line drive in the gut—stunned and speechless, like a fish out of water, his mouth open, searching for air. Clearly, he was not expecting Crystal to show up and reclaim their wedding vows. But she had. Without another word, because she wasn’t sure she could say anything sensible, Jilly bolted out the door and raced home.
Mind in a muddle and heart pounding as hard as her sneakered feet, she blasted into the safe confines of the tidy frame house, the family home she shared with her mother. Two rat terriers met her, going airborne with excitement as though they hadn’t seen her in a week. She caught Mugsy in mid-jump as he bounded to her knee and then catapulted against her chest. Satchmo, older and less excitable, plopped at her feet and looked up in adoration. Behind the wiry duo of terriers came her mother.
“What in the world is wrong? Did you get stung? Let