A hard wind lashed over the edge of the bridge, causing Tanya to lurch unsteadily against the guard rail. The metal bar was only waist-high, leaving an empty void beyond that threatened to pull her in. Her fingers clutched at the cold metal as she stared, mesmerized, at the swirling waters far, far below. A fall from this height would kill a man. She knew.
One year. Had it only been one year? It seemed an eternity. Month after month of stuffy courtrooms, sour judges, unsympathetic lawyers. That one long week in jail.
A car was approaching. Tanya turned her head to watch it, the stiff wind whipping her hair across her eyes.
It was a red car. Greg’s truck had been red. The car slowed down as it neared her, passenger and driver staring worriedly out. Eyes raked over her, taking in her vacant gaze. The passenger said something, and the driver nodded. She pulled out a cell phone as the car sped up, buffeting Tanya as it passed.
They would call the police—she knew they would. A wild woman on the edge of the bridge, they would report. And then the police would come. The police—what had they given her but grief? That day, one year ago, they’d pulled up behind Greg’s truck, parked on this bridge. By then it was too late. They hadn’t gotten there in time to do anything, except make everything worse.
Greg’s truck. She remembered the first day she’d seen it. And him. It pulled up beside her, he’d leaned out the window, asked if she needed help. She did. That was the beginning; last year was the end.
Some of the newspapers said she was after his insurance. Nonsense. Even if that were true, she wouldn’t have been able to get it.
Half of the jury scorned her, half was sympathetic. It made no difference. Greg was gone.
A new, fresh breeze from the river carried damp droplets, soaking Tanyas’ clothes and making her shiver. But she didn’t move.
She could still see every detail. Greg’s plaid shirt, soft from many washings. His truck, parked just behind her; him, right in front of her. Her white hands, reaching towards him. His unchecked plunge to the icy waters below. A faint splash, and the current carried him off. No time even to resurface before he was gone.
Then the police, and the flashing, unendingly flashing lights. Round and round and round and round; flashing colors reflected off white hoods.
And the boat that dragged the river. It took two hours to find him. His shirt had been ripped. She remembered the feel of that soft flannel. She could remember rubbing her cheek against it, as his arms encompassed her. She could remember him.
Tanya was pulled back to the present by the scream of a siren. They were coming now, one from either side of the bridge. She turned her head from side to side, studying them. She knew what the men in the cars would say. Not your fault. Jury acquitted you. Go back home. Come, sit in the car, we’ll take you home. That’s right.
Well, it wasn’t right. Tanya knew. They didn’t. Tanya knew; Greg knew. But Greg was dead.
Tanya lifted her knee to the edge of the rail. One leg over. Her foot barely had room to balance on the ledge. Straddling the rail, holding the cool metal in her hands, she looked back at the police cars. One had stopped. Doors wide open, the men from inside ran towards her. One with his gun out, another shouting soundless words. She looked at him. Looked in his eyes. He didn’t know.
She pulled the other leg over, let go of the rail. For a moment she stood, yards away from the policeman. He was still saying things. She couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter. He didn’t know. Tanya leaned backwards, into blue space. Her feet tilted back, past the concrete.
He didn’t know. No one knew.
She knew.
All she could see was sky, blue sky. Was this what Greg saw?
Greg knew.
She’d pushed Greg.