Linda Goodnight - The Last Bridge Home

“Tell Zak I’m frying chicken,” her mother called. “He’s welcome to come over.”

Jilly waved a hand. Mom was still trying to reel Zak in with food, but at the moment, her next-door neighbor was in over his head. Impromptu invitations between his house and hers were likely a thing of the past.

The notion settled in her stomach, heavy and dismaying. Zak was married. She’d struggled to sleep last night, had finally gotten up to read her Bible and pray. Considering her prayers were selfish pleas for God to erase the problem, she’d felt worse instead of better.

“Hi, kids,” she said as she stepped onto the paved street.

Brandon, the older boy, gave a soup can one more kick before looking at her. The younger boy ignored her to chase the bouncing, rattling can. The little girl—Bella, wasn’t it?—had plopped down in the middle of the street to play with rocks. Her face was dirty and if her hair had been brushed this morning, Jilly couldn’t tell.

Over the clatter of can against concrete, she asked, “Why don’t you play in the backyard?”

Brandon shrugged. “This is better.”

She tried a different approach. “Does your mother know you’re out here?”

Brandon’s face was a mix of disdain and annoyance. “She don’t care. She’s too busy dying.”

Said with such nonchalance, the phrase was obscene. “She does care, Brandon. She’s just too sick right now.”

His face tightened. “She has cancer.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She wanted to put a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder but refrained. He didn’t seem the snuggly type.

Jake sailed the bent can toward his brother. Jilly stepped in the path to intercept.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” She scooped up the can and the little girl. This kid business was harder than she’d imagined, but she knew a thing or two about hurt things. For certain, these kids were hurting. “Come on, let’s go inside for a minute.”

Brandon shrugged. “Bella’s wet anyway.”

Jilly had already figured that one out. The evidence sank warm and wet against the side of the peach floral dress she’d bought for Easter. “How old is she?”

“I tree.” Bella shoved three short fingers into Jilly’s face.

Wasn’t three old enough to be out of diapers? She’d have to ask her mom or sister. With two kids, Amber would be up to the minute on toddler parenting.

She gently pushed Bella’s fingers out of her face and led the way to Zak’s front door. Brandon and Jake went right in. Jilly knocked anyway.

A harried-looking Zak appeared. He pushed the door open. “Hey.”

“The troops were on the loose,” she said. “In the street. Mom’s having apoplexy.”

“Sorry. They’re like ants, always moving.”

Jilly put Bella down. “She’s wet.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not in my job description.”

“If you’ll show me where her diapers are, I’ll do it.”

“Could you?” His relief was evident.

“It’s not rocket science, Zak. A diaper’s a piece of plastic with sticky tabs. All you have to do is make sure you get the legs tight enough.” She made a face. “I learned that the hard way with Amber’s boys.”

A noise erupted in the kitchen. Zak whirled like a cornered tiger. With Jilly following, he loped into the kitchen.

“Put those down,” Zak demanded.

Jake howled like a wolf while he and Brandon wrestled over Zak’s Chips Ahoy! They paid no attention to the two adults in the room.

The yowling escalated.

Zak collared them both, one in each strong hand. The arm muscles he’d developed for baseball easily overcame the small boys. “Cut it out, you two. Your mother is asleep.”

Brandon dropped the bag. Zak dropped the boys in favor of the cookies. “If you’re hungry say so, but don’t fight. Just tell me.”

Both boys looked stricken. The youngest popped a thumb into his mouth.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.” Jilly looked around the messy kitchen. Zak was a neat freak, compliments of his firefighter job. A place for everything and everything in its place. Not so today.

Zak groaned. “Bases loaded. No outs. A-Rod at the plate and my arm is spaghetti.”

If she hadn’t known Zak for years, she’d be lost in his baseball jargon. But she heard him loud and clear. He was in over his head.

She went to the fridge and pulled out baloney and cheese. “You, kids, go wash your faces and hands. Sandwiches coming up.”

The pair dashed out of the kitchen.

Zak wilted against the refrigerator door. “They’re here three hours and I’m out of my mind. I can’t do this.”

She didn’t bother to remind him that he already had. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m looking for alternatives—anything—but I can’t do much until Tuesday. I’m on twenty-four-hour shift tomorrow. Maybe I can make some calls then if we’re not too busy. Until then…” He shrugged.

She resisted the urge to offer assistance. This was Zak’s situation. He should make the calls. He should decide how all this would play out. “How’s Crystal?”

“She’s been asleep since they got here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Those kids are wild. They’re into everything and they don’t bother to ask permission. They do what they want.”

“I guess she hasn’t had the energy for discipline.”

He slid into a chair and banged his head on the tabletop. “I told you I’m not cut out for this.”

Bella, sitting on the floor next to the back door, giggled. Jilly patted his back, feeling sorry for him while wondering if she should even be here with a man whose wife was in the other room. Something about that seemed inappropriate. “Mom’s making dinner. I have to go.”

He lifted his face, looking really pitiful. “Can I go with you?”

Two days ago, she’d have loved that question and would have jumped at the chance to spend Sunday afternoon with him. “Sure.”

“Can’t. I have to figure out why my life exploded and how to get it back.”

She’d known he would say that. Crystal’s arrival had changed everything, from Zak’s lifestyle to the dynamics of a neighborly friendship.

Finished making three sandwiches, Jilly wiped her hands and started toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to change Bella?” Zak’s expression was desperate.

“Oh, right. Come here, precious,” she said, taking the girl by the hand. Bella’s diaper, the plastic dirty from sitting outside, sagged. “Where are the clean diapers?”

He pointed to a plastic shopping bag on the end of the counter. “I made a diaper run this morning. Crystal ran out.”

Jilly found the package and worked her magic, thankful for the times she’d babysat her nephews. “We sometimes put diapers on dogs at the clinic. They work just like this. We use them on squirrels and raccoons, too. Little tiny ones.”

Her effort to make him smile failed.

She stood the child on her feet and discarded the soiled diaper. “Don’t you have a game today?”

He jerked away from the table, eyes wide. “What time is it?”

“Mom and I stopped at the store after church, so it’s probably close to two.”

Zak yanked his cell phone from a pocket and glared at the screen. “Oh, man, look at that. Six messages.”

Jilly came up behind his chair and leaned in. “Why didn’t you hear them ring?”

“Too much going on, I guess.” He whopped his forehead with the phone. “How could I forget? This was an important game. I was supposed to pitch.”

“Is it too late?”

“Yeah, it’s too late. Look at that. Smitty texted me six times.”

Jilly read aloud as he scrolled through the texts, one at a time. “Where are you, dude? You’re pitching. Are you coming? We’re doomed. Taylor’s pitching. Batter up. Dude, where are you?”