The Crying Bridge

The Crying Bridge--Chapter Three

Del woke early on Wednesday. Well, really, she woke early most days. Again, she figured it was the teacher in her. She threw on a pair of jogging shorts, a sports bra and her jogging shoes, grabbed her sunglasses and a bottle of water and took off for her morning run. There was a trail through the woods that led to a large pond, and she had taken to running the path every morning. She estimated that it was about a two and a half mile round-trip. It was good for her. She could clear her head and do what she liked to call her "nothing thinking," where she thought about everything and nothing all at the same time. It helped her organize her thoughts and weed out all the crap. This morning her thoughts went from how hot it was already to her date last night to Lana to Evan's eyes to kissing Evan to the groceries she needed to pick up to Gavin to the baby. But wait...hadn't she dreamt about the baby last night?

She had reached the pond and she stopped for a moment, catching her breath and trying to remember the dream. But it wasn't a dream. She'd heard a baby crying as she was falling off to sleep. Hadn't she? She was sure of it. It had been very clear, though from a distance. Well, she thought, the windows were open and there was a breeze...sound probably carried a long way out here. She imagined there was someone with a crying baby somewhere within a few miles of her place, and the acoustics must have been just right for her to hear it.

She started back, thinking how different it was out here compared to the city. Living with Gavin had been so quiet, sheltered from the outside noises but it was an almost artificial quiet. And the apartment she'd rented later had been riddled with noises from the busy Chicago streets all day and all night. Here the sounds were natural. Birds and insects, frogs, the wind in the trees. Babies crying from miles away. Peaceful.

Back at the house, she went into the kitchen and threw her empty water bottle into the recycling bin. It was only seven a.m. She stripped down, threw everything into her little laundry room and went to take a shower. Afterwards, she went back into the kitchen, naked, to make breakfast. It was warm and she was hot from the shower, so she let the soft breeze coming in through all the windows dry her body. It wasn't as if anyone could see her anyway, yet another perk to living out in the middle of nowhere.

She decided on half a whole wheat English muffin, which she toasted and topped with a little peanut butter and slices of apple. She added a glass of soy milk and called it a meal. She popped a daily multi-vitamin and went to get dressed. It was still early, but she wanted to do some shopping today and some more exploring of the area, so ten minutes later she was in her car headed down the private drive. She met Mr. Robertson turning in as she reached the main road. They both stopped and rolled down their windows.

"'Mornin' Miss Granger," Tom Robertson said kindly. "Your off mighty early."

"I like to get an early start. How about yourself?"

"Just comin' back from breakfast at the diner," he told her. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Seems you caused quite a stir last night."

Del could feel herself reddening. It seemed bad news traveled fast. "Well, let's just say one of this town's occupants has a slight dislike of me."

"Couldn't imagine why," Tom replied, his tone implying he could totally imagine why. "I suppose you and Evan Drake met up okay, then? He helped you with your swing?"

"Yes," Del replied, still blushing. "Yes, he did. And we did."

Tom smiled approvingly. "Thought you two might enjoy each other's company."

"Mr. Robertson," Del said, laughing, "hasn't anyone ever told you match-making is trouble?"

"Well, maybe," he admitted, "but Evan's a good boy and he spends too much time helpin' me and all sorts of other people. Thought he could use a friend." He paused and looked at her seriously. "Now don't you go and let that Lana Sinclair bother you none. She's just a bitter young woman who's aged herself by bein' trashy with the men. No one cares a darned about anything she has to say, I promise you that."