Crossing the Bridge by Michael Baron

was clearly unsure of how I was going to react to what she had to say and was relieved that I was letting her off the hook. We walked toward the car. When the dog saw her, it pressed its nose against the side window, fogging it with its breath.
    “Big guy,” I said. “What is it?”
    “It’s a Wheaton Terrier. And a gal.”
    “This huge thing is a terrier?”
    “Yeah, I know. She’s really friendly.” Iris opened the passenger door and the dog came bounding out, jumping up on Iris and then doing the same to me. She calmed when I pet her, but then left our side and jumped back into the car.
    “She kinda likes road trips,” Iris said.
    “Maybe I should get one of these to come with me to the southwest. Do they like the Dave Matthews Band?”
    Iris took her car keys out of her jacket and walked toward her side of the car.
    “When do you think you’re going to go?” she said.
    “I’m not sure yet. I need to find out what’s going on
with my father and then I have to take care of some stuff in Springfield. I have to do a little more research on the place, too. I’m not that spontaneous. I’m thinking New Mexico. Maybe by the end of the month.”
    She nodded and I thought she was going to say something else. But again she seemed to fix on something in the distance. After a moment, she looked into my eyes.
    “Let’s stay in touch, okay?” she said.
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “I mean it. It was really good seeing you. And I really liked talking to you the last couple of nights. I always did. You were a good friend, Hugh, not just Chase’s brother. Don’t let what happened last night get in the way. I don’t want to completely lose touch with you again.”
    I closed the dog’s door. “I’ll write you when I get out to wherever I’m going. Maybe you can visit sometime. And I’m sure I’ll be back here every now and then to check on my parents. Maybe our trips will coincide again.”
    “That would be good.” She came over and kissed me on the cheek. Then she opened her car door. “I’ve gotta get on the road. Stay in touch, though. I mean it.”
    I nodded and she got into the car. I said good-bye to the dog and then watched as Iris drove off.
    Before going back into the store, I took a side trip to the chocolate shop. I bought a hazelnut truffle and a dark chocolate toffee, and then went to Bean There, Done That for a triple espresso. I planned to take them back to the store with me, but changed my mind and sat on one of the sidewalk benches until I finished.

    Russet Avenue pedestrians had begun the annual process of slowing their pace for the upcoming season. The winter’s brisk and purposeful headlong charge began to relax in early March. By the beginning of April, you could see walkers stopping to talk with one another on the street, examining shop windows, and simply getting from here to there with less velocity. As a kid, I’d loved getting a couple of quarters from my father for ice cream from Layton’s Fountain Shop (now replaced by The Cone Connection) on days like this one. I would sit on a bench, peripherally watching the passersby, but essentially taking as long as possible to enjoy whatever flavor I’d chosen that day, all the while forestalling my favorite part, which was eating the melted ice cream that gathered at the bottom of the very last bite of cone. Early April days were especially appealing, because it was warm enough to sit outside comfortably, but not so warm as to make the ice cream get soft too fast. A few months later, I would need to lick much more deliberately and it simply wasn’t as much fun.
    Sitting with my two pieces of chocolate and my coffee wasn’t as idyllic. Still, there was the feeling I remembered with absolute precision of being completely unmoved to action. Then as now, being on a bench on a warm spring day in Amber seemed the best possible alternative to whatever else was going on in my life.
    A teenaged couple walked by with a small dog bouncing at their