I began filling out the paperwork while Bridge sat bent into herself on the chair. Halfway through the tedious process, I looked over again to check on her and looking at her hair triggered something. For some reason, I was bombarded with memories of when she was little. She had this ridiculously curly hair, and it was always wild about her face, regardless how hard my mom tried to contain it. She’d put it up in some sort of clip but sure enough, five minutes later, it was a blonde halo around her face.
I remembered her being four or five, her melodious little squeaky voice with a lisp inviting everyone she could within a five-mile radius, stranger or not, to her ballet recital. She wore her leotard, ballet flats and tutu every single day for two weeks, practicing every opportunity she could, dancing to imaginary music throughout the whole house. I thought she was so goofy in the head but, and I’d never had said it out loud, especially at the time, I thought she was adorable.
I remembered summers when I felt too cool to stay at home. I’d leave around ten in the morning, head out to the pool to say goodbye to my mom. Bridge would’ve already been swimming two hours by then, a two-toned, thin, little nothing of a kid constantly yelling out for us to watch her make the same dive over and over again. Her lisp gone by then but her falsetto “please, Spence” got me every time. “Fine, Bridge,” I’d tell her. She’d dive in and come up; her eyes round with anticipation. “Amazing, Bridge!” my mom and I would always say, clapping.
I remembered skinned knees, birthday parties, school plays. I remembered when boys first started noticing her and that protective part of me warning off every one of my friends. I remembered the first time she came to the Holes. I marched her off to my car and drug her ass home. She was furious at me, yelling the entire way, but I’d be damned before she attended one of those things. Never mind the fact I went to them every weekend. But then I went off to college and there was nothing I could do to stop her. And then there was this. This awful, shitty thing my dad was doing to her...I was doing to her.
“Shit,” I said under my breath, crumpling up the paper I was filling out then throwing the freaking clipboard onto the seat next to me.
“What’s wrong?” Bridge asked.
“Let’s go,” I said, standing up.
“What-what do you mean?” she asked, confused.
“I mean, let’s get the f**k out of here.”
“No, we stay.”
“No, we go. You don’t want to do this anyway.”
“It doesn’t matter. Dad will—”
“Dad won’t do shit,” I told her.
“How’re you gonna stop him?”
“I just am, okay? Let’s go.”
She stood up hesitantly. “What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’ll figure it out.”
I walked to the door but stopped when I noticed the young girl and her douche boyfriend. I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet, grabbing every bit of cash I had.
“Seven hundred fifty dollars,” I told the girl, “all yours if you leave this dickhead right now, go home and tell your folks. I can even give you a ride home if you want.”
“I’ll take it,” she said without hesitation, standing.
“Wait a minute!” the jackass said, moving to stand himself.
I glared at him. “Sit your ass down,” I ordered in my most fierce voice.
The guy backed down.
“Need a ride?”
She looked over at Bridge and Bridge nodded. “Yes, please.”
When we reached the car, her eyes widened.
“Where’d you get a car like that?”
“My dad bought it for me,” I told her, cringing at how obnoxious that sounded.
“Damn, he buy one for you too?” she asked Bridge. “You’re brother and sister, right?”
“Yeah,” Bridge admitted, buckling herself in.
“You guys look exactly alike.”
Bridge and I smiled at each other.
The girl’s name was Valerie; she was a junior in high school and had only been dating the guy at the clinic for three months. He told her he’d loved her, told her he would “take care of her,” that if she got rid of the baby, he would marry her later. I told her he was lying and an ass**le. She asked how I knew that, and I told her, “I’m a guy, Valerie.” She took that as explanation enough, or maybe I’d confirmed what she already knew.
Valerie’s house was tiny and in a bad neighborhood but was clean with a decent car in the drive. Her parents obviously didn’t have a lot of money, but from what I could tell, they worked hard for what they did have.
When we pulled in front, her dad was leaving for work, I assumed. I got out of my side of the car and pulled back my seat to let her out.
“Valerie?” her dad asked, hesitation in his voice. “Who’s this?”
“Just a friend,” she said. “Can you come in for a second?”
“I’m late for work already.”
“Please, it’s important,” she said.
“Fine,” he said, heading back up their wood porch.
Valerie began to follow.
“Wait!” Bridge got out of the car and ran up to Valerie, throwing her arms around her. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. Valerie let a tear slip and nodded her head before climbing the steps herself.
We both got back into the car and drove a little bit in silence before Bridge started to break down. She faced the window, but I could see her pained expression through the reflection.