Текст книги "The Bridge from You to Me"

Автор книги: Lisa Schroeder

The Bridge from Me to You
by
Lisa Schroeder

For Laura and Sarah,

my Texas forever friends

Part 1

“If you were born without wings, do nothing

to prevent them from growing.”

– COCO CHANEL

1
Lauren

 
The house smells like
apple pie thanks to the
burning candle on the mantel.
 
 
Uncle Josh and
my three cousins are outside
throwing the football around.
 
 
Apparently this small town
loves football
the way ducks love water.
 
 
Once in a while, laughter
drifts in through the open windows,
and I wish I could bottle it up
and carry it with me, letting out
just a little when I need a smile.
 
 
It’s a strange, magical place, this house.
 
 
Aunt Erica is in the kitchen
making dinner, but every now
and then she pokes her head
 
 
into the family room,
where I’m watching a movie,
and says, “Oh, I love this part.”
 
 
It’s Pretty Woman, where the hooker
walks around the fancy hotel,
trying to fit in like
the only cat at a dog park.
 
 
Where I come from,
there were no scented candles,
no fun family games,
no savory Sunday dinner.
 
 
It was a strange, crazy place, my house.
 
 
How long ’til they notice
a cat like me doesn’t belong
in a nice dog park like this?
 

2
Colby

It’s benny and me, tossing the football around in my front yard, like we’ve done at least a thousand times. But this is the first time we’ve done it before the first day of practice our senior year.

This is our last chance.

Our last chance to bring home a high school championship.

I look at my best friend standing across from me, sweat glistening on his muscular black arms, and I know for him, we have to win. Taking state may be the only chance he has at catching a scout’s eye.

It’s been a lot easier for me. How can he not hate me for that?

“You’re so good, you don’t even need to go to practice, do you?” Benny jokes as the football spins toward me. “I bet you just show up so Coach will make the rest of us work harder.”

It’s like he can read my mind. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends for what feels like forever.

“You know if there was any way I could skip out on two-a-days, I definitely would,” I say as I take a couple of steps to make the catch.

“Drink lots of water tonight,” he says. “Gotta stay hydrated, man.”

I throw the ball back. “Aw, isn’t that sweet. Big ol’ Benny actually cares about me.”

He walks toward me, half a grin on his face. “Just don’t want you passing out. Remember that one time last year when about half the team went down? That was crazy.”

“Yeah, I think it was about a hundred and ten degrees that day.” I hold out my arms and look up at the clear summer sky. Weather-wise, this is about as perfect as it gets in Willow, Oregon. Not too hot, a light breeze now and then, and no rain for days. “It’ll be all right tomorrow. I got a good feeling.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

We walk up to the front steps of my house and take a seat. “What are you worried about?” I ask. “You got that guard

spot cinched.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m worried about. Two words: Coach Sperry.”

“I think his bark is worse than his bite. Especially right now. He’s just trying to show us who’s boss. You know, establish an order.”

“What other order is there? He’s the coach and we’re the players. The end. We know where we stand. He’s got an amazing team that almost made it to the championships last year. He doesn’t need to do much except keep us on track. Let us do what we’re good at.”

“Colby,” Gram calls. “Dinner’s ready.”

“You staying?” I ask Benny as we get to our feet.

He hands me the football. “Can’t. Ma’s expecting me home. Making my favorite tonight. Ribs and mashed potatoes.”

“Jesus. You make it sound like it’s your last meal or something.”

“We got a new coach, man. Who knows what’s gonna happen tomorrow.”

“Well, aren’t you Little Miss Sunshine.” He shrugs, and I slap him on the back. “It’s gonna be all right.”

“Yeah. Ma always says when life hands you lemons, you gotta try your best to make lemonade. Nothing’s ever perfect. There’s always gonna be bad stuff to go with the good.”

“Benny, Coach might be a great guy. I mean, maybe he’ll lead us to the best year we’ve ever had. We don’t know yet. We don’t know anything. We just gotta wait and see, right?”

He waves as he walks toward his motorcycle. “Right. See you tomorrow. Bright and early!”

“Yep. You can count on that!”

3
Lauren

 
When they come in from outside,
smelling like sunshine,
Andrew, Henry, and Demi
pounce on me.
 
 
They are playful puppies
demanding my attention.
 
 
“Whatcha watching?”
“Can we watch too?”
“Who’s that pretty lady?”
“What’s she doing?”
 
 
I find the remote and change the
channel. SpongeBob is greeted
with more cheers than
a homecoming queen.
 
 
I go into the kitchen and ask
Aunt Erica if I can set the table.
 
 
“Thanks, sweetie.
I appreciate that.”
 
 
She doesn’t know I do it for myself
just as much as I do it for her.
I like setting six places
with her pretty dishes and silverware.
I’ve never been a part of making
something special like that.
 
 
Uncle Josh is sitting in his spot,
reading the Sunday paper.
“Two-a-days start tomorrow,” he tells me
as he folds over the sports section.
 
 
“What’s that?”
 
 
He explains how the football players
practice twice a day to get conditioned.
I remember Mom telling me a long time
ago that Uncle Josh, her brother, used to play.
 
 
“The new guy’s supposed to be one hell of a coach,”
he says.
 
 
I don’t know what to say,
so I just nod.
 
 
“You’re gonna love your new school,” he tells me.
“Just you wait. A great football team.
And a lot of school spirit.”
 
 
I want to say school spirit
is the least of my worries.
Instead, I step back and admire
the beautiful table.
 
 
Erica calls out, “Lauren, would you mind helping me in
here, please?”
 
 
In a minute, we’ll sit down in our spots,
pass around the serving dishes, and fill
our plates with food that’s as new
to me as this small town of Willow.
 
 
“Coming,” I say.
 
 
Josh looks up at me.
“You know, it’s nice having you around.”
 
 
I don’t walk into the kitchen.
I float.
 

4
Colby

“Benny didn’t want to stay?” Gram asks. “He’s more than welcome. We have plenty.”

“No, his mom was expecting him home. Thanks, though. I know he appreciates the offer.”

I take a seat as Dad comes in. “Smells delicious, Mom,” he says.

“Spaghetti with meatballs. Have to make sure the athlete gets lot of protein and carbohydrates for tomorrow.”

We start passing plates around, and I think about how Dad and I used to spend our Sundays. He’d go out and get a bunch of Chinese food. We never ate at the table. Instead we’d kick back in the family room and eat in front of the television, watching ESPN.

Since Gram and Grandpa moved in a couple of months ago, things have been different. Gram loves to cook, or maybe she just loves seeing us eat, I’m not sure. I have to say, it’s pretty nice having home-cooked meals all the time now.

After my mom died when I was two, Gram and Grandpa begged my dad to let them move across the country and help him. But he didn’t want that. He said he could manage things on his own. I had a nanny until I was twelve, and after that I took care of myself. None of it ever bothered me, it’s just how it was. It was my normal, I guess.

I look at Grandpa, who I haven’t seen much today. “You feeling all right?”

He passes me the salad. “I’m feeling fine, Colby. Thanks for asking.”

He’s got MS, or multiple sclerosis, so some days are better than others. Dad finally invited them to come live with us when Grandpa’s symptoms started getting worse. My gram was so relieved. They used to visit us a few times a year, and each time I could tell by the comments she made that she hated being so far away.

“Can hardly believe it’s finally here,” Dad says as he picks up his glass of wine. “The season we’ve all been waiting for. I can’t wait to hear which college you choose, Colby. You know I’m rooting for Oregon, but of course, it’s up to you. You’ve got three great schools interested, and really, you can’t lose with a single one of them. You about ready to verbally commit?”

“Nope.”

He smiles. “Gonna string ’em along for a while, huh? Make ’em sweat?”

“Nah, I want to get through this season, that’s all. Then I’ll decide. There’s no hurry, right? I mean, signing day is still six months away.”

Last year was pretty intense with college visits and meetings with recruiters. I’m glad the season’s starting, so they’ll be busy and might leave me alone for a while.

“Well, I’m telling you, a verbal commit would be a good thing.”

I move my spaghetti around my plate. “But I’m really not sure yet. I just want to wait, you know?”

I look at him. His smile’s gone. “Fine. Though I don’t know what else you could possibly need to make a decision.”

“More time, okay? I need more time.”

“All right, then. Enjoy it. There’s nothing more exciting than your senior year when you’re a football player. I remember mine like it was yesterday.”

I let out a big sigh. I’m tired of talking about this, and I don’t want to pretend to be excited when I’m not. He’s always just assumed I want to play college ball. He’s never asked me, not once, about my feelings on the subject. Bugs the crap out of me.

“The spaghetti’s really good,” I tell Gram. “Did you do something different?”

“Why, yes, I did. I’m surprised you noticed.”

Yeah, well, just because my dad is clueless a lot of the time, doesn’t mean I am too.

5
Lauren

 
After dinner, we head out back
for dessert.
Smoke wafts up from
the fire pit in the
middle of the patio,
and it smells really good.
 
 
The kids take turns
roasting marshmallows
on their sticks
and squishing them
between graham crackers
with squares of Hershey’s chocolate.
 
 
“Do you want a s’more?” seven-year-old Henry asks.
 
 
I take the one in his hand,
smiling at the cobweb
of marshmallow covering
his little lips and cheek.
 
 
“Thanks,” I say.
After I take a bite, I tell him,
“This is the best s’more I’ve ever had.”
 
 
He bounces over
to the table of supplies
and starts the whole process
over again.
 
 
“Hey, kids,” Uncle Josh says.
He puts his finger to his lips.
“Shhhh, listen.”
 
 
We freeze in our spots.
The fire hisses and pops,
the only noise for a minute.
 
 
And then, we hear it.
A soft and eerie
whooo-hoooo
drifts down from the darkness.
 
 
“Is that an owl?” four-year-old Demi asks.
 
 
“What else would it be?” Andrew asks.
“An elephant?”
 
 
Andrew cracks me up.
How can you not love
a sarcastic nine-year-old?
 
 
Demi doesn’t find it
quite as funny.
She reaches over and
slaps him on the arm.
 
 
Aunt Erica goes to work
making peace while I listen
for more soothing owl sounds.
 
 
When I was eight,
I visited my grandma down
in San Jose, California.
Her backyard was a bird
haven, with baths and feeders
in every corner.
 
 
She’d sit for hours on the deck
with her fancy camera,
zooming in on her little
feathered friends.
 
 
As I watched the birds
come and go, fluttering between
the big, open sky
and the welcoming yard
on sun-tipped wings,
I fell in love.
 
 
They were sweet.
They were beautiful.
And they could fly.
 
 
Oh, to be a bird, I thought.
To fly away and be free.
 

6
Colby

It’s monday morning, a little before seven, and we’re quietly padding up, getting ready to take the field.

“Gather round,” Coach Sperry yells.

We hit the gym with the new coach in June and July, but this will be our first time on the field with him.

Half dressed, we do as he says. Coach walks around, handing each of us a small laminated card. I read the words. They’re the same ones on the new sign hanging on the wall of the locker room.

 
I believe.
I believe in myself.
I believe in the team.
I believe it’s our time.
 

A couple of guys chuckle. It does sound kind of corny.

“Come on, now,” the coach says with his southern drawl. “This is serious stuff.”

Benny leans in and whispers in my ear. “What is this shit? Do we look like a bunch of girls with confidence issues?”

Coach looks over at Benny and scowls. “Half the game is played up here,” he says as he points to his head. “Now, you are an incredibly talented team. I know that and you know that. What we have with this team is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It’s not often when the planets align and the right talent shows up at the same time and forms a dynamic team. But that’s what’s happened with y’all. So we have to make the most of it, and not let your mental game be what defeats you.

“Each of you will stick this card in your wallet where you can see it. And you will read the words every day. I want you to come to practice ready. By that I mean ready to give me your best. But more importantly, ready to give your team your best. Are you ready?”

“Ready!”

“I believe,” Coach yells.

“I believe,” we reply, half-assed.

“What’s that?” he says.

“I believe!” we yell.

“See you on the field in five,” Coach says as he turns to leave.

Benny and I hustle back to our lockers. “You nervous?” he

asks me.

“Do eagles fly?”

“You love answering a question with a question, don’t you?” He slaps my back. “No, these Eagles do not fly, Pynes. These Eagles play football. And these Eagles are counting on you, bro.”

Like I need to be reminded.

7
Lauren

 
I wake up sweating.
The same dream I’ve had too many times.
 
 
A baby cries.
Cries for some food in his tiny, hungry belly.
 
 
I run through the house,
searching every room.
 
 
A baby cries.
Cries for someone to hold him.
 
 
When I come to the nursery,
I rip the crib apart, because he has to be there.
 
 
A baby cries.
Cries for me to find him.
 
 
I look and I look and I look until I realize the truth.
I won’t find him. He’s gone.
 
 
A sister cries.
Cries for the little brother she’s lost.
 

8
Colby

After practice, I go home, where Gram has scrambled enough eggs to feed the entire team.

“Sorry, no toast this morning,” she says. “We’re out of bread.”

“It’s okay,” I say before I drink the big glass of juice she’s poured. When I’m finished I tell her, “I’ll pick some up later for you. After practice?”

She shakes her head. “Why do they make you work so hard? I don’t like it.”

“It’ll be all right, Judith,” Grandpa says. “He’s strong and healthy. The coach just wants the boys in great shape for the first preseason game.”

Even though they’ve been here awhile now, it’s still weird having them around. Before they moved in with us, I came and went and Dad barely paid any attention. He works so much, he’s hardly ever here. I’m still trying to get used to curiosity and questions. And huge plates of scrambled eggs.

“You like the new coach?” Grandpa asks.

“He seems all right, I guess.” I reach down to get my wallet and show Grandpa the card. “Every player got one of these this morning.”

“Hm. I suppose he wants your head in the right place.” He looks at me. “You think it is?”

I started as wide receiver last year. Our quarterback, Seth Temple, and I are a great team. I pretty much catch anything Temple sends my way. I’m not too worried.

“My head is exactly where it should be,” I tell Grandpa before I shovel more eggs into my mouth. “Between my shoulders.”

Gram chuckles as she puts her hand on my back. “Yes, it is. And you’re going to do just fine.”

When I’ve had enough to eat, I stand up. “I’m tired. Think I’ll catch a nap before I head into work. Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll keep the television down so we don’t wake you.”

I smile. “Don’t worry. After that practice, I think I can sleep through anything.”

9
Lauren

 
I throw the covers off
and lie there, telling myself
it was just a dream.
 
 
Just a dream.
 
 
Just a dream.
He’s fine.
Wherever he is,
 
 
he’s fine.
If I think too long
and too hard
about the other options,
I start sinking into a
pool of despair.
It’s dark and cold there,
and I don’t want to
d
r
o
w
n
 
 
I tell myself
what I need to hear.
He’s fine.
After all, it’s up to me
whether I sink or swim.
 
 
I roll over and stare at the bookshelf
my aunt and uncle got me.
Enough books there for
a high school lit class
and I haven’t managed to read
one.
 
 
I should.
 
 
Josh and Erica are the
proud owners of
Whispering Willow Bookshop.
 
 
Every night, they read
to their kids before bed.
Sometimes to all of them in a group,
sometimes one-on-one.
Every now and then,
I sit in and listen.
 
 
They are excellent
storytellers, using different
voices and lots of emotion.
But that’s not the best part.
 
 
The best part is for a little while,
I forget who I am
and why I’m here
and everything that’s happened
up ’til now.
 
 
It’s like the story puts
my brain on pause.
 
 
I get up and grab a book.
Because I could use
a little pause
about now.
 

10
Colby

“How was practice this morning?” Mr. Weir asks me as we go in the back so he can show me the shipment of boxes that came in earlier. I work at AutoZone part-time, mostly stocking shelves.

“Fine,” I say.

“Think it’s gonna be a good year?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” I reply, mostly because that’s what he wants to hear.

This is how it is for most people here. They ask about football before anything else. Every year, as the sun burns high in the sky, August brings a new batch of hope to our town. Hope for a championship title. It may not come packed in boxes, like auto parts, but it’s there, and everyone feels it.

Especially the players.

For two and a half hours, I unpack parts and get them shelved. When I’m finished, Mr. Weir says that’s all he has for me and I’m free to go.

I punch out, and since I have a little time to kill before practice, I head to Whispering Willow Bookshop down the street.

“Colby,” Mr. McMann says from the counter when I walk

in the front door. “Good to see you. How’s it going? The team looking good so far?”

“You bet,” I say, because there it is again. Hope. Can’t escape it. “I think it’s gonna be a great year.”

“Awesome,” he says. “You here for that book you ordered?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was the title again?”

“ Bridging the World.”

He turns around to a shelf on the wall where orders are stored. He pulls out the book and sets it on the counter.

“This is gorgeous,” he says, rubbing the cover. He gives me a curious look. “You interested in bridges, Colby?”

I feel my cheeks getting warm. “Nah. It’s, um, a gift. For my grandfather.”

Mr. McMann nods. “Ah. I see. That’s nice of you. I’m sure he’s going to love it.”

I get out my wallet and give him some cash. While he rings me up, he says, “Did I tell you I have a niece who’ll be at your school this year?”

“I don’t think so.”

He hands me my change. “Her name’s Lauren. Came here from Seattle. Really nice girl. She’s a little nervous about being the new kid. I keep telling her Willow High is a great school and she’s going to get along just fine there.”

I put my wallet away. “What year is she?”

“Senior. She’s been living with us for a few weeks now.”

I pick up the bag, wondering why she’s living with them. I don’t ask, though. None of my business. “Well, if I see her when school starts, I’ll tell her hello.”

He smiles. “Thanks. That’s real nice of you.” He nods at the book. “I hope your grandpa likes his gift.”

“Thanks a lot.”

There’s a bakery in the far corner of the shop, so I walk over there. Quite a few people are sitting at tables, reading books or magazines. I get in line to order, hoping to avoid being recognized, because I don’t want to talk about football practice or the new coach or how great this season is going to be.

In front of me, two women are talking. Not just any women, but women who walk around like they own the town. One is the wife of the best-known realtor in Willow, Mrs. Landry, and the other is a doctor’s wife, Mrs. Poole. They both serve on the school board. My dad told me he’s been to a couple of meetings and apparently, they are not afraid of speaking their mind.

Even though they’re trying to keep their voices down, I can’t help but overhear their conversation.

“Well, I think it’s strange,” Mrs. Landry says. “You don’t take a teen into your home when you have three small children of your own unless the circumstances are truly dire.”

“What did he say again?” Mrs. Poole asks. “When you asked Josh why the girl is living with them? Word for word. What did he say?”

“He said his niece had a bad situation going on at home. So he and his wife offered to take her in for a time. That’s how he put it. ‘A bad situation.’ ”

“I bet she does drugs,” Mrs. Poole says. “Or worse. Poor man. I bet he’ll end up regretting that decision.”

Mrs. Landry’s about to say something else, but she suddenly gets the bright idea to take a look around to make sure no one’s listening. I want to tell her it’s a little late for that. I quickly turn my eyes toward the floor, but it’s not enough to keep her from seeing me.

“Well, look who it is, Marianne,” Mrs. Landry says. “Colby Pynes. Fancy running into you on the first day of football practice. Getting yourself a little snack, huh? I don’t blame you. I hear they work you boys hard.”

“Hello, Colby,” Mrs. Poole says. “Why, my husband was just talking about the team this morning. Said he feels like this is going to be your year.”

“I hope so,” I tell them.

“Ladies, may I help you?” the clerk calls to them, and they walk up to the counter, saving me from having to say anything more. Thank God.

After they’ve ordered, they tell me it was nice running into me and take their coffees and pastries to a table, where they’ll no doubt come up with a hundred and one more reasons why Mr. McMann’s niece moved in with them. I’d bet money that not a single one of those reasons will be right.

I step up to the counter and order two scones and a bottle of water to go. Once I’m in my truck, I check the clock before I start flipping through my new book. It’s three-twenty, which means I have a little time to enjoy some peace and quiet before the second practice of the day starts at four.

The bridges transport me to a place where there is no small-town talk, and no football to worry about. For a few glorious minutes, anyway.