Hope on the Inside

by Marie Bostwick

  “We want to deliver it to Governor Russman personally, along with a letter. We’re hoping that she’ll intervene to help some friends of ours.” Seeing no softening in Mountainous Man’s expression, Hope looked up at his hat and smiled. “Oh, are you a Cougar? My husband went to WSU. Wonderful school.”

  “Sure is. I grew up near Pullman.”

  “Really? What a small world. My aunt Marilyn was from Pullman.”

  After a couple of minutes of small talk about small worlds, Mountainous Man let them pass and Hope and Kate progressed a few more yards, until their path was blocked by someone else, only to be cleared by the finding of common ground a few minutes later. It went on like that for a good forty minutes, which was just about the time that Governor Norma Russman arrived on the scene.

  She was a good speaker. The crowd of enthusiastic supporters interrupted her with cheers and chants throughout her address. Hope and Kate were more focused on trying to work their way over toward the right side of the stage, where the governor had entered and where they assumed she would make her exit, than on the speech itself. Even so, after the governor outlined a quite detailed plan to improve high school graduation rates and offer more advanced technological training at the community colleges, preparing students for high-paying jobs without incurring big educational debts, Kate said, “You know, I was thinking of voting for the other guy, but after listening to her I’ve changed my mind.”

  “She seems pretty smart,” Hope said. “I like that she was a teacher before she went into politics. And that she’s a mother. That’s got to be good for us, don’t you think? A mother of four is bound to be compassionate.”

  “I hope so,” Kate replied. “But she’s also a politician. So who knows?”

  “I guess we’ll find out—if we can get close enough to talk to her. Oh, wait! It sounds like she’s wrapping up. Come on!”

  As the governor thanked the crowd and waved an arm over her head, bidding them farewell, Hope and Kate pressed forward toward a line of metal stanchions, meant to separate the candidate from the crowd. Hundreds of other people did the same, thrusting their hands out, hoping Governor Russman would shake them. Grinning from ear to ear, leaning out to touch as many hands as she could, stopping now and then to exchange a few words with people, the governor slowly worked her way down the line of admirers.

  Hope had never liked crowds and she was worried about Kate. The old woman was feisty enough to take care of herself in almost any situation. But the people kept pressing forward. Kate was so petite that Hope worried about her getting trampled. The fervor of the crowd was starting to feel frightening to Hope, like a pot about to boil over.

  Apparently, Hope wasn’t the only one who felt that way. When the governor was only a few feet away from them, nearly close enough to touch, and Hope was getting ready to hold the purple and gray quilt across the stanchions and rehearsing, yet again, what she was going to say, four men in dark suits moved closer to the governor.

  One of them leaned close to the governor’s ear, saying something that made her smile disappear for a moment. She nodded, then smiled once again and waved her arm high and wide over her head, as if she were signaling to one of the boats bobbing in the water behind her.

  The men in the suits formed a tight, impenetrable wall of protection around the governor and began to guide her to the left side of the stage, in the opposite direction from where Hope and Kate were standing.

  “Governor!” Hope cried, leaning across the metal railing as far as she could, the quilt in her arms. “Governor, please! I have something I want to give you!”

  Hope shouted as loud as she could, but it was impossible to make herself heard over the crowd. The men in the suits closed ranks and whisked the governor to a waiting SUV.

  And then she was gone.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes into what had been a largely silent journey back to Olympia, Kate said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you; I went to the prison on Tuesday and was able to talk to Deedee.”

  “And?”

  “According to her, the rumor is that Mandy did steal the blade. They say that Nita was the one who started the fight but that Mandy had taken it because she was depressed, thinking of cutting herself, but then used it on Nita when she attacked.”

  “That’s not possible,” Hope declared. “She wouldn’t do that. They did a count of the supplies afterward and none of the blades was missing. Everything was accounted for.”

  “I know. But some people are saying the count was off to start with.”

  “It wasn’t,” Hope said. “I counted them myself. There were four blades total. I know I’m no math whiz, but even I can count to four.”

  “Well, maybe Deedee will come up with something. I told her to start asking around, even gave her some money to buy a few bags of Fritos. Maybe a few incentives will convince people to start talking.” Hope nodded but said nothing, her eyes glued to the back of the pokey motor home they’d been following since merging onto the freeway.

  “At least we tried,” Kate said after a long moment. “That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Oh, come on now. Don’t be so gloomy. Another two minutes and we’d have been able to talk with the governor. Next time, we will. There’ll be other rallies.”

  “Don’t think so. Not for a long time anyway. I read a couple of articles that explained the strategy. She doesn’t have a primary opponent and the election is months away yet. This event was just supposed to rally her base and send a message to the other side, demonstrate her popularity and scare off any serious opposition, convince them to sit this one out.”

  “Well,” Kate said after a moment’s rumination, “then we’ll approach her at some other event, preferably one that’s slightly less insane.”

  “Maybe. But she doesn’t have any public events on her schedule for the next ten days or so. Apparently, she’s getting ready for a big trip to Japan, promoting trade. After that, she’s going to a conference of western governors; then she’s speaking to some group in Pennsylvania about economic development.”

  Kate scowled. “Doesn’t the woman ever stay home?” she harrumphed. “I’m thinking about switching back my vote. Well, don’t worry. We struck out this time, but we’ve got ten days to think of something else.”

  “True,” Hope said, sitting up taller in her seat, then taking advantage of a hole in the traffic to change lanes and pass the motor home. “All kinds of things can happen in that time. We just need to come up with a new plan.”

  “Right,” Kate said. “Any ideas?”

  Hope paused for a moment, glancing into the rearview mirror as she pulled back into the right lane.

  “Not really. Except that a miracle would come in very handy about now. Who do I see about arranging one of those?”

  Chapter 42

  Four days later, the much hoped and prayed for miracle had not appeared. Nor was Hope getting anywhere with her job search. After calling the Boys & Girls Club the day before to check on the status of her application, she was told that the position had been filled.

  She hadn’t even gotten an interview.

  “Why don’t you come with me,” Rick suggested as he was lacing up his running shoes after they finished breakfast. “It’d get your mind off things. Running’s great for stress.”

  “I wouldn’t run unless zombies were chasing me.” Hope sighed heavily and poured herself another cup of coffee. “I was thinking of painting an accent wall in the living room—six-inch stripes of red—carmine and cardinal. What do you think?”

  “Uh-huh. Sounds great.”

  “You don’t think it’ll be too bright?”

  “You’re asking me for decorating advice? If you think it’ll look good, then I’m sure it will. And if it makes you happy, then I’m all for it.” Rick took a final slurp of coffee and hopped to his feet.

  Hope propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “I don’t know if it�
��ll make me happy. But at least that way I’ll have accomplished something today.”

  Rick looked at her.

  “Are you planning to spend the whole day feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “Nancy called. They hired a new arts and crafts teacher at the prison.”

  Rick winced. “Ow. I’m sorry. Well, maybe you do get to spend the whole day feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Hope shook her head and lifted her coffee cup to her lips. “I already told you: I’m going to paint an accent wall in the living room this morning. I’ll spend the rest of the day feeling sorry for myself.”

  Rick smiled and bent down to give her a kiss.

  “See you in an hour,” he said.

  * * *

  In thirty-nine minutes, before Hope had even finished taping off the wall, Rick was back. He was huffing and puffing so hard that he could barely speak. His face was as red as the splotch of cardinal paint Hope had put up as a test color.

  “Honey! Are you okay? Do you need to sit down? Should I get you some water?”

  Rick shook his head, then bent forward, resting his hands on his thighs, sucking air.

  “It’s okay,” he gasped after a moment. “Just. Need to. Catch my breath. Ran all the way up the stairs.”

  Hope’s eyes went wide. “All five flights? Why didn’t you just take the elevator?”

  “Somebody’s using it,” he said, his breathing slower but still ragged. “Delivering some furniture. Had to tell you right away. I saw her.”

  “Saw who?” Hope said, shaking her head in confusion.

  Rick stood up straight, grinning, and took one more big breath.

  “The governor and two of her bodyguards. Down at Marathon Park. She’s a runner, Hope. Runs almost every day.”

  * * *

  Hope’s forehead was dripping with sweat. Her lungs felt like they were about to explode, and a pinch of pain on her left foot hinted that a blister was ready to rise on her heel. But she’d made up her mind.

  She was going to run an entire quarter mile without stopping even if it killed her. At the moment, this seemed like a possibility. But the footbridge was only a few yards ahead of her. Once she crossed it, she’d have reached her goal. At least she’d have something to show for the last five days of misery and aching muscles.

  Just before stepping onto the footbridge, she shifted her burden to her other arm. Even though Hope had rolled it tightly into a tube shape before wrapping it in plastic, Mandy’s quilt made an awkward baton, especially when Hope’s hands were sweating. Her feet thumped heavily over the wooden slats of the bridge, a slow and steady drumbeat.

  Excruciatingly slow, Hope thought to herself, willing her leaden legs to keep moving. Excruciating in every sense. But she was almost there. Another twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten.

  Hope felt the whoosh of disturbed air before she actually saw Rick pass her. Again. He sped past her with long, loping, gazelle-like strides, then ran to the end of the bridge and a few yards farther before turning around and slowing his pace to a jog, meeting Hope at the end of the footbridge.

  “Great job, babe! You did it!”

  Chest heaving, Hope let the quilt-baton drop to the ground and took the water bottle Rick held out to her, sucking down half of it before speaking.

  “That was absolutely miserable.”

  “But you did it,” Rick said. “And without zombies. Good job!”

  “Slow as I run, it’s a good thing there weren’t any zombies involved. Otherwise, I’d already be among the undead. How many times did you go around?”

  “Twice. That’s all I have time for. I’ve got to get over to the jobsite. The building inspector is due this morning. You ready to go?”

  Hope looked to the left and right, scanning the horizon, looking for a redheaded woman about her age who, according to Rick, would be running between two fit men in their early thirties. She saw only individual runners and none of them had red hair. She looked at Rick.

  “No sign of her on the other side of the lake?”

  “You think I’d have kept it from you if I had? Honey, you tried. That’s all anybody can do.”

  “I guess. It was always kind of a crazy plan,” she said, sounding more resigned than she felt. “She’s leaving for Japan tomorrow. Maybe I should have just mailed it.”

  “You still can. Just because you don’t hand it to her personally doesn’t mean she won’t actually see it or read the letter.”

  “True. But chances would be a lot better if I did. Plus, I feel like if I could just talk to her for even a few minutes, I could explain what happened and why the quilting program should be reinstated. At this point, I don’t even care if I get my old job back. But the program should be saved.

  “I know this is small potatoes compared to trade with Japan, but this program can make a difference in the lives of women who deserve a second chance. Giving these women a skill they can feel proud of, a chance to give something of value to someone else, sometimes for the first time in their—”

  “Babe?” Rick looked at his watch.

  “Sorry, sorry. I’ve rehearsed my speech so many times in my head that it just kind of popped out.”

  “You ready?”

  Hope shook her head. “You go on without me. I want to finish the loop; then I’ll walk home.”

  “It’s a pretty long walk.”

  “I know,” Hope said, bending down and picking up the plastic-wrapped quilt. “I want to stay a little longer. Just in case. And if I don’t see her . . .” Hope shrugged. “Well, then I’ll put it in the mail. You’re right. All I can do is try.”

  Rick gave her a quick kiss. “See you tonight,” he said before jogging off toward the truck.

  “See you tonight.”

  * * *

  Carrying the quilt under her arm, Hope finished walking the upper loop of Capitol Lake. She considered going around again, but that would be another three miles, not counting the walk back to the condo. Besides, it was almost ten o’clock. Either the governor wasn’t running today or they’d missed her. Much as she hated giving up, it was time to admit defeat and head home.

  It was a nice day. Since she didn’t have anywhere special to be—that was one benefit of being jobless—Hope took her time. Strolling along the avenue, she peeked into shop windows and took note of a few restaurants she and Rick might want to try in the future. If the two of them could ever manage to be employed at the same time, maybe they’d be able to eat out more often.

  She went inside the bookstore, petted the shop cat, checked out the children’s section, smiling to herself as she flipped through some of the picture books, imagining future field trips with her future granddaughter, then placed an order for a new baking book that was coming out just before Rick’s birthday.

  She was glad Rick had cut back on his baking, it was better for both their waistlines, but she hoped he’d take the hint that perhaps he’d cut back a little too much. Hope hadn’t had a decent cookie since McKenzie had come over that day. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good loaf of homemade bread. At this point, she’d even have gotten excited about rosemary olive loaf.

  On second thought, she decided, maybe not.

  However, Hope was in luck. As she stepped through the bookstore’s door and onto the street, her nose was greeted by a delicious aroma of coffee, baking butter, and sugar. Olympia Coffee Roasting Company was less than a block away.

  Remembering that she’d stowed some money in the pocket of her jacket a few days before, Hope went inside, ordered a small latte and a chocolate croissant, then sat down at one of the tables to enjoy a well-deserved treat. Surely a four-mile walk would negate the calories in a chocolate croissant. And if not, she really didn’t care.

  After taking a moment to appreciate the pretty leaf design that the clever and creative barista had drawn into the latte foam, Hope took a sip. The coffee was deliciously strong but perfectly mellowed by the creamy flavor of the hot milk. Biting through the flaky crisp
layers of croissant to the rich chocolate in the center, Hope decided she would be returning to this coffee shop as frequently as possible. Did McKenzie know about this place?

  Looking around the mostly young and entirely hip clientele, Hope decided she probably did. There wasn’t another over-fifty face in the room. At least at that moment. As Hope took another sip, the door opened. A middle-aged woman with red hair, wearing black running capris and a T-shirt, flanked by two fit young men in their early thirties, walked up to the counter and ordered three iced coffees.

  Hope almost choked on her coffee.

  It wasn’t possible. After all this time, all the miles she’d clocked, carting Mandy’s quilt around the lake, hoping beyond hope that she might almost literally run into the governor of the state, she stumbled upon her in a coffee shop entirely by accident?

  Maybe it didn’t qualify as a genuine miracle, but it was pretty close.

  Hope swiped her hand across her lips to banish any traces of foam and retrieved the rolled-up quilt from the chair next to her. The governor was still at the counter, joking with the cashier. Hope approached slowly, not wanting to interrupt. When there was a lapse in the conversation, Hope cleared her throat.

  “Excuse me? Governor Russman? Do you have a moment? There’s something I wanted to give you.”

  Still smiling, the governor turned around to face Hope. But the instant Hope pulled the plastic-wrapped, tube-shaped quilt from under her arm, the governor’s smile fled. Almost as instantly, the two fit young men stepped in front of her, glowering at Hope, putting a wall of muscle and menace between Hope and the governor.

  “Step back, ma’am! Put the package on the floor and your hands up. Do it now!”

  “The package?”

  Seeing the look in those young men’s eyes, feeling the crackling tension in the air, realizing it was fear and that she was the cause of it, Hope did as she was told.