Mike gently pushed her down. “Lie still. The
ambulance is here.” She ceased struggling and began to
cry. Her wrenching sobs stabbed him deep. He knew all
too well the pain of losing a loved one.
Two EMTs rushed toward them carrying a stretcher.
“Is she conscious?”
“Awake and crying. I think she’s fine, but she should
be checked out.”
Cynthia grasped his arm. “No hospital. Please, Mike.
Don’t leave me.”
Mike tried to break eye contact and failed. Against
his better judgment he said, “I’ll follow the ambulance to
the hospital. We’ll see what the doctor has to say. If he
says you’re okay to leave, I’ll take you home.”
Her gaze never left him when the EMTs lifted her
onto the stretcher and pushed it into the ambulance. It
drove off, siren blaring. Mike tossed the wool blanket into
the backseat and drove to the picnic area ahead where
Cynthia had parked. He put the Jeep in neutral, hit the
emergency brake and let the engine idle.
She drove a fairly new pickup truck. A brown suede
purse lay on the seat; the keys dangled from the ignition.
A folded piece of white paper stuck out of her purse.
Mike snatched it and read the one sentence written
in blue ink.
Everything is too much for me.
The words
confirmed Peter’s words. Cynthia Jenks had no intention
of driving her truck home this night.
6
Bridge of Hope
Mike rested his forehead on the window, trying to
control his anger. Mary Jo had fought like a lion to live,
knowing her chances were slim to none. He’d lost his wife
to cancer, and this young woman was anxious to throw
her life away. He slammed a clenched fist against the
door at the unfairness.
7
Pam Champagne
Mike grabbed Cynthia’s purse and keys, and hurried
to his Jeep. Remembrances of Mary Jo drummed in his
head as he maneuvered the roads to Watertown. He tried
and failed to imagine coping with the loss of his wife
without his daughter’s help. For the first year, Katy had
been the reason he’d gotten out of bed in the morning,
when all he’d wanted was to drag the blankets over his
head and sleep forever.
What gave him the right to judge Peter Jenks’ wife?
Get off your high horse, Spencer, and show a little
compassion
. The spirit of a young soldier had asked him
to keep an eye on his despondent widow. He had no choice
but to honor that request.
On his way to the hospital, he called home to tell
Doreen he’d be late. Twenty-five minutes later, he took a
right into the hospital parking lot and chose a space
under a streetlight. A myriad of bugs swarmed the yellow
glow. Once on the pavement, he stretched and took a deep
breath. The cloying honeysuckle scent in the warm
summer night gave him a headache. He glanced at the
full moon and shivered. The “man in the moon” appeared
to have his mouth open in a silent scream. The clouds in
the east were tinged in crimson, foretelling of the coming
dawn.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shook off the
fanciful thoughts and strode toward the emergency room
door. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could
go home. If Cynthia and Peter had lived on base, she
would have to leave at the end of the month. Hopefully,
she had family to support her in the months ahead.
8
Bridge of Hope
Nurses bustled around the emergency room, the
waiting room chairs filled to capacity. People coughed and
sneezed while others bent over clutching their stomachs.
God he hated hospitals. Too many bad memories. After he
scanned the room, he hightailed it to the patient
information window. “Hello. I’m looking for Cynthia
Jenks. She was brought in by ambulance.”
The woman scrutinized him. “Family? If not, I can’t
give you any information. HEPA rules you know.” The
cool dark eyes belied the smile on her face.
Mike rested his hands on the small counter and
leaned his face close to the glass separating them and bit
out each word. “At this moment, I’m the only family she’s
got. Cynthia lost her husband in Iraq. I’m the one who
called 911. She’s my responsibility.”
The woman swallowed a few times, and then dropped
her gaze. She punched a few keys on the computer. She
waved her hand toward a set of double doors on the other
side of the room. “She’s in cubicle three.”
He pivoted without a thank you and headed down the
hall.
He stopped outside the third cubicle and observed the
woman resting in bed. Face as white as the pillowcase,
her hands repeatedly clutched at the blanket.
“I’m Dr. Anson, assigned to Ms. Jenks’ case. And you
are?” With a sigh of resignation, Mike turned to the man
who'd come from behind and now stood next to him.
“Major Spencer.”
“Related to Mrs. Jenks?”
“No. Mrs. Jenks’ husband was killed overseas
recently. She tripped and banged her head on my Jeep. At
the moment, I’m responsible for her welfare.” Careful to
keep his voice soft, he nonetheless slipped into his
authoritative tone.
Dr. Anson’s lips pursed. “Hospital rules—”
“Damn your rules, Doctor. The Army takes care of
their own, and Cynthia Jenks is Army.”
9
Pam Champagne
Expecting dismissal, Mike braced himself for an
argument. Dr. Anson regarded him for a few moments
before nodding. “Shall we go see the patient?”
They walked through the parted curtain and each
moved to opposite sides of the bed.
Dr. Anson leaned over to shine his pencil-like light in
Cynthia’s eyes. “Are you awake?”
She blinked several times and opened her eyes. It
seemed to Mike she had difficulty focusing on the doctor.
“What happened?”
“You’ve had a slight accident. You’re at Memorial
Hospital.”
Her brow puckered and she rubbed her temple. “I
have a terrible headache.”
Dr. Anson shot Mike a glance then shifted his
attention back to Cynthia. “Mrs. Jenks, what were you
doing on the Hope River Bridge at two o’clock in the
morning?”
The rhythm of Cynthia’s breathing increased. Mike
recognized a plea for help in her gaze. A need to protect
her came out of nowhere. “Cynthia and I made plans to
meet there…to discuss her husband’s death. She needed a
friend, and I’m always willing to oblige. Isn’t that right,
Cynthia?”
If the hospital discovered she’d considered suicide,
they'd admit her for psychiatric observation. He saw no
crazed look in her eyes; just a grieving woman with
nowhere to turn. Having been in the same position, he felt
a psychiatric hospital was the last place she needed to be
right now. His empathy stirred long buried fears.
The doctor glanced up from his paperwork and
peered over his glasses. “At two o’clock in the morning?”
Mike shrugged, ignoring the man’s skepticism and
sat on the mattress next to Cynthia. “My shift at the base
isn’t over until one.”
The doctor cleared his throat and returned his
attention to the chart. Mike chanced a peek at Cynthia,
who watched him from the corner of her eye, her arms
10
Bridge of Hope
crossed in a defensive posture.
One of Mary Jo’s sayings popped into his head.
Little
lies never disappear. They only grow into bigger ones.
Mike grabbed the bull by the horns. “What about the
test results, Doctor?”
Dr. Anson stuck his pen in his pocket and focused on
the patient. “A few bumps and contusions. Nothing
serious enough to keep her here. That is, as long as she
won’t be alone for a few days.”
Cynthia struggled to sit up. “I—”
Mike placed his hand on Cynthia’s arm and squeezed
a warning. “She's staying with me.”
The doctor frowned. “I haven’t said I'll release her.”
He squinted at Cynthia, his bushy eyebrows drawing
close together. “Ms. Jenks, I have a few more questions.
Regardless of what Major Spencer has told me, I have
doubts. Standing on the Hope River Bridge in the early
morning hours makes me wonder if you were
contemplating suicide. Unless you can convince me that
wasn’t the case, I can’t in good conscience let you leave
the hospital.”
Cynthia swallowed and almost choked on the lump in
her throat. She blinked to make the sparkles of light
floating in front of her eyes go away. What should she do?
Tell the truth? Or a partial truth? If she told the doctor
her dead husband had convinced her not to jump off the
bridge, he’d lock her up for sure. She now wondered if
she’d have been brave enough to end her life.
Who was this kind man who’d lied for her? He’d said
he was Major Mike Spencer. Not a name she knew.
“I’ve already told you—”
“It’s all right, Mike,” Cynthia interrupted. “Dr. Anson
should know the truth.”
Or at least part of it.
“I was
despondent last night. It’s been difficult accepting my
husband’s death. When Mike called, I jumped at his offer
of someone to talk to. Like he said, we made plans to meet
on the bridge…” Her gaze darted away from the doctor
and latched onto Mike. His smile gave her courage to
11
Pam Champagne
continue. “The air grew chilly while I waited, so I started
back to my truck for a sweater and tripped…that’s all I
remember.”
“Hmmm…” The doctor wrote a few notes on the
clipboard. “Since Major Spencer has taken you under his
wing, I’ll let you leave.” Dr. Anson directed his attention
to Mike. “May I see you for a moment, Major Spencer?”
Cyn strained her ears, but couldn’t understand their
muffled conversation. Was Dr. Anson trying to convince
Mike that she should be locked up?
Cyn fought not to flinch when Mike strode into the
room, his face tense. She pressed herself into the pillows
when he brought his face close. “Swear to me on Peter’s
grave that you’ll never again think about taking your
life.” “I won’t. I promise,” she managed to croak.
“I’ll arrange for counseling, and you
will
attend every
session.”
Cynthia balked, shaking her head. “No! I don’t—”
He leaned so close that his breath warmed her chilled
lips. “Dr. Anson suspects we’re lying. You’ll do it, or I’ll
rescind my offer of a place to stay. ”
She slapped his hands away and scuttled to the edge
of the bed. “They’ll treat me like I’m some sort of a lab
specimen.”
Mike rose and moved away. “For the time you’re in
therapy, that’s what you’ll be. Do we have a deal?”
Did she have a choice? “I guess. As long as you cool it
with the testosterone. I don’t like to be manhandled.”
She sucked in her breath at the pity shining in his
eyes. “Trust me. I have no intention of interfering in your
life any longer than I have to.”
****
straight in the seat. Her head bumped against the
window every time she nodded off.
“Are you cold? Mind if I call you Cindy? Cynthia is a
mouthful.”
12
Bridge of Hope
“Call me Cyn.” She hadn’t meant to bark the words.
Slouching lower in the seat, she fought back tears. “I’m
sorry. Must be the pain medication making me irritable
and weepy.”
He glanced over at her and smiled. “No problem.
We’re almost there. Katy will be thrilled to have a guest.”
Cyn lurched into an upright position. “I didn’t realize
I’d be imposing on a family.” God! How stupid to think a
good-looking man Mike’s age—he must be at least thirty-
five—would be single.
Mike chuckled. He turned left onto a narrow country
road. “I’m no longer married. Katy’s my daughter. She’s
eight going on twenty-one.”
The implications of his statement bounced around
her brain like ping pong balls. What happened to his wife?
Warmth flooded her face. She’d always had a knack for
shoving an arm, along with both feet, in her mouth. “I’m
looking forward to meeting her.”
His voice softened. “She’s precocious—sees and
understands more than any eight-year-old should.”
“Who takes care of her while you work?”
“A neighbor comes to the house and stays until I get
home. What about your family? Parents? Brothers or
sisters? Surely, they know the situation. Will they be
coming to Fort Drum for the funeral?”
Her nerves danced and anxiety coiled around her
stomach. “No,” she forced herself to reply. “My parents
were killed in a car accident while Peter and I were on our
honeymoon. I’m an only child.”
Mike reached over and squeezed the hand clutching
her stomach. “I’m sorry.”
She had no appropriate response.
“Where are Peter’s folks located?”
More pain. “His father died when Peter was a kid
and his mother passed away soon after we graduated high
school. That’s when Peter joined the military.”
“So it’s always been you and Peter against the