The Bridge (14 page)

“It’s hardly the start.” She pointed to the boxes on the floor behind the register. “You did a good job, Ryan. Word’s getting out.”

“You can say that again.” Sally, the storeowner, walked up, tying her apron around her waist. “These boxes weigh a hundred pounds each. Four of them here and another five in the back. When we’re through with this drive, Charlie Barton will need two storefronts.”

A flicker of sadness made its way through Ryan. Charlie would need them only if he woke up. For now it was easier to believe that his only problem was restocking The Bridge. If not for Charlie, then for Donna. In case she might want to run the store. It was something tangible that the town could get behind, since there was nothing any of them could do to help Charlie recover.

That part was in God’s hands.

M
olly was grateful for the wedding ring. The moment their eyes met, everything she’d ever felt for him came bursting to the surface. Only the feel of the ring on her finger kept her from gushing about how much she’d missed him and how great it was to see him again.

He must have noticed it, because a few seconds after taking hold of her fingers, he stepped away. Which was only right, since he was married, too. At least she assumed he was. He was wearing a ring. But as she helped him load one of the nine boxes into the back of his truck, she realized it wasn’t on his left hand.
Strange
, she thought. Either way, she was glad she had worn a ring. Glad he thought she was married. It was probably why things didn’t seem awkward between them. He didn’t have to be sorry anymore. Not if she was happy in her new life.

Even if the ring represented nothing but a lie.

On the trip out to the parking lot with the second box, she nearly fell when her foot got stuck in a pothole. She cried out but caught herself before she hit the ground. “Wow, that was close.”

“Graceful as ever.” He grinned at her. “Remember the time when you fell down the stairs at the music building?”

“Yes. Apparently not as well as you remember it.” She adjusted the grip on her half of the box, and they continued on to his truck. “Where are we taking them?”

“To the hospital.” He set his edge of the box on the open tailgate, easily hopped into the bed, and slid the box to the back with the other one.

“Really?” She brushed a bit of dirt off the lower part of her jeans. “Is there room?”

“For now. The staff said we could keep the books lined up on one side of the room until tomorrow. Christmas Eve. Then we can move them to my storage unit. I have room.” His heart hurt again. “We’re all praying for a miracle.”

“Definitely.”

“That Charlie will wake up and see the books”—he jumped back down to her level—“the day before Christmas. And he’ll know how much we care. How much The Bridge mattered.”

“Hmmm.” She walked beside him as they headed back for the next box. “Why not take the books to the store?”

Ryan felt the weight of her question. “The Bartons have until the first of the year before they have to clear out.”

“The first?” She stopped and stared at him. “What happens then?”

“You didn’t hear?” He dug his hands in his back pockets. The explanation clearly pained him. She could see that. “The owner is selling the building. If he can’t buy it, they want him out. There’s a for-sale sign in the window.”

Molly felt her shoulders slump. “Then what’s the point if he won’t have a store?”

“We have to start somewhere.” Ryan’s smile was bittersweet, the same one he’d given her when she left him way back when. “That’s what Scarlett O’Hara would say, right?”

For a moment she wasn’t standing here a few days before Christmas, pretending to be married. She was back in her car, driving him to The Bridge and laughing about the plot twists in
Gone with the Wind
. She smiled, and for the first time in years, she felt nineteen again. “Yes. That is what she’d say.”

They finished loading the boxes and then drove them to Vanderbilt Hospital. Together they got them
through the front door, and Ryan found a dolly. Four trips later, they walked up to Donna, winded from the effort.

“This is unbelievable.” Donna put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “I can’t believe it. Every one of those books was brought in for Charlie?”

“There’s more.” Ryan chuckled. “Lots more.”

“Amazing.” Donna looked like she wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or cry. Instead she hugged each of them. “Seeing you here together. Everything feels like it’s going to be okay.”

“It is.” Ryan looked at the boxes stacked against the far wall. He moved closer to the hospital bed. “You need to wake up, Charlie. You have books to stock.” Ten seconds passed, but Charlie didn’t move, didn’t give any sign whatsoever that he could hear. Slowly Ryan turned away and looked at Donna. “Any improvements?”

“Actually, yes.” Though the corners of her lips lifted a little, her eyes remained worried. “The doctor said he’s seen more brain activity. He tried to let Charlie breathe on his own, but that didn’t last long. A couple minutes, maybe.”

“That’s more than before. Ask the doctor to try that
again.” Molly looked from Donna to Charlie and back. The hospital scene was painfully familiar. “I remember when my mom was sick, especially at the end. A doctor needs to be encouraged, working with patients like Charlie. Patients need an advocate, Donna. Seriously.”

Donna nodded, listening. “I don’t want him to get worse.”

“Then keep pushing for them to take him off the ventilator. Being on the vent, that’s what makes patients sicker.”

“I’ve heard that,” Ryan agreed. “Pneumonia can set in. Molly’s right. The sooner they get him breathing on his own, the better.”

“Okay.” Donna looked more determined. “I’ll call for the doctor as soon as you leave.”

“Perfect.” Ryan hesitated. “Before we leave, let’s pray.”

Again Molly wasn’t sure how to feel. But if Ryan was leading, she was content to listen. He held his hands out to her and Donna, and the three of them formed a tight circle. Ryan asked God to breathe healing into Charlie’s lungs and give him the strength to fight for life. Molly caught most of the words, but she
was distracted. Not by the feel of her hand in Ryan’s larger one. But because while he prayed, an idea came to her.

Maybe the best idea she’d ever had.

They weren’t quite in the elevator when Molly turned to him, her excitement bursting. “I know how I can help Charlie.”

“How?” He looked mildly amused. As if this might be another of her wild plans, like having him over for dinner that night in Brentwood.

“Ryan!” She didn’t want him mocking her. “I’m serious.” Her tone sounded wounded, but she kept her expression relaxed. So he wouldn’t know her real feelings. “Take me to The Bridge.”

“Now?” They had planned to go back to Sally’s Mercantile for the rest of the books.

“Yes, now.” She smiled, and it felt wonderful. Even if everything about this day together was pretend. “Come on. It won’t take long.”

“Fine.” He chuckled but didn’t seem to mind. Besides, the drive would give them a chance to catch up. “I guess it’s only fitting, huh? You and I driving from this neighborhood down Franklin, to the Bridge.”

She hadn’t thought about that. “Can you . . . take the detour? Through campus?”

He hesitated. “Are you sure?” His look said he wasn’t, that maybe this was more than either of them could take. But then he was the one who had apologized. He’d seen her only as a friend, so what harm could there be in going back? Just this once.

“Very sure.”

They reached his truck and climbed inside. The hospital was a mile from Belmont. Ryan drove south on Twenty-first, left on Wedgewood, and right on Belmont Circle, through the heart of the campus. Neither of them said anything as he drove slowly past Fidelity Hall and the music business center, past McWhorter Hall and Massey Performing Arts Center. Every building, every stretch of sidewalk the two of them had walked and talked and laughed along.

At one point he nearly stopped, clearly as caught up in the remembering as she was. “It feels like yesterday.”

“I guess I never thought it would end.”

“Yeah . . .” He gave her a strange look but then turned his attention back to the campus. “I thought I was the only one who felt that way.”

His comment seemed deeper than the words seemed to imply. Molly couldn’t begin to sort through the reason or the meaning.

Ryan circled up to Caldwell and east to Twelfth. From there it was easy to get to Franklin Road. They’d done the drive a few hundred times together. She angled herself so she could study him, the man he had become. “I hear you’re famous.”

“What?” He looked at her once, and then again, before turning his attention back to the road. “Who says that?”

“The article on Twitter. You play guitar for one of the nation’s top country acts.”

“I did play.” His laugh sounded self-deprecating. “Now I’m just an unemployed famous guitar player.”

Her laughter joined his. “Not for long.”

“It’s been a few weeks.”

“Sounds like you could use the break.” She smiled, proud of him, regardless of the way he’d hurt her so long ago. Never mind her heartache. He had followed his dream, and she was happy for him. “Did your wife go with you on the road?”

Again he gave her the strangest glance, then a slight shake of his head. “No wife.” They reached a red
light, and he turned to her. “What made you think I was married?” He sounded more baffled than amused. “Twitter say that, too?”

“No.” She had to tread lightly here. She didn’t want to take the conversation too far back. “I just thought . . . I mean—” She felt her face getting hot. “You were in love with her, Ryan. She waited for you for two years.”

“I cared about her.” His eyes held hers. “But I wasn’t in love with her.”

She looked away first, turned her eyes to the road ahead of them. The light turned green and he did the same. “So you never married?”

“No.” He thought for a few seconds. “I barely had time to date between show runs.”

“Hmmm.” Her heart took the blow, and a handful of emotions filled her senses, stopping her from saying anything else. He had never married, and yet he’d never called her? Had he cared that little for her? It was one thing to think he’d apologized for kissing her because he was in love with the girl back home. This was something entirely different: the idea that he would rather be single than pursue her.

“You okay?” He moved like he might reach for her hand, then he stopped himself. “You’re quiet.”

“Just thinking.” She didn’t look at him, couldn’t take the way her heart would betray her if she did. “All this time . . . I pictured you married. Maybe with two or three kids by now.”

“Nope. Twenty-eight and single.” He leaned back, squinting against the glare of the snow on the fields surrounding Franklin Road. “And you, Molly? I assume you’re happy?”

She thought for a few seconds. If he came out and asked her, she wouldn’t lie. His question assumed she was married, so she let the ruse remain. Better than having him pity her. “Yes. I’m in Portland now.”

“Oregon?” He seemed as surprised as she had been a few minutes ago. “I thought you were in San Francisco.”

“A lot’s changed.” She hoped he couldn’t hear her pounding heart. “My dad died four years ago. Cardiac arrest. My mom passed away a year after that from cancer.”

“Molly . . . I didn’t know.” His expression softened, and this time he put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t close to them. You know that.”

“Still . . .” He paused, as if he didn’t want to rush the moment. “So what happened to your dad’s company?”

“Preston runs it.” She wouldn’t have been surprised if her heart burst from her chest, it was beating so hard. “I run the Allen Foundation. Transferred it to the Northwest.” Though she still hadn’t lied, she was close.

Ryan nodded, thoughtful. “So it all worked out. Just like your father wanted.”

She didn’t deny the fact. If he didn’t care enough to call after sending her away with his apology, then he didn’t deserve the details.

Neither that nor the truth.

T
hey pulled up in front of The Bridge and stepped onto the snowy curb. Someone had cleared the sidewalks, apparently, and even on this late Sunday afternoon, shoppers were making their way along the row of quaint stores and boutiques. Molly didn’t want to think about the past for another minute. But here, there was no way around it.