Crossing the Bridge Read Free Page A

understand what I was saying. I imagined him thinking, Richard’s son? But isn’t Richard’s son dead? Then his eyes brightened.
    “Oh, hey, yeah.” He reached out his hand. “I’m Tyler – which you already know. How’s it going with your dad?”

    “It depends on who you ask. According to him, he’ll be in this afternoon. Seems the doctors have different ideas, though.”
    “I’m sure it’s driving Richard crazy to sit in a hospital instead of being here. I’ve been meaning to get over to see him, but between the extra hours I’m putting in and studying for a bunch of tests I have coming up, it’s been tough.”
    Tyler seemed to be the latest in a line of college kids my father occasionally happened upon who actually thought it was worth doing their part-time jobs as opposed to simply showing up for them. It was apparent in the way he talked about my father. I began to relax a little. I’d been dreading meeting Dad’s latest “manager” from the moment I first learned about him in the hospital. Some of the people Dad had entrusted with responsibility over the years had been truly unworthy of the gift.
    “I’m sure he understands,” I said. “Listen, I’m in town for a few days and I told my father that I’d spend a little time giving you a hand.”
    Tyler looked briefly insulted, which I also took to be a good sign. “Yeah, great,” he said. “Could always use a little help.” He leaned in to me conspiratorially and gestured toward his dusting colleague. “Leeza’s not exactly MBA material, if you know what I mean.”
    I nodded and looked over to see her absently straightening cards. “Mind if I come back behind the counter?”
    “No, come on in. I assume you know your way around the place.”
    “I haven’t been here in a while, actually,” I said as
I surveyed the desk. “The cash register is different from when I was last here. He still has the hourly log book, I see.”
    “Man, does he ever. You miss a register reading and it’s like you shot his dog.”
    For the next half hour, Tyler briefed me on the operations of the store. I rang up a couple of sales and helped a customer find graph paper. It felt precisely as it had when I was seventeen – like something that stood between waiting in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles and shoveling snow in entertainment value.
    Russet Avenue is designed for foot traffic and browsers. There’s parallel parking on the street and a couple of municipal lots around back. Among other things, there’s an inn, a craft shop, a print gallery, a few restaurants, a jewelry designer, and a chocolatier for the tourists, and a bank, a drug store, and my father’s store for the locals. I’m not sure which category of consumer I fit into at this point, though I certainly hadn’t returned to Amber for its quaint New England flavor. As the morning turned into afternoon, Tyler returned to his books and I spent a lot of time watching pedestrians out the window from behind the counter. I remembered quiet afternoons such as this when I felt shackled to the store and believed that every other teenager in Amber had something more interesting going on.
    It was while daydreaming that I saw Iris entering the gourmet food shop across the street. As I watched, my thoughts ranged from wondering if it was actually her, to how I would respond if she
walked in here, to considering going to the stockroom until the moment passed.
    When I saw Iris come out of the shop and head down the street, I decided it was foolish to pretend (or even wish) that I hadn’t seen her. I told Tyler I’d be back in a few minutes and went out the door. I was crossing the street and she was about to walk into the bakery when I called out her name. She turned in my general direction, but didn’t make eye contact for several seconds. When she did, she seemed stupefied by the sight, as though we were standing on a street in Bali rather than in the town where we both grew up.
    “What are