Bridgette
Bridgette lay beside Kyle, staring up at the ceiling. It was early in the morning, and daylight was just beginning to filter through the window.
She’d slept beside him last night, even if she hadn’t slept with him. There was a second bedroom and she’d initially settled herself there after a goodnight phone call to Gabby. But it had felt too cold and empty beneath the sheets, especially when she knew he was just down the hall.
She’d eventually crawled into bed beside him. He didn’t say a word, and she didn’t either. It was nicer that way—less complicated. She didn’t have to tell him what it meant, or rationalize to herself why she felt better under the covers next to him. It simply was.
Kyle was still sleeping next to her. He lay on his back, his chest half-exposed, head turned toward her on the pillow. His mouth hung open, and he snored softly. She would shift her eyes back to watch him on occasion, letting herself become mesmerized by the easy rise and fall of his chest.
If only they could stay like that forever. Nothing behind them, nothing in front of them. Just their two bodies sharing heat beneath the covers. It would be perfect.
But she couldn’t stay there beside him. Not now. She’d woken up hours ago, inundated by thoughts of what she should do about everything.
She’d promised Kyle she wouldn’t go back to the bakery, and at the time she’d meant it. She’d believed in the danger he’d described, and she had no desire to risk her life for a few cupcakes, as he’d put it. She’d seen what those goons had done to her basement. The memory of the blood on the walls was still vivid in her mind.
But that didn’t mean that she could just sit by idly, either. She’d built that place from the ground up. She’d first moved into the building when it had been just a vacated space that had been on the market too long—busted windows and graffiti tags on its brick front.
She’d put the elbow grease into it, doing most of the dirty work herself. She’d given up weekends while working her other jobs in order to rip up the rotting flooring, repaint the walls, scrub the interior.
Even all the equipment inside the bakery was uniquely hers. She’d spent hours shopping on eBay and Craigslist to find used models and save money wherever she could. Every dime she didn’t waste could be reinvested in other crucial elements—décor, advertising, extra ingredients for experimentation.
She wasn’t going to let her business sink just because there was a chance of danger. She hadn’t let those creeps scare her off before, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to now.
But if something happened to me, she argued with herself, what would Gabby do? How could she forgive herself if her recklessness endangered her daughter’s life, or even made it more difficult?
She pivoted between staying and going for too long, until the cold of the night began to creep away and the new day started to filter in. Staying seemed reasonable, but going seemed essential, and she could not for the life of her make a decision.
After much internal deliberation, she arrived at the decision that she could at the very least scope the place out. If everything seemed fine, then she could go into work and start sorting through the debris of her storeroom. If not, then she could just calmly turn around, sneak back into the house, and slip back into bed before Kyle had noticed she had gone. It was perfectly sensible.
She slid out from beneath the covers carefully. Kyle used to be a heavy sleeper, but she didn’t know if that had changed over the years, especially after going on the run from Martin. She swung her feet as quietly as possible over the side of the mattress and placed them on the floor, sneaking a glance back at him to see if he’d noticed.
He was still out cold, snoring quietly. She heaved a small sigh of relief.
She stood up slowly, carefully shifting her weight forward to minimize the decompression of the mattress. Then she backed away, feeling each step out with her foot behind her to be sure that nothing was blocking her path.
As she watched Kyle, she felt the urge rise in her to plant a kiss on his cheek. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and there was a thin smattering of stubble ringing his mouth. She wanted to feel the tickle of those prickly ends against her cheek, to move her lips down to his mouth and taste the sleepiness in him.
He had always been the one to wake her that way on the weekends. She’d loved to sleep in, but he’d come to at seven every day, operating by an internal clock. He’d always said the best part of the day was watching her wake up slowly, knowing he was the first thing she felt and saw that day.
Now she had the chance to turn the tables, to see if he was onto something there.
You can’t, she reminded herself. There were a thousand reasons she couldn’t. She needed to check on the bakery, for one. He would never let her. And that wasn’t even getting into the can of worms she’d open up by that little gesture.
They couldn’t be together—she had to keep reminding herself of that. No matter how badly her body wanted it.
She forced herself to keep moving backwards toward the door. She had to get through this crisis first, she told herself. Once Kyle had straightened things out and taken care of the drug lord and his men—assuming he could do that—then she could step back and reevaluate. Saying no now wasn’t saying no for forever.
She made it to the hall without waking Kyle. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief, but kept moving. She had to get dressed and get herself put together quickly. There was no telling when Kyle would wake up.
She managed to get herself ready fairly quickly. Her hair was a little wild when she glanced at it in the mirror, but she decided it would have to do and hustled to grab her things and get out the door.
# # #
Thankfully the nearest bus stop was just a block and a half away. She kicked herself for agreeing so easily to riding with Kyle back to his place. He’d insisted it wasn’t to keep her trapped, just to keep her from running off on him. She’d disliked it at the time, but she’d told herself she was resourceful enough to work around it.
But now the inconvenience was adding unnecessary time to her trip. She’d have to catch the bus to the stop closest to the lot where she’d parked her car, then drive from there to the bakery. She would definitely be opening late that day.
She reached the bus stop quickly, and luckily the next bus wasn’t too far out. It was just a short loop around the town and neighboring residential areas, and usually there wasn’t much of a wait time, but every second counted now. Kyle wasn’t going to be happy if he woke up to find her gone.
She couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting nervously as she rode the bus. It was a short enough ride, less than ten minutes, but it felt like forever, especially since sitting alone in the near-empty interior left her too much room to think.
She started to question her decision again. So what if she fell a little behind in her business. She could always bust her ass to make up for it, right? One day wasn’t going to sink her. She was taking unnecessary risks here.
But there were too many dangers of getting just a little behind. She knew that too well. Desperation didn’t look good on anyone, especially her—a single mom in a small town. And being in a difficult position financially meant she would have less control over her life.
She needed her bakery to be a success because it was the only way she could keep control over her life and her daughter’s.
Bridgette kept repeating that to herself like a mantra all the way to the bakery. She chanted it to herself as she descended down the bus, as she crossed the parking lot to her car, as she drove down the lonely streets toward the downtown area.
She rolled up onto the street slowly, stopping at the four-way kitty-corner to the bakery and scanning the empty sidewalk for any sign of movement. There was no one she could see. It was too early in the morning for anyone to be out and about. Still, she wasn’t going to jump to any conclusions just yet. She was taking a calculated risk here, not blindly jeopardizing her welfare.
She cruised slowly down the length of the street, shifting her gaze from the left to the right. Everything from the streets to the narrow alleyways between building groups was deserted. She turned around, came back up the street, and paused before her storefront.
It was still dark inside, and empty as far as she could tell. She peered inside for a while, idling in the street since she wasn’t holding up traffic. Even after ten minutes had passed, she couldn’t detect anyone inside. Satisfied, she drove around to the community lot where she normally parked.
There were a few familiar cars there, she noted, but nothing out of the ordinary. She did a few loops around the lot, senses on high alert, but even after that everything seemed kosher. So she parked up in the top left corner, her usual spot, gathered up her purse, and slid out of the car, locking it behind her.
She kept her eyes wide and her ears open as she walked her usual route to the bakery. Once she thought she heard the scuffle of footsteps behind her, but when she whipped around it turned out to only be a fat city squirrel scampering over the pavement, searching for abandoned scraps. She kept one hand on her phone and the other laced through her keys, though, just in case.
She reached the front of the bakery. Even though she’d scoped it out just minutes ago, she couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by anxiety as she approached. Being sheltered in her own car, where she could just floor it and speed off at the drop of a hat, was a different feeling from standing out in the open like this, unarmed and completely vulnerable. If anything happened now, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. She froze before the door, paralyzed by thoughts of what might happen to her.
They’ve already broken the cupboards, her fearful inner voice reasoned. If they come back, your bones are next.
No. Bridgette shook herself out of that spiraling pattern, knowing it was only the beginning of a slippery slope. There had always been uncertainties in her life, and she knew from experience that giving in to the what-ifs meant debilitating paralysis. She was stronger than that.
I’ve taken precautions, she told herself. She’d been smart about this. She had nothing to fear but the shadows conjured by her own mind.
She unlocked the door and walked into her business, assuming a stride that looked a lot more confident than she felt.
She had work to do.