The Broken Road (The Broken Series)

by Ruff, K. S.

  Kimme chuckled as she ripped open another piece of chocolate. “I think you have a loser magnet embedded in your forehead, Krissy. You really need to get that thing removed.”

  “So, what does Michael have to say?” Charlie inquired from the doorway.

  Oh crap. It was my turn to reach for the chocolate. I grabbed two pieces. The moment definitely called for two pieces. “Good afternoon to you too, Charlie.” I gave him my best smile. Then I shoved an entire square of chocolate into my mouth so I wouldn’t be expected to speak.

  Charlie didn’t smile back. “Not going to work. Open it.”

  My cheeks flushed red. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was read some pining e-mail from Michael to my boss. Groaning, with the chocolate still in my mouth, I opened the message and read it aloud. “Je ne peux pas respirer sans toi. Tu es mon air, ma vie, mon amour. Tu es à moi. Tu m’appartiens.”

  Kimme was practically plastered against my computer screen. “What the heck does that mean?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. My French is pathetic.” I was secretly relieved. If I didn’t know what the message said, then I didn’t have to decipher it for Charlie, who was now towering over the top of my chair, peering around Kimme at the computer screen. Not like this was my office or anything.

  Kimme shoved my hands away from the keyboard and began typing. “Google Translate… that will tell us!” She was practically sitting on my lap as she took over my computer.

  I was seriously reconsidering our friendship.

  Kimme read the translated text. “I cannot breathe without you. You are my air, my life, my love. You are mine. You belong to me.” Kimme sighed. As she shot out of my lap, she smacked her head against Charlie’s chin.

  Charlie stepped back. An inch.

  Kimme rubbed the side of her head as she settled against the wall. “Well, that’s kinda romantic actually… in a slightly crazed Neanderthal kind of way.”

  Charlie didn’t think it was romantic. “He’s violating the restraining order.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think. All this drama was making my head hurt, and everyone was crowding me. “All righty then. I’m not going to respond. I’m just going to sit here and pretend I never read this.”

  “But…” Kimme objected

  I lifted my hand, effectively throwing a stop sign at her. “No ‘buts.’ I’m not responding. I’m going to behave like a responsible employee and get back to work. So… get out. Both of you. Now!” I threw the remaining chocolate at them as they hustled out of my office laughing.

  How much drama can there be in one day? I looked at the clock on my computer. Two o’clock. I groaned loudly as I slid down my chair and contemplated hiding under my desk for the rest of the day.

  * * * * * *

  Eight days later, I found Charlie sitting behind my desk… in my chair. He was slowly tapping an ivory linen envelope against his left hand. He didn’t stand or offer me my chair. He didn’t even smile. He just handed me the envelope.

  I eased into the chair across from my desk and looked at the envelope. It was already open. I knew what it was. In my heart of hearts, I knew. From the moment Charlie had walked into my office with an answer to my prayer, I knew this letter was coming.

  “Take a deep breath,” Charlie encouraged softly as he stood.

  I did. I took two… and slowly turned the envelope over. It was from the John Heinz Foundation. Tears pooled in my eyes before I removed the letter from the envelope. As much as I tried, I couldn’t even read the writing. Tears splotched the linen stationary as I peered down at the letter through watery eyes.

  Charlie gently squeezed my shoulder. “Looks like you’re going to DC, kiddo.”

  I couldn’t help it. I knew I should be happy. I knew it was an honor to be one of the few people chosen for a personal interview, but I felt so conflicted. All I could do was cry.

  * * * * * *

  The first leg of my flight literally flew by. The Chatty Cathy sitting in the seat next to me saw to that when she ignored the iPod I came armed with, evidently not realizing I was wearing it so I could avoid talking to people like her. A lot of good that did me.

  The second leg of my flight was a bit more… eventful. I was seated next to a well-dressed business man with brown hair and warm brown eyes. He appeared to be Italian and about fifteen years older than me. He, too, managed to work up a conversation by asking whether I was traveling to DC for business or pleasure.

  Having lived in DC for some time, he enlightened me about the lesser known benefits of living in Northern Virginia. We talked about vineyards, apple orchards, and Great Falls Park… all things a girl from Montana would find infinitely more appealing than the monuments. Then he bled on me.

  “Oh, God! Please take this!” I shoved my pashmina at him as I twisted frantically in my seat in search of a flight attendant. I was hoping it would stem the flow of blood that was pouring from his nose before anymore got on my clothes. It was the only thing within reach. The fasten seatbelt sign was on, and the flight attendant was nowhere to be seen. Big surprise there.

  The nose bleeder insisted he make it up to me. “Let me buy you dinner while you’re in DC. It’s the least I can do. Please, let me make this up to you.” He looked mortified.

  I negotiated him down to lunch, but I eyed him skeptically as I handed him my business card. I wondered if he hadn’t somehow managed to make his nose bleed on purpose.

  I made it through Reagan National Airport relatively unscathed. I was a little surprised that no one inquired about the ridiculous amount of blood on my clothing. Possibly, walking around in blood soaked clothes was a common occurrence in DC. Not that this would warrant a strike against DC. It wasn’t all that uncommon in Montana either, especially during hunting season.

  I had never flagged down a cab before, so I wasn’t quite sure how it was done. Still, I was determined not to appear to be a small town girl in a big bad city, so I steeled myself as I exited the airport. With a completely unfounded air of confidence, I strode to the curb and attempted to hail a cab that was parked near the end of a very long line of cabs. I threw my left hand up and everything. A fellow traveler quickly set me straight. Evidently, there was a line.

  The cab ride proved even more interesting than my flight, although, I think it unnerved my cab driver a bit when I jumped into his front passenger seat. Still uncertain about proper cab etiquette, I may have mistakenly assumed the rules about riding shotgun still applied. Then I decided to chat him up. I figured the cab driver could give me the dirt on DC, more so than the elegantly dressed nose bleeder.

  My cab driver’s name was Habib. He was from Afghanistan. I spent some time seriously contemplating that fact. I was quite certain that among the 890,000 people living in Montana, there was not a single soul from Afghanistan. Habib was… interesting. He was deeply tan with warm brown eyes, a kind face, and an easy smile. He didn’t wear any kind of head scarf, which surprised me. Habib politely answered an endless stream of questions about DC and Afghanistan. When we arrived at the Marriott Hotel in Crystal City, he gave me his business card for Arlington Blue Top Cabs and encouraged me to call him for a ride to my interview the next day. So I did.

  The interview was a lot less intimidating than I expected. I met with the same three people who interviewed me on the phone. After hearing about the previous fellows’ accomplishments, I gained new insight into the opportunities the fellowship presented and just how great an honor it would be to be offered the position. By the time I walked out of the interview, there was a small part of me that really wanted to be awarded the fellowship. I just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

  When Habib picked me up from the interview, he offered to drive me around the monuments.

  I silently questioned whether he was trying to earn more cab fare or if he was just being thoughtful.

  Habib drove straight up Pennsylvania Avenue. Then he looped around the Capitol.

  I pressed my forehead against the window of th
e cab as I stared at the massive bronze statue crowning the top of the Capitol dome.

  “That’s the Statue of Freedom. I have heard she faces east so the sun never sets on her face,” Habib explained as we waited for some pedestrians to cross the street.

  I smiled as my eyes met Habib’s. “That seems fitting. I’d like to think the sun would never set on freedom. Have you ever been inside the Capitol?”

  Habib shook his head. “No. As many times as I have driven around this building, I have never seen the inside.”

  “I bet it’s beautiful inside,” I murmured as I looked longingly at the building. I instantly regretted my decision not to extend my trip so I could tour some of the historical sites in DC.

  Habib drove past the Washington Monument. As impressive as the monument was, I couldn’t take my eyes off the Tidal Basin, where the Jefferson Memorial peeked through a curtain of pink and white flowers that kissed the sky and carpeted the ground. The breathtaking display was reflected all along the water’s edge. “I wasn’t expecting DC to be so beautiful,” I admitted a bit reluctantly.

  Habib smiled. “You arrived just in time for the cherry blossoms.” He nodded toward the Tidal Basin. “Do you know the story behind those trees?”

  I shook my head as I glanced back out the window. “No.”

  “Those trees were a gift from Japan. They sent over three thousand cherry trees to the United States as a token of friendship.”

  My eyes widened as I turned to face Habib. “Three thousand trees? Was this gift sent before or after the bombing of Pearl Harbor?”

  Habib shrugged. The car rolled to a stop as we approached a red traffic light. “I’m not sure when they were sent.”

  I dug my cell phone out of my purse so I could search for the date. “They were given to the United States back in 1912. That was before the bombing of Pearl Harbor.”

  Habib chuckled. “Now that is interesting.” He drove by the WWII Memorial, the reflecting pool, and the Lincoln Memorial before he merged back onto the highway.

  By the time I arrived at the hotel I was engaged in an internal debate, the likes of which threatened to destroy all of my preconceived notions about the fellowship and DC. The day and the debate left me feeling exhausted and a bit overwhelmed. As soon as I made it back to my room, I ordered room service for dinner. I passed out cold with the tray of food still warm on my bed.

  * * * * * *

  My return flight to Montana wasn’t scheduled until four o’clock, so the nose bleeder picked me up for an early lunch… in a Jaguar. Instead of driving to a restaurant, he merged onto a highway leading out of town. He was quiet, so I sat and pondered how stupid I was to get into a car with a complete stranger. Well, he’s not a complete stranger, I reasoned with myself. We had spent a good three hours together on the plane, and I knew his name wasn’t really nose bleeder… it was Frank.

  Frank exited the highway. We drove through a quaint looking community before he turned onto a narrow, heavily treed road. “I have a surprise for you,” he announced with a smile.

  My mouth fell open when I saw the large wooden sign welcoming us to Great Falls Park. “This is the park you were telling me about on the plane! Does the park have a restaurant?”

  Frank paid the park ranger before easing his car into a nearby parking space. “No. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of packing our lunch. I hope you like wine and cheese.”

  And just like that, I was ready to forgive the blood.

  Frank handed me a large red and black checkered blanket. “I brought a couple of extra blankets in case we get cold.” He grabbed two more blankets and a picnic basket from the trunk of the car. He smiled as we began walking toward the entrance to the park.

  We passed by a large group of people as we walked along a wide gravel trail. I couldn’t see the falls, but a soft rumbling noise sounded just off to my left. Frank steered me to the right as he cut across the grass. He set the extra blankets and the picnic basket under a massive tree. I helped him spread the red and black checkered blanket on the ground. He reached for the picnic basket as I kicked my shoes off and kneeled on the blanket.

  I couldn’t believe the guy had a real picnic basket. My limited experience with picnics generally involved cramming power bars and bottled water into my backpack. I hadn’t seen a full-on picnic basket before.

  My jaw dropped when Frank pulled small green stoneware plates, wine glasses, a couple of knives, and white linen napkins from the basket. After arranging three blocks of cheese and a container of tapenade on a wood cutting board, he unwrapped a small loaf of French bread and opened a bottle of red wine. “I hope you like Chianti,” he said as he handed me a glass.

  I just shook my head and laughed. “I love Chianti.”

  Frank tapped his glass against mine. “Salute.”

  “Salute,” I echoed before taking a sip of wine. I hummed in appreciation. The wine left soft, lingering notes of cinnamon and plums on my tongue. I gazed out over the heavily treed park. I couldn’t believe how green Virginia was in March. Montana was still brown and soggy from melting snow. My eyes slowly returned to Frank. “So tell me about your family,” I prompted as I propped my chin on my knees. I figured it was a pretty safe topic for conversation since he was wearing a wedding ring.

  Frank leaned against the trunk of the tree and studied his glass of wine. “My wife and two daughters live in upstate New York. I maintain a place in Reston, since I have to be here for work, but I often fly back to New York so I can spend weekends with them.”

  “That must be difficult… having a job that requires you to work so far away from your family,” I commented softly.

  He shrugged. “Not particularly.”

  I glanced at him in surprise, then promptly changed the topic. “I hope you aren’t missing work on my account today.”

  “My work hours are flexible,” he responded as he sliced a couple pieces of bread. He set the knife down, then dipped a piece of bread into the tapenade. “Speaking of living arrangements, you should only consider apartments in Virginia if you’re awarded the fellowship.”

  I reached for a piece of bread and sampled the olive spread. “Why? I heard that housing in Maryland is more affordable than it is in Virginia.”

  Frank reached for his wine. “Maryland’s crime rates are higher. Virginia may cost more, but it’s a much safer place to live. I recommend Fairfax or Vienna… someplace close to the metro. The commute into DC can be brutal.”

  My eyes narrowed over the top of my wine glass. “How long of a commute are we talking about?”

  Frank began slicing the cheese. “At least an hour each way if you live in Fairfax or Vienna, and that’s on a good day. The metro may take longer if you have to change lines, but it’s a lot less stressful than driving.”

  I winced at the thought of spending two hours a day in traffic. In Montana, my commute took only ten minutes… fifteen if I picked up breakfast in the Bagel Company drive through.

  I gathered as much advice as I could from Frank as the picnic drew to an end. We walked to an overlook to admire the falls before we returned to the car. I was far more relaxed on the drive back to Crystal City, although it was impossible to say whether that was due to the two glasses of wine I had consumed or because I had abandoned all previous thoughts of Frank being a serial killer.

  Frank escorted me into the hotel lobby before kissing me softly on both cheeks. Cheek kissers don’t really live in Montana, so I stood there awkwardly. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to turn my cheek, kiss his cheek, or kiss the air. I wondered if this was a formality that I would have to learn if I moved to DC.

  Frank handed me his business card and a beautifully wrapped package that he had carried in from the car. The gift was a new pashmina, which looked considerably more expensive than the one Frank had bled on. I thanked him profusely, he thanked me profusely, and we said our goodbyes. I gathered my luggage from the bellman and called Habib so he could drive me to the airport for th
e long flight home.

  * * * * * *

  I fielded an endless stream of questions about DC when I returned to my office the next morning. My jalapeno, cheese, and egg bagel remained uneaten for the most part. Eventually, I scribbled “DO NOT DISTURB” on a pink Post-it note and slapped it on my door so I could forge through phone messages.

  My sign was up for all of ten minutes when Charlie strode through the door. He pulled the sticky note down, wadded it up, and threw it at me. I took issue with this… only because the wadded up paper landed in my coffee. I glared at Charlie as I fished the soggy note out of my cup. “This had better be good.”

  Charlie smiled as he pulled up a chair. “Trust me. It’s good.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “This from the man who conned me into hosting a television show and applying for a fellowship in DC?”

  Charlie’s smile widened. “Both of which are exceptional career building opportunities… Look, Mike and I have made a decision about this fellowship you applied for.”

  I began organizing the papers scattered across my desk. “You mean the fellowship you made me apply for?” He did. Sort of. It was his idea anyway.

  “I merely nudged you in the right direction.” Charlie’s face looked more innocent than it should. “Mike and I want to offer you a deal.”

  I shoved the paperwork aside, leaned forward, and propped my elbows on my desk. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

  Charlie’s eyes locked on mine. “You accept the fellowship when it’s offered to you…”

  “IF it’s offered to me,” I firmly corrected.

  “WHEN it’s offered to you,” he insisted, “and we’ll hold your job for one year so you can come back when the fellowship ends.”

  “What do you mean ‘hold my job?’” I had never heard of jobs being held in state government before.

  Charlie leaned forward in the chair, his elbows resting casually against his knees. “We won’t advertise or fill your position. We’ll divide and temporarily reassign your responsibilities to other people in the office so you can return to this position if you decide to come back.”