Epilogue
Beck
Bridge Day is epic. But what isn’t epic about it is that all these people are doing really dangerous things.
I can’t unsee the potential for an emergency room doctor’s services.
The BASE jumpers, the gliders, the people just walking across the bridge.
Ok, the people walking across the bridge are fine; it’s mostly the BASE jumpers that have my doctor senses on high alert.
No. I’m not on call today. I’m here on a date with Brooke, and I’m desperate to steal some longer kisses away from June’s prying eyes, because whenever there’s even the slightest chance of propriety being thrown by the wayside, June appears.
She has some sixth sense about it. And honestly, maybe a seventh that is completely out of tune with what’s actually happening.
Being engaged to Brooke means that June now feels it is her right to barge into my house whenever Brooke has been over for ‘too long.’
The latest instance was when she pushed into my house at nine o’clock at night and found me and Brooke watching— yes , actually watching—a movie together.
“I promise I’ll stop doing this once you’re married in the eyes of God, but for now…”
And then she sat in between us on the couch.
I know her heart is in the right place, and it’s hard to be annoyed with her when she clearly loves her granddaughter so much.
But also, I am annoyed.
Brooke and I walk hand in hand through the crowd, where I try not to notice the BASE jumpers launching off the bridge. It’s the one day a year that the bridge is open to people on foot, and the views are spectacular.
Brooke doesn’t like heights, and though I’ve known this about her, I also know that part of her coping mechanism for anxiety is to do things that scare her.
Which is why, as we cross the bridge, we’re actually on our way to a date that she might say a hard no to.
I took a calculated risk and booked it anyway.
What’s the point of living in a tourist area if you can’t use touristy activities to woo your fiancée?
“Beck?” Brooke looks up at me from under her thick lashes.
“Yes?”
“Why are you rushing? I thought we were here to see the view from the bridge.”
I scrub a hand down my stubbled jaw. I don’t meet her eyes exactly as I answer, “We are.”
We’ve almost crossed to the other side, and I spy Lynette holding a sign that says, “Whistler, reservation for two.” Lynette recently started working at the bridge catwalk now that rafting season has slowed down.
Brooke sees her too. “Hey, Lynette!” she calls.
Lynette flashes a huge smile. “You ready for this?” she calls back.
“Beck?” Brooke questions. “What are we doing?” Then she takes it all in, and it clicks. “No. You didn’t? We are? No way.”
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But I’ve always wanted to try it out.”
“You are securely attached to a harness the entire time,” Lynette adds.
“There’s no reason…” Brooke swallows. “To be scared?”
Lynette shrugs. “Nah, that’s just your self-preservation instincts overriding the safety features. It’s basic psychology. You have a physiological response to something you’re scared of, even though your brain knows you’re safe.”
I grin at Brooke, whose narrowed eyes and squared shoulders make her look like she’s about to march into battle, and not across the catwalk of the New River Gorge Bridge while wearing a state-of-the-art harness and clipped into safety cables.
“I don’t want to be like Melanie and film everything, but Beck, if I’m doing this, please tell me you’ll get a video. I will need documentation for posterity’s sake.”
“Whatever you want,” I say, and I mean it.
Brooke flips her hair over her shoulder. “Ok,” she says to Lynette. “Let’s do this.”
Lynette leads us to the launch area, where she helps us into our harnesses and clips us onto the wire.
There are other people on the catwalk, but it’s not crowded. Probably because the bridge itself is open to pedestrians above.
Brooke inhales a shaky breath before she steps foot on the catwalk. I lean forward and whisper over her shoulder, “I promise I won’t let you fall.”
She turns so her eyes bore deeply into mine. “I think it’s too late for that.” She smirks. “You ready to film this? Because it’s only happening once.”
I hold out my phone and start recording. “Ready.”
Brooke takes another tentative step. Her hands clutch the railing, but she moves forward, determined. After a minute of filming her inching across the bridge, I call out for her to stop. She does, and she turns to face me.
Standing there, framed in the backlit shadows of the bridge, high above the golds and yellows of autumn below with her long blonde hair dancing on the wind, a wide smile on her face, the headstrong way she faces her fears and refuses to let them master her, I’ve never seen anything more gorgeous.
“Can we sit when we get to the middle?” Brooke asks.
I nod. She could ask me for anything and I’d say yes.
When we get to the middle of the bridge, Brooke sits and dangles her legs over the side. I plunk down beside her, my own legs hanging off the platform. She leans toward me, and I loop my arm around her, pulling her as close to my side as I can.
“I love you, Brooke,” I whisper. “You are the most gorgeous woman, inside and out.”
Her response doesn’t involve words. Frankly, I’m glad it doesn’t.
No, her response is to take my face in both her hands and guide my lips to hers.
The End