Forever Your Heart

by Mary Whitney

  “Yes, that would be nice.” I could tell she was trying to end the conversation because of where we were, but I didn’t like the idea of thirty minutes in a Starbucks. I countered, “But how about lunch instead?”

  She gave me a slow nod in agreement, so I added, “I dare say you’re busier than me. So you tell me when.”

  “Oh, I think it’s always going to be crazy for me around here. We can go whenever.”

  “How about tomorrow, then?”

  “Sure. So far I’ve only eaten lunch at the White House Mess. I’ve seen a salad bar around the corner not far from Blair House.”

  A short lunch at a crowded salad bar with stale fried chicken and lousy curry was not what I had in mind. I shook my head and suggested a respectable, public place that still satisfied my purposes. “The White House Mess? You need a proper lunch, then. Maybe the Old Ebbitt Grill?”

  “It’s not too far away, right? I don’t know my way around DC yet.”

  “Just a few streets over.”

  “Is one o’clock all right?”

  “Certainly.” Feeling like a teenager once again, I repeated something I’d done long ago. I ripped a page from my notebook and began writing. Handing it over to her, I said, “Here’s my mobile number in case you need to get hold of me.”

  Nicki took the piece of paper and blinked twice, perhaps recognizing my handwriting. She looked up again and, with a half-smile and her thoughts seemingly elsewhere, she said, “Thanks. There shouldn’t be a problem, but it’s good to have. They’ve handed out my number, right?”

  “They have.” It was true I had both an office and mobile number and an email address for her, but they were all for her work. I was a little hurt that she didn’t offer up her private information.

  “Good.” She looked around what was now an emptying room. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  After such a cryptic yet powerfully quiet conversation, I wanted to acknowledge everything that we’d left unsaid. With my full intent, I gazed at her. She stared back, yet I couldn’t pinpoint what her dark eyes tried to communicate. If I had to make a guess, I’d have said they were caring but also apologetic. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to hear what she was sorry for.

  I softly said, “Tomorrow, then.”

  “Bye, Adam,” she said in an equally quiet voice before walking away.

  Chapter Three

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the thought that there was a flicker of hope with Nicki carried me through the briefing, though she’d reverted to ignoring me. It was frustrating, but I realized that I was stupid and selfish to expect more. The rap on Nicole Johnson was that she’d worked for James Logan for over ten years. Despite being younger and outside his most senior staff, she was a still a close confidant of Logan’s and had become a friend of his family. Nicki’s silence toward me for nearly sixteen years had shown her steely character; she was stubborn and unwavering in her ability to put her emotions aside. There was no way she would let her high school crush get in the way of her responsibilities to the president of the United States.

  After the briefing, she sort of waved to me, which seemed to convey that our lunch was still on. I arrived at the restaurant early enough to make sure we had a relatively private table. The place was crowded, loud, and full of the K Street crowd, making it one of those occasions when I truly appreciated the effects of my accent on a young hostess. They always found me the seat I wanted.

  Nicki arrived five minutes late, apologizing profusely, but I brushed it off. How could I not when she sat before me looking so bloody beautiful? Had she remembered that I’d always liked her in purple?

  The first few minutes were taken up with discussion of food and drink, and we ordered quickly. Afterward, Nicki looked at her phone and again said, “I’m sorry. I know it’s rude to check my phone all the time, but I have to keep up with what’s going on.” She shrugged shyly. “It’s my job.”

  “No worries. I have to do the same.”

  Nicki genuinely laughed but then stopped as if something had just occurred to her. She seemed perplexed and a little nervous. “It’s funny that we ended up sort of in the same field,” she said before taking a drink of her water as if to steady herself.

  “Well, I was always going to go into journalism. That’s rather boring. How you got to the White House is a far more interesting story.”

  “I really don’t think it’s interesting at all.” She shook her head. “It’s sort of by inertia that I’m here.”

  “Inertia? What do you mean?”

  “A body in motion stays in motion along a straight line, right?”

  “So you started doing one thing—working for James Logan—and didn’t stop?”

  “Pretty much. I was in school at UT for a couple of years—”

  “UT?” As soon as I asked, I remembered. “Ah. The University of Texas.”

  “Exactly.” She gave me an approving smile. “You remember now.”

  “Oh, I remember.”

  I hadn’t spoken with any force or any real intent beyond that I remembered the name of the university, but those three words hung in the air with the weight of everything that had happened between us.

  Her eyes widened, and she was quiet for a moment before she spoke quickly as if dismissing the thought entirely. “When I was a sophomore at UT, Mom remarried. His name is Bill Delano, and he’s a successful school superintendent. He really turned around the Houston schools, so he got the opportunity to move to take over the Los Angeles school system. He and Mom moved to California while I was in college. I decided to transfer to the University of Chicago, near my dad. That’s where I started interning with President Logan when he was a state senator. He was friends with my dad.”

  “When did you practice your Spanish?”

  “The Peace Corps.”

  “Really?” I played dumb so she didn’t know I’d stalked her online.

  “It was actually at President Logan’s urging. After college, I’d been working for him in the governor’s press office for a few years. He suggested I go in the Corps, so I joined and was in Mexico for two years. I came back to work for him afterward.”

  “So you were in the Peace Corps.” I leaned forward. “I thought you wanted to go to law school.”

  “I always expected to—my dad pretty much demanded it, but once I was working in politics, I didn’t want to. President Logan had been in the Peace Corps when he was young and recommended it. For me, it was an amazing experience.”

  I kept my expression placid, though I became suspicious. It seemed contrary to what she’d told me long ago. I distinctly remembered her saying she couldn’t be far from her family. That was one of the reasons why we hadn’t kept in contact. I tried not to be accusatory as I asked, “What made you want to live out of the country?”

  “The time was right for a break. Mom was in California, and Dad had married his long-term girlfriend, Michelle. Anyway, it felt like it was time for me to do something on my own.” She shrugged. “And it was only Mexico. It’s right next door. I got to go back home during the year, and both my parents came to visit.”

  On a whim, I decided to expose that I had kept track of her a little bit. I pretended to snicker. “Hmm. I don’t remember Sylvia ever saying you lived in Mexico.”

  There it was, out in the open. I had talked with Sylvia about her whereabouts, and I could tell Nicki caught on immediately. She searched my eyes for a moment before mumbling, “I kept my apartment in Chicago as my permanent mailing address since I was coming back there anyway.”

  I nodded and moved on. “So your time in Mexico is where you got your impeccable Spanish?”

  “I wouldn’t call it impeccable. It’s really only passable, but it’s enough to get me around.”

  “Antonio seemed impressed.”

  “That’s because I have a Oaxacan accent. He’s from there.” She smiled. “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about your family. I know that Sylvia is in New York.”

  “Y
es, working as an editor at a publishing house that specializes in art books.”

  “You know, I’ve never asked her, but does she still paint?”

  “A little. Not a lot. About halfway through art school, she said she learned enough about art to know that hers sucked compared to everyone else’s.” I raised a brow. “So now she’s a bloody critic and thinks she knows everything.”

  “Hasn’t she always been that way?” Nicki smiled.

  “Why yes, she has.” Laughing with her, I felt once again the sheer fun of being with Nicki. The laughter continued as I told her about David and his jet-setting ways between London, New York, and DC. I didn’t tell her that he used my flat in DC as a crash pad and occasional love shack, but I did decide to tease her. “He says hello, by the way.”

  “Please tell him hello for me, too.” Her voice rose as if she’d flashed back to that night she and David had snogged while I’d stewed in much deserved jealousy.

  “I will,” I said, pleased with her reaction. She may have been thirty-three, but she still got embarrassed like a seventeen-year-old.

  “And how are your parents? Is your dad still teaching at Cambridge?”

  “No, not anymore.” It was inevitable she would ask about my parents. I talked about it easily every day with many people, but I’d feared that speaking about it with Nicki would be different, and I was right. The seriousness of the situation hit me hard. Wincing a bit, it was my turn to take a drink of water to find some grounding. “He’s actually rather ill…with pancreatic cancer. My mum spends her days taking care of him.”

  “Oh, Adam…I’m so sorry.” Her eyes were so sincere and sad that I had to fight getting choked up. When I didn’t respond, she asked, “When was he diagnosed?”

  “A few months ago. The outlook isn’t good.”

  I felt Nicki’s hand on mine before I saw it. In fact, her hand felt so natural that I clutched it without thinking. A few seconds passed before I realized we were essentially holding hands. When I looked down at them, she must’ve felt uncomfortable, because she withdrew hers at once.

  The atmosphere lightened as our food arrived just at that moment, and the conversation then became more fun. Talking to Nicki, I saw once again all the things I used to love about her, but there were also moments when I saw someone new who was even more interesting than the friend of old.

  Occasionally, her lips caught my eye. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her again. Would it be the same? More than once, my gaze also wandered to her chest. Her blouse was sheer enough that I could see a slight outline of her lacy bra, and I thought back to what she looked like topless. My thoughts drifted soon enough, remembering our past. God, we fucked a lot—in her bed, on the sofa, outside, in my car…

  I couldn’t say for certain, but it felt like Nicki was having as good a time as I was. I got her giggling so hard at a story about a fellow reporter that she started to cry. As she dabbed her eyes, she saw her phone flashing and checked it immediately.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I just need to deal with it when I get back. It’s going to be another long day and not much sleep tonight.”

  “So where are you living? Have you found a flat yet?”

  Nicki continued to stare at her phone for a moment without saying a word. She then looked at me and swallowed hard before forcing a smile. Whatever was coming next was going to be bad.

  “I’m crashing with Lisa right now. She’s doing some post-doc work at NIH and has a place up on Van Ness.”

  “Lisa? That’s nice that you’re in the same city again. Do you plan to get a place of your own?”

  “No, I…” Her eyes hardened, and her tone became resolute. “I’m moving in with my boyfriend.”

  Intellectually, I’d been prepared for it, but emotionally, I wasn’t. A boyfriend. Nicki has a boyfriend, and it’s not me. She might as well have plunged a knife in my heart. The apologetic look in her eyes told me she knew it.

  I was a reporter, though. I was trained to hear shocking information and not give away any hint of reaction. My eyes might have already told her what my heart felt, but I was matter-of-fact as I questioned her. “So tell me more about this boyfriend. What’s his name?”

  “Juan Carlos Jimenez. We’ve been together about a year.”

  Juan Carlos Jimenez. The Cuban-American mastermind of President Logan’s election campaign. He was now a high-paid political consultant, and several women in my office bloody swooned all over him. Prior to this moment, the attraction had made sense. But now, hearing he was with Nicki, I didn’t understand at all. I picked the man apart and found the easiest thing to judge him on: he was short. I kept it to myself, though, and was pleasant.

  “Really? Juan Carlos Jimenez? I can’t say I’ve met him, though I know of him, of course. Did you two meet on the campaign?”

  “Yeah, and we decided to live together last month.”

  “So why aren’t you already moved in?” I regretted the question. It came out terse, and Nicki responded by shrinking in discomfort.

  “Just busy. He’s traveling a ton, and I have no time. We’ll make it happen, though.”

  I looked down at my food, which had become completely unappetizing to me. My head shot up when I heard her say, “So what about you? Who are you dating? You have to be dating someone.”

  “There’s someone.” I didn’t know how much I wanted to tell her, so I was vague. “Back in London.”

  “Someone?”

  She stared me down, unsatisfied with my answer, so I answered in a clipped manner, “Felicity Chambers. She’s also with the BBC.”

  “I think I’ve seen her on TV. She seems like a good reporter.”

  I almost snorted because Felicity was actually a crap reporter. The BBC hired her for her looks and blueblood lineage, and everyone knew it. She’d say it herself.

  Then Nicki said a little sourly, “And she’s beautiful.”

  Now what was I supposed to say to that? If I agreed, it might kill things with Nicki from the start, and it would be dumb to disagree. Felicity was a beauty. I examined Nicki’s tight expression. Is Nicki jealous? It was only a feeling, but I was a reporter and my instincts were usually good. Considering I would have to get used to Don Juan Carlos, her jealousy made me happy. “She’s nice.”

  “Are you two serious?”

  “Serious? Not at the moment. We’ve been seeing each other for a while, but now that she’s back in the UK for good, we’ve put things on hold, so to speak.” If Nicki was indeed a little jealous, it was partially her own doing. I couldn’t help but twist the knife a bit and remind her of why she’d dumped me the first time. “You know. Long-distance relationships are difficult.”

  I’d only wanted to tweak her a bit, but when her doe eyes first widened then sadly drooped, I knew I’d been unnecessarily mean. Feeling like a complete arse, I couldn’t continue looking her in the eye, so I glanced around the room, searching for a new topic.

  Luckily, her phone buzzed, and she immediately took the call. On the phone, she was back to being professional Nicki, whilst I sat recovering from the shock of it all. I did catch a few bits of her conversation, which was something about Congress.

  When she got off the line, she placed her napkin on the table. “I’m very sorry. I need to get back to the office. Something’s happened.”

  “Anything I might find interesting?” It seemed like she did want to tell me more about the subject of her phone call, and if I’d been there with any other member of staff from the White House, I would’ve probed in all seriousness. But with Nicki, I couldn’t. It would ruin everything. “That was a joke. I don’t want it to be like that between us. You don’t have to tell me anything if it will make you uncomfortable.”

  She snorted.

  “What? What did I say?” I asked.

  “Like some of the conversation today hasn’t already been uncomfortable.” At least she’d found some humor in our situation.

  “I’m sorry.
” I laughed. “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “I know, and I don’t want it that way either.” She bit her lip and grabbed her bag. “Sorry. This isn’t the best time for me to leave, but I’ve got to get back.”

  I couldn’t let her go just like that. We had to talk or things would never be normal between us, not to mention I needed some information from her so I didn’t get sacked. “Nicki, before you do, I need to know something. Please. It’s important.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, when I took this assignment, I told my boss in London we were once school chums. I left it at that, though. If I told them anything else, I might not have been allowed to take the position. So I need to know…what have you said?”

  Normally I was good with words, but not that afternoon. She wasn’t thinking about what she said because whatever I’d said pissed her off. Her forehead crumpled, and she became curt. “I told Matt I knew you in high school and that we went out. Juan Carlos knows as well. I agree it’s not something we need gossip about.”

  “Precisely.”

  She gave me a stern look, and I grasped for something to salvage the conversation. Instead, her phone buzzed again, and she practically spat out, “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes. Tomorrow.” Thank God there would be a tomorrow because I knew I’d somehow fucked it all up again.

  Around three o’clock every afternoon, I’d call Mum to see how Dad had fared that day. Everyone in the office thought I’d taken to having tea at that time. Rather, I always headed over to the steps of St. Matthew’s, the Catholic cathedral not far away from the BBC offices. It was a nice location to make the call home. No one bothered me, and though I wasn’t exactly a believer, somehow having a church close at hand was a comfort.

  I chose the middle of the afternoon because of the time difference and Dad’s health. If he’d had a good day, he’d still be up in the late evening, and I could talk to him. If the day hadn’t gone well, he’d be asleep and I’d talk with Mum. As it was a Monday, Dad was still recovering from the effects of the chemo from Friday. I didn’t expect him to be awake.