Mothman's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

Morning came gray and wet. The crew was back on the bridge before Mothman expected. Mothette had gone to fetch the carpenter, to tell him about the middle beam, and Mothman waited under the arch where the reeds hid him. Three men knelt over the center span with a saw and a fresh plank. One of them leaned too far and the beam gave a long, low crack. Mothman moved without deciding to. He came up under the span and pushed his shoulder against the sagging wood before the man's knee could punch through it. The man saw him. He shouted. The others turned and saw the wings, the wide flat eyes, the pale face pressed up against the underside of their bridge. One dropped his hammer. It hit the water. A frog on the bank leapt sideways into the reeds. Mothman did not move. He kept his shoulder where it was because if he pulled back, the plank would drop the man into the lake. He held the wood and watched the men decide whether to run. Mothette came around the bend at a run, shawl askew, breath short. She stopped at the near post and put both hands up, palms out. That's him, she said. That's the one who told me about the beam. He's holding it up right now. Look. She pointed at Mothman's shoulder braced against the wood. Look where he is. If he wanted to hurt you he wouldn't be there. The men looked. The carpenter came down from the far post, slow, and knelt at the edge of the plank. He put his hand on the wood next to Mothman's shoulder and felt the give. He said, get me the long brace. Nobody moved. He said it again and the youngest boy ran. Mothette stayed at the post with her hands up until the brace was in and Mothman could ease his weight off. The carpenter looked at Mothman for a long second and nodded once. Then he went back to work. Mothman climbed the bank and folded his wings and sat down hard in the moss. Mothette came and sat beside him. Her hands were still shaking. You did it, she said. He shook his head. You did it, he said. She said, we did it, and corrected herself. You held the beam. I just told them what they were looking at. He wanted to confess his love to her. He opened his mouth and what came out was, thank you. She smiled at the bridge, not at him. On the span, the carpenter was calling for more wood. The middle beam was still not fixed. But the men were working near Mothman now, and one of them had waved. Something had moved that would not move back. The bridge would be okay, and so would Mothman. Now, there’s the matter of confessing to Mothette…