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Chapter Seven

Bridget was having a good day.

Bridget's been having a lot of good days, Eric thought with a feeling of warmth diffusing through his chest. It was true too. For the past few months—ever since she had been seeing the therapist—she had almost returned to her normal self. She still had days when she didn't want to get out of bed, but there had also been a lot more good times. Days when Bridget would get up out of bed, take a shower, get dressed. She didn't go out a whole lot but she would putter around the house, firing off e-mails to her friends, mowing the lawn, and, on occasion, Eric had found her playing with Julie. These were the days that Eric lived for. The light that he grasped when she was having one of her spells. These were the days when Eric just knew that everything would be okay—eventually. Eric shifted in bed, smiling to himself over his musings. He was so involved in his ruminations that he didn't even notice that Bridget wasn't lying in bed next to him. Eric paused for a minute, wondering whether this was good or bad. He would either get up to find Bridget skipping around the house or sobbing on the bathroom floor. The question Eric found himself asking was; do I dare? Do I dare see which mood Bridget is in? Can I handle it if Bridget is in a bad mood? Do I dare—?

"Get up, get up, get up!" Eric was yanked from his reveries by Bridget, launching herself onto the bad next to him. She laughed, crawling across the mattress until she was practically on top of him. She smiled slowly, her face pressing close to Eric's own visage. Her breath was soft and warm, seductive, against his skin. Her hair was like a giant curtain strewn haphazardly across his face but he could tell she was smiling.

"I'm up," Eric murmured, trying to catch Bridget's lips with his. She pulled back ever-so-slightly to keep him just barely out of reach.

"Not yet," Bridget said with a pause that promised there was more to come. "I have a surprise for you. Get up," Bridget commanded in a playful tone. She began to pull away, her hair trailing across Eric's body, sending shivers racing down his spine. Eric sat up quickly, reaching out for her. He caught Bridget by the shoulders, pulling her up close to him.

"What are you up to Vreeland?" Eric asked cautiously. She smiled.

"Get dressed Richman. You're in for a crazy ride." Eric was caught off guard by Bridget's response. She sounded exactly like the girl he met and fell in love with. She was Bridget. She was back.

"Should I be scared?" Eric said, only half-teasingly. He had always been wary of Bridget's capabilities and he knew that when she got that spark in her eyes she was usually up to no good. Bridget tilted her head and laughed.

"Only if you're scared of me kicking your ass," Bridget said cockily, sitting up on her knees. It was then that Eric realized what they were going to do. Bridget had on her favorite green soccer jersey—the one that Eric had given to her the night he had proposed. He had tossed it to her carelessly as if it was no big deal but inside he had wrapped the ring. On the back where her last name should have been he had had Mrs. Richman stitched. She hadn't understood the ring, but when her eyes fell on the name on the back it had clicked. She had thrown it over her head and worn it until the day of their wedding. After that she had worn it on special occasions. Bridget had even worn it through her first trimester, until she had gotten too large to fit. After that it had disappeared. Eric had assumed it had wound up in the rag bag, but lo and behold, there it was.

"So," Bridget began, sitting back on her haunches. "Are you going to come voluntarily or am I going to have to drag you kicking and screaming?" Eric smiled, pulling his wife back towards him. This time when he went to kiss her, he made sure that she didn't pull away.

Bridget had everything planned. She had dropped Julie off with Lena earlier that morning, she had gone early to set up the goals and she had inflated her favorite ball—the ball that her "sisters" had given her when she graduated from Brown. It was symbolic—Bridget was positive about that, she just didn't know what it was symbolic of—yet. But, as her "sisters" frequently said, where there's a Bee there's a way.

"Okay we're here," Bridget announced, ripping the blindfold off of Eric. It had been silly, she knew, from the moment he had seen her outfit he had known exactly where she was taking him, but it was all part of the allure. Eric smiled, looking around at the soccer field stretching before him. It was perfect. The grass had been freshly mowed, the chalk lines emboldened, the goals had been set up. Bridget killed the engine staring at Eric before stepping out of the car. "Ready?" She asked. Eric knew it was a challenge.

"Ready when you are," Eric shot back, hopping out quickly. Bridget smiled, scurrying to chase after him. She had missed him, that was for sure. Whose fault was that? A little voice in Bridget's head asked critically. She could almost feel herself rolling her eyes at the voice but stopped. She had spent months at a therapist, trying to prove that she wasn't crazy. This definitely wasn't the time to start going nuts.

Bridget dropped the ball in the middle of the field, preparing for the biggest game of her life. For the first time since she had started playing soccer there was no one on the sidelines, no cheering fans or relatives. There was no referee to call fouls and no scorekeeper to keep track of her goals. This time was different. Deep down Bridget knew that the stakes were much bigger. She wasn't just playing for points; she was playing for her marriage. This would be the final straw; the final show of devotion to Eric. She knew that she was ready to return to normal, but she had to show him.

Bridget scored the first goal. Then Eric scored one. Bridget scored the third and Eric just barely made the fourth. They were perfectly matched for each other. Not just on the field either, Bridget thought to herself, smiling over how well they fit together. Eric pushed Bridget to do things that she didn't know she was capable of; Bridget pushed Eric into thinking the impossible. They were both fiercely competitive and strove for the best at all costs.

"I'm one up Vreeland!" Eric yelled haughtily, kicking the ball back towards the center of the field. Bridget had been so caught up in her daydreams that she hadn't even noticed Eric break past her towards her goal.

"I'm not letting you win that easy Richman," Bridget stated, lunging for the ball. She maneuvered it away from Eric and took off towards his goal. She could feel him pressing on behind her, his breath loud and labored, trailing behind her. She was thirty feet from the goal—just keep going—Bridget commanded inside her brain. She was twenty feet—you're almost there! Ten feet—

"Gotcha!" Eric yelled, tackling Bridget from behind. He caught her around the waist, rolling her down to the ground until he was lying on top of her. He had his arms braced on either side of her head, staring down at her. He hovered above her so she got none of his weight and all of his heat. He knew why he loved her. Are things really back to normal? Eric asked inwardly, staring at Bridget in the grass below him. Are we done with all the mood swings and emotions? Could Bridget really be better—?

"Shhh," Bridget commanded as if reading his thoughts. She thought back to the ball, ten feet away that would never make it into the goal. Feeling Eric's weight slowly collapse into her Bridget knew that the game would never be finished. It was on a permanent time-out with the score 3-2 in Eric's favor. Bridget figured that, just this once, she'd let someone else win.