Chapter 9 Bill
nine
Bill
Ruth is outside waiting when I pull up to the curb in front of the diner.
The moment I see her, something tugs in my gut.
I still as she strides forward. She’s wearing her pink coat, cinched tight at her waist, and a few wisps of hair blow freely from underneath her white beanie.
They frame her face in a way that makes it hard to look away.
She steps into my SUV without hesitation, the scent of her, something faintly sweet, curls into the warm air between us.
“So,” she says, closing the door with a solid click. Her eyes are bright as she takes a moment to buckle her seat belt. “This is exciting. It’s been a while since I’ve been down that highway. I’m assuming you checked the road report?”
I clear my throat and force myself to focus on operating my car and not staring at her. “I just looked.” My voice is rougher than I expected. “Everything should be fine.”
“I’m happy to see it again, and a little sad to know it’s the last time,” she says softly. “It was thoughtful of you to ask me to come with you.”
I exhale as I ease my SUV out of the parking lot.
“I’m glad you said that. At first, I thought I was being silly to care so much about an old bridge, but when I couldn’t stop thinking about it, I figured I’d reach out.
I was also sort of wondering if the deer are still over there.
I remember this time of year they take cover in those thick trees. I thought it would be neat to see.”
“Oh, there are definitely deer,” she says with a nod. “I saw a coyote once too. It’ll be interesting to see if they stick around after they start all the construction.”
I grow quiet as I take the exit leading out of town. The road is clear, but the patches of ground are snow-banked. After a moment, she looks at me. “So how was your morning? Pretty busy, I’m guessing with the team and all.”
Before I over think it, I say, “You know, I’m going to offer Noah a spot on the team.”
The air shifts into something heavy, like a bomb was detonated. Her smile fades enough as she barely whispers, “I didn’t know that. Does he know?”
“I’ll be honest,” I continue with my eyes glued to the road, “Noah’s one of the fastest guys who tried out, but he’s a little too raw. I wasn’t all that impressed with him at first, but you, you were…persistent.”
Out of my peripheral vision, I catch her frozen expression.
“But—” I’m smiling bigger now as I add, “yesterday at the diner, I saw how he carries himself. He has the work ethic to step it up, and the right attitude, but he’ll have to come in at one-thousand-percent.”
She stares out the window and her voice appears timid when she says, “So, why are you telling me this?”
“No real reason. Maybe I was hoping it would bring a smile to your face.” I shrug as I tug on the wheel, turning into a bend on the road. “I’ll call him after I drop you off.”
She turns back toward me, a playful smile on her face, “Well, in that case, take me home now.”
That deserves a chuckle, and I laugh genuinely. “I could do that if you really want, but we’re almost to the bridge.” Then, more softly, I add, “And I’m enjoying your company.”
It’s her turn to grow quiet, and I focus on the road as it curves down toward the river, and I ease the SUV to a stop on the shoulder.
Snow crunches under the tires, as if it’s announcing our arrival.
The old iron bridge stretches across the river like a dark skeleton against the sky, its reflection trembling in the running water below as if it’s holding its breath until it reaches its final day.
We sit for a moment with the only sound being the humming engine. Ruth leans forward with her eyes fixed on the bridge. “It’s crazy how for the longest time it just looked old. Now that I know it’s being torn down, I think it’s beautiful,” she says softly.
“It’s hard to imagine this river without it.” My eyes trace the familiar lines of the rusted beams. “It’s going to look empty.”
“Right, it was part of a lot of memories.” She points forward. “I remember floating on an inner tube underneath it. There’s a bit of a drop right there, where we’d always wipe out.”
I grin, as I can picture her doing that. “It sounds like you were a bit of a daredevil.”
“Maybe, or maybe I didn’t have the sense to know better back then.”
We both laugh at that as we stare forward.
For a second, it feels like I’ve stepped backward in time to a version of me who didn’t have to think so hard about what came next.
I glance over at her, and a glow lingers in her expression, making me wonder if she feels it too.
I nod toward my door as I reach for the handle. “Shall we go for a walk?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You did see the snow, right? It’s likely knee deep.”
“It’s not that bad. The sun’s been shining. I bet it’s hard,” I counter, already pushing the door open. “Or are you scared?”
She scoffs and unbuckles her seat belt. “Never.”
The cold hits the moment I step out, and I shove my hands in my pockets as the snow crunches under my boots. I round the SUV, and she joins me, wrapping her arms tight across her chest.
Trudging down the path toward the bridge, our breath clouds in the air as our boots leave prints in the untouched layer of snow.
I take in the way the bridge rises in front of us.
It’s crazy how something man-made can seem to have a personality.
It’s weathered but proud. “I used to sit on that ledge by the first support beam,” she says, not looking at me.
“I would stare out, feeling like the world stopped spinning and nothing else existed.”
I glance at the spot she’s pointing at. I can picture her there with knees drawn up. “I remember,” I say, “I used to stuff my pockets full of saltine crackers to throw into the water, thinking I was feeding the fish.”
Her breath puffs out in a cloud as she chuckles. “I love saltine crackers, especially with peanut butter as a snack.”
We creep right up to the edge and marvel at the bridge stretching out before us. She looks up at it with a soft smile. “It won’t be the same when it’s gone.”
“No,” I agree, my voice low. “But I’m glad we came. It feels like I owe it a goodbye.”
Her eyes meet mine in the quiet pause. “I can’t believe we never bumped into each other. You’d think we’d have seen each other at least once.”
“Right.” I shrug as I point back to the trail, and we both move along, going even closer to the bridge. I pull out my phone, turn on the camera, and hold it up, taking a few shots.
“Good idea,” she says, following my lead, taking a few photos with her phone.
Turning my phone sideways, I play with the zoom, zeroing in so close I can see the dents in the steel.
“Yeah,” I speak more to myself, “it’s probably time it goes.
It’s not in the best shape anymore.” I zoom in even more and see a row of some of the largest icicles I’ve ever seen, hanging down like cave stalactites.
“Wow, look at those.” I move my phone closer to her, with it still zoomed in on the icicles.
“They look like crystals,” she coos.
“I have an idea.” I quickly stow my phone back into the coat pocket and wave her forward again, off the path.
“What are we doing?” Her voice pitches high with a mix of interest and delight. Her excitement only pushes me forward. I nod toward the bridge with a small grin. “We’re going to make one more memory here.”
She tilts her head but doesn’t press, and we carefully climb up to the bridge. I reach up and break off a long, narrow icicle from one of the beams. It snaps with a satisfying crack, and I hold it out like a prize.
She raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning to use that as a weapon?”
“Who, me?” I say with mock seriousness, offering it to her. “Nah, I thought it looked beautiful. Here, hold this up to the light. I want to try to get some photos of it reflecting.”
The light hits just right, refracting through the ice, bending in soft shards of gold and blue. I take a few shots of it. When I examine the shot on my phone, I was right. It doesn’t just catch the light. In the photo, the icicle looks like it’s glowing from the inside—like it’s alive.
“Hold it there,” I say quietly, as I raise my phone back up and zoom in even more.
She stays still with the icicle in front of her, and the bridge rising behind her.
I snap the photo, but when I lower the phone, I don’t look at the screen right away.
I look back at her and admire the way the light dances through the ice and reflects in her eyes.
“Stunning,” I murmur. But I’m not referring to the ice anymore.
She really has some of the most stunningly beautiful ice-blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
She walks forward, peeking down at the phone, her arm brushing mine as she leans in. “Wow, that’s a great shot. Now it’s your turn to hold it, and I’ll take a photo.”
“Nah,” I shake my head. “Nobody wants my big head in a photo.”
“It’s only fair.” She pushes the icicle at me but I don’t take it. Instead, I say, “I’ll only pose with it if you agree to be in the photo too.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her lips twitch before they pull into a wider smile. There’s warmth behind it that hits me right in the chest.
“Chicken,” she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
I raise a brow, playing along. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” she says, the picture of innocence. Then, with a more dramatic sigh and a spark in her eyes, she adds louder, “Sure. If that’s what it takes to get you in a photo.”
I shake my head, smile, and hold up my phone again.
She steps in closer without hesitation, the space between us narrowing until I can feel the soft press of her shoulder against mine.
The wind has kicked up slightly, sending a few snowflakes dancing around us like a perfect picture backdrop.
For a second, everything feels suspended.