The Last Bridge Home. Linda Goodnight

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       Only if I have to. “Yes. Thanks, Kitty.” He pointed at her belly. “Take care.”

       She laughed her jolly laugh as he exited the building and headed down the path toward Unit Four. The warm afternoon air had suddenly become oppressive and heavy, choking off his oxygen. The overly sweet scent of Kitty’s red, white and blue flowers turned his stomach. A black gnat buzzed his nostrils. He swung and missed.

       Palms sweaty, he lifted his fist and knocked. From behind the shiny gold number four came the sound of television cartoons.

       “Mama, someone’s knocking.” The raised voice was Brandon’s.

       Zak didn’t hear Crystal’s reply but the door opened. Brandon’s narrow face peered up at him, serious as a car wreck. The boy swiveled his head toward the inside of the darkened room and said. “He’s here, Mama.”

       A mumble came from Crystal before Brandon opened the door wider and said, “Come in.”

       Zak controlled the urge to flee. He wasn’t a coward, never had been and he wouldn’t start now. He stepped over the threshold and into a small room lit only by the television set. Brandon joined the other two children at the foot of one bed, eyes glued to SpongeBob. Crystal lay on the other, a washcloth draped across her forehead.

       The sight made him uncomfortable. He didn’t belong in a strange woman’s motel room in any capacity other than professional.

       Crystal reached for the washcloth, letting it fall to the pillow, and struggled up to one elbow. “Sorry. I’m too tired.”

       “I can come back another time.”

       “No.” She tried a wan wave of her free hand. “Too tired to get up.”

       Oh. Pulling his paramedic cloak around him, Zak crossed the short distance to the bedside. “Can I get you anything?”

       Her hollow eyes accused. “You know the answer to that.”

       Zak licked his lips, gone as dry as chalk dust. “That’s why I’m here.”

       She brightened just a bit. “My kids?”

       “I can’t do that, Crystal, but I can offer you a place to stay while other arrangements are made. I’ll help you with those, too. We’ll figure out something.”

       She sighed, eyelids falling shut. Her bird chest rose and fell in a shallow breathing pattern. She was quiet for a while and he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

       Feeling awkward and anxious, pulse drumming in his brain and his inner watchman shouting alarm, Zak glanced at the three children. Engrossed in a fantasy world of television, they seemed oblivious to the fact that their futures hung in the balance. Ignorance was bliss. But he wasn’t ignorant.

       Finally, Crystal spoke in a weak and whispery voice. “I don’t know what else to do.”

       Grimly, he admitted, “I don’t, either.”

       Zak’s wife moved in the next day. Jilly knew this because she’d arrived home from church to find Crystal’s car in Zak’s driveway and three unsupervised kids playing “kick the can” in the middle of the street.

       “Would you look at that? Good lands, Jilly, those kids are going to get killed.” Jilly’s mother motioned toward the curb. “Pull over. I’m going to give them a talking to.”

       “Don’t get your blood pressure up, Mom. I’ll take care of it.”

       “Who are they and what are they doing at Zak’s house? Did he say anything about that woman? Who is she? I hope you haven’t fooled around and missed your chance with that cute fireman.”

       Jilly swallowed back a frustrated reply.

       “Mom, this is Zak’s business, not mine.” She pulled into the driveway, hoping Mom would hurry inside to start Sunday dinner. She hadn’t quite decided how to break the news of Zak’s marital status.

       Mom jerked the straps of her straw bag higher on her arm. “His business will be scraping a child off the pavement if someone doesn’t get them out of the street.”

       “I’ll do it.” Before her mother could say anything more, Jilly popped her seat belt and hopped out of the car. Traffic in the residential area was light, but Mom had a valid point.

       Jilly’s heeled sandals poked holes in the damp grass and slowed her progress as she headed down the incline toward the street.

       “Tell Zak I’m frying chicken,” her mother called. “He’s welcome to come over.”

       Jilly waved a hand. Mom was still trying to reel Zak in with food, but at the moment, her next-door neighbor was in over his head. Impromptu invitations between his house and hers were likely a thing of the past.

       The notion settled in her stomach, heavy and dismaying. Zak was married. She’d struggled to sleep last night, had finally gotten up to read her Bible and pray. Considering her prayers were selfish pleas for God to erase the problem, she’d felt worse instead of better.

       “Hi, kids,” she said as she stepped onto the paved street.

       Brandon, the older boy, gave a soup can one more kick before looking at her. The younger boy ignored her to chase the bouncing, rattling can. The little girl—Bella, wasn’t it?—had plopped down in the middle of the street to play with rocks. Her face was dirty and if her hair had been brushed this morning, Jilly couldn’t tell.

       Over the clatter of can against concrete, she asked, “Why don’t you play in the backyard?”

       Brandon shrugged. “This is better.”

       She tried a different approach. “Does your mother know you’re out here?”

       Brandon’s face was a mix of disdain and annoyance. “She don’t care. She’s too busy dying.”

       Said with such nonchalance, the phrase was obscene. “She does care, Brandon. She’s just too sick right now.”

       His face tightened. “She has cancer.”

       “I know. I’m sorry.” She wanted to put a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder but refrained. He didn’t seem the snuggly type.

       Jake sailed the bent can toward his brother. Jilly stepped in the path to intercept.

       “Hey.”

       “Hey, yourself.” She scooped up the can and the little girl. This kid business was harder than she’d imagined, but she knew a thing or two about hurt things. For certain, these kids were hurting. “Come on, let’s go inside for a minute.”

       Brandon shrugged. “Bella’s wet anyway.”

       Jilly had already figured that one out. The evidence sank warm and wet against the side of the peach floral dress she’d bought for Easter. “How old is she?”

       “I tree.” Bella shoved three short fingers into Jilly’s face.

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