A Bridge of Years Read Free

pain was bearable.
    But
the house was genuinely interesting.
    He
ran his hand idly along a blank basement wall and was startled to
feel . . . what?
    The
hum of machinery, carried up through gypsum board and concrete
block—instantly stilled?
    Faint
tingle of electricity?
    Or
nothing at all.
    "Tight
as a drum."
    This
was Archer, back from his sojourn. "You may have found a bargain
here, Tom. We can go back to my office if you want to talk about an
offer." "Why the hell not," Tom Winter said.

    The
town of Belltower occupied the inside curve of a pleasant, foggy
Pacific bay on the northwestern coast of the United States.
    Its
primary industries were fishing and logging. A massive pulp mill had
been erected south of town during the boom years of the fifties, and
on damp days when the wind came blowing up the coast the town was
enveloped in the sulfurous, bitter stench of the mill. Today there
had been a stiff offshore breeze; the air was clean. Shortly before
sunset, when Tom Winter returned to his room at the Seascape Motel,
the cloud stack rolled away and the sun picked out highlights on the
hills, the town, the curve of the bay.
    He
bought himself dinner in the High Tide Dining Room and tipped the
waitress too much because her smile seemed genuine. He bought a Newsweek in
the gift shop and headed back to his second-floor room as night fell.
    Amazing,
he thought, to be back in this town. Leaving here had been, in Tom's
mind, an act of demolition. He had ridden the bus north to
Seattle pretending that everything behind him had been erased
from the map. Strange to find the town still here, stores still open
for business, boats still anchored at the marina behind the VFW
post.
    The
only thing that's been demolished is my life.
    But
that was self-pity, and he scolded himself for it. The quintessential
lonely vice. Like masturbation, it was a parody of something best
performed in concert with others.
    He
was aware, too, of a vast store of pain waiting to be acknowledged .
. . but not here in this room with the ugly harbor paintings on the
wall, the complimentary postcards in the bureau, pale rings on the
wood veneer where generations had abandoned their vending-machine
Cokes to sweat in the dry heat. Here, it would be too much.
    He
padded down the carpeted hallway, bought a Coke so he could add his
own white ring to the furniture.
    The
phone was buzzing when he got back. He picked it up and popped the
ring-tab on the soft-drink can.
    "Tom,"
his brother said.
    "Tony.
Hi, Tony."
    "You
all by yourself?"
    "Hell,
no," Tom said. "The party's just warming up. Can't you
tell?"
    "That's
very funny. Are you drinking something?" "Soda pop, Tony."
    "Because
I don't think you should be sitting there all by yourself. I think
that sets a bad pattern. I don't want you getting sauced again."
    Sauced, Tom
thought, amused. His brother was a well-spring of these antique
euphemisms. It was Tony who had once described Brigitte Nielsen as "a
red-hot tamale." Barbara had always relished his brother's
bon mots. She used to call it her "visiting Tony yoga"—making
conversation with one hand ready to spring up and disguise a grin.
    "If
I get sauced," Tom said, "you'll be the first to know."
    "That's
exactly what I'm afraid of. I called in a lot of favors to get you
this job. Naturally, that leaves my ass somewhat exposed."
    "Is
that why you phoned?"
    A
pause, a confession: "No. Loreen suggested—well, we both
thought—she's got a chicken ready to come out of the oven and
there's more than enough to go around, so if you haven't eaten—"
    "I'm
sorry. I had a big meal down at the coffee shop. But thank you. And
thank Loreen for me."
    Tony's
relief was exquisitely obvious. "Sure you don't want to drop
by?" Brief chatter in the background: "Loreen's done up a
blueberry pie."
    "Tell
Loreen I'm sorely tempted but I want to make it an early night."
    "Well,
whatever. Anyway, I'll call you next week." "Good. Great."
    "Night,
Tom." A pause. Tony added, "And welcome