If he is, I’m armed, and I’m not going down easy. Tyler doesn’t strike me as someone who’d be physically aggressive, but if he is, I’m ready for that.
“Sam?” His voice is faint now. Tired. “I just want to go now. Thank you for trying.”
“No, Tyler, don’t do that. Come on, man, stay with me. I’m three minutes away. You can wait three minutes, right?” I’m hurtling there like a comet. I can see the lights of downtown. The bridge isn’t far. I blow through a deserted red light and keep moving.
“I don’t want to wait.”
“But you called me for a reason,” I say. “You wanted me to know. And I do want to know. You’ve got more to tell me. I know that.”
I keep talking, not even sure what I’m saying anymore; I see the green superstructure of the bridge up ahead; it’s built under the bridge, not over. The lights illuminate the roadway, and I can’t see any cars stopped in the narrow breakdown lane on either side. It’s only a two-lane bridge, and no traffic at all.
I slow down, afraid I’ll miss him; even so, I spot him at the last second. He’s wearing dark pants, a dark hoodie, and he nearly blends into the night.
He’s standing on the concrete ledge, legs pressed against the green steel. It’s an easy, effortless step over.
I hit the brakes and fight the wheel to steer the truck into the narrow space of the breakdown lane, and I bail out fast, phone clutched in my hand. My instinct is to run at him, but my next impulse is to stop, slow down, approach carefully. So I walk, though it seems to take forever.
Tyler is staring out at the river, not at the lights of downtown. And as Nietzsche said, the abyss is looking into him. He knows I’m here, but he doesn’t break that stare.
“Tyler?” I see the phone is in his hand, still active. I shut off the call and hold up both hands. “I’m going to put my phone in my pocket, okay?”
“Okay.” He sounds fine. That’s the worst part. “You didn’t need to come.”
“I know.” I lean against the railing. I’m ten feet away, trying to figure out how to get closer without triggering a deadly reaction. I put my phone in my jacket pocket, and as I do, I hit the emergency dial function for 911. I wait for a few seconds, and hope that it’s connected before I say, “Why did you pick the Gay Street Bridge to jump from?” God, please let the operator pick that up.
“It’s quiet,” he says. “I like this bridge. And it’s high.”
It is. There’s a strong, cool wind blowing. The stars are out, the moon behind a rising cloud bank. It’d be beautiful if I were standing here with Gwen. It’s ominous now.
“You want to explain to me why you decided to do this now? Tonight?”
“I told you. The pictures.”
“But there had to be something else. You’ve seen those pictures before.”
He turns his head toward me. He’s wearing his Florida Gators baseball cap, still, with the hoodie drawn over it. He puts his hands in his pockets. The blank expression is no different than it was at the airfield, and that chills me deep. “It’s her birthday,” he says. “My sister’s, I mean. She’d be twenty-one today. I would have bought her a drink. Made sure she got home safe after.”
That guts me. I can feel the crumbling edge of that emotional cliff.
Tyler looks back at the river.
“Tell me about her,” I say. “Did you two get along?”
“Not always. She was kind of a bitch the day—the day it happened.” I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. I see him waver forward a little, and I tense up. I can be fast if I need to; I might be able to get to him and grab his hoodie before he’s out of reach. But stopping a falling body his size is tough, and I’ll probably rip a ligament, maybe dislocate my arm.
That isn’t a deterrent. Just a factor. I carefully, hopefully unnoticeably, edge closer. “Did she know you loved her?”
“What?”
“Did she know you loved her, Tyler?”
I get his stare back again. “Why?”
“Because it matters. It mattered to me. The last thing I told my sister was that I loved her, and that helped. But she would have known it anyway, I hope.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know if she thought that. I bought her a Christmas present, a nice one. She never got to open it.”
I can hear a siren in the distance. No no no . . . if they run lights and sirens, they could send him off the edge fast. I move forward a little more. He doesn’t react. “I’d really like to talk to you about my sister. I could use that help, too, talking to somebody who understands. Do you want to get down and go grab a coffee, maybe? Come on, Tyler. Let’s talk it out. You can do this anytime. But I’m here, right now. And I care.”
He seems to sigh, and for a terrible red second I think I’ve lost him.
Then he says, “Yeah. Okay.”
And he jumps down off the ledge.
I’m not really prepared for that, and the relief that fills me makes my voice a little unsteady. “Thank you, Tyler,” I say. “Come on with me. Let’s go find someplace quiet, okay?”
He says, “Did you call the cops?”
I don’t blink. “No. Maybe someone else did, though. Someone could have seen you up here.”
He nods and walks over to my truck. While his back is turned, I hang up the call. I open the door for him and get him inside just as the Knoxville patrol car glides to a stop nose-in toward us. The strobes stay on, but the siren stops. Two officers get out. I hold up my hands and walk toward them. “Sam Cade,” I tell them. “I’m the one who called. He’s down, and I’m going to take him for coffee and then try to get him some help. We’re okay. Thanks for coming.”
One of the officers breaks off to talk to Tyler. The other moves me up against the railing a little farther off. It doesn’t take long. They’re just relieved not to have to be talking someone out of an irrevocable decision.
When I get back in the truck, Tyler seems okay. Quiet. He’s staring down at his hands. “Thanks for coming, Sam,” he says. “You didn’t have to. That means a lot.”
I don’t know how to answer that, so I just nod and start the engine. There’s a twenty-four-hour diner not far away; I’ve hit it several times, and it’s usually quiet. He doesn’t talk on the drive there. We pull up and walk in, take a seat in a yellow leatherette booth, and get coffee pours. Tyler orders a waffle, which surprises me a little.
Now that my heartbeat’s slowing down, I realize that I’m already late coming home. I text Gwen stopping on the way, home soon, will call. I put it on silent, not even vibrate. The responsibility of Tyler is pretty big in my mind right now. I don’t want him to think I’m not completely invested in this conversation.
“I’ve been thinking about whether or not she knew I loved her,” Tyler says. “That’s a good question. I guess she didn’t, Sam. I never was good at showing things like that, even before—” He points toward his head. “Big brother, little sister, I got annoyed at her a lot. I wish that wasn’t true, but it is. Did your sister—”