Chapter Fifteen
Hi. There's a storm coming tonight. They say there's going to be ice this time. Rain check for lessons?
That was not our agreement.
I know… But I need to be able to get home. I don't know if I'll be able to make it out there to begin with. It's supposed to start in the late afternoon.
Make the necessary plans.
Dr Underwood, please. I don't think it would be safe for me to come out there.
No excuses. Be there.
Christine gave a heavy sigh. There was no pleasing this man. She looked up and out of the window of her basement apartment. The sky looked white with the thick heavy clouds. It was a warning. Everything was pointing towards nature having its way with the northern half of the east coast. Everyone else would be hunkering down for a cold night. She looked around at all of the electric appliances in the apartment. It would be better to charge everything up now. The power would likely be out by the evening. How many blankets did she have anyway? She wished she could make it out to U Street to be with Meg. She always had big thick blankets all over her place and the combination of her and Chloe would be plenty of heat until the power came back on.
But no. She couldn't do that. She had to brave the weather in the opposite direction for a damn singing lesson. This was beyond stupid. Didn't he know that having her trek out that way in the wind and ice would hurt her voice? Was it because he was bored since Congress was out on holiday? Probably. That made her feel like some kind of toy. What had she signed up for anyway?
As if she knew she had been thought of, Christine's phone started to buzz with Meg's name popping up on the screen.
"Hey Meg," Christine sighed into the receiver.
"Hey!" Christine knew Meg was trying to make her feel better already, "I was thinking that before the trains stop running, you should come over to my place. We can watch movies until the power goes out and I've got a whole box of popcorn to kill. What do you think?"
"I…I wish I could."
"What do you mean?"
Christine played with the fringe of her second-hand couch that was coming apart at the edges, "Well…" she thought of something she could say, a lie, but not a lie, "They're already behind on plowing the roads out here."
"Same here! 18th has been turned into a big sledding hill. We could grab a cardboard box and try it before the storm picks up!"
"Well," Christine fought the urge to start running out the door then, "See, you know the Red Line will be backed up. And it's a mile and a half walk to get there."
"Girl, you know you should take the Orange or Blue Line and get to the Green or Yellow."
"Right, well, still I'm looking at having to walk two or three miles and the snow is already high so the D6 can't be running."
Christine heard Meg sigh into the phone, "Is it because you just don't want to come?"
She immediately answered, "No! No, it's not that at all, really! Meg, I do really want to come over, believe me."
"Then why don't you?" This was making Meg sad, "Nothing like this has stopped you before."
"I know…Maybe it's just everything that's been happening. I'm not myself. I don't feel like me."
"So come over and remember yourself. I know you better than anyone, you know?"
"I know. God Meg, I wish I could tell you…"
"Tell me what?"
Christine paused. She had messed up and was making everything worse.
Meg's voice got more serious, "Tell me what, Christine?"
"There are some things, things with Raoul. I'm trying to tie them up. His family isn't being helpful. I'm trying to work at getting another job, too. There's just so much to do." That wasn't exactly a lie.
"Christine," Meg started out slowly, "You'll be fine. I know you'll be fine. There's plenty of work for you now. Everyone knows how well you managed his office and affairs for him. I'm sure so many people would love to have you on their staff. If nothing else, you should have unemployment checks coming for a little while. You'll be fine, I promise. You know I have your back and I'll help you however I can."
For a moment, Christine had to take all of these words in. The small flame of fear was always been blown every which way by Meg's confidence in her. Her eyes stung for a moment and she responded painfully, "Thank you, Meg. You really are the best."
"So why don't you come over, hon? I can help you with things if that's what you want. We'll probably die if we try sledding 18th with cardboard anyway."
A hint of a smile crossed her face, "You're the most amazing friend I've ever had, Meg."
"Then…" Meg sighed, "you're not coming."
"No…no, I'm not. I'm so sorry, Meg. I really want to and I really wish I could."
There was a pause, "I still hate when you do introvert shit like this… But you're still my best friend. I need you too, you know. And remember I'm here if you need me."
"Thank you, Meg. I can't thank you enough."
"This might be for the better. I'm onto a story, but there are a few links I need to tie up. I'll see what I can do by candlelight."
"Good luck!"
"You too, hon. Don't forget to charge your phone so I can call you when I get bored."
Christine laughed, "You too."
"Bye, chica."
"Bye."
Christine looked out of the window again. Snow was beginning to fall and it wasn't even afternoon yet. She still had no idea how she was going to trek the half a mile to Erik's house when all she had were rain boots and one pair of boot socks.
After a halfway attempt a cardio workout from some woman who liked to yell a lot on her YouTube, Christine had herself a late lunch, followed by a steaming hot shower. She blew dry her hair, revelling in the warmth, even as the wind from the cracks in her windows made her want to curl up in the steamy bathroom and never come out. She didn't even like snow, and now she had to plan for her walk to be twice as long just to brave it over to Dr Underwood's house.
Bundling up in twice the amount of shirts, pants, coats, scarves, gloves, and hats, she made her way to the door with a backpack. She even brought another layer of dry clothing in her backpack for the trek home. She would not get stranded there tonight. She would make her way back no matter what. This entire situation was ridiculous and she would not make it worse. Covering up her mouth, nose, and ears with another long scarf, she made her way to the front door. The wind was picking up outside and the snow now had traces of sleet in it. She noticed that a thin layer of ice was beginning to form on the steps up to the street. She would have to be careful to keep to the snow to not fall.
This was going to be a long night.
XV
Erik had been waiting at the window since seven-thirty. He watched as the trees swayed and how the sleet got thicker. It was supposed to be like this until after one in the morning. The wind was blowing hard enough that he wondered if it would blow over sooner. His generator had been set up and tested that day. There ought not to be any surprises.
By eight twenty-five, Erik's mind sneered at a thought, She is not coming. To this thought, he growled. Just as he was about to pull out his phone to call her, her form was seen, trudging against the wind and sleet. Remembering how thin she was, how frail her health, he immediately felt remorse. Why did he make her come out in this? Was it really worth her dealing with these conditions? She could be killed and he was making commands of her for his interests without thought of her…but he needed to see her again. The thought of not being able to see her for multiple days had stung him in a way that was past uncomfortable.
Shaking his head, Erik went to the door and opened it before she had made it to the gate outside his house. Gallagher didn't look up to see him, only trudged her way closer without expression. She slipped a bit from the ice collecting on the stairs and on impulse he reached out to catch her. She instead, caught the door frame in a shaking grip and made her way inside.
Erik quickly shut the door behind them. When he turned around, she had left the hall without having taken a thing off. He found her curled up and shaking on the heath of the fireplace, the fire making her shadow seem huge against the room. He watched her from the doorframe as she slowly began to unwrap her head to reveal red ears and nose. Next, she took off her drenched gloves, followed by another pair of drenched mittens. From removing two toboggans, her hair fell out in a tangled mess. She sat the items next to her on the stone and stared into the flames.
"Is this you telling me that you do not own any real winter wear?" Erik asked, his arms folded over his chest.
"N-no excuses," she murmured holding her red fingers up to the flames.
"No communication, more like."
Her eyes narrowed, "I a-agree."
She started to cough into the crook of her elbow. A sniffle of broken air followed. Taking the bag off of her back, she blindly went in with one arm, searching around until pulling out a small wrapped collection of tissues. Once blowing her nose, she stuffed the waste into another pocket.
"And you expect me to s-sing like th-this?" she coughed out.
This time his eyes narrowed, "There is plenty to be done."
"I'm sure." She muttered angrily.
"Are you in the condition to remove the other soaked items of clothing before they leak into the wood panels? I have a dryer."
With a sigh, she complied and took off her coat and boots. Bundling everything together, she stood and asked, "Where is it?"
He showed her the closet in the hall where the laundry machines were and allowed her to handle the rest as he filled an electric kettle with water. After turning it to two hundred and fifty degrees, he turned to find her at the door of the kitchen.
"It's very clean," she noted.
"A kitchen should be clean."
She nodded slightly.
"Would you like to sit down?" he offered.
She nodded again and picked one of the two chairs of the small table in the center of the room. He went to a cabinet and took out a lemon to slice. It was a small task to fill the time and he didn't want to talk about his reckless need to bring her out there. When the water was ready, he placed a quarter of the lemon into a cup, pour the water over it. He set it before her, "Drink."
Gallagher didn't fight him on this and was quick to place her hands around the warm cup. He watched as she inhaled the steam. Her eyes were tied. Her body was aching. This was pointless. After a moment she looked up to him. They shared a strange eye contact until she broke the silence with, "Do you want to sit down?"
She was mocking him.
"Perhaps we should return to the fire."
Within a moment, she stood, her body shivering on the movement. Erik wondered if she was going to fall, but she did not. She forcefully made her way back to the Study, cup clenched tightly between her fingers. Once inside the room, he found her sitting next to the fire again, knees to her chin and arms wrapped around her legs.
A gust of wind hit the window of the room, catching Erik's eye. There was a slight release of cold air making its way under the door nearby. Surprisingly enough, the strength of this storm was turning out to be just as much as it was predicted to be. His gaze kept to the window for a few minutes longer as if he knew what was soon to happen. The stubborn old man across the street refused to keep his trees in check.
The hissing of the wind outside began to mix with the old creaking of wood of the trees. Erik watched as the larger half of an old oak tree swayed violently with the wind until it was no longer a sway, but a pull of gravity. Three booming cracks of wood and the tree was down. It was the only above ground power source on the street and it had to be in the yard of such a stubborn loon. Without haste, the lights around him flashed out and the neighborhood was left in darkness.
His eyes turned to the young woman sitting on the hearth. Gallagher's eyes were wide and staring at the window, but she had not made a sound. Her body was tensed, ready to spring from the spot if needed. The fire against her skin made her face and hair glow against the darkness. Erik took a step into the light.
"Not afraid of the dark, are you?" he poked.
"No," her answer was very quick and he started to wonder if she really was, "I wasn't sure how close the tree was going to fall."
"Only over the important thing. The single above ground power transmitter on this street." He crossed his arms, "I don't imagine this storm is going to be cleaned up with any haste. This city is too backwards to function."
"I knew I should have gone to Meg's." Ms Gallagher retorted, staring back into the flames.
Erik was under the impression that Barnes had her work cut out for her and would be toiling to keep her friend in the clear of the next whirlwind to come in politics.
"We will stay by the fire tonight." Erik spoke, "For your sake anyway."
Ms Gallagher turned back to him, "Tonight?"
"Would you rather the next tree fall on you, Ms Gallagher?"
Horror crossed her features as she stood, "I'm not staying here. The agreement was over lessons, not accommodation." Erik didn't answer and she continued a little faster, "You can't keep me here, Underwood. I won't stay."
"Don't imply that I'm keeping you here against your will," he said quietly, turning slightly so that she had access to the door.
Her eyes went to the door, then to the window. The wind was still high and ice was making various sharp tink tink tinks as it hit the glass. Erik had no intention of letting her believe that he was forcing her to stay with him. He saw her swallow hard. Her face fell and she sat down next to the flame again.
"You win," she said quietly, her voice lividly laced, "Now what?"
He walked away and up the stairs towards a closet holding various blankets, towels, and wash rags. Picking out a quilt he had been given by Doug as an ill-placed ironic present. It was for the fifth year he had been reelected into the House of Representatives to, "Warm your heart a little." Erik rolled his eyes as the memory bundled it under his arm and went back down the stairs.
Unfolding it at the door, he held it out to her with a nonchalant, "Here."
Her eyes met his sceptically until she finally stood and took the quilt from him and placed it over her shoulders.
"Thanks," she muttered and sat back down.
This time, he followed her but chose to sit on the opposite side of the hearth, just enough out of the light for his comfort. He caught her staring at him from the corner of her eye. Her blue orbs seemed to dance with the light of the flame so close to her. The redness in her nose had lessened, her cheeks, now pink from the warmth before her. For a moment, Erik wanted to feel that warmth for himself. Not through the fire, but through the skin of her cheek. When she looked away from him suddenly, he came back to his reality and just how absurd his thoughts sounded. She shifted the quilt around her and pulled it tighter around her shoulders.
"What are we going to do now?" She pressed on.
Erik thought for a moment. A music lesson would only be so useful now. He also took into consideration how long they now had together. She would be here for at least a day and there was suddenly so much that could be done. A kind of excitement started to rise in him. There were virtually no limits and so much progress could now be made. The very world that had corrupted her could not be turned out. He would hear her voice again, in it's fullest abilities, and there would be greatness.
XVI
Christine's anger was so fueled that it surprised her that rage alone was not enough to keep her warm. Her body, exhausted from the storm outside, now covered in a quilt that he offered her, was all but shaking in rage. Why was he acting so calm about her staying with him? Was that his intent? Did he really have nothing else to do but bother her on her short vacation away from Capitol Hill? And now he was sitting beside her as if they were old friends having a nice chat. They were not friends. Erik Underwood had no friends. No high ranking political figures ever did.
His words startled her, "How did you come here?"
"By the will of my feet." She clipped, "Does this have to do with the lesson?"
"I am referring to your move to the district."
"The answer is about the same," she answered softly. She then decided to let her question go unanswered and continue by asking one of her own. "How did you get into politics?"
"It's the only option for people like me."
This time she looked at him, "What do you mean?"
Underwood cocked his head, "You are not so delusional. People looking for gain and power. Sure, there are some with moral conscience out here, but they dwindle."
"At least you admit to it," she looked back to the fire and pulled the quilt closer to her so that it came up to her neck, "Raoul never knew why he was in politics. I think part of him wanted to do good, but how could he ever know what good was with a family like that?" She caught him looking at her intently, if not surprised, but rather than think too much of it, she continued, "Did you ever really find out who your family was?"
"Of course I did." His honesty surprised her, "My father is dead and my mother died in jail after being put there for selling heroin. Her brain is so destroyed she never remembered having any children at all."
"Do you know if you have any siblings, then?" she pressed on, curious to know what the public did not.
"She got smart after me and had no more." He said in a dark tone.
His deformity. He was clearly implying that his mother had no more children due to the way he was produced. Christine looked to her feet, not wanting to let it show that she did hold some sympathy to what life must be like to have a marked face. She had seen different birth marks before, some burn victims too, most of which now went about life without cover and were more or less accepted. What made Underwood's face so awful that he hid it as he did? That was not a question to ask out loud.
The wind outside picked up and the sound alone made her feel cold despite herself being comfortable in her bundle of quilt. She rested her head on her knees and kept her focus on the dancing flames before her.
"You will stay down here." He spoke, as if reading her mind, "It is the warmest room in the house."
Christine nodded. She had no intention of leaving the very spot she was in. A sigh left her. Such a strange position she found herself in. Her thoughts drifted aimlessly towards her dead lover. Where was he now? Heaven? Hell? Maybe neither? She wondered over the concept of God or no God after her father had died. Was it a normal thing to have so few people surrounding a person, only to have those people picked off by mortality? Maybe it was just her terrible life to have to deal with.
"You're right, you know," Underwood spoke, "I think Mr. Peters was a result of his society. I'd like to think that what happened was not intentional, just a mistake. That doesn't necessarily make him a heartless man."
Christine looked over to him, unwanted tears stinging her eyes. The media had already started up suspicions that it was purposeful, that Raoul, for having died, was a criminal for having passed out by the sea. Such words from someone of Erik Underwood's standing were beyond rare. "Thank you," the words finally came over the knot in her throat.
"I speak only what I am certain of."
She nodded. The words were kind, whether the facts had been checked or not. Erik stood, "I'm going to have a glass of wine. Would you like one as well?"
Her answer came with a shrug, "Sure."
Dr. Underwood went into the dark corners of his Study and emerged with two wide glasses and what looked like the same kind of wine she had been offered the evening before last. Sitting down again, he silently uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass. She looked at how much liquid he had left in her glass and wondered if he had meant it as a gesture of getting her out of her head or not. He rose his glass to the flames and said confidently, "To the profession that brings death to all of us."
He didn't wait for her to respond before he took a helpful gulp of the wine. Slowly, she raised her glass, sipping just enough of it get the taste of it. It was a very bold tasting wine, with a bitter front and a slightly sweet after taste. The liquid was thick in her throat and she felt its warmth travel straight down to her freshly emptied stomach.
Time passed surprisingly fast that evening as the conversation continued lightheartedly. The wine had certainly helped the tension. She had noticed Erik taking his down in larger portions than hers, but he didn't seem affected by it, at least, not in comparison to how she was feeling affected by it. The combination of a light dinner, followed by excessive exercise, and lack of sleep in general turned out to be nothing good for her head. At the same time, the feeling of losing worry and problems felt nice for a change. Suddenly, it was not talking to one of the more dangerous politicians in the country, it was more like talking to an estranged friend.
Thoughts were becoming easy words, guards she had placed over her chosen life were relaxed, and what was more interesting was how well he listened to her. For once, his questions were not sarcastic or mean, they read of clean sincerity. When she began to speak of the years she had spent as a nomad with her father, he did not ask about why it hurt to speak of him. He did not ask things that she did not want to discuss, instead, he fixated on times that she found herself smiling over, laughing even.
And the feeling was nice. It was nice to have someone who didn't know anything, who had no past that connected to hers, to just listen. She had learned to not bore those at work with long stories, or tell them the horrors she had faced as they would pity her. For once, she did not feel pity or a lack of interest. It was an odd feeling, but still nice.
Still, there was one thing that perplexed her and it must have shifted the mood a bit.
"Something wrong?" Erik inquired, taking another taste of wine.
Her face fell, "I'm not sure."
He waited for her to continue.
"We've been talking…Well, I feel like I've been talking." She looked towards the window having not heard any wind for a little while, "And it sounds like the storm has passed."
He crooked his eyebrow as his glance slowly made its way from the fire to her eyes. She looked away.
"What are you trying to say?"
Feeling a round ball of emotion coming up, she set her wine glass down, more forcefully than she meant to, but it fortunately didn't break. He waited for her answer and she drew the quilt closer to her. The question finally coming out louder than she intended, "Why do you care about any of this?"
She thought she saw him raise a hand to her, as if to touch her shoulder, but he quickly put it back down to his side, seeming to shake off whatever he was thinking.
"Perhaps the true question is, why does it surprise you that someone would want to listen?"
Tears were beginning to sting her eyes, "You're twisting the question. Politicians are always twisting questions."
"The better man can answer any question."
"Why have you been listening to me all night? And you're wrong. People don't care to listen. They don't want to listen to someone with a life like mine. It's just…just sad."
A warm drop fell her from her eye and she quickly brushed it away. For the first time in the conversation, he appeared to tense up his body as much as she had. They both stared at the flames for a long time until he spoke quietly, "Your life doesn't have to be so sad."
"I feel like there's no way to fix it." More tears were coming, wrapping her voice in chokes, "Three of my closest…they all died on Christmas. That's a c-curse. And I feel like I've been trying so h-hard. And-and the people I care most about keep-keep dying."
Without warning, Dr. Underwood stood and left the room in haste. The movement so shocked her that she stopped crying to watch him go. As depression began to set in, her thoughts turning black that another person had walked out on her, he returned, a box of tissues in his hand. He took his seat and placed the box next to her.
"Please," he asked quietly.
She took two tissues and blew out the embarrassment that was dripping from her nose and eyes. She quickly tossed them into the flames.
"You realize that's a gas powered fire place." He said dryly.
"Oh god. I didn't think. Oh. I'm so sorry, I really am."
Underwood put up his hand to silence her and she felt like jumping into the flames with the tissues.
"Listen to me, Ms. Gallagher." His entire body was facing her now as he spoke from his knees, "You are not what you are right now. You are not this mess of tears before me." She looked away in embarrassment, "No, look at me." He commanded gently and he waited for her to follow, "I see you for all that you could be even as you do not. I see you for the woman that destiny has positioned you for in music and I want to take you there for you to claim something for yourself."
"But why?" she stammered out, "I'm nothing."
Underwoods eyes flashed to the window for a moment. He stood and said, "Come with me."
