As she took the diaper bag from Rose’s hand, she said, “You know, Rose, I’m not sure what your thoughts are on love and children, but if I could just tell you this one thing. These two men are the best things that have ever happened to me. I used to be afraid, you know.” She looked down and ran her fingers across the frayed edge of the diaper bag handle.
“Afraid of what?” Rose asked.
“Afraid of what kind of mother I’d be. Afraid Walter would leave. Afraid Jack would die or something, and I’d be convicted of his murder and sent to rot away in prison with weird women and bad food.”
Rose laughed. Lilly certainly had a way of expressing herself.
“I know,” she laughed. “I’m kooky that way. But one day, Walter looked at me and said, ‘Lil’—that’s what he calls me, Lil. He said, ‘Lil, you can live your life afraid and end up with nothing. Or you can just take a leap off that cliff of fear you’re hanging on and let me catch you. I promise what’s waiting at the bottom is worth the fall.’ Ain’t that poetic?”
Rose felt a burning in her nose. There was no way she was about to cry. Rose didn’t cry. Well, not anymore. “I’d say that’s rather poetic.”
Then Rose just stood there. Stood there staring at Lilly. Staring at her hair, thinking how much darker it looked inside than it had outside in the bright light. Thinking how much bluer her eyes seemed. Thinking how odd that someone with such dark hair would be named Lilly. Thinking of anything other than what Lilly had just said.
“What? Do I have food in my teeth or something?”
Rose blinked. “No, none that I can see.” She turned around and opened the door. “Nice to meet you, Lilly.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Rose.”
“You’ve thanked me, Lilly. You’ve thanked me.”
Rose didn’t look back. But she had a feeling she would remember Lilly and Jack for a long time.
On the porch she noticed a box marked “Christmas Decorations” sitting in the corner. Rage began in the very depths of her heart and, as if funneled through each vein, coursed through her, returning her to the woman she was at eight o’clock that morning. Before Lilly. Before an iced Coke and boiled peanuts. Before checkers and Red Light, Green Light. Before Billy Monroe and making love to her husband. Back to the Rose she knew she was now.
She grabbed the edge of Lilly’s railing to steady herself.
The smells of burned dinner and her mother’s fragrance. The feelings of anger and loss and fear. The sound of the door as it shut quietly yet completely. The cradling of Christopher’s arms around her as she wept beside the box of Christmas decorations that held unpacked garland and wreaths and memories. And each sound and smell and emotion came rushing back at her as if the wind were trying to swallow her whole.
“Are you all right, Rose?” Lilly’s voice stopped the barrage.
Rose worried that her knees would give way before she made it to the bottom step, but she steadied herself, forcing pride and confidence to clear her mind, straighten her posture, and return her sanity. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said without turning around.
Lilly watched as the luxury automobile carried the desperate soul to who knew where. Lilly looked at her little angel sleeping soundly beside the recliner. She sat down and called Walter again. He hadn’t even returned from lunch yet, so she told them not to bother him with her previous message. They could take care of their car when he got home.
She looked at the diaper bag. She knew what was in it and what that offered. But something about today tugged at her to finally let go. She knelt down, quietly unzipped the diaper bag, and pulled out the bottle that had been snugly stowed beneath the tiny diapers. She stood and studied the bottle’s amber liquid. And made a decision. It was time to do what Walter encouraged—let go of that cliff. With determination she walked over to the sink, unscrewed the cap, and watched as the liquor disappeared. She threw the bottle into the trash.
The Streams in the Desert devotional Walter had given her the previous Christmas was sitting on the small glass table beside the recliner. She went to sit down and carefully turned to that day’s devotion. It was all about the fragrance and beauty of a rose. She wrote inside the pages about the stranger she had met. And when she was through, she closed the book and leaned her head back on the worn velvet fabric. She closed her eyes, thankful for her still-sleeping child. And in the quietness of her soul, she whispered the name Rose over and over again to the only One who could truly catch her when she fell from that increasingly slippery cliff. And then Lilly prayed that someone was waiting for her at the bottom of her cliff as well.
6
Where have you been?” Helen scolded.
“I picked up a stranger,” Rose said flatly.
“You did what? Are you crazy? Do you have fever? Did you break down and eat beef on one of your overseas trips? Because this sounds exactly like what my friend Jeanine’s friend Lenora said her cousin twice removed was like when she got mad cow disease.”
Rose shook her head, keeping her eyes on the road. “I’m pretty certain I don’t have mad cow disease.”
“Well, what about the e-mail? And if you tell me you still haven’t read it, I will know that you do officially have some type of degenerative brain disease, or either this trip is about far more than you’ve been telling.”
“No, Helen, I have not read your e-mail—”
“You—”
“But,” Rose interjected quickly, interrupting Helen, “I had to help a lady who was stranded. So I haven’t had time. But I will next time I stop.” She refused to tell Helen she’d already stopped.
“Well, say what you will, but I’m calling the doctor and making you an appointment as soon as you get home.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” she said. To herself she added, “Doctors can’t fix my broken.”
The tiny red message light on the top of Rose’s BlackBerry was blinking. As she drove back onto the interstate, she began to scroll through the caller ID to see who she had missed. There were four calls from Helen—all in the span of the ten minutes she had been inside Lilly’s—plus the fifth one she had just endured. One call from Max. And one from the senator.
Not the senator who had just suggested she pay him for his support of her bill. No, this was her senator. She felt the tires slide off the road and looked up in time to jerk the car back onto the highway.
“You’ve got to pay attention,” she scolded herself. It was a miracle she had never been in an accident before. She dialed her voice mail.
The familiar voice came over the speakers in the car. “Hey, it’s me. You’ve probably already heard about what the opposition is trying to do. But don’t worry, you’ve worked hard, so we’ll figure out something while you’re gone.”
He paused.
“I know you had to go and do what you’re doing, though I’m not quite sure what that is, seeing as you haven’t told anybody. I couldn’t even get anything out of Helen.”
That was no big surprise. Even if Helen had known, she wouldn’t have told him, what with the way she felt toward him.
“But I miss you already. Plus, she isn’t coming back to town at all until after the holidays. And I don’t have to leave for another week. So when you get home, take a couple of mental-health days and come spend them with me.”
Rose deleted the message. And somewhere inside, down past the parts that X-rays can find, where feelings dwell, she wished she could delete all the things she had tried to hide.
Rose straightened the collar of her new Ralph Lauren suit, blue with fine white pinstripes. The white silk camisole that peeked out from underneath the jacket was just right, but it was the large burnt-orange flower she had pinned on that accentuated the tones of her hair.
The Capitol still filled Rose with amazement. Two centuries of American history and the finest democracy in the world still held the power to amaze even though she knew that none of it, unfortunately, could escape the politics.
She approached Sen
ators Alex Carmichael and Richard Waterstone. They were standing beside the Conflict of Daniel Boone and the Indians sculpture in the Capitol Rotunda, one of the three public areas of the second floor of the Capitol, and the same floor as the chambers of the House of Representatives and the Senate. The imposing grandeur of the Capitol threatened to overwhelm them. But the surroundings couldn’t quite squelch the senators’ conversation.
Alex’s hands flailed with drama, animating every word. Richard stood calmly beside him, hands in the pockets of his fifteen-hundred-dollar charcoal gray suit with rich olive green tie. Rose had met them both last session.
“Rose, you look lovely today,” Alex said, interrupting himself, then leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.
“Nice to see you, Senator Carmichael.”
“Rose, thanks for being willing to meet with me today,” Richard added as he patted her arm. His requests to meet with Rose had been more and more frequent. They both said it was because of the new legislation they were trying to push through before they recessed for the summer. They both would not say that the time spent together had changed the atmosphere between them. Yet as the distance between herself and Richard had closed, the distance between herself and Jack had only grown.
“Let’s walk,” he said, motioning in front of them.
“It looks like we’re going to get some unmerited opposition,” Alex said as they walked. “Not what we need.”
Rose looked at him. “Is it negotiable, maneuverable?”
“I’m not sure. It’s coming straight from the White House.”
Rose smiled. She saw Richard eye her but ignored it. “Senator Carmichael,” she said, the sound of her heels reverberating through the Rotunda, “when have we let something like a president thwart our purpose? In fact, just the other day I heard he was actually talking about what we were doing.” She winked.
“No, he was talking about what you are doing and what you have been getting accomplished up here,” Alex replied.
“Well, then we’ll just get us an audience with the president if need be.”
Richard laughed and tilted his head toward Alex. “She makes you think you can do just about anything, doesn’t she?”
Alex patted her on the back like a school buddy. “Yes, I do believe, Miss Rose, for such an unassuming lady, you aren’t intimidated by much.”
“They don’t pay me to be intimidated,” she confirmed.
Alex laughed. Their short journey had brought them to another entrance to the Rotunda. “Well, you two mull over some creative strategies, and I’ll go work the floor,” Alex said. “I’m good at that.”
Rose and Richard watched Alex leave, his departure causing an awkward moment.
To Rose’s relief, Richard asked, “Got time for lunch?”
“I’m starved.”
Richard pulled his black Mercedes convertible underneath the stone portico of the Hay-Adams. Rose loved the hotel, a Washington landmark built in the 1920s, not only for its history and beauty but also for its wonderful food. As for the prestige part, well, she enjoyed that too.
Rose frequented the hotel weekly, for lunch or dinner or both. In fact, she first met Richard there after a lunch she’d had with another senator. She had always gone dutch. It was an ethics thing. Before ethics between lobbyists and government officials mattered to few in Washington besides herself.
The valet helped Rose slide out of the car. The rich mahogany wood-and-glass door welcomed them. Rose admired Richard as they entered. He was a towering figure at six foot two. But Jack’s six-foot frame had also made Rose feel the power of his presence. Both men had professional power in their own right as well. Richard in the halls of Congress. Jack in his position at the State Department.
They walked from the rich mahogany tones of the lobby into the cool creams of the Lafayette Room, where all the dining experiences at the Hay-Adams took place. The maître d’ led them—amid smiles and warm greetings—to a quaint table for two, with a window view that revealed the most majestic destination in North America: the White House. The awe it invoked in Rose couldn’t be tarnished by whoever lived there. If you made it to the White House, an automatic level of respect came with your arrival.
Richard fumbled with his black leather briefcase as they took their seats. Rose noticed his nervousness. “Are you okay?”
He pulled a folder out and placed it at the edge of the table. He ran his index finger down the edge. “Yeah, it’s just been a little frustrating around here lately.”
She laid her cream linen napkin in her lap and smoothed it across her legs, appreciating that, unlike cheaper fabric, the linen wouldn’t leave white fuzz on her navy suit when she left. “I know exactly what you mean.”
He took a drink of his water, then gazed directly into her eyes. “Well, unfortunately, frustration around here leads to frustration at home.”
She studied him, remembering the explosion that had occurred that morning after Jack discovered her deception. The confrontation had left her reeling and angry and, well, frustrated herself.
The waiter and the food distracted them. Over Rose’s lavish vegetarian lunch, she watched Richard eat his “ Uncobb” seafood salad. She recalled the fact that Jack had never once ordered just a salad. As an accompaniment to a steak maybe, but never just a salad.
Conversation about the legislation, the obstacles, the resources—these familiar topics allowed their comfortable rapport to return. Before long, lunch was over, and the staff was ready to prepare for dinner.
“Want to finish up back at the office?” Richard asked.
“Sure. I think we have a few things left to define more clearly.”
Upon their arrival at the Russell Senate office building, they found Richard’s staff working diligently. They retreated to his office, where he promptly made himself comfortable on the small, deep gold velvet sofa sitting in the center of the room. He clasped his hands behind his head and stretched.
Rose sank down at the other end of the couch, which wasn’t far, and sighed as the cushions gathered around her body. She crossed her legs, which caused the strap of one Prada shoe to slip from her ankle. The shoe dangled lightly, but she made no attempts to adjust it.
“I think my wife is having an affair,” Richard announced suddenly, sitting forward and piercing her with his deep green eyes. He had mentioned his family before, but neither of them had talked much about their spouses or deeply personal things. He rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. “I’m never home,” he said as he ran his hand through his thick, wavy brown hair. Traces of gray in his hair and manicured goatee hinted at the labor and toil of a senator. “Who can blame her for finding someone who actually has time for her?”
“Are you really sure?” Rose asked, leaning in, revealing her concern. “I mean, maybe it’s not what you think.”
“I’m pretty certain. She hasn’t taken great pains to keep it a secret,” he said, kicking his shoes off and planting his gray-socked feet on the polished coffee table in front of them. It was already getting dark outside, so he turned on the lamp that sat on the end table.
“Well, if she’s not trying to hide it, then she must be desperately trying to get your attention.”
“Is that what affairs are about? Getting attention?”
“I’m not sure. I’m sure affairs happen for multiple reasons, but it might be in this case. Especially if you never have time to be with her.”
“Well, if that’s true, she hasn’t exactly chosen the best method,” he said. “But we’ve never had much of a marriage. Three kids have kept us together, but the last one leaves the nest next year, and I doubt we’ll have much to hold on to after that. We will have done our job.”
Rose could see hurt beyond his exterior, his masculine pride. At least she thought it was hurt. She instinctively laid her hand on his arm. As soon as she did it, she knew it was a mistake. But it was just an action of consolation. She removed her hand and let her words do the soothing instead. “I’m sorry f
or what you’re going through.”
They sat in silence until an interruption by a secretary roused them back to work. They spread out their notes on a table situated below a painting and sconces that offered the perfect amount of light. And to Rose the next few hours played out in exponential speed, because the secretary’s next visit asking if it was okay if she could go home announced the late hour.
“Ten o’clock! I can’t believe that much time has passed,” Rose said, yawning. “Another long day.”
“Yeah, that’s all I seem to have is long days. Shoot, I’d probably have an affair on me too.” Richard laughed.
Rose bent over and slipped her shoes back on. She had rid herself of them somewhere between hours two and three. She closed her leather notepad and placed it inside her briefcase, which she had placed beside her chair. “You shouldn’t say that. No one should have to go through that. And she shouldn’t allow you to suffer that way. It’s not right.”
Richard leaned across the table and was staring at her when she raised her head back up. His nearness startled her. “You want to go have a drink with me? Get some dinner?”
She recognized immediately what he was asking. Both his eyes and the way he said it made the message perfectly clear. And she knew that everything she hated was wrapped up in his request. Yet Richard understood her. She understood him. And he was hurting. They were both hurting. And, well, Jack was so angry with her, he’d probably be asking for a divorce by next week anyway.
As her mind raced, deep in the recesses of her soul she felt a tug. A familiar yet distant tug. It pricked at her conscience and gave a pull on her heart. Rose wanted to follow it. She had always wanted to follow it. But it demanded so much. So much she couldn’t control.
“I like expensive wine,” she toyed.
“I know.”
As they walked out the door, she could sense the abyss before her—one they would never return from. It would change them both forever. Yeah, she knew all of that. Richard closed the door behind them, and she noticed his manicured hand. Rose dove anyway.
Flies on the Butter Page 6