Forever Your Heart

by Mary Whitney

  “You don’t know that.”

  “That’s what David says, and he’s an expert on stringing women along.”

  Was I stringing Felicity along? Nah. If I was, she was doing the same to me. “Moving on, then,” I announced. “Get a pen, and I’ll give you her number.”

  “Thank you.”

  After she wrote everything down, she said, “One more thing.”

  “What now?”

  “Whilst I don’t plan on talking to Nicki about you, how about the three of us go to a museum together afterward? We could visit the Sackler. I’ve been working with the director there on a book of Asian art.”

  Though my heart jumped at the thought of spending an afternoon with Nicki, I remembered the times Sylvia had hung around us when we were in school. It was really fucking annoying. “She’ll probably have to work,” I said.

  “Well, we shall see. I need to say goodbye and get to bed. I’ll get to your flat around two on Saturday afternoon. Can you make sure you have some food in the house for once?”

  “I’ll try,” I said, rolling my eyes at my demanding but useful little sister. “See you on Saturday.”

  On Sunday afternoon, I waited outside the modern building that housed the Sackler Gallery. It was next door to the old Art Deco structure of its sister Asian art museum, the Freer. The white flurries falling around the two distinct buildings made for a beautiful scene. Sylvia and Nicki were late, but I blamed that on the weather. DC taxis were crap in the snow.

  When a taxi pulled up and the two got out, it was a sight. They couldn’t have dressed more differently. Sylvia was in her usual black garb, only that day it was the Manhattan/London winter-weather version and far too flamboyant for stodgy Washington.

  On the other hand, Nicki looked like she was from middle-America, wearing jeans and a ski jacket. I was dressed similarly in jeans and a parka, which made me happy. I grinned as they walked toward me, and I realized something else about Nicki’s appearance. For the first time, she looked entirely like my Nicki—the girl I’d left behind. I’d only seen her dressed up and in heels for the past month. In snow boots and tight jeans, she seemed more petite, and her colorful wool hat made her look young.

  As they approached, we exchanged hellos, and I could see Nicki’s cheeks had reddened in the cold and wind. She looked too bloody cute. Without thinking, I reached out and tousled the bobble on top of her hat. She met my playful gaze with a pensive one, and her face became even pinker as she whipped the hat off.

  Her blush told me something that rang in my heart. It was happening all over again with Nicki. Well over a decade had passed, yet there we were again—I liked a girl so much that I couldn’t help but react like a little boy and tease her. Without a doubt, she felt something, too, but was so scared that she was flummoxed by it.

  With that realization, I knew I had the upper hand on everything standing between us. A boost of confidence shot through me.

  After saying hello to Sylvia, I opened the museum door. “Shall we?”

  Nicki smiled and went in first. Sylvia followed, but not before giving me a pinch on the arm. She’d seen what had happened between Nicki and me. She loved being right, and it drove me nuts.

  Nicki and I were both quiet as Sylvia spoke with a woman at the front desk. She had already contacted the director of the galleries, who’d arranged for us to have a special viewing of some works not on display, but we started our tour walking through the museum by ourselves.

  At the first Hokusai print, it was clear there was no need for me to make conversation with Nicki. In fact it was impossible for either of us to get a word in edgewise, because Sylvia had begun her art-expert routine. That garnered her a crowd, and soon there was a motley crew of strangers following Sylvia from one piece to another, listening to her expound upon the details of each one. She took the small crowd in stride, as if this happened to her all the time. She always loved being the center of attention.

  After being dragged around by Sylvia for long enough, I saw her tour as an opportunity to have Nicki all to myself. Pointing to a bench, I asked her, “Do you want to sit this one out?”

  “Sure.” Sitting down, she said, “I love Asian art, but I’ve seen a lot before.”

  “How come?”

  “When Logan was governor, we traveled a few times to Asia. You know, trade trips and stuff.”

  I had asked the question, yet I’d known the answer. Over the years, I had received scant information about Nicki’s life, but I was a reporter. A few times, I became so curious that I would do a LexisNexis search of her name in the papers. I had rarely done it because it really wasn’t healthy behavior. It only made me feel like a fucking loser of a twat. Yet I’d learned a few new things about her—like that she’d traveled across Asia with then-Governor Logan. Illinois had trade ties to Japan and China, and she’d gone on a few trade missions with the governor. I often found her in the background of photos of prime ministers and premiers.

  Occasionally, there had also been photos of her at campaign events. Those were the worst ones for me to see. She was always smiling and often had a man’s arm around her. I knew all the pictures couldn’t just be Nicki and another campaign official congratulating one another. She had to have been going out with some of them. That made me feel like shit.

  I nodded, pretending it was news. “It sounds like you’ve traveled a lot, then. You did when you lived in Mexico as well, right?”

  “Oh yeah, I did a lot there, too—throughout Central America. And then with Logan, a little in Europe.”

  The thought of Nicki being in Europe piqued my interest. She’d been on my side of the Atlantic and never contacted me. Had she been to the UK?

  She must’ve read my mind. Her eyes darted around, and she quickly added, “But never to England. Only Berlin and Brussels.”

  Bobbing my head, I conceded that as fair enough. “The president is going to Berlin again next week for the summit.”

  “Hopefully I can get away for an hour. It has some great museums.”

  I’d be with her in Berlin covering the president’s trip. I knew what David would’ve said next: Maybe we can slip out together? Unfortunately, I couldn’t say it. He’d also told me I had to take things slowly with Nicki, and after my realization of what was going on between us, I understood we had a delicate dance ahead.

  I casually said, “That sounds like fun, and it would be nice for you—to get a break from the stress.”

  “Yeah, my job is stressful, no doubt about that, but it’s also amazing and rewarding and can be a lot of fun.”

  Just as I was about to suggest she take some time off, Sylvia reentered the room with her impeccably bad timing. She was happy after being the center of attention. “Sorry about that. I should’ve warned you. It happens a lot. I just can’t help sharing with people everything that I know.”

  “Can we get on with our own tour now?” I asked impatiently.

  We strolled through more of the gallery and then wandered over to the Freer to see its collection as well. Even though we were in the splendid Peacock Room, I’d had more than my fill of Asian art and Sylvia’s lecturing on it. Nicki seemed a little weary, too, and asked if we could sit a minute.

  When Sylvia instead declared it time to go back to the Sackler for our private showing, I racked my brain for a reason to skip it. “What exactly are we seeing? I’d like to sit down for a few minutes as well.”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful stuff that no one gets to see.” Sylvia brightened. “Since the galleries are part of the Smithsonian, they’re government-funded. There are pieces the museum has in its holdings but never displays because Americans are such prudes.” She turned to Nicki and said, “Your crazy right wing would go mad.”

  Nicki cocked her head in question. “So it’s political art?”

  “Oh no. It’s Shunga. Japanese erotic art.” Sylvia smiled as if she’d just as well said they were still-lifes of flowers in cheery English kitchens.

  My eyes flashed at he
r the question, What the fuck are you thinking? She was clearly nutters if she thought porn was my path to Nicki’s heart. I looked at Nicki, who appeared completely taken aback.

  “I’m sorry, Sylvia,” she said. “It’s nice of you to arrange it, but as you said, Americans are prudes, and I work at the White House. I’ll stay here.”

  “Indeed,” I said, glaring at my sister, who was doing me no favors. “The deputy White House press secretary probably shouldn’t be on a private tour of hidden erotica at the Smithsonian. I’ll keep her company. You go ahead.”

  Ignoring my stare, Sylvia huffed in annoyance. “Oh, you two have always been such duds. I’ll go by myself and meet you back here in half an hour or so.”

  “I hope she’s not upset,” Nicki said after Sylvia left the room.

  “Who bloody cares? That’s not something I want to see with my sister.”

  Nicki giggled, which brought out her prettiest smile. Once again, I was struck by what David would’ve immediately followed up with at that moment: That’s something I’d like to see with you…alone. It was the goddamn truth, but I couldn’t say it. It was too provocative—she might run away.

  Instead, I looked around the room and saw it was empty. The snow fell harder outside, which must’ve sent some people home. I pointed over to the bench. “Let’s sit down.”

  “It’s such a beautiful room,” she said, taking a seat.

  “My mum would love it. The next time they visit, I should bring them here.” A sick feeling came over me when I realized what I’d said. In the pleasure of Nicki’s company, for a moment I had actually forgotten how unlikely it was that both of my parents would come to the States again—indeed, that Dad would ever leave Cambridge.

  “Are they coming soon?”

  “Nothing is planned.” Taking a deep breath, I tried to find some grounding. For the second time that we’d seen each other, I became uneasy talking to her about Dad’s cancer. Normally I could speak freely on the topic, but with Nicki, everything felt differently. I exhaled and said, “Actually, I don’t know why I said that. They won’t be coming again. There won’t be any more plans. My dad is so ill that it’s not possible.”

  “Oh, Adam. I’m sorry. How often are you able to see them?”

  “I usually go home once a month. Sylvia does as well. I haven’t been back in six weeks, though, so I’m taking time off after Berlin to see him.”

  “That must be very difficult.”

  I moved my head just enough to agree, then looked down.

  She seized upon my silence and added, “It’s still nice that you can visit often—that you can see him even though you live in another country. I bet he really appreciates it.”

  “Well, my mum does.” I tried to find some humor in it. “I guess he likes having us around. Sylvia talks his ear off. He and I don’t talk much, so we end up watching a lot of football.”

  “But isn’t that what men do?” She smiled. “Instead of talking about important things, they just talk about sports.”

  In an instant, she changed my mood. I gave her a teasing glare. “Excuse me. Are you saying my father and I are insensitive?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I searched for a way to change the subject. I needed to because what I really wanted to do was put my arm around her and tuck her into my side for support. “And do you see your family often?”

  “Some. They were both here for the inauguration. I usually see my dad a fair amount. President Logan’s home is still in Chicago. And when I’m in California for work, I visit my mom. Last year with the campaign, my life was crazy and I was never home, so she didn’t visit me, but she’ll come to DC now that I’m here.”

  “What about Houston? Do you ever go back there?”

  “Occasionally, to see friends and…” Her faltering voice stopped altogether. It was a moment before she declared, “When I’m there, I stop by my sister’s grave.”

  I was slow to respond as I got the feeling Nicki was disclosing something she normally didn’t talk about. The last thing I wanted her to feel was uncomfortable, so I lightly said, “That’s understandable. I would do the same thing. Besides, you grew up with her in Houston. It’s home.”

  “But it’s not home anymore.” Her lips trembled, with tears soon rolling down her cheeks. “I feel bad that we’ve all moved away.”

  “Nicki.” I never forgave myself for causing her more pain than she had already borne when we’d been young, and I hated myself for making her cry once again. Without a thought of our jobs or Juan Carlos, I wrapped my arm around her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry or make you sad.”

  “It’s like we’ve left her behind,” she gasped, burying her head into my chest, right where she belonged.

  I pulled her in tighter; it was no time to be subtle. If I had to, I’d capitalize on her tears for her to consider me.

  She must’ve sensed the intimacy, because she soon leaned away, drying her tears. “I know it’s silly, but if I have to fly through Houston, I’ll even schedule a long layover just to go to the cemetery.”

  “That’s nice, but your sister isn’t there,” I said, rubbing her back. “Not really. She’s with you. In your heart. Right?”

  “I know it makes no sense. Intellectually, I get it. Her soul is gone and elsewhere, but I hate that her remains are still there in that cemetery when none of us live near her.” She let out a throaty laugh. “I always said we should have scattered her ashes in the Gulf. Then she’d be everywhere.”

  “It does appear to have its benefits.” I was glad she found some humor and let my hand wander down her back. I didn’t want to let go just yet. “Do you talk with your parents about it?”

  “My dad brings Lauren up occasionally, but my mother…it’s not really a welcome topic.”

  “Still?”

  “Time has passed, and I may be older, but my mom still doesn’t talk about the death of her little girl.”

  “And probably never will.” I sighed. Nothing seemed to have changed with her family.

  “Nope.”

  Neither of us spoke, and I began to wonder if she was as aware as I was that I was touching her body. I decided to play it safe, withdrawing my hand and changing the topic. “Tell me about where you’ve been to—like China. I’ve always wanted to go there, but I haven’t yet had opportunity.”

  “China is an amazing country, but we were there talking trade. It’s odd that they’re Communists because they’re such ardent capitalists.”

  “I know. They’re Communists only when it comes to their authoritarian government. They couldn’t care less about redistribution of wealth.”

  “Exactly, but it’s still fascinating to be there, seeing modern China contrasted against its ancient history. The people were so friendly, and we were able to do some sightseeing. The Forbidden City is amazing, and I also went to the Great Wall.”

  “That’s something I’d like to see.”

  “Yeah,” she said in an absentminded voice. “I wanted to go there because it was something Lauren always wanted to do.”

  Lauren. The name floated in the air. I wasn’t sure how to reply, and I didn’t want to cause any more tears. But I didn’t have to ponder long, as suddenly she stood and said, “I need to find a ladies’ room. I’ll meet you back here.”

  Nicki evidently met up with Sylvia outside the Peacock Room, so they walked in together. Sylvia suggested moving on to the National Gallery, but Nicki’s eyes were wide as she indicated her mobile. “My conference call this evening was canceled because people are stuck in airports. It’s dumping snow outside. If I’m going to get a cab home, I should go find one now.”

  Before I could offer Nicki a ride, Sylvia chimed in. “A taxi? Don’t be silly.” She even took things a step farther than I’d planned. It was times like this when I loved my sister. “Adam can give you a lift, but really you should stay for dinner tonight if you’re free. I’m cooking.”

  “Oh, that’s nice of you to offer.” Nicki looked be
fuddled as to what she should do.

  “Please do,” I said. “David’s not there, so the place is actually clean for once.”

  “Oh…okay.” She snickered, but she clutched her bag as if she wasn’t altogether sure she’d made the right decision.

  Nicki hadn’t exaggerated that the snow was dumping onto Washington. When we arrived at my car, it was no longer black but white. I told them that they should sit in it and warm up while I cleaned off the windscreen.

  “I’ll sit in the back,” said Sylvia happily. “I don’t mind.”

  Avoiding Nicki’s eyes, I hid my smile. Other than the erotic art fiasco, Sylvia was being helpful. We all got in the car, and I revved the engine, which wasn’t affected by the cold. I glanced at Nicki sitting as compactly as she could in her seat, with her arms across her chest. She was chilled, but probably also feeling awkward to be in the front seat with me.

  I felt the same. Wanting to both figuratively and literally break the ice, I said, “Sorry about the cold leather. The seat warmer switch is on your left if you want it. The control for your side of the heat is on the dashboard.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a small smile.

  The strangeness that had come between Nicki and me from the moment we reached my car continued throughout the drive and as we walked the steps to my flat. Sylvia kept the conversation going, but she might as well have been talking to herself. Nicki was quiet, and I certainly wasn’t listening. I was trying to get my mind around Nicki Johnson being in my home.

  Flicking on the lights as we entered the flat, I scanned the room to make sure nothing embarrassing was out. Everything looked fine, and I took their coats while they kicked off their wet boots. Nicki seemed more at ease as she surveyed the large open space that was my kitchen, dining, and living rooms all flowing into one another. Her eyes drifted approvingly. “Your place is so nice.”

  All it took was a small compliment like that to bring out the competition between Sylvia and me.

  “That’s because I designed it,” Sylvia said.

  “You picked out the art,” I retorted as I hung their coats to dry. “I chose the furniture.” And the squabble ensued until I feared she was making me sound petty. She was such a bossy bitch sometimes, but I let it go.