by Mary Whitney
“Really? When are you leaving? Maybe I can take you to the airport.”
It was just a ride to the airport, but he might as well have asked me to prom. My heart skipped a beat. “My flight is out of National around five thirty.”
“That’s about the same time as my flight.” He smiled. “Come with me.”
“Are you sure?” I wanted to kick myself for giving him an opportunity to back out.
“Of course.”
I grinned because he sounded like backing out would never even cross his mind.
~~~
The following day I did my usual frantic race around my apartment, getting ready for the trip. Meanwhile, Severus sat in one spot, giving me the evil eye. He’d seen my suitcase which he knew was a bad sign. Unlike a dog, he hated travelling or anything that might involve a car. I didn’t know if it was the movement, or the lack of control, or the fact that cars took you to the vet. Occasionally, Severus would meow at me in an annoyed plea to stay.
“Don’t worry. Trish will come and say hi to you,” I told him, scratching his scruff.
He was unimpressed. He didn’t know it, but he was also a welcome distraction for me as I tried to keep the butterflies in my stomach at bay. I kept telling myself Michael was only giving me a lift to the airport, but reason didn’t work. It felt like a date, and I was excited, which was silly because it couldn’t possibly feel that way to Michael. The knock at the door startled me as I turned off the thermostat. I opened it to see Michael, dashing as ever, in a casual sport coat and well-tailored pants. He flipped his keys in his hand and smiled. “Afternoon.”
“Hi.” I smiled. His eyes were on full twinkle as if he knew I was nervous, which only made me more nervous. “Thanks for picking me up. It’s really nice of you.
“My pleasure.” He gestured toward my suitcase. “Let me get your bag for you.”
“Thanks,” I said and gave Severus one final head scratch.
As we walked the few steps up from the basement apartment to the street, I saw what had to be Michael’s car. It was a very sporty, but classy Mercedes. I nodded toward it. “Larry has a car just like that.”
“Really?” he asked, as he placed the suitcase in the trunk.
“Yeah, he had to fight Trish to get it.”
“She’s hilarious.” He smiled and opened the door for me, which left me wondering if this was date behavior or just everyday chivalrous gentleman behavior.
After he got in and closed his own car door, he said, “Why didn’t she want the car?”
“She thought $100,000 was too much.” I looked around the soft leather and glossy wood surrounding me. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks. I know it’s self-indulgent though.”
“And you don’t feel an obligation to buy American? That’s rare, even for a Republican.”
“This is going to sound horrible,” he said, starting the engine. “But yes, you got me. It’s not that I don’t feel an obligation to buy an American car. I do feel obliged, but I don’t want an American car and I know I can get away with not buying one.”
“Ah…” I smiled in understanding. “Exercising a little aristocratic privilege, are we?”
“Well, I don’t do it often.”
“It doesn’t seem like you, actually.” I stared at him for a moment, wanting him to know I meant it.
“Thanks. So what kind of car do you drive, Congresswoman Clark?”
“A Ford Escape hybrid.”
“Oh God.” He laughed. “The quintessential Democrat car. American, union made, and environmentally correct.”
“Except that it’s an SUV.” I laughed. “And by the way. This is a German car. I bet you anything the workers who built it were unionized.”
“Yeah. A bunch of coddled, overpaid guys working thirty-hour work weeks with eight weeks of vacation, draining the company and holding back the economy.”
“Oh, you are so full of it.” I pushed his shoulder lightly. “Germany is one of the largest economies in the world. It’s actually survived the global recession. Union workers are more productive.”
“See.” He grinned. “This is why I like talking with you. You say such ridiculous things. You’re hilarious without even knowing it.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“I’m sure you could.”
The teasing jokes continued as we talked about our upcoming schedules for the next five days back in our districts. When we arrived at the airport, Michael pulled into the prime parking area reserved for members of Congress. As we got out of the car, he asked, “So what airline are you flying?”
“USAir. What about you?”
“United,” he said and pulled my suitcase out of the trunk.
Because I couldn’t think of anything else to say, we talked about the banalities of air travel and our schedules until we got to the terminal. When it was time to say goodbye, I felt an urge to give him a hug. It was stupid. We were friends, but that was not proper behavior for congressional colleagues of the opposite sex.
I looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was surveying the loud, busy terminal. Other members of Congress and senators passed by us, also on their way back home. He winced and seemed annoyed, but when he looked at me again, he smiled. “Have a safe flight.”
“You too.”
“I’m your ride home, right?” Oddly, it sounded like he needed reassurance.
“Yes, you are.” I smiled.
“Good. I’ll text you on Sunday to make sure everything’s okay. All right?”
“Sounds great. Have a good trip.”
“Bye, Jessie.” He grazed his hand over my shoulder and walked away.
~~~
As promised, on Sunday evening, I received a text from him.
How’re you doing? Are we still on for tomorrow?
I answered immediately.
I’m doing well. The trip has been fine. Saw my family. Just had dinner with the local garbage men’s union. They definitely seem coddled.
I stared at my phone, hoping his response would pop up soon, and it did.
Coddled, big, burly guys. I bet you were the prettiest speaker they’ve ever had at one of their dinners.
Another compliment. It made me cover my mouth in embarrassment. I tapped a reply before he had a chance to put his phone away.
That’s not saying much. My flight gets in at ten. I’ll meet you at your car, OK?
I held my breath, wondering what he might say next, and he didn’t let me down. In seconds, he answered.
You’re right. You’d be the prettiest speaker at any dinner. See you tomorrow at my car. Take care until then.
My mouth dropped open at the sight of an unquestionable, outright flirt. Feeling warm and giddy, I stared at it for so long I forgot to reply. When I remembered I owed him a response, I tapped away.
You’re awfully nice to me. Thank you. Have a safe flight.
Not long after ten the following night, I found Michael standing against the side of his car while he read his phone. This time he was in jeans with a sport coat. He looked so damn sexy, and the car was so shiny that the scene looked like an ad for men’s cologne.
He grinned when he noticed me heading his way. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I said, returning his smile.
When he took my suitcase from me, I again had the urge to touch him. This time I wanted to give him a kiss on the cheek. It felt like the proper greeting for a guy you like who picks you up at the airport. When you were in your thirties with a decent job, no one picked you up at the airport unless he was your boyfriend. But he wasn’t my boyfriend, he was my… well, I wasn’t sure what he was. I restrained myself and simply said, “Thanks. It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too,” he said as he seemed to take a longer than normal look at me. “This is a nice ending to a tiring trip.”
“It is. Much better than a nasty cab.”
“Oh, so now you like my foreign car.”
“I
never said I didn’t. I said it was nice. I just commented it wasn’t American.”
“Sure…”
We talked about our trips on the way to my place, and when we arrived there, he brought my bag to the doorstep. Angst came over me because I didn’t want the night to end. We’d only seen each other for twenty minutes. Then I remembered something. “Um… I know it’s late, but Trish always leaves me dinner in the fridge. I think she said it’s chicken enchiladas. Do you want to join me?”
“That would be great,” he said, as a grin spread across his face.
“Excellent,” I said and opened up the door.
After I turned on the lights and said hello to Severus, I nodded toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Do you want a beer?”
“Thanks. Sounds perfect with Mexican food.”
We chatted about our favorite Mexican foods as he opened the beers, and I heated dinner. While I plated the food, he asked, “Can I help with anything?”
“Could you clear the newspapers off the table?”
“Sure.” Just as he picked up the stack of papers, a note fell to the floor. He glanced at it and then looked at the paper sitting atop the stack. He grimaced and exhaled. Handing the note and newspaper over to me, he said, “I believe Trish left you a note.”
“Oh yeah. She does that too. She leaves me articles she thinks I should read. Is it funny? Sometimes they’re funny.” Without waiting for his answer, I read it aloud. “Read this. A little information on your not yet divorced friend.”
My gut clenched, and I looked at the newspaper on the front page of The New York Times Style section, the same photo I’d seen long ago when I first Googled Michael took up most of the page. He was in his tux, looking dour and annoyed, while his stunning wife showed a dazzling smile. I took a quick breath and started the damage control. “I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t—”
“No. Please don’t be sorry,” Michael begged. “I’m the problem. We’re… friends and I haven’t been forthright with you. You shouldn’t have to learn about me from the paper.”
“But—”
“Here,” Michael said, gesturing to a chair at the table. “We can eat dinner, while you read. When you’re done, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“No, we don’t have to do this,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yes, we should. Sit down, and I’ll get the food. The story’s accurate. I knew it was going to run yesterday. It’s part of a big article on high-profile divorces.”
“Okay…”
I began reading the article, while he got the plates and beer. When he sat down and started eating, I thought I needed to say something. “She’s very beautiful.”
He shrugged with a sour face and went back to eating. No longer hungry, I picked at my food as I read. When I finished reading, he was done with his meal and leaned back in his chair, drinking his beer.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” I said, even though I was dying of curiosity for details.
“No, I want to. I want to tell you everything.” He stood up and offered me his hand. “Let’s go sit down.”
As he led me into my own living room, I was dazed. I wondered what was so dark and stormy about the marriage, but mostly I was surprised he was holding my hand. When we sat on the sofa, and he took my hand again, I gulped. Did friends really display affection like this? I didn’t think so. He stared at our hands clasped together, and without raising his head, slowly stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. He chuckled. “I’m not gonna lie. I really like this.”
“I do, too,” I said under my breath. It was hard to be this close to him, to have him touching me, knowing he needed the comfort but selfishly wanting something more from him instead.
His eyes met mine, and with a slight squeeze of my hand, he said, “So, here’s my story. I met Stacy five years ago. We went out a few times over the course of a few months. I needed a date for a big wedding of a friend. It was one of those weekend-long things at a resort outside Chicago. I wasn’t that into her, but she was fun to be around. We spent the weekend drunk or in bed, usually both.”
I nodded, though I didn’t understand why you’d spend a weekend in bed with someone you didn’t really like that much. It was the kind of comment that would earn me an eye roll from Trish and an evil snicker from Larry. Then I imagined being naked in bed with Michael a whole weekend, and it was such lusty thought that I had to stop the fantasy for future use. Meanwhile, Michael took my nod as encouragement to continue.
“After the wedding, I stopped seeing her that often,” he said. He shook his head. “I wasn’t really interested in her. The night that I thought would be our last date she told me she was pregnant.”
“What? Do you have a child?” I gasped. It didn’t seem possible given his work schedule and lifestyle.
“No. No child.”
“Did she have an abortion?”
“No abortion. She had a miscarriage six weeks after we married.” He frowned, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was married to her or because she had a miscarriage.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s a blessing for everyone.”
“So you didn’t want to marry her? Did you want the child?”
“When I thought of someone who was my flesh and blood, I knew I wanted the child. I couldn’t imagine saying it should die. But when I thought of marrying someone I didn’t love and raising a kid with her, in my heart of hearts, I wanted her to have an abortion. It was horribly selfish and wrong.” He looked down at our hands and exhaled. “Not many people know this about me. Only my dad and lawyer.”
“You didn’t tell your mother?”
“No way.” His eyebrows rose fearfully. “I didn’t tell my sister either.”
“So what did you say to Stacy?”
“I didn’t tell her how I felt. I told her it was her choice if she kept the baby.” He looked at me with apprehension. “I believe that.”
“You do?” I was skeptical.
“I do. I know you’re trying to reconcile this with my pro-life voting record, but we can talk about that later.”
“Okay.” I said, though I doubt he could ever explain to me how those two things reconciled. I flipped my hair over my shoulder, waiting for more of the story. “So, she wanted to keep the baby?”
“Very much so.”
“But you didn’t have to marry her, for God’s sake.”
“Yeah, I did.” He gave me a look like I was nuts. “You think I’d have an illegitimate child? A child without my name?” He shook his head. “No, no, no. I wouldn’t let that happen, and I wouldn’t do that to her. And my father certainly wouldn’t let it ever occur in the Grath family.”
“But then you’re trapped in a loveless marriage. How is that good for the kid?”
“It was my mistake. I needed to pay for it.” He shrugged. “So the Times article is correct about the negotiations of money. It hints that there’s something fishy about it all. What it doesn’t say is that we’re debating a confidentiality agreement. The last thing I want out in the world is this whole mess.”
“It doesn’t seem that messy.”
“We had a debate about a pre-nuptial agreement, and where to get married. I wanted a civil ceremony. She wanted a big wedding. That was all pretty rough. I gave in because we needed to get married so quickly.”
“You had to keep up appearances?”
“Of course. The miscarriage happened so soon, though, anyone who thought she might be pregnant was proven wrong. After she lost the baby, everything broke down between us. I demanded we use birth control, and she refused to. Her argument was we were blessed before; we should be blessed again. Mine was that it was a mistake before, and we should wait until we were really ready. Eventually, she gave in on that one.”
“Wait. I don’t understand,” I said, holding up my hands. “Why did you stay married if there was no longer a child in question?”
“Di
vorce in my family? Not taken lightly.” His face was stern. “And she’s Catholic.”
“But Catholics get divorced and have annulments all the time. Why couldn’t you?”
“I told you I’d tell you everything. The fact is I thought about divorcing her. I even talked with my dad about it. He hated the idea. In the end, I kept the marriage going because I knew I wanted to run for office, and there’d be a seat opening soon.” He scratched his head sheepishly. “I know it’s not very honorable.”
I stared at him for a second considering the situation. Plenty of politicians did political calculations about their private lives. I’d done it myself. “That’s not as terrible as you seem to think it is. It sounds like you were trapped anyway.”
“No, it was awful. The marriage totally broke down a year before the election—even she wanted out. I promised to take care of her financially if she kept up the charade until I was elected.”
“So if you had an agreement about money, why are you fighting?”
“She wants more.”
“Oh.” The rich fighting over extraordinarily large sums of money was a foreign subject to me.
“So that’s my story. That’s what I’m trying to keep out of the press.”
“It’s not that bad, Michael.” I sighed. “There are worse things in the world. If the truth did come out, I don’t think it would be that hard to explain away. She’ll come off looking like a horrible money grubber. Frankly, I think she may be bluffing you to get more money.”
“Whatever. I just want it over.”
His beautiful blue eyes were blue in more ways than one. He was so sad. For all his political bravado, he seemed like a very sensitive man. A distant memory came back to me as I looked at him. I wondered if I should tell him. At first, I thought no, because it could end whatever might be starting between us. Then I realized I had to say something, given what we’d just discussed. Otherwise, I would be the one hiding a past.
I asked hesitantly, “So what would you have done if Stacy had said she wanted an abortion?”
“Well, I’d have felt horrible about it, but it’s not like I could’ve stopped her. If she did have one, I’d have been racked with guilt—both because I caused an abortion and because I was getting away scot-free, so to speak.”