The Last Bridge by Teri Coyne

Addison took pride in their accomplishment and I suspected both were excited at the prospect of pleasing Addison’s father, Jared, who was coming for a visit.
    Dad was so focused on getting ready for Jared, he neglected his real job of being the family terror and drunk.
    The news of Jared’s arrival made everyone come alive. My mother embarked on a serious cleaning campaign that forced Wendy and me to dust behind our beds, dressers, and wardrobes,and sweep and polish the floors. Mom was on a mission to eliminate all dirt from our lives; but no matter how hard she tried, the dirt beneath the surface could not be buffed away.
    With the windows open and adorned with freshly starched white curtains, it was hard to think of the dark days we had endured. My mother’s smile was a welcome treat at breakfast, as were my father’s kind words for her efforts. Even the lines on Dad’s weatherworn face softened in anticipation of the praise he would get from the only man he had ever admired.
    I was happy to clean, scrub, sew, haul, toss, or do whatever was necessary to bring some polish to our lives. And like my parents and Addison, Wendy, Jared, and I looked forward to Jared’s arrival with joyous expectation. I was dying to be in the company of the man who elicited such devotion from the people I cared about.
    Jared was to arrive on Flag Day, June fourteenth, and in honor of both, my father hung a new American flag from our front porch. My mother baked fresh bread, made strawberry preserves and apple pie (all Jared’s favorites), and laundered and pressed our Sunday best.
    According to Addison and Dad’s calculations, Jared would arrive from the airport (which was a two-hour drive) by lunchtime. We were washed, dressed, and sitting on the porch by ten A.M .
    We waited in silence, interrupted by occasional bouts of “Get your feet off the furniture,” “No food until Jared arrives,” and speculative talk about how he would look and what he would say. Our Jared fell asleep on the porch swing. He had been up with Dad and Addison hanging molding until three A.M. Addison had the lethargic posture that comes from being too tired, but his eyes were alert and gleamed with a look I understood to be the love he had been saving for his dad.
    By four Mom broke down and let us have a slice of bread with butter and preserves. By six, Dad started drinking and Addison said he would be in his apartment if anyone needed him. At seven the phone rang with word that Jared wasn’t coming. Mom took thecall, twirling in the phone cord like she was wrapping herself in someone’s arms. Her fingers fluttered as she gesticulated and blushed her way through his disappointing news. She kept the conversation going as long as possible, savoring second best.
    After hanging up, she adjusted her dress, smoothed back her hair, and exhaled, letting go of whatever dream she had of Jared’s visit. She walked to the living room and told my father he had urgent business and was sorry he couldn’t come.
    “I wonder what her name is,” Dad said as he turned the volume up and swallowed his disappointment in long burning pulls of bourbon. Mom retreated to the laundry room, where she spent the evening meticulously ironing my father’s work shirts.
    “Tell Addison,” Mom said. “Take him some pie.” Wendy offered, but Mom, in a surprising bout of strength, told Wendy to go to her room and mind her own business.
    I walked barefoot to Addison’s apartment. The hem from my best summer dress tickled the back of my calf. My mother made it as a birthday present. It was cotton, with a pattern of wild strawberries in honor of my favorite fruit, and had a scooped-neck bodice with a full skirt that fell below my knee. I felt the cool grass between my toes as day eased its way into evening.
    The kitchen light was on as I climbed the wooden stairs. The apartment also had a screen door that did not stay shut. It clapped against the jamb. I knocked. All I needed were pearls