Chapter Nineteen
Sunday came very quickly after her exhausting Saturday. Simba was not interested in her apartment and managed to get into all kinds of trouble that he had no business being in. She made her way out to a nearby 7-11 for cat liter and food, but he didn't like that either and her milk had gone bad. The cat sat at the door, scratching at it like he wanted to go out and she nearly let him.
"You want me to go back, but I won't." She shivered, "I don't feel safe there anymore."
In addition, Simba wouldn't let her sleep in peace. He mewed and squealed all around her bed until she finally kicked him out. From here, he started yapping and scratching the door. She was ready to drop him off in Underwood's mail slot and was pretty sure he would fit. Roach seemed to like him far more than she was that day.
She was able to tune him out while listening to a recording of Faust made in the seventies that she found on YouTube. Of course, she didn't understand what was going on and had to look up a synopsis. Once she had, she could have screamed.
"Oh is that how he feels? Is that how he's going to communicate this situation to me? Ugh!" She sat back on her couch as Simba had somehow managed to sleep through all of this. "How easy it would be to go to Heaven like Margherita…" she sighed and mumbled, "but I'm better than her."
Erik was making her feel as if she were so lucky to have the life she did. As far as she was concerned, he was in a much better position than her! He was rich, and in power, and in control of his life and he was making her out as a villain only because half of her face wasn't missing?!
Sure…it must have been awful to have the life that he had. Foster homes, cruel honest children, and the world ready to snub him due to looks. Still, that was not her fault! She had not treated him in such a way and the only reason she backed away as she did was that she wasn't thinking straight! It was the twenty-first century after all and not okay to treat people badly due to their looks and she knew that! Why did he have to round on her like that?
Maybe…maybe it was because he was embarrassed…or afraid…but of her? Had their days in music lessons and politics and nights in history and books not been enough to show him that she wasn't the one to worry about? She thought they had been getting along just fine until she had to use the bathroom! She actually, sort of, liked him, his company, his questions, his music, his care…just…him. Why, why, did he have to react like that?
Meg had finally called her back and only wanted to talk about the cat and see pictures. Christine wanted nothing to do with the kitten as he managed to pee directly outside of the liter box as if in protest. The cat was getting ridiculous! Meg said she had written a story while the power was out, as in, actually wrote it down and now she was trying to convert it into a computer document. She said it might be a really big deal and she wanted to tell Christine about it before it was published, but she couldn't over the phone. They lastly talked about the wake the next day. Meg said she would stand with Christine. That meant a lot. No one else would be standing with her.
After a terrible night of sleep, followed by a shower that was far from ever getting warm, Christine worked to cover up the bags under her eyes with makeup. As she looked into the mirror, at her sad, tired reflexion, she swore to herself that she would not make a mess as the memorial. No matter what happened, she would be polite and aloof, and not giving any notions of being the ex-lover of Raoul Peters.
Meg and Christine arrived by Uber Black Car to try as to not draw attention by others of much higher wealth that would be arriving via private driver. The National Cathedral was just far enough away from the metro to make walking difficult in heels. The sky was clear that day without a cloud in it and the sun felt nice on their heads as they made their way up the steps to the giant wooden doors.
"I wish they would have modelled this after the Duomo in Florence rather than Notre Dame." Meg said with a sigh, "I always thought the Duomo in Florence was more beautiful."
"I've only seen pictures," Christine commented, pulling her pea coat closer to her as the wind picked up.
"We'll have to go sometime, chica," Meg hugged her friend's shoulders, "We're not too old for a backpacking trip, are we?"
Christine smiled, despite how she felt, "I guess not yet."
"Sounds good." Meg waited a moment, "You ready?"
"Yeah, yeah, let's do this."
They walked into the wooden doors and into the main chapel. Meg went to the holy water and crossed herself. Quickly after, Christine followed and did the same, trying to make it appear normal, shivering a little at how cold the liquid was in the basin.
"I know I'm not Catholic," Meg whispered into Christine's ear, "but it's the only way you get to enter crazy big churches in Europe without being kicked out for not being religious enough."
They walked down the aisle with arms linked and took a spot to the side about ten rows behind the front. At the front was a closed coffin with Raoul Peter's handsome picture mounted above it. White roses were bunched in bouquets and laid on top of the coffin. Other flower arrangements covered the altar and into the sides of the pews. The family sat up front, the women dabbing their eyes, the men staring forward in portrayed strength.
Christine looked away from the portrait and family and started to focus on the beauty of the church and how kindly the sun flowed in from the windows. She noted the architecture and began to wish that she were in Paris or Florence instead. Anything but where she was now would be fine. Her eyes drifted as more people came into the room. Some of them she recognized from Congress, those from her office nodded and sadly waved to her in recognition, others, she didn't know. What was unmistaken was when Dr Underwood came in, his aid not far from his side. As per usual, when he entered, a rather wide path was made for him from people not wanting to cross his path.
She quickly looked away with a gasp and tried to calm her breathing. Despite her efforts at calming herself from the other morning, fear still pricked at her mind.
"You okay, Chris?" Meg asked cautiously.
Christine didn't answer. She had nothing she could say that would explain anything. Meg patted her arm, "We can always leave if you'd rather go. Nothing is keeping you here."
"I…I know. I'm fine. I'm sorry."
"Okay, whatever you say," Meg said, kindly squeezing her friend's hand.
When the organ started to play to mark the service officially beginning, Christine felt her throat dry. It was the same song that had been played at her father's funeral, the same feeling in the air. Sounds of sniffles, the faint brush of tissues being pulled, ragged breathing. The recognition of everything to her senses was taking its toll and Christine began pant through her teeth.
"Christine?" Meg whispered.
"I can't Meg," she gasped, "I can't."
"We can leave, hon. We can go now."
"I can't go." she shut her eyes tight and nearly slapped her hands over her head, "I have to, I have to…"
"Christine, you can do whatever you want, honey."
The sunlight through the window was suddenly becoming too bright, "I can't breathe, Meg."
"Honey, just take a breath. Just take a big breath."
People's heads were starting to turn to her as the music was ending its last note. Christine was becoming a distraction and the world might as well have been closing in. Everyone sat down and Meg gently led her friend to do the same, an arm around her back. The priest began to speak, but Christine tuned him out. She couldn't hear about death. She couldn't handle it.
"It's okay, honey. I'm here," Meg soothed in her ear, holding Christine to her, "You're not alone, hon, I'm here."
Time passed. Different people went and talked about the good times with Raoul. The only one who resonated with Christine was Phillip Tusk, but she didn't pay much attention to anyone otherwise. She, instead, focused on her breathing. As a distraction, she even started to practice how long she could sustain her breath support as she counted steady beats out with her fingers on her legs. It was enough to keep her from making a scene. She recalled the sound of steadying herself enough to be able to walk out of this place without falling down the steps and making any more of a scene. She had decided not to see the family, not to offer them any condolences as it would destroy her to do so. They might as well have killed him and she hoped they knew it.
They were able to sweep through the crowd on the way out and not cause any attention to come to them. Meg led Christine to the steps outside to get out of the way and sit her friend back down faster. They took up some of the last visible light as the sun made its way behind the giant church. Christine's eyes kept to the sky as people made their way out, talking quietly as they departed.
"The sky was just as blue when they buried Dad," she said suddenly to Meg. "You see all those movies where it rains. It doesn't seem right when the sky looks so beautiful."
Meg squeezed her friend's hand, "Fate can be a bitch."
Christine smiled a little, "I thought that was karma?"
"We're at a church. It didn't seem right to change religions…or curse God. Fate falls in between."
"You're a good friend, Meg," Christine said, laying her head on Meg's shoulder.
"Oh don't I know it," she replied with a wink.
They laughed a little watching as the rest of the people cleared out slowly. Meg offered to call an Uber and they waited for the driver to arrive. Christine noticed when Erik and his aid left. He did not turn a look at her. Why should he? They weren't supposed to actually know each other. She sighed, a bit relieved of their lack of interaction. Once the Uber came, they decided to go out for Lebanese food in Woodly Park instead of heading back to their houses.
XVIII
Of course, Christine Gallagher was the first thing Erik saw when he and Doug entered the church. Despite his best efforts of distraction over the past thirty-six hours, she was the only thing that filled his mind. It was the fear in her eyes, the tears on her face, her so obvious hurt from his words…that was the nightmare that he never needed sleep to see. She had ruined their strange friendly existence and he made sure to cut any remaining ties of it, whether intentionally or not. She had said how he hurt her, but it was his wounds that were now open, he who had been so nice to her, had even cared for her, and everything had been betrayed. He refused to believe in accidents, refused to believe in her tales of being tired. She must have been waiting for him to falter, to have to make the adjustment after having left the mask on for so long while she was there. He was willing to bear that pain for her kind smiles and pleasant laughter, but now no more.
Seeing her at the memorial stung him. He noticed her look towards him followed by her quick retreat. Taking a seat further from her, he could still make out the back of her blonde head. Like a hunter, he stood still and unnoticeable to her but always keeping an eye out. When the organ started, he saw her shoulders shake, saw her reporter friend try to steady her with quiet words, and he wanted to blow everything up because of it. She was crying for another man. Not him. She would cry for someone as pretty as Raoul Peters and cry for herself when she was insulted, but she would not care for him when he was hurt.
Cruel words formed in his head, crueller intentions followed, and he was ready to do every last one of them to stop the ceremony so that she knew what it really felt like to be hurting inside and out. She deserved to suffer for fooling him as she had. She is one of the few to ever be let in so close and then get the best of him. No one would get the best of him again. He was in this for power and he would have his power over the little chit Gallagher.
After the ceremony, he noticed her leave with her friend close by. He would not follow, would not let on to the idea that she had been the only thing to fill his head for the entire week. Doug suggested they see the family, specifically Phillip. While he was right, Erik rolled his eyes. No one particularly liked the Peters family, they were more of a group that one had to tolerate in the old money circles. Without Phillip, they would be well within the middle class, perhaps lower with the daughter's obvious drug problems and high spending habits.
They didn't have to wait too long in line as not many people interested in speaking with them. He and Doug shook the hands of the family members. Erik made a note to wash his hands after the event. He wondered if Christine would have been considered to stand with them if she had been of higher wages in class or money. No, Christine had been another girl to Peters. Despite what had happened, he couldn't help but be furious at the thought of Raoul's ungrateful and perfect arms around his Christine.
Underwood finally reached Phillip and put out his hand. The older man, when catching Erik's eye, pulled him closer to speak into his good ear. The close contact made him tense. Phillip whispered, "Richard knows I won't be swearing in and you and I know why. Call off the report and your name will be first for consideration."
Erik pulled back and looked into the man's eyes. He looked…tired. That was unlike him. Perhaps he was even sad. Erik had understood for a little while how much Phillip was trying to bring his younger step-brother up the ranks, even if it appeared that he wanted little to do with him. This event may have struck him and Erik saw his chance.
"Done," he said, shaking Phillips hand in a strong grip. He turned back to Doug, "Let's go Nadir."
They walked quickly and purposefully through the aisle and down the steps. Luckily, Meg and Christine could be seen sitting still outside and far away from them. The two kept their pace.
"Retrieve the packet and any written materials, Nadir. Be thorough, be quick."
"Yes, sir."
Nadir hailed a cab and was off. Before Erik could return to his car, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Richard Walker.
Bench. Left of stairs. Behind trees.
Erik could have smiled, but not yet. Not until he had everything intact. Finally, something to push him over. Finally, something to get him out of Congress. Finally something more promising than what Christine or anyone else turned out to be. He found Walker easily behind a large bush. The bench was concealed well, but Erik chose not to sit, instead of leading up on the trunk of a birch tree.
"I told him it wasn't his decision," Richard said quietly, his back bent over his laced hands "That it was America's, but you know he doesn't listen to anyone."
Erik stayed quiet and crossed his arms, wanting Walker to continue on his own.
"He has worked so hard to hide what love he always had for his brother. It's a shame. This matter, we have not only lost a representative but a vice president." Richard looked up to him, creases in his forehead, "I was somewhat surprised when he mentioned you for the role."
Erik cocked a visible eyebrow, "You disagree with his suggestion."
Walker sighed, "Not entirely. What I'm trying to avoid is an argument here, Erik. Ultimately, it's not your decision, remember? You and I do not suit that well and that was why we saw you staying in the House as a better option. Your critics call you stubborn and they aren't wrong. You lack compromise."
"Then you can always count on me to hold you to your word." Erik clipped back.
"Yes, you've always been very good at holding such vendetta's. But such a position is more than politics. Erik, you know you don't represent the full picture."
His eyes narrowed, "Meaning?"
"Meaning…well, meaning family. You've never shown interest in anything put political and financial gain. How do the American people stand behind that when they would rather believe the dream is to retire early with their loved ones. And even that is becoming impossible. You're an image of power with no image of the common people. People outside of your district cannot relate to you in any sense. How are they supposed to support my decision to support you?"
"My family is dead," Erik said through his teeth. The entire argument seemed idiotic.
"Then make a family. You don't even appear to try to marry, Erik. America is a nation of families and they want to see a man with a strong and soft side. Your strength is clear, but you have nothing but your politics and the people will not see that as a comfort. They need that vulnerability."
Erik froze, his mind jumping forward and forward, faster and faster, making ties and conclusions in seconds, then shoving them away once finding the issue. There had to be a way to quickly resolve this. He smirked when he figured out to have the upper hand, "You know so much about my life, do you?"
Richard looked truly confused, "Are you telling me you-"
His mind kept reeling and reeling. Past events shooting out windows and exploding in his head to make way for what had to be done, "I haven't asked her, but she is a good candidate. She would be…perfect."
"You speak of her like she is solely political gain."
"And what would that matter to the people?" He spoke even faster, "She is better at compromise than I am. She often calls me to see the other side of issues. Her wealth does not surpass the middle class. That is relatable, is it not?"
Now Richard was speaking faster, trying to talk him out of this scheme, "There's more to this than just having a wife. To be the wife of such a huge political position is far beyond just marriage. There is an entire lifestyle-"
"She is not an imbecile. No, she is rather smart…" Erik felt the twitch of his lips as they turned up, "How entertaining would it be to have a presidential-style wedding? When was the last time that happened? Young people love weddings. Hell! You can serve as the man to wed us. You're a captain, are you not? This will be flawless."
Walker paused before he continued, choosing his words very carefully, "Does she know about any of this?"
This time Erik paused.
"I have work to do." He clipped, taking his weight off the tree, "Is there anything else you need of me?"
"Erik…do you know what you're getting into?"
He laughed and the sound was not a joyful thing to hear, "I'm getting into the Vice Presidency by compromising my right to be single, so yes, yes I do."
"Erik-"
"Is this the only obstacle for me to tackle here?"
"With Phillip's recommendation, yes."
"Am I excused, Mr President-Elect?"
"Erik…" He sighed, shaking his head, "Tell me how it goes."
Poor Christine :/
