Crossing the Bridge Read Online Free PDF

Iris and I’m sure they were preoccupied with thinking about what the doctor was going to say when he finally got around to saying it. I couldn’t convince my mother to leave my father’s bedside to go to a restaurant with me, so I had a tuna melt at a local diner before heading off to meet Iris.
    The Cornwall had been at the same location for more than fifty years, which meant that it had been around for a long time before Amber evolved from a fishing village to a tourist destination. When it opened, it was the only available option for a nice meal within fifteen miles and families from all over Middlesex County frequented it. While the three generations of owners made little attempt to change with the town, its popularity was a constant. Somehow the tacky nautical motif, laminated wine lists, and a menu filled with outmoded “classics” like Lobster Newburg and Seafood au Gratin worked when you were aware of the restaurant’s origins.
    I think the owners always meant the bar to be comical and, at this point, it was just downright silly. A huge pirate head, complete with a dagger in his teeth, dominated one wall. Sprinkled throughout were fiberglass reproductions of various ship paraphernalia. And one could choose from a special drink
list that included such original creations as The Matey (three kinds of rum and ginger ale), The Plankwalker (151 rum, Drambuie, and grapefruit juice) and the ever-popular Landlubber (rum, Coke, and maraschino cherry juice). Fortunately they also had a huge list of bottled beers (and did even in the ’50s), which made the place very popular among my friends when we reached fake ID age.
    The restaurant was relatively busy, but there were only two occupied tables in the bar when I arrived. Iris wasn’t there yet and I ordered a Belgian beer while I waited. I found that I was in no hurry for her to arrive. I considered the possibility that we might not have much to say to each other or that the conversation might go badly and started to feel that it wouldn’t disturb me terribly much if she didn’t show up at all. It was the same push and pull I felt nearly every time I knew I was going to see her in the months after the kiss.
    She arrived at the bar about ten minutes later. I was facing away from the door at that point, listening in on a conversation between the bartender and a patron, and didn’t see her until she pecked me on the cheek.
    “Reconnecting with the locals?” she asked as she sat down across from me.
    “They were talking about swordfishing,” I said, nodding toward the bar. “It could be 1958.”
    “I love that about this place. Do you ever come here when you’re visiting?”
    “I haven’t been in here since – ” I realized I was about to say “since Chase died” and thought better
of it. “I have no idea when the last time was that I was here.”
    “So then it really is old home week for you, isn’t it?”
    I chuckled and repeated, “Old home week.”
    A waiter came over and took Iris’ drink order.
    “How’s your dad?” Iris said after the waiter left.
    “He looked better today than he did yesterday. The doctor still hasn’t told him what the long-term deal is going to be, which I know has him a little worried. I think he’s out of immediate danger, though.”
    “When my dad died, it happened all at once,” she said wistfully. Then she looked up at me with a mildly startled expression. “I didn’t mean to suggest that I thought your father was dying. This kind of thing just makes me think of my father, that’s all.”
    I held up my hand. “I get it. It’s not as though the thought hasn’t come to mind. I think he’s going to be okay, though.”
    Iris’ beer came and she took a moment to sip it. It hadn’t dawned on me that she might be nervous to see me, but she seemed to be at least a little anxious. I looked over toward the pirate head and let the moment settle.
    “My friends and I had developed an entire personal profile for that