The Last Bridge by Teri Coyne

stretched past the landing. Jared was mumbling into the receiver as I limboed under and faced the blinding fluorescent light of the kitchen.
    “Yes, I understand.” His back was to me as he tried to untwist the long phone cord.
    He caught my eye and waved. “Madison,” he mouthed, as if I had asked.
    There was a fresh pot of coffee on the stove. No Mr. Coffee for my mom. We were a farm family and that meant fresh coffee from a percolator all day for whomever stopped by. Farmers drink coffee like teenagers drink Coke.
    Jared pointed to the store-bought muffins and juice on the table. A fresh pack of cigarettes sat on top of my car keys.
    I checked the driveway for cars; Wendy’s was missing.
    I poured a tumbler of coffee, grabbed a muffin and my cigs, and headed to the stairs en route to a bath.
    Jared poked me and then held his finger out as if to say, “One second.”
    “Yes, I know. I’m going to speak to her about it. Maybe tomorrow. I love you too.”
    Jared finally said good-bye and untangled himself as he hung up the phone.
    “You’d think she would have gotten a new cord,” he said.
    “Why? It went everywhere she needed.” I lit up a cigarette.
    “Wendy went to see Dad before they head back.”
    “They’re leaving?”
    He nodded.
    “Doesn’t she have to take care of stuff?”
    I assumed Wendy would stay to deal with whatever it is one does when your mother kills herself and your father is practically dead in the hospital.
    “She’s got to get back. Willard’s got work and she’s got treatments.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “She and Willard are trying to get pregnant.”
    “I thought you and Wendy didn’t talk that often.” I walked to the sink and flicked my ashes in the drain.
    “We talked last night—after you passed out.”
    “Fell asleep.”
    “Whatever. They’ve been trying for years.”
    “I didn’t realize people actually tried to have children,” I said as I took a long drag. Nothing like the first nicotine rush of the day.
    “Some people try to get over their problems,” Jared said, with just enough edge to his voice to make my skin crawl. He had taken a seat at the table and was picking at a muffin.
    “Are we talking about Wendy or me?”
    “I’m talking about all of us. Don’t you think it’s time?” He took a deep breath that looked as if it were more effort to hold in his words than to let them out. “Look, you’ve been MIA for how many years? Eight, nine?”
    “I’m coming up on my tenth anniversary. What’s that—rock, paper, or scissors? I get them confused.”
    “How long are you going to do this?” he said as he threw his muffin in the garbage like he was tossing a fastball.
    “Do what?”
    “Hold me responsible. I am NOT responsible.” He came toward me and I flinched. “I did not ruin your life.”
    I put my cigarette out in the sink and stared him down.
    “If my life is a mess, it is my own. I take responsibility, Jared.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    “And your mess is yours. You live with what you did.”
    “I didn’t do anything, Cat. I helped you. I saved you.” Jared was shouting with an intensity that mirrored my father’s when he was angry.
    “You saved me?” My voice and my resolve cracked. I gripped the counter to steady my shaking hands. It was drink time.
    “I wouldn’t have let him kill you,” he said.
    “You should have. It would have been easier.”
    “Christ, I said I was sorry.” He threw his mug into the sink with a force that made it shatter. I couldn’t catch my breath or focus. I had a feeling that the floor beneath me would open up at any moment and swallow me whole. Outside a car horn honked. Jared walked to the window. “It’s Wendy, she’s got groceries.” He stopped fishing for broken pieces and went out to help.
    Wendy came in carrying a clear plastic cup filled with a pinkish liquid. “It’s a smoothie. Can’t have caffeine. Do you mind putting that out?” I had lit another cigarette in a lame attempt