After Lefting Me on the Bridge, He Lost His Mind novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Ninth Place

At his mother's Thanksgiving table Quinton shows the family Bryce's bridge bet, spots his grandmother's ring on the intern's hand, and his mother sends him to Austin to find Sabina before Bryce does.

Quinton's POV

My mother set nine places at the Thanksgiving table, and the ninth had a card in her handwriting that said Sabina.

She had done it for seven years.

Every year the card went back into the drawer with the good napkins, and every year she smoothed the tablecloth and said, "Next time."

I flew in from Austin on Tuesday night.

Bryce's girlfriend had turned down every holiday for seven years, and I was the one who had to watch my mother's face each time.

At noon the turkey was resting and the card was still on its plate.

Bryce had texted my mother at ten. He said he was running late and they were coming together.

I scrolled my phone to keep my hands busy.

Bryce's tagged photos had a new story at the top.

It was posted by a girl I had never heard of, with a pink coat and auburn hair.

The words were across the screen: "Bet won! Bryce really did leave his boring girlfriend on the bridge so I could get my Chanel bag."

Underneath, someone had written: "On the way to meet his mom? She's going to snap."

I read it twice.

The girlfriend who had refused my mother for seven years had finally said yes.

And my brother had left her on a bridge in the rain.

I put my phone face down on the table.

At 12:45 the front door opened.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Bryce called. He came in with his arms wide, expecting applause.

He had a girl on his arm.

Pink coat. Auburn hair. A gray suit jacket far too big for her over her shoulders.

My mother stopped in the doorway of the kitchen with a dish towel in her hand.

"Bryce," she said. "Where is Sabina?"

"Mom, don't." He sighed, long-suffering, and kissed her cheek. "She bailed again. She's decided to take a job in Austin to spite me. I don't know what I did."

My aunt and uncle looked at each other.

"This is Kendall," he added. "She's an intern on my team and she had nowhere to go. I told her we always have extra."

Kendall smiled at my mother. "Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. VanDorn."

My mother said, "Of course, dear."

Her voice was kind.

Her hand had gone tight on the towel.

I stood up.

"Bryce. Where did you leave her last night?"

He turned.

"What?"

"Sabina. The woman you were driving to meet us. Where did you leave her?"

"I didn't leave her anywhere. We had a fight."

"On the George Washington Bridge."

My brother did not move.

Kendall's smile stayed, but her eyes went to the floor.

I took my phone and held the screen up so my mother and the aunt and the uncle could read it.

"That's her story from last night," I said. "She's wearing your jacket in it. It says you left Sabina there so she could win a bag."

The table was silent.

"It was a bet," Bryce said. He laughed, high and quick. "It was a joke. Her ankle was hurt. Sabina knows how I am."

"How does she know?"

"She's dramatic, Quinton. She makes a scene every time anyone else needs something."

"You mean she's the kind of girl who says yes to a Thanksgiving she's said no to seven times, and you leave her in a storm?"

I saw it land.

He didn't answer.

He had no answer, and I realized I had never once heard him say her name when he wasn't complaining.

Kendall took her hand out of her pocket and reached for a roll.

On her right hand, third finger, was a ring.

It was a small old diamond in a worn gold setting with a chip in the corner of the band.

I knew that chip.

I had broken it myself at nine years old, trying the ring on in our grandmother's bedroom.

My grandmother's ring had gone in a box to Bryce three years ago, with a letter from my mother telling him to give it to Sabina when he was ready.

He had told us she said no.

He had told us she said no to everything.

And my mother was looking at Bryce's face, not at Kendall's hand.

I said nothing.

I wanted to see how far he would go.

He went all the way through dinner.

He carved. He told a story about a client. He filled Kendall's glass and let her call my mother "Mom VanDorn" after the second drink.

At four, after the pie, I followed my mother into the kitchen.

She was standing at the sink with her back to me and her hands in the water.

"Seven years," she said, without turning around. "Seven years of nice little texts from that girl. Thank you for the card, Dorothy. I'd love to, but I can't. Maybe next year."

"Mom."

"A girl who writes like that doesn't take a job in another state out of spite. Bryce told me last spring she turned down the ring. She never mentioned a ring to me, not once."

She turned off the water.

"Quinton, you live in Austin."

"I do."

"You're the only one of us who does."

She dried her hands very slowly.

"Go and find her," my mother said. "Before he finds her first."

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