The World: According to Rachael

by Layne Harper

  With those parting words, he walks through my front door. I lock it behind him, feeling numb. I think I’ve finally reached the point where my heart just can’t shatter anymore.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next three days are a blur. I sit in meetings with the President. We tour LSU’s campus and listen to two days of presentations on why Baton Rouge is the perfect location for his Presidential Library. I take notes. I have proof I was there. I know that I ask pertinent questions because President Jones doesn’t ask me once if there’s anything wrong, and that man can read me like a book.

  But I feel nothing. All Graham’s late-night visit did was disturb me even more, and I didn’t think that was possible. How the human heart can take this much abuse is beyond me.

  The rich Cajun food they serve us tastes like a cardboard box. I put it in my mouth to be polite, but I have to excuse myself more than once to be sick in the restroom.

  I was even desperate enough to call my parents. Mom was seeing a patient, and Dad was in surgery. The receptionist took a message. It’s been two days, and they haven’t called me back.

  So when I pull my grey rental car to Caroline and Colin’s gated driveway, I all but collapse in relief. The entrance to their property is hidden amongst very old and tall pine trees. I’ve passed it more than once and now know that when I see the last convenience store, drive another one and a half miles and the shale driveway is on the left.

  I push the button on the call box and wait for someone to answer. Ainsley, Caroline’s seven-year-old daughter, asks, “May I help you?”

  It’s the first time since I last saw Graham that light enters the place where my heart once was. “You certainly may. Open the gate this instant. I have presents for you and those bratty brothers of yours.”

  “Auntie Rachael,” she screeches, as the very thick metal gate swings open.

  “See you if I survive your daddy’s obstacle course.”

  The call box goes dead, and I put the car into drive, hoping that today is not the day I crash into a tree. Colin built this ridiculous driveway through the woods as a security measure, but all these twists and turns are going to do is get one of us killed, which will probably be me. I never drive and am terribly out of practice.

  Finally, the thick forest parts and I drive past the three guesthouses and arrive at the main house. I leave the car in the circle drive, and don’t have a chance to remove my seatbelt before three little people are bouncing up and down outside of my driver’s door.

  These three make a huge smile fill my hollowed cheeks. I throw open the door and give Ainsley a huge kiss and a hug before I greet the fearsome twosome. Jax and Liam are identical twins. Not even their parents can tell them apart. The little trick that I learned is to say, “Jax, come give me a hug.” Then, Jax hugs me, and I remember what color shirt he has on. I rinse and repeat this every single morning while I’m here visiting.

  I note that Jax is in green and Liam in blue. Both of the boys are very sweet, even for rambunctious five-year-olds. “How are my favorite boys?”

  It’s a simple question that launches an animated conversation while I unload my trunk and carry my things to the front porch.

  Caroline is leaning against the railing, watching us with amusement in her eyes. “It’s a shame my kids don’t like you.”

  I just shrug. “What can I say? When you’re this awesome you just can’t hide it.”

  The closer I get, the more her face begins to register that something is wrong. Her eyes grow large as she takes in my hollowed cheeks and the bags under my eyes. We may not see each other often, but we’re as connected as her twins. “Hey kids, go tell Daddy that Rachael is here. I think he’s in his office. Also, make sure Pancho is with him.”

  The kids give me a hug goodbye and run towards Colin’s two-room office that sits separate from the house.

  When they are out of earshot, Caroline says, “He either broke your heart or you’re pregnant.” Then her eyes grow wide. “Or both.”

  I drop my bags by the front door and follow her inside. “Have you got any wine?”

  She looks at the clock that hangs on the wall in the kitchen. “One o’clock on a Sunday? Sure, why not? I also have tequila.”

  Tequila is our drink of choice when we have to discuss something serious.

  She opens the cabinet over the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of each. I sit on a bar stool at the huge island and wait for her to quit busying herself in the kitchen.

  She pours us each a shot of tequila first, and we down it. “I guess this means that you’re not pregnant.”

  “No,” I reply as I lick my lips. “There’s no bun in the oven, baby on board, fetus without a father, or any other thing occupying my uterus, except for the IUD that should be firmly in place.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I know how you feel about kids of your own.” Her words are like a punch in the gut. I’ve always said that I did not want children, and being an aunt and a godmother is responsibility enough. But lately the thought of not having a child with the same blue eyes and hair as dark as Graham’s makes me desperately sad, and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.

  Colin, along with the kids and dog enter the house through the French doors that open up to the back porch and faces the lake. He’s a very perceptive man. He sees the bottle of tequila, and my water-filled eyes and sends the kids back outside.

  He walks over to me and pulls me into a side embrace. “How ya doing, kiddo?”

  “I’ve been better,” I reply.

  “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure she can fix it,” he says as he kisses Caroline’s cheek. “The kids and I’ll make ourselves scarce.”

  “Thanks, honey,” she says as she kisses him back.

  It amazes me that they’ve been together this long and they’re still so in love with each other. I find myself envying their relationship, which is also a new feeling for me.

  When he’s gone, Caroline says, “Let’s hear it.”

  I pour my heart out to her. It feels so cathartic to share what’s been burdening my soul. At some points in my story, Caroline gets the soft eyes of someone who has experienced the same emotions. Other times, her lips thin in anger. She especially is appalled when I share the content of the “other” whiteboard. When I finish, she pours us each another shot of tequila, and says, “Are you ready for my thoughts?”

  “Absolutely,” I reply, leaning forward as if it will help me hear her better.

  “You clearly are in love with him, Rach. There’s not a doubt in my mind. I saw your face when I mentioned children. You felt panicked at the thought of not having his babies.” She takes a deep breath and gives a slight shake of her head. “Don’t be like Colin and I. We wasted eight years of our lives not being together. Would I change things if I could? Probably not. I love where we’ve ended up. But we can never get back the time we spent apart. I mean, for God’s sake, he has an ex-wife.”

  I swallow the extra liquid in my mouth and reply, “Do you think he truly loves me, or the idea of me?”

  She smiles thoughtfully. “I wondered that about Colin also. In my case, had he built me up so much in his mind as the perfect girl for him, that I would never meet his expectations?”

  “Yes.” I slap the counter. “That’s exactly it. I mean, he has a fucking scrapbook of my accomplishments, like he’s my parent.” I don’t add my parents don’t even have one.

  “Rachael, I can’t answer that question for you. That’s something that you’re going to have to reconcile in your own mind,” she says as she rises from the barstool and walks around the island to the sink. “I’m starting dinner. Want anything special?”

  “All food tastes like leather. Fix whatever you want,” I reply, staring at the bottle of tequila and longing for another shot. “But what do I do? His radio program speaks positively and negatively about the President. Once his identity is public, it’s going to take the press about five minutes to link us together. This is the President’s
last year in office. The administration cannot be distracted by the Chief of Staff’s love life. Plus, what if we’re publically together and he realizes that I’m not the person in the binder? I’m just a flawed mortal who isn’t close to perfect.”

  She walks to the refrigerator and begins to take out potatoes, carrots, green peas, and celery. When she’s done she turns around and meets my eyes. “That’s called faith, my dear. You have to love and believe in him enough that you’ll risk it all—even everything that you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

  I drop my head onto my arms and let out a loud enough sigh that it reverberates against the walls. “Caroline, what if he makes me look like a fool?”

  She stands at the sink and begins to peel the potatoes. “What if he dies in a car crash? What if he gets abducted by pirates? What if he falls, hits his head and gets a terrible case of amnesia and doesn’t remember you?”

  “Okay. I get it,” I concede, wondering briefly if I should help her, and then decide to let her work her chef magic. I’m a nightmare in the kitchen anyway.

  “Look, Rach, I can’t guarantee you anything, and neither can he. But what I can tell you is that if you are this crazy about him, and I know you are—you can’t walk away from him. You’ll eventually give in to your wants, and you and Graham will play an ugly game of using each other with you keeping your heart out of his reach. It will make you into a miserable person. Either go all in, or walk away, but don’t do the ‘it’s just fucking’ thing.”

  I pour another shot of tequila and take a sip. The burn feels fantastic going down my throat. The tequila pauses at my heart, decides that there’s not a damn thing that it can do with it, and travels on to my stomach. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to. We’re too connected when we’re in the same room, let alone physically touching.” I take another sip, praying that this will be the one that works its magic on the tightness in my chest. “I just wish he could wait until my job ended before he had to reveal his identity. You know, give me a chance to walk away from politics and take a professorship some place.”

  There’s also the President’s illness to consider, but I can’t mention that as another reason as to why it’s so important for me to protect him.

  She stops peeling the potato in her hand, and turns around and faces me. “Why can’t you see him and keep your relationship secret? It’s not like you have paparazzi, or anyone who goes through your garbage, or uses a wide-angle lens to see into your bedroom. Sure, you will not be able to publically date him, but you can privately see each other. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. And it would really only be for another year. In the grand scheme of things, a year is really not a long time.”

  For the first time since last Sunday, I have hope. Hope does what the tequila failed to do, and that’s ease the knot in my chest. The wheels start turning as I test-drive the idea. It might be really difficult to have to sneak around, but we could do it—late-night visits, secluded vacation spots, lots of phone calls. We’d both have to be very committed to staying a secret until my job ended. Is it a great solution? No. But a little Graham in my life would be better than none, which is what I have now.

  What if the press finds out? Keeping a secret is hard in D.C. Is that a risk that I’m willing to take?

  I think so.

  “Caroline, do you know why we’ve been friends for so many years?”

  “Because no one else will tolerate us?” She smirks as she starts on the carrots.

  “Well, that too, but it’s because we’re brilliant.” I stand up and dig my phone out of my bag. “I’m going to call him. We haven’t spoken since Tuesday, and I want to hear his voice.”

  “Go for it,” she encourages.

  I walk out to their back porch and sit on the swing that overlooks the private lake. They purchased this place to make it their vacation home, but after Colin retired from football it became their permanent residence. I know why. It’s one of the most beautiful and serene places on earth.

  I decide to text him.

  Me: Reason #603 that boxing is better than MMA: Fights are planned months, if not years in advance. There are strategies and secret meetings that lead up to the forty-five minutes that we actually witness in the ring.

  Immediately, he responds with just a question mark.

  I call him, and the phone doesn’t have a chance to ring. “What?” he snaps.

  “A title fight doesn’t just happen. Like with MMA, the owner of UFC plans the fights. Boxers have their people meet with …”

  “I know how a boxing match is planned. What I don’t know is why you’re texting me with this shit.” His voice is now overflowing with frustration.

  “Where are you?” I ask, as I push off from the porch and begin swinging. The cool evening air bathes my overheated skin, scorching at the just the sound of his voice.

  “I’m sitting in my house, fucking miserable. Trying to put together this week’s shows, when all I want to do is beat the shit out of something or someone—mainly Max, for pushing so hard to go public, or jump on a plane and lose myself inside of you for hours on end. Neither one is possible, because the two things that I love the most—you, and the Sons of Liberty—are ripping me apart at the seams.”

  “Graham, come to me. I’m waiting for you. I’ll text you directions. You told me when I was ready that you’d come to me, whenever and wherever I am. Come to me.” The last part drops off to a whisper, as the words can’t seem to find their way past the lump in my throat.

  The line is silent for so long that I actually pull my phone away from my ear and check to make sure that we’re still connected. He sighs. “You mean it, Rach?”

  “Look, I don’t have all the answers. Hell, I’m not sure that I know all the questions to even ask, but I know that I’m fucking miserable without you too. Food has no taste. I don’t seem to be able to laugh. My world has nothing pleasurable left in it because you’re gone. Come to Caroline’s place. We have our own guesthouse. Let’s figure this out together instead of stewing in our own misery separately.”

  I hear keys typing in the background. “Looks like the next plane leaves tomorrow morning at 7:20 a.m. I just purchased my seat.”

  “Call me when you leave D.C. Now, I have to go. There are three beautiful little faces that are demanding some Auntie Rachael time. And I can’t say no to my adoring public,” I say.

  “I love you, Rachael.”

  “I love you too, Graham.”

  I end the call and continue swinging while I watch Colin and the twins building a campfire. Since Colin and Caroline moved to the lake, we have a Thanksgiving tradition of sitting by the campfire every night and doing different activities. One night, we make s’mores—a must. Another evening, we prepare our entire meal over the campfire. Usually, one night we tell ghost stories.

  Colin and the boys arrange the rocks around the circular patch of earth. I watch him correct Liam’s placement of a rock, and explain why it has to touch the stone next to it. Jax happily dances around the outside of the circle, acting like a fool. After a moment of this, Colin tackles him to the ground, and tickles Jax while he screams with laughter. Liam jumps on Colin’s back which turns into a giant pile of boys happily wrestling while their dog, Pancho, barks and tries to insert himself in the chaos.

  I treasure this scene and commit it to memory. If I never have my own children, at least I’ve been blessed to be a part of these kids’ lives.

  “Auntie Rachael, I’m not supposed to bother you. Mommy said that you were doing something super important, but I mean, really, what could be more important than me showing you my new Barbie doll?” Ainsley says, talking a mile a minute as she waits for my swing to quit moving. She really is her mother’s daughter.

  I hop off and grab her hand. “Let’s go see that new Barbie.”

  “Hey! Did you know that I’m almost as tall as you?” She puts her hand on top of her head and brings it at an angle to my chin.

  “Look, kid, you aren’t even c
lose to as tall as me yet. However, you do have Amazons for parents, so I’m not holding my breath that you’ll make it out of elementary school without us sharing clothes.”

  I grab her hand and let her lead me through the house.

  “Everything go alright?” Caroline calls after me.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow.” I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice if I wanted to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I sleep better than I’ve slept in a week. In fact, I sleep so hard that I missed his text.

  Graham: Reason #629 that MMA is better than boxing: Instant gratification. A fight is announced. It happens in two months. There aren’t years upon years of waiting.

  I’m really not sure what it means, since he doesn’t know my plan yet, but I don’t care. He’ll be here in a couple of hours, and for the first time in a week I have hope.

  The Texas weather around Thanksgiving is anyone’s guess. I packed everything from performance fleece and wooly boots to running shorts and a light sweater. It’s chilly this morning, but would be considered a spring day for D.C. so I opt for yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

  The guesthouse that I normally stay in is the one that’s on almost the opposite side of the small private lake from the main house. Aiden and his family take the one that’s nearest to the main house. Sometimes, Caroline’s former assistant, Brad and her former bodyguard, Carter, join us for holidays. Carter and Brad have been partners for quite a few years. Now that they’ve adopted Jeremiah, Carter’s parents demand that their time be split between both families. He’s the same age as the twins, and they became his dads legally just a month ago. I haven’t met him yet, but Brad has flooded my phone with pictures. In a nod to the universe, he looks like he could be their son. A perfect mix of Carter’s dark complexion and Brad’s auburn coloring.

  Before I head up to the main house to play with the cutest kids ever, I walk out on the balcony that overlooks Lake CharCol. Maybe next time I’m here Graham and I will arrive together, and I’ll no longer be the third wheel. He’ll be by my side, building the fire pit with Colin.