Chapter 9: A Bridge Too Far?
This is Chapter 9 of 17: You can navigate Chapters here
Beth had a bad feeling when she received the new mail notification from the Wyoming Department of Transportation on her phone. Her third interview had been brief, but included many troubling questions focused on the death of her daughter.
“I understand you lost a daughter before your transfer orders. Did she have a history of agitation?”
“How often did she speak out on political matters?
The questioning blindsided Beth. How did they know about her daughter? How was any of it relevant to her application? The topic resurrected the grief Beth had tried so hard to subdue, and the line of questioning seemed to insinuate that Emma and, by extension, Beth were radicals and a potential menace to society.
Beth dug her nails into the palm of a clenched fist. While a pin cushion would have been more effective, the pressure in her hand did help her maintain her composure. With as steady a voice as she could manage, she clarified that neither she nor her daughter held any ill intent towards the government or the people of the United States. Still, she could only contain her tears until she was through the lobby and a few rows into the parking lot. She was sure that they would reject her application.
Three weeks later, the following letter arrived:
To: Beth Siegel
From: Wyoming D.O.T. recruiting and staffing
Subject: D.O.T. application
Dear Mrs. Siegel,
We are pleased to extend an offer to you for the position of Processing Clerk II.
Beth pressed her hand to her cheek as she read the note, her palm forming a small cup against her skin. Tears of relief spilled down her face—sudden, unstoppable. She drew her damp palm away and brought both hands around the letter. As she folded the page, she couldn’t help thinking how strange and lucky it was that she and Rich had both found jobs in the same week. A few years ago, an entry-level clerk job at the transportation department wouldn’t have been cause for celebration, but now even this modest step felt like the first real turn in their fortunes.
The hours spent at her desk (#31) at the Cheyenne Department of Transportation were not difficult, but they were tedious. Most of the people she served were nice enough, particularly if you made the extra effort to understand that each of them was trying to punch out a chore on their to-do list as efficiently as possible. Each day, Beth made a conscious intention to be as polite and helpful as possible when she went to work. She was overqualified for the job’s required skills, so the work was easy, albeit somewhat depressing. Particularly, the stark, sterile impact of banks of fluorescent ceiling lights shining down on bare white walls. When Beth started at the department, there was a painting of a wounded Native American warrior on horseback. She often found herself staring at it during idle moments. The warrior’s war paint identified it as Cherokee, which Beth knew from her college studies was not native to this area of the plains. The Só’taeo’o would more likely be the tribe that roamed this area of South-Eastern Wyoming, but Beth appreciated the painting nonetheless.
A few months ago, the painting was removed and replaced with portraits of President Terds and President Vincent. Beth asked her supervisor about the change as casually as possible.
“Policy,” Her supervisor, Joan, said. “They don’t explain these things to us. They just send us a memo with the directive to replace it. Suits me fine, though. I’d rather look at our presidents than that Indian, anyway. A reminder that we need to keep fighting to keep our country special. You know what I mean?”
Joan tended to use the phrase “you know what I mean” a lot.
No, I have no idea what you mean, you dumb bitch. Do you mean suppressing free speech? Do you mean attacking other Americans and being pardoned? Do you mean the fight to only have portraits of white men on the walls of buildings?? To forget what our country did to the people who existed in this land before we came?
“Oh, Gotcha,” Is what Beth said instead. Rich was probably right. If you are woke, screaming, and hollering, it probably won’t wake anything in anyone else except resentment. Beth reminded herself that Joan had just made a short, simple comment, not a lecture, and not a judgment or opinion about Beth herself. Beth called for the next person in line and continued her day for another two hours before lunch.
Lunch had recently become the most interesting part of Beth’s day. During her early weeks at the job, she would bring her lunch in a bag to one of the empty tables in the corner. Other workers usually gathered at tables closer to the center. Beatrix, Candy, and Claire typically sat at the square table in front of the window facing the front of the building. The younger workers (Roger, Pete, Joe, and sometimes Julia) would gather at the longer, rectangular table near the center. Other employees, like Beth, would often eat their lunch alone or pair up for random conversations.
Beth would eat her sandwich and the diced fruit she had prepared in the morning while reading the paper. On occasion, she would steal a glance or overhear the conversations of her new peers.
One day, Beth was waiting to fill up her water bottle behind Candy and Clare. “When you are in a tough spot, you can always rely on Beatrix,” Clare said. “Long live the Queen of Spades”.
Candy laughed. “She certainly does seem to lose track of the cards after a few glasses of wine.”
Clare, from the corner of her eye, noticed that Beth was behind them. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Clare said. “ I didn’t realize you were behind us waiting. Candy and I get a bit distracted after our card nights. We play Bridge on Thursday nights. Sometimes the Fridays after are a bit foggy.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Beth said. “I’m not in a hurry.” She then smiled. “There are worse pursuits to distract yourself with than cards.”
“Do you play?” Clare asked.
“I used to play a bit,” Beth said. “But not much recently.”
The group had been having difficulty fielding a reliable sixth person to join their game. Through a deck of cards, Beth’s social orbit was about to expand from nothing to something. Clare had invited Beth to join them for their weekly game, and Clare accepted, thankful for the opportunity to meet new people and do something other than work and sit on the couch at home with her husband.
Candy lived a few blocks away from Beth and offered to pick her up for the game the following Thursday. Clare was hosting at her house on the Ranch, the same one where Rich worked each day. Rich had been unusually talkative about his new life as a Ranch Hand. He marvelled over the vast open acreage of the ranch. “Imagine that”. Cindy drove them about twenty miles out of town. The town’s neighborhoods quickly gave way to sprawling ranchland. Cindy turned right on Country Road 114 and then made another right onto a long dirt driveway. Behind a well-maintained white fence were three horses. The tallest wore a zebra-striped cover and was playfully chasing after a smaller horse. An older horse was in the corner grazing on grass.
They came up to a circular driveway with a sprawling two-story ranch house, a large detached garage and shop, a large barn off to the side, and another structure between them. Candy parked the car, and Beth admired the vaulted ceilings of the house, the covered, wrap-around porch, and the grove of mature trees that had grown up behind the house.
“Wow, nice place,” Beth said. “Why does Clare work at the transportation department if she can afford to live here?”
Clare had a party to host, and except for Beth, everyone was familiar with her property. Candy offered Beth an abbreviated tour. They had acres of property, which Candy explained Mark and his family had built out over the years. “Here is the shop,” Candy said. She opened the side door to a huge shed filled with equipment. Some were decades old and rusting, others brand new: ATVs, backhoes, motorcycles, and a variety of tools and machinery.
Candy then walked Clare past a shooting range, a pond, and a lap pool and to the front door of the house.
Candy opened the door and walked in. “Clare and I are here,” Candy said. The house seemed huge to Clare. It had to be over 4,000 square feet, with four bedrooms, excluding unfinished rooms. There was a large living room, a kitchen, and a dining room. Some of the rooms were dated, but Beth marveled over them, imagining the possibilities and finding herself envious of what Clare had.
How wonderful it would be to worry about upgrading my dual ovens or the furniture in my large rooms.
“It’s amazing,” Beth said.
“The Ranch has been in Mark’s family since before Cheyenne was a proper city,” Candy said. “Clare told me she likes to work to get out and talk with people. I suppose it’s easier to do the job if you don’t have to.”
“I guess,” Beth said. “I can’t imagine that would be the case, but I’m certainly not in her situation.”
“No, me neither,” Candy said. She grabbed the two bottles of wine that they brought. “Let’s go play cards.”
Candy and Beth were the last to arrive. Clare greeted them from the kitchen. “Glad you could make it,” She said with a warm smile. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
“Hey, everyone, this is Beth. She moved here from California and works with Candy, Beatrix, and me at the DOT.”
Beatrix presented her hand. “Hello again, I look forward to getting to know you outside of the office,” she said. Beatrix was a tall, heavy-set woman. She had close-set eyes and a small nose and mouth, which were crowded in the middle of a pudgy face and betrayed no emotion.
We don’t even know each other at the office, Beth thought.
“Yes,” Beth said. “This will be fun.” Possibly. Hopefully.
“And I’m Nancy,” Nancy said, getting up from her chair and offering a little wave. She was wearing a simple floral dress that complemented her trim athletic figure. “It’s always nice to meet new friends.”
“My pleasure,” Beth said, returning her smile and feeling her cheeks flush as she admired Nancy’s wavy chestnut hair and blue eyes.
“I’m Joan,” an older woman at the other end of the table announced. “And this is Julie,” Pointing to a tall, skinny woman in jeans and a denim shirt.
“Hi Beth,” Julie said. “You are the first person from California I’ve ever met. You are not as tan as I expected.”
“Well,” Beth said with a nervous laugh. “California is a big place. We’re not all surfers.”
“Or protestors?” Julie asked.
“No,” Beth said. “It’s a big place. There are all different types of people in California.”
“Let’s give Beth a bit of time to settle in. We’ll have plenty of time to learn about her,” Clare said. She brought an open bottle of wine to the table. “Ladies, let’s play some cards.”
It had been decades since Beth had played Bridge, but fortunately, the game came back to her quickly. Beth was paired with Nancy, and they won multiple hands throughout the night. Beth had a more difficult time adjusting to the wine. The white wine was dull, flat, and lifeless, tasting like sweet bruised apples and stale nuts. She switched to red, which was flat and not much better.
As she continued drinking, her palate adjusted, and she welcomed the warm buzz that resulted.
Throughout the night, she learned a great deal about her new acquaintances.
All the ladies who worked at the D.O.T. disliked their manager, Joan.
Nancy ran the Flat Mountain Book store on the corner of town.
Julie was a housewife.
Clare told Beth that Mark was happy with Rich’s work at the ranch, but he still had a lot to learn.
Beatrix did indeed tend to lose track of the cards as the evening progressed.
Clare had an orchard of green apples and enjoyed baking; she offered to send Beth home with a few buckets so Beth could bake a pie for the next week.
Among the cards and conversations, very few questions arose about Beth. She was okay with that. There was little uplifting or interesting she could imagine sharing with the group at the moment.
It was nearly eleven before Candy and Beth said their goodbyes and left for home. Beth was now tired, and the glasses of wine had left a sour feeling in her stomach. She would soon find out what it was like to work at the D.O.T. on a Friday with a hangover.
The next week’s game was at Nancy’s. Beth drove Rich’s loaner truck to the house. Unlike Rich, she was less inspired by its classic charm, but walking and the bus were not realistic options, and she didn’t want to impose on Candy again for another ride.
She arrived at a three-bedroom, two-bath house with a 2-car garage. Its entrance was set back slightly, with a dark green door framed by a stone facade on the left. The house, painted in brown with green trim, sat under a pitched roof, with decorative wooden beams.
The house is surrounded by well-kept landscaping. A vibrant green lawn stretches across the front, and a small, mature tree with burgundy leaves on one side. It was less grand than Clare’s but well-maintained and very quaint.
Nancy invited her in, and Beth offered her the apple pie she had made. Beth wasn’t confident about much these days, but she knew her pie would be a hit. She knew how to bake, and when she made the first batch, she had to physically restrain Rich from eating it.
She was a few minutes early, the first to arrive. Nancy seemed entirely unbothered about hosting an event soon. She took the pie Beth had offered (which smelled wonderful) and invited her to sit down with her in the living room. ”Welcome,” Nancy said. “Would you like anything to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having,” Beth answered.
“A mimosa?” Nancy suggested.
“That sounds great,” Beth replied. Although she usually didn’t drink orange juice because of its high sugar content, this choice made it harder for her to keep her weight down.
“So, how are you settling in?” Nancy asked. “It must be hard moving across the country to a new place.”
Beth settled into the chair beside Nancy, taking a moment to smooth her skirt and gather her thoughts. Though this was only their second meeting, something about Nancy’s calm, patient way of waiting for her answer made Beth feel unexpectedly at ease.
“Pretty good,” Beth said at last. “I didn’t know what to expect, but things were already unsettled for my husband and me back home. The government could’ve sent us to Wyoming, to Mars—honestly, I’m not sure it would’ve made much difference.”
“These are some strange times,” Nancy said.
“It’s not really even what is happening in the news,” Beth said. “Rich, my husband, and I lost our daughter a few years ago, and we’ve been struggling to learn how to live again- to get past that loss. Now that we are both working, it’s a start. And we are meeting new people. That helps.”
Beth rarely spoke about her loss—especially not with someone she’d only just met—but something about Nancy made her feel an unexpected urge to open up. She’d had a few years to learn how people responded when she told them: the common response being, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Her grief still filled most of her waking hours, yet she hesitated to share it. Managing her own sorrow was hard enough without also having to navigate other people’s discomfort.
“I can’t imagine what you had to go through. At some point, I’d love to hear more about your daughter and what she was like. In the meantime, I’m here for you.”
Beth flushed; she felt like she could share more with Nancy. She was a safe space- an ally. She took a deep sip of her mimosa and said. “Thank you.’
Clare and Beatrix arrived shortly after, and Beth’s shield briefly went up again. It was time for banalities and cards. Beatrix presented a bottle of white wine and a bottle of red. Beth considered her previous experience with wine at the card night.
Maybe I’ll switch to beer tonight.. It probably won’t be helpful to my figure, but who has been paying attention to that recently?
Clare had a tin and another metal bowl covered in foil. “It won’t surprise anyone that I’ve brought apple dishes. We have produced more sour green apples than we could ever use. Even after feeding them to our horses, we have more than we need. In the bowl is Waldorf Salad, and in the tin are Mountain Dew Apple Dumplings.
“Mountain Dew Dumplings?” Nancy asked. “I’m so curious! May I,”
“Of course,” Clare said.
Nancy unwrapped the tin, revealing a tray of perfectly shaped glazed crescent rolls wrapped around the apple. She grabbed a fork, delicately removed a section of one, and popped it in her mouth. “Wow,” she said. “Are these glazed with brown sugar and butter? It’s so refreshing. I love it.”
Nancy spread out some forks on the table and tried a section herself. “Amazing!” Beth said. “I used to bake myself. I’d love to get this recipe.”
“Not only will I give you the recipe,” Clare said. “But I’ve brought a few pails of apples for the group.”
The rest of the card crew arrived and joined the ladies in the wine, appetizers, and dessert before Nancy took the wrapper off a new deck of cards and announced that it was time for the games to begin.
This time, Beth was paired with Clare, and Beth’s winning streak continued. They were well ahead after six rounds, and for the second hand in a row, they had set Julie’s team with a low trump. “You Bitch,” Julie said. Julie revealed teeth, stained red with wine, betraying her frustration even more than her verbal response. “You’re winning now, but once your luck turns, you will probably claim the government needs to step in and help you out. Isn’t that what you West Coasters do?”
Julie’s response shocked Beth. Beth felt her cheeks flush, but made an effort to maintain her composure and diffuse the situation. “We’ve had a string of good fortune, I’ll admit. But I promise you I have no interest in the government getting involved in my card game.”
“So you have a problem with our government?” Julie said, “I’m sure you don’t have any issue cashing their paycheck two times a month.”
“I’m grateful for my job,” Beth said (not entirely honestly). “And I’m just enjoying a night of cards.” Beth refilled her water glass and offered a pacifying smile.
But Julie had a few other things she still seemed to have to get off her chest. “You are no longer in a bubble. You are now here in the heart of America, where we don’t want government in our lives, and we’re happy that this administration is committed to stopping immigrants and foreigners from taking our jobs and taking advantage of our might.”
Beth was speechless. What could she say in response to this attack?
Clare attempted to redirect the conversation. “Let’s all just calm down. We are here to enjoy ourselves and play a little cards. There is no point in getting upset about things like immigrants. There aren’t any here, really. Most of those who were here have left. We can’t find people to work on the ranch or help with the house. Mark can’t keep up. Rich is helping, but it’s not enough.”
Clare picked up the stack of cards. “Beatrix,” Clare said. “It’s your deal.”
Beatrix clumsily doled out the next hand of cards, but the dour look on Julie’s face led Beth to think that she would eventually have more to say.
Candy rearranged the cards in her hand and kicked off another topic of conversation. “So Beth, have you had a chance to see much of our state yet?”
“Not much yet, unfortunately,” Beth said. “I’d been worried about finding work, and then once I’d found work, I’ve been getting as many hours as I can to pay down our credit cards. I want to go to Yellowstone.”
“Yellowstone Park is nowhere near here,” Julie said without looking up from her cards.
“Oh,” Beth said. “How far is it away?”
“It’s about seven hours away,” Nancy answered.
“Well then,” Beth said. “Rich and I will turn it into an adventure, see the countryside while we go.”
“Yes, I’d recommend that,” Clare said. “But, I’m not sure Mark would like Rich taking too many vacations. Even though Rich is still learning on the job, Mark needs his help. We’re very shorthanded at the ranch.”
“People just don’t want to work these days,” Beatrix said.
“Well, Rich and I do,” Beth said. “We have to. We’ve been looking for work for a long time. This economy is a mess.”
“That will change,” Candy promised. “President Vincent will finish the work that Terds, God Rest his soul, didn’t get a chance to finish.”
A choked laugh came out of Beth’s mouth. Clearly, Candy was being serious, but the comment seemed so ridiculous to Beth that the laugh was an involuntary reaction.
“I guess you’d want to bring back the liberal administration so they can invade our lives and fix everything,” Julie said. “They’ll take our guns because they aren’t safe, and outsource our jobs to China.”
“Julie,” Beth said, trying to keep her tone as calm as possible despite the anger she felt quickly rising in her. She hadn’t been around people who said things like this in person for a long time, and it was triggering. “I came here to play cards and enjoy some food and drink with the group. I have no interest in talking politics.” But her restraint snapped, and she heard herself responding to Julie’s taunting.
“But, if you really want to know what I think. I think that Terds was elected because he told people that we would live wealthier, safer lives because he was going to get rid of all the corrupt politicians in Washington, and protect you from people who aren’t white. Because it’s a brown, black, or yellow person’s fault that we’re unemployed or making a low hourly wage… failing out of community college. It’s not because we’re drinking beer cans in the flatbed of our pickups instead of going to class, or not applying for a job because we weren’t interested. Much of the world would beg to live like us, even when not working. Terds has convinced you that immigrants are going to take your jobs and rape your children. It’s racism. I’m not sure if he actually cared one way or another. His objective was to get into power and enrich himself. To fucking get attention!”
Julie smiled now, seeming pleased, as if she had proved a point and exposed Beth as the liberal she was.
“Wow, Beth,” Nancy said. “I appreciate your energy, and I don’t entirely disagree with everything you are saying. Although if we’ve learned anything over the past difficult few years, it should be that debating an ugly stereotype with another ugly generalization is not productive. There is nobody in this room who drinks beer in a flatbed all day. We have jobs. We care for our families. Maybe we should pause this card game, take our wine glasses into the other room, and enjoy the food that everyone has brought.”
Julie wasn’t ready to let the topic drop. “I guess you have it all figured out then. The government has forced you to live with a bunch of racist hicks who drink beer out of trucks and don’t like working. Sorry, I get tired of listening to Liberals whining. All I hear is complaining. It begins with pronouns and the words people use, and it goes on from there. But you know what? What I don’t hear is any sort of plan from the liberals about what to do.”
Having made her point, Julie dropped her cards on the table. “I am ready to eat. However, I’ve realized that I don’t like playing hearts. This game sucks!”