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chapter forty-nine
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and my aim's never been good
but my arrow to the moon
is so close it scrapes the sides
we don't fall into love
it slips from the cabinet
and falls into us
-Trespassers William, "Cabinet"
xx
December 2, 2003
Washington DC
4:00 pm
" ... so in conclusion, I do think that this new plan will make more cost-effective healthcare available to the American public by enabling us to target the demographics with the largest needs." Martin forced a smile at the middle-aged female reporter who stood across from him on the Senate steps. Committee had closed sessions early for the day, but he had a few things he needed to finish up in his office. Unfortunately, he had been cornered by an over-eager reporter and had been answering her questions for the past ten minutes.
"Of course, Senator, Sir," she agreed enthusiastically, her overdone foundation cracking as she smiled cheerily.
Martin cast a desperate glance to his side, silently begging Rick Harvey to intervene. Rick read his nonverbal cue and stepped down to shake the reporter's hand. "Thank you very much for your interest in Senator Fitzgerald and his policies," Rick said, his tone completely professional but amused exasperation evident in his facial expression. "But unfortunately the Senator is a very busy man, and he has some business that he must attend to now."
"Absolutely," the reporter closed her legal pad and slid it into her jacket pocket. "One more quick question if it's not too much trouble, though?"
Martin nodded in silent trepidation.
"I know a lot of us were looking forward to finally meeting your young woman at some of the Capital Hill festivities this past weekend; we were extremely disappointed when she was not there." The reporter paused to smile, and Martin tried not to stare at the pink mark on her teeth where her lipstick had obviously gone astray. In a tone of voice no different than when she had posed questions about his votes in regard to the Middle East, she focused her eyes and asked, "There isn't anything new to report in your personal life, is there?"
Martin frowned; he had been worried about this. He had been thrilled when Sam told him that she was planning to spend Thanksgiving reconnecting with her mother and the rest of her family, even though he certainly missed her company and her presence as he went through the motions of the annual Capital Hill festivities and spent the holiday weekend with the rest of his family. And he had certainly been willing to live with that sacrifice after her suggestions that she join him in Washington for the entire Christmas holiday.
xx
Martin stretched out his arms and flicked his wrists, as thought it might somehow dislodge the dull ache that seemed to have settled there. He glanced with a sigh at the stack of congratulatory certificates he had still to sign: letters of achievement for the most recent group of Girl Scouts who received their Gold Awards. At least he was almost finished.
He picked up his pen and reached for the next certificate when he heard a knock at his door.
"Senator Fitzgerald?" Beverly's voice carried in as the office door cracked open slightly. "Miss Spade is on the phone for you. She wanted to know if this was a bad time?"
"Of course not," he answered with a smile. He lowered his eyes to the stack of certificates to avoid Beverly's knowing gaze and he said, "Go ahead and transfer her to my line."
"Of course, Sir," Beverly nodded.
The door creaked shut again, and he glanced at the small flashing button on his desk phone that signaled that Sam's call was on Line B.
He lifted the receiver to his ear and answered, "Hey."
"Hey, Martin," Sam's voice replied. "This isn't a bad time?"
"Of course not," he said without hesitation. Sometimes she worried entirely too much about interrupting him when she called his office; he usually had a good idea of when he would be tied up and would warn her accordingly. "And you really don't have to bother with calling Beverly first; you can just call my cell phone."
"I tried that first, stupid; but someone turned their cell off," she laughed teasingly, and it sounded so vivid that he could almost see the playful look on her face.
He frowned, confused, and checked the pocket of his suit jacket. Sure enough when he located his cell phone, he saw that it had been turned off. "Oh, sorry," he replied, laughing along with her. "I think I forgot to plug it back in to the charger after I talked to you last night. So that means it has to be your fault somehow."
On the other end of the line, he heard Sam scoff laughingly.
"So, anyway," he paused to transfer the receiver to his other hand. "What's going on with you?"
The line went silent for a few moments, and he was just beginning to wonder if they had been disconnected when he heard her breathe heavily. "I just got off the phone with my mom," she said softly. "She asked me if I wanted to come back to Kenosha for Thanksgiving."
"And?"
"And what?" She sighed, and her voice was uneven. "I told her I'm not sure yet."
"I think you should go," he answered without hesitation. "It will be good for you. You can meet her fiancé, right? If they're going to get married in February, you should really meet him before the wedding."
"That's true," she agreed. "It's just... it's been a long time since I left. I'm not sure if I'm ready to go back."
"You are," he said confidently. He knew she was building this up in her head to be far bigger than it actually was, and the more she tried to think logically about it, the more she would exaggerate it and blow it out of proportion. "You haven't been to Kenosha since you were eighteen years old, right?" he paused, taking her silence on the other end of the line as confirmation. "Even though I know you're not sure about it, I think you'll be happy that you went. I know you have a lot of questions, and the only way you're going to get answers is to start asking."
He held his breath, worried that he had upset her somehow when he was only trying to be encouraging. Finally, he heard her voice waiver as she answered, "You're right, I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," he leaned back in his chair, pushing the stacks of papers on his desk to one side. He felt markedly more relaxed. "I just want to help."
"No, no," she uttered softly. "It's just that I know we had talked about me coming down to Washington for Thanksgiving since it's a long weekend."
"That's alright; I think that you should go to Kenosha." The thought had not crossed his mind, and although he did feel disappointed, that was secondary. "This is more important. We'll have other weekends."
"Well..." she began. He could hear the thoughtful tone in her voice; she was forming a plan. "What about if I just took the week between Christmas and New Years off?" She paused for a beat, but he did not want to interrupt her train of thought. When she began again, her voice picked up in both speed and tone. "I still have a lot of vacation time coming to me, and I could spend the week with you in DC."
Martin smiled to himself. He was glad she was several states away because otherwise he would be sure she could hear his heart pounding in his chest. "That would be great." After a few moments' comfortable silence, he recognized a female voice in the background. He felt his heart swell inexplicably when he heard Sam explain who she was on the phone with and that she would only be another second, embracing his primitive instincts to be identified as the significant person in her life.
"That was just Naomi," Sam explained to him. "She says 'hi,' by the way."
He smiled. "You can tell her I say 'hi,' too." He heard conspiratorial laughter on the other end of the line and raised his eyebrows accordingly. "What's going on over there?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," Sam replied, laughter still evident in her voice. "Naomi just has a question for you."
"Okay..."
"When the Giants are playing the Redskins, who do you root for?" she asked.
He inhaled, tapping his free hand along the edge of his desk. He was not sure how Sam managed to do it, but her Special Agent training could make her more intimidating than any reporter he ever met. She could turn even the most innocent answer into something incriminating if he did not answer carefully. So he laughed, and replied, "Easy. I root for whoever's playing the Cowboys and whoever's playing the Eagles."
Sam laughed; she knew almost nothing about the NFL. "Naomi says you passed. That is an acceptable answer."
"That's good," he replied. "Since this is such serious business."
"Oh, it is," she breathed.
The fact of the matter was, though, that everything with her seemed that way.
xx
Shaking himself from the memory, he was met by the expectant eyes of the reporter. He carefully tried to catch a glimpse of the name of her publication, printed on the side of her shoulder bag. Unable to fully read the printed monogram, he simply chose to work under the assumption that her media outlet was not as reputable as she would have had him believe, and instead chose not to fully indulge her curiosity. "My personal life," he began in a firm voice, "is exactly as the title would suggest: personal. And Samantha's presence or lack thereof is no one's concern but our own." He paused for emphasis, "But since you're asking, she spent the holidays back home with her family, and the rest of your friends and colleagues who are so eager to meet her, will have the opportunity to do so at a later date."
Without another word, Martin resumed his descent of the Senate steps with Rick at his heels. Behind him, the reporter called out "And when will that be?" but Martin thought it better off to ignore her. In his experience, many of his colleagues had lived to regret comments made to the media regarding their personal lives, and he found himself much better off to limit such comments to the bare minimum. Furthermore, society seemed to feed off of gossip and hearsay and to give them any ammunition would only cause problems for Sam and himself.
And this was far too important to him to risk losing over something as trivial as fabrications and rumors.
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