They were almost home—home-free, more like—nearing the Memorial Bridge that led into the city of Beckett.

Eric Long was going out tonight and was excited. These days, he rarely had a night out with his circle of friends. Okay, it wasn’t a circle at all...well, not a big circle, anyway. There was Ian, who represented the only childhood friend he managed to actively stay in touch with as life played its hand. Then there was Carter, a closer friend to Ian, but Eric had known him for nearly five years, so he considered him a suitable addition to the mix. Finally, there was Naja, the lone female who became acquainted with the men as their faithful server at The Yard. The Yard was their favorite pub to hang at to get a bite and a beer. Naja, having bonded with them over several months in bouts of quick-witted conversation, would join them on the nights when she wasn’t serving. Eric, then a married man, played his hand cautiously with Naja, whereas his wife, Sarah, was concerned.

It was after the third time Naja crashed their guys’ night out that Eric decided to tell Sarah about the free-spirited server-turned-friend.

“I thought it was guys’ night out?” she asked. “Maybe I should start coming then, as long as it’s evolving into a mixed crowd.”

Casually but swiftly, he replied, “She normally serves us.” He did not want to appear defensive. “It has only been a couple of times that she has actually joined us, and she has all but invited herself on each occasion.” This was the truth. Eric always considered Naja to be a bit forward in that regard. “And besides, I think she’s...”

Sarah was sitting poised at the vanity performing her bedtime rituals. She froze and peered at him through the reflection of the mirror. “What?”

He strode up behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

She relaxed herself in his hands. “Is this where you strangle me to be with this new girlfriend of yours?”

He rubbed her shoulders lightly. While doing so, he laughed. Sarah always did have an amazing sense of humor. Even at the height of the illness that would ultimately claim her life. “No, what I was going to say is, I think she has a girlfriend.”

She resumed taking down her hair while Eric caressed her shoulders. “So, she is a lesbian. Convenient. For you.”

He laughed again, a little more uncomfortably. “Well, I never wanted to dig too deep, but she talks about her partner all the time. That’s what she calls this person, anyway. Not her husband or wife, girlfriend or boyfriend. Just, her ‘partner.’”

“Maybe it’s a business partner,” she said, closing her eyes to his touch.

Eric considered this for half a second then shook his head. “No. You don’t live with or walk a dog with your business partner. Also, I wouldn’t think a man would be too happy if his girlfriend were going out to meet a bunch of guys regularly.”

“Funny, but you expect me to be fine with you allowing a girl into your all-boys club?” she said. Not to give cause to an argument, but to make a point. He wondered had she not been humbled through her experiences battling cancer if she may have caused more of a stink over the situation. “Maybe her significant other is just

open-minded. I don’t think it is fair to assume that her girlfriend, if that’s what she has, couldn’t be jealous of a relationship she has with a guy. Even if it weren’t sexual. Betrayal can be as much emotional as it can be physical.”

“I suppose,” Eric said. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous of Carter and Ian?” He wasn’t serious, of course, but a bit of sarcasm never hurt.

She smiled, her thin, pink lips stretching across her soft face. “Only if you start rubbing their shoulders while they are getting ready for bed. Carter might not mind, but Ian—”

Eric’s face contorted. “No chance of that happening anytime soon. You think Carter is gay?”

Sarah shrugged. “Well, statistically one out of three...You aren’t. Ian sure as hell isn’t, and Carter, well, I know he is married, but he and Trish don’t seem very compatible, and he comes off sometimes as being...uncomfortable in his own skin.”

“Trish is just a bitch. She’s made him afraid of his own shadow.”

“That’s true, she kind of is,” Sarah laughed. “So, what is her significant other’s name?” she asked, shifting back to the original storyline of their conversation. Shift. “Haven’t you even asked her that?”

There came a pause in the shoulder rubbing. “She never really said, actually.”

“Well for a new girlfriend you certainly don’t know a hell of a lot about her.”

“Ow, burned,” he said. “Why don’t you stalk her on Facebook like you do everyone else?”

“I don’t stalk people on social media,” she laughed. She picked up her brush as Eric continued to rub

her shoulders. “Well, maybe I’ll have to go once just to meet this Naja. Show her what she is competing against.”

Indeed, Sarah was beautiful. Three kids had not robbed her of her figure, though chemotherapy and radiation had done its work. She lost her long, dark, silky hair. Her facial features had become more angular, but she remained committed to keeping up appearances with a wig, make-up, nail polish, and magically scented perfumes.

“Then again,” she continued. “We would need someone to watch these boys for once.” She put her brush on the vanity. “Or, how about I go out with your friends one night and you stay here and mind this herd of children.”

He released his hands from her shoulders and turned away from her. “I can’t picture that night out in my head.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Besides, you know I’ll tame this brood any time you want to go out with your friends. The boys would love a night of wrestling, pizza, and PG-13-rated movies with Dad.”

She spun around on her chair to face him. “I don’t doubt that for a second, but I don’t have any friends.”

Not as many as she used to, anyway. Some of her friends got skittish after she revealed her cancer diagnosis. She found little time for the others as she underwent treatment and prioritized the boys over anything else, thinking that she may only have a limited time left to be with them. On Facebook, she had hundreds of friends, but who were they really? People she only barely knew or once knew.

Eric allowed that feeling of guilt to creep in, as if going out once a week with the guys should be something for which he felt regret. “Everyone needs an escape, Sarah. Even you. Speaking of which, we should plan something for just the two of us next week. We could hire a sitter. Or appeal to Ian. You know he loves them.”

She moved gracefully from her vanity to the bed, always light on her feet. She sat down beside him and, as if on instinct, the two let themselves fall back to lie side by side on the edge of the bed. They turned toward one another and held each other’s gaze for several seconds. “If I’m feeling up to it, I’d love that. A date night. Imagine that.”

Eric smiled and they kissed.

Memories. When they are all one has, on some days it’s not enough.

He looked forward to going out with the guys. He never fully appreciated what it was like for Sarah,

spending her full days with three children, never getting a break. He would reflect on this after she died and confess that he had taken advantage of her without realizing it. He could have done more in those days. She never complained. She liked being master and commander of the domestic ship. She managed it well, and it was a source of pride. An inheritance from her mother left her in the unique position to invest and not have to worry about money as she focused on the children. She had always planned to use her communications degree once the kids were older. It would not come to pass.

***

It was dusk, and they were on the last leg of the trip home. They had gone to see Eric’s mother, Grandma Carol, which was often how they spent their time on a Saturday. Three hours round trip. Not so bad if the trip started early enough. Caz had the hardest time getting up early on a Saturday. Thirteen now, and becoming less interested in a trip north on the freeway every other Saturday and more interested in sleeping. Dakota at eight and Sam at six were still big fans of the trek to Grandma’s, which would launch methodically at 9:00 a.m., with breakfast at the local Denny’s at 11:00, and arrival at Grandma’s at 1:00. Regimented.

Sarah had told him to make sure the boys had structure. Routines. Waketime routines for school days. Bedtime routines every night. Stories, teeth brushing, saying goodnight to Mom in heaven, kisses. Love. So much she had to say before that final day. She trusted Eric but knew how challenging it would be for someone who had never parented full-time. What’s more, he would have the added challenge of working all day.

Check the notebook. She had left a notebook behind. She had spent months developing its robust content, even highlighting various words and phrases in neon yellow for emphasis. That notebook was something akin to the pages of directions that she would post on the refrigerator on that rare occasion she left him on his own with the kids to attend a convention out of state when she was dabbling in independent sales.

It was fully detailed and well kept. Not only with specifics about each boy but loads of generalities.

Hug them each once a day. Find time to spend with each individually. Please watch their screen time. Don’t try to toughen them up just because they are boys. She must have read 100 books about raising boys in those last months. She didn’t do it for herself. If they had had any girls, she wouldn’t have had enough time to read everything there was to know.

Eric remembered one of her last days when she was stressing about the boys, he cupped her face in his hand and stared into her eyes. He didn’t say anything, but she understood.

“Pay attention, Dad,” Caz said, observing his father sway to the left. He hit the rumble strip and the car vibrated. Rumble. Rumble. “If you want, I’ll drive,” he added.

Eric smiled. “Nice try, but you still have three years to go, mister.”

“I know how to drive,” said Caz, sure of himself. “Uncle Ian taught me.”

“Driving an ATV is a little different than driving a car,” Eric noted, more focused on the road than he had been a moment ago.

“Still, I would never text and drive like you do,” Caz muttered.

“I do not!” Eric said, full-well knowing he did. “Listen, if you are going to be my co-pilot on these trips, then I’ll have to insist you not make false accusations about my driving habits, or I’ll send you back to steerage with your brothers.”

It was only in the last six months that Caz had gotten permission to sit in the front. Even though state law permitted it when he turned thirteen, Eric took a few extra months for good measure. Probably thinking about what Sarah would have said: Make sure they wear their seatbelts. “Make sure” highlighted in yellow. If it could be thought of, she had mentioned it in her notebook.

“If it weren’t for me sitting here just now,” Caz said, “you would have crashed. You’re always zoning out.”

Eric considered this. Caz being here was like having Sarah in the passenger seat. She didn’t like giving up the reins of the vehicle, but sometimes she relented. Eric never could decide which was worse, listening to her complain about how she always had to drive or taking the wheel and listening to her comment on his driving aptitude.

“Good thing the human brain is equipped to handle zoning out during routine situations,” he said. “When I’m behind this wheel, quite naturally the brain engages the auto pilot.”

Caz offered nothing in return. Eric turned his head to him. “But it is always helpful to have a good co- pilot.”

Caz barely registered his father’s affections, so intent were his eyes on the road. “Watch where you’re going!”

Sarah. All Sarah. He spied the back seat and noted Sam was fast asleep, slumped over in his booster seat. Dakota was sitting contentedly, pulling the gum out of his mouth in a long stretchy band.

“Put the gum in your mouth, Dee,” Eric scolded, eyeing him through the rearview mirror. “It’ll end up all over the car seat like last time. Or worse yet, in your hair.” Dakota’s blond locks, which laid halfway down his back, were vulnerable to all sorts of attacks. Especially gum. After gum, the number one threat was Caz, dragging him around the house after grabbing a clump, occasionally because he was angry and other times to tease him. Dakota would laugh sometimes and cry others. Girly boy, Girly boy. Caz’s favorite taunt. Sam would chime in. Gooly Boy. He was working on his speech. Dakota had a thick skin about his hair. He had long hair from day one, and Sarah was fanatical about it, never letting anyone near it with a pair of scissors. It’s you, she would say. My Dakota.

Dakota shoved the gum back in his mouth. “Why can’t Uncle Ian watch us tonight?” he whined. “Because Uncle Ian and I will be together,” Eric said. “Without kids! Ha ha.”

“I like Uncle Ian better because we can have armpit farting contests,” Dakota said. “And he lets us stay

up late. Chelsea makes us go to bed at eight o’clock just so she can go talk to her icky boyfriend on the phone.” “When can I start babysitting them?” Caz asked. “It’s kind of weird at my age to have a babysitter that

is barely older than me. Don’t you think?”

Eric huffed. “She has ten years on you, Caz. Maybe when you stop dragging Dee around the house by

his hair, I can trust you to watch them. Besides, I think it’s on page ten of your mom’s notebook: Don’t leave the

boys alone until they are eighteen.” ‘Don’t’ being the word of choice for highlighting. Of course, Eric exaggerated that a bit. She may have said thirteen. He couldn’t recall.

“It is not,” he said. “Anyway, I wouldn’t beat him up if he wasn’t so annoying. He whips his hair in my face whenever he gets near me. It’s obnoxious.”

As soon as Caz made mention of Dakota’s free flying hair, he turned to Caz. “Put it on, Caz,” he smiled devilishly.

“No, Dad, I’m not going to put on that stupid song and watch him fling his big head around in circles.”

“Do it, Caz, or I’m going to do it myself and I know you don’t want me using my phone behind the wheel.”

Caz huffed. He grabbed his father’s phone, and to the frenetic beat of contemporary pop, Dakota shook his head back and forth like a crazed punk rocker. He had his hair flinging in every direction in a dizzying fashion. Caz tried to resist but turned around to witness the wild spectacle.

Everyone laughed, including Caz. Sammy woke up and rubbed his eyes. “It’s too loud,” he said tiredly.

It probably was too loud, but these moments...take them away and what would there be? It took fourteen months of grieving, but they had finally made it through some of the darkest parts of losing Sarah. A wife. A mother. Not that you could ever get beyond a tragedy of that sort, but with love, along with that structure and routine Sarah so often reminded him of in her final days, they made it a little further each day. To say they were out of the woods with it would be misleading. Maybe they never would be.

“I want to hear Mommy’s songs,” Sammy said impishly from the back as Eric turned the volume down from their previous selection.

His request demanded a few seconds of respectful passivity as they pondered their mother. Sammy was the youngest at four, almost five, when she died, but he held to her memory as well as any of them. He remembered the special pancakes she made for him, how she would bring him to the park, play Candyland with him, give him his bath, but only every other day, and read him his favorite stories. Sarah was a huge fan of children’s literature, and reading to the boys was one her favorite nighttime rituals.

Dakota was fond of stories with dragons and knights. Sam enjoyed fairy tales, while Caz loved stories with animals—dogs, cats, tigers, birds, horses, and anything else living under the sun and moon. He left apples outside the house for the deer during winter, once nursed a blue jay back to health from a broken wing, and bonded with a tame squirrel that would wait for him to bring him food. Sarah indulged him, of course, while Eric tended to pay less attention. He only remembered wondering whenever he saw Caz so tenderly handling animals, why he couldn’t more consistently treat his brothers as fondly.

Before any of them could say another word, Eric had Caz activate Sarah’s playlist on the phone. He had made the playlist after she died. It was all of her favorites. She used to sing to each one, out of tune. The kids, especially Sam, listened to them frequently, and while they played, nobody made a sound. There was one on the list that played at her funeral, though it was not a churchy song. But they weren’t either. They knew God because they knew their mother. They knew each other. They knew love.

“Dad!” Caz shouted, a shriek that brought the peaceful moment to an abrupt end. A large bird swooped down and passed in front of their windshield. It was hard to tell what kind of bird it was that had been so brazen, but it nearly collided with their car and had vanished into the wind thereafter.

No sooner had the bird disappeared than a stranger appeared from the side of the road, blocking their path as they proceeded toward the Memorial Bridge that stretched over the King River into their home city of Beckett. The bridge was about a quarter mile long and was one of Beckett’s most popular crossing points to the highway.

The stranger was waving his hands wildly, forcing Eric to slow down. Caz lurched forward in his seat while the other boys tried to peer around Caz and Eric from the back.

“What the hell is he doing?” Eric asked, hesitant to indulge this frantic stranger, his eyes wide, sweat dripping from his face.

“Don’t stop,” Caz said, always apprehensive of strangers.

“Well, I certainly can’t run him down,” Eric said, stepping softly on the brake. As the car came to a halt, the stranger stepped out of the vehicle’s immediate path and walked to the driver’s-side door.

Eric pressed the button to open the window. It was only halfway down when the stranger started his rant. “Please don’t go any further,” he said. “This bridge is not safe to drive on. It’s going to collapse. I can just sense it.”

Caz turned his head from the man to the bridge, which was about 100 yards in front of them. Eric did as well but was not convinced. “What do you mean it’s going to collapse?”

“You can hear it and see it. Look!” He pointed toward the bridge. “It’s swaying and making terrible noises like grinding metal. Believe me, it’s going to fall.” The stranger peered through the open window at Caz, his eyes bulging. “Thank God I got to you in time.”

Eric was no expert on bridge design but was well aware that bridges were built to sway in order to help prevent them from breaking and snapping. The Memorial Bridge had stood firmly for many years, so he didn’t find it plausible that it would collapse on the very night he was about to cross it. Eric worried the stranger’s efforts could be a trick to lure him out of the car. He thought of the boys.

“Back away from the car, please,” Eric said to the stranger, who willingly complied, his focus more drawn to the bridge.

The stranger didn’t appear threatening. He was nicely dressed in khaki pants and a polo. He was tall and lean, clean, and fit. If Eric passed him on the street under normal circumstances, he would not have raised any red flags. Still, he wasn’t fully convinced that the stranger was in his right mind. He opened his car door and proceeded with caution. He stood, leaning on the open door while trying to sense what was causing the stranger to behave so frantically. He felt the wind whip across his face and chest. It wasn’t as windy up north, oddly, and he hadn’t noticed any winds on the way back down, but he was feeling them now. Nothing too intense, but noticeable. Perhaps a storm was brewing. He never did rely on forecasts, but they were nearing the end of a wet spring with many torrential rainfalls.

As he peered ahead to the bridge, he noticed a car passing over it, its headlights beaming through the gray skies that were quickly turning black.

“Oh my God,” the stranger said, as he too noticed the car coming from the other side. “I could only stop one lane of traffic.” He put his hands on his head. “What a nightmare.”

Eric listened to the stranger but did not respond. Caz popped his door open and stepped out. Sam and Dakota hollered from the back seat, “Let me out! I wanna see.”

Eric ignored them and kept his focus on the bridge. Soon enough, the ugly sounds of churning metal filled the air. Indeed, this bridge seemed to be, all of the sudden, unstable. “Jesus,” was all Eric could utter. He had to admit, the stranger was on to something.

Another car pulled up behind Eric and a woman stepped out. “What’s going on?”

Eric did not divert his attention from the bridge. He kept his eye on the vehicle making its way across. “God, step on it,” he muttered.

“Daaaaad,” said Sam from his booster seat. Dakota had undone his seatbelt and got out of the car, stepping onto the double yellow line.

“What’s going on?” Dakota asked.

Eric turned toward his middle son. “What are you doing, Dee? Get back in the car. We’re in the middle of the road.”

Dakota tossed up his arms with a huff and headed back to the car.

The creaking and twisting of metal called Eric’s attention away from Dakota and back to the bridge just as the car coming from the other side neared the end of the stretch. The driver was moving fast, clearly concerned about getting off as quickly as possible. He must have been aware that something was not right. Eric thought for sure the driver was going to make it, but then an ominous sound filled the air as the unthinkable occurred. He never dreamed that they would again witness anything as horrific as the passing of their mother in their young lives, but that idea was proved false as the Memorial Bridge gave way before their eyes.

Time froze as the metal and concrete composing the bridge’s superstructure collapsed. It took with it the vehicle whose driver was desperately trying to make it across. The rumble of the concrete collapsing into the river filled the air. Caz and Dakota covered their ears instinctively and winced with nearly the same distorted faces.

The woman in the car behind Eric, whom he had not yet even glanced at, began screaming while he, with his hand cupped over his mouth, tried to register what he had witnessed. He could have been on the bridge with his boys when it collapsed had it not been for this...stranger. Where did he even come from? Eric scanned the immediate area for a vehicle that the man might have been driving but he saw nothing.

“Whoa,” Dakota said.

Eric took care to see that his children were safe as he turned away from the bridge. Caz and Dakota stood solemnly at either side of the car while Sam remained affixed to his booster chair in the back seat.

“Oh my God, boys,” Eric said, unnerved. “Get back in the car. Don’t look.”

“It’s kind of too late, Dad,” Caz said.

No doubt it was too late. Not only had the boys seen the bridge collapse, but it was the same bridge he

had traveled across with them hundreds of times since as far back as he could remember. Then there was the car that went down with it. One life or more no doubt lost in that instant, and all of his boys stood witness to it. Emotions swirled through his body, from sympathy for the driver on the bridge to empathy for his boys having seen it.

“Come here,” he said. The two boys ran to him and the three embraced. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. I’m so sorry.”

He had nearly forgotten about Sam who was still in his car seat, likely wondering what was happening. He broke from the two older boys and popped his head into the car. He sighed in relief to see Sam sitting there, smiling. “What happened, Daddy?” he asked. “I heard a noise.”

“That was scary, wasn’t it?” Eric cleared his throat, mastering the kind of tone and language one needed to effectively communicate with young children. “It’s okay. We’re all okay.”

Sam rubbed his eyes. “Can we go home?” he asked, his pudgy little hands folded over his crotch. “I gotta pee.”

“I’ll help you out and you can pee next to the car,” Eric said.

“Ewww,” Sam uttered. “In front of everyone?”

“Sam, it’s dark. Nobody will see you. We’re kind of stuck here, buddy, and I don’t know how long

we’ll be here for.” Eric thought of his guys’ night out. He would have to notify his friends. At least he was safe. They were all safe.

As Sam finished his bathroom break alongside the car, Eric heard the whining sounds of sirens on the other side of the bridge. Red and blue strobe lights lit up the area across the way. Within minutes, caravans of police, emergency vehicles, and media crews flooded their side as well. Eric waited patiently as the action unfolded. He had never been a witness to an accident before, so he wasn’t aware of the protocol. Should he stay? Could he leave? Shift. He knew he wanted to leave.

The stranger who had stopped his car approached Eric.

“Thank God your family is okay,” he said. “I knew it. I knew it.” The stranger stomped his foot. He was frustrated, not proud, but spoke with confidence as if having his suspicions validated cleared his name. His fear did not stop him from acting, like it would have for so many other people. To do what he did took courage. It required a shift.

Later that night as Eric attempted to sleep, he couldn’t recall what that stranger had even looked like. Nor did he know that this man’s intervention was more than happenstance. But indeed, it was only the beginning of a new chapter of their lives.