The Secrets of Love Story Bridge - Phaedra Patrick Page 0,4

geography of the city. All he could see was grayness sloshing around him, and a circle of yellow fabric in front of him like a beacon.

Fear made him focus. The dread of not reaching her, not managing to save her, pushed him onward.

Pain seared across his shoulders and his throat tightened so much his breath was shallow through his nose. He told himself he was getting closer to her, mind over matter, but he wasn’t really sure.

After what seemed like forever, he spotted a fallen tree, split by lightning in a storm, that hung over the river at a right angle. The flow of water suddenly pulled the woman toward it, and spindly branches stuck out like daggers to greet her. Mitchell watched as she became entangled in them, and then she was gone from his sight.

He thrust his face into the water, swimming harder than ever before. All he could see was blackness until he felt something sharp scrape his arm, and he was there alongside the tree. Next to her.

A section of her dress had snagged on a branch and the rest of it billowed around her.

He fought against the branches to reach her and took her into his arms. While treading water, he gently lifted her chin with his fingers. “Are you okay?” he spluttered. “Can you talk?”

Her lips moved, but she didn’t reply. Her face was ashen and strands of her wet hair hung down over her eyes.

“Try to hold on to me, if you can. I’m going to swim and get us both to safety.”

Mitchell unhooked her dress from the tree and managed to recall snippets of the few lifesaving sessions he’d watched Poppy have at the pool. He helped the woman to lie on her back and, after cupping his hand under her chin, he swam backward, pulling her along with him.

Fortunately, he found a calmer current that assisted their movements.

The riverbank was lower on one side than the other, with a long grass verge in front of a series of waterfront bars. Mitchell headed toward them, his eyes intermittently flicking between the woman’s face and his destination.

“We’re nearly there,” he said. “Only a bit farther. You’re doing so well.”

A few people stood, clutching pints of beer and staring at him as if he was competing in a swimming race. The edge of the river shallowed and Mitchell pushed himself forward onto the grass and pulled the woman out of the water. She lay in his arms with the back of her head pressed against his chest. “You’re okay. You’re safe,” he blurted with relief.

They stayed there together, his arms wrapped around her as the blazing sun warmed their cold bodies.

The woman’s eyes were shut, but her eyelashes danced against her cheeks and she smiled serenely.

This moment, being here with her, reminded Mitchell of the contradictory mixture of stillness and exhilaration he felt when Poppy was born, when he first held her in his arms. Anita had smiled at him weakly and he wanted to burst into tears and laugh at the same time, as exhaustion, joy and responsibility sent his feelings into a tailspin. When he looked down at the woman, he pictured Anita with her damp curls pressed against her forehead. The closeness to this stranger, her body in his arms, was both tender and unnerving and his hand shook when he brushed her hair away from her eyes.

She squinted against the daylight. “What happened?” she rasped. “Where am I?”

“My name is Mitchell Fisher. You were standing on a bridge in Upchester, attaching a padlock. I think you dropped something and were looking for it. You leaned right over the railing and fell.” He held his breath for a while. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

She smiled weakly and reached up to take his hand. Their wet fingers entwined tightly. “I’m so clumsy recently. I don’t make a habit of this, honestly. I usually just knock glasses of wine over or forget my door keys.”

Mitchell liked how she managed to find humor in her situation. “So long as you’re safe. Do you think you’re ready to try to stand up?”

She crooked one knee, then frowned in pain. Her head slumped back against his chest. “Not yet.” She looked upward at him, and again he felt a tug of something for her. It caused more memories of Anita to trickle back and he didn’t want to think of her, not here and now. The shame he often felt could bury him like an