Gathering String (11 page)

He grinned up at her. “I always was pretty good at spotting a likely place to buy. And even this,” he paused and licked the tiny lip of paper sticking up from a slim and fairly straight roll, “seems to be coming back to me. Not bad, considering the last time I did it was the night of my graduation from Columbia. Let’s spark this sucker up.”

She laughed. “Sam Waterman, you smoked weed in college?”

“Didn’t everyone?” He cupped his hands against the sea breeze and struck a match. Dragging deep, he waited for her reply, and when she didn’t, he frowned, shaking out the match. “Are you fucking kidding me? You mean you never ... ?”

She came closer. “No. I guess I hung out with a pretty straight crowd.”

Holding in his breath, he shook his head, and when he exhaled, he muttered, “There just seems to be no end to the wayward paths I can lead you down.” His hand shot out, grabbing the top of her shorts and he pulled her down onto his lap. “Come here, little girl. I have a new treat for you. ”

On their last morning together, they made love just before dawn. There was something feverish in her responses, a desperation he hadn’t felt before, and when Sam sank back onto the pillows, he realized there were small scratches across his shoulders where she’d clung so tightly. He tried to pull her back into his arms, but she got up, insisting she needed a few last shots around the rocky point at the south end of the beach. Rather than drifting back to sleep, he was left staring up at the ceiling, aware of a deep, growing apprehension. By the time she came back, Sam had started pancakes from scratch, and for a few minutes her delight dispelled the anxiety between them.

“These are great, Sam. Who’d have thought you could cook?”

“Yeah, well, this is about maxes out my repertoire. My dad and I used to make them together every Saturday morning from when I was about four years old, all the way through high school.”

“And did you serve them to your mom in bed?”

“No.” He ran his hand across her shoulder as he put a large mug of coffee in front of her and sat down. “She took off right after we came home from the hospital when I was born. We’ve got that in common. We both grew up with just our dads.” She gave him a searching look, surprised he'd never mentioned it before. He shrugged. “She was just too young, barely twenty. She was pregnant when they got married, and I suppose it was too much for her. He couldn’t even find her for the divorce, but it made the case for abandonment easy.”

“He died when I was 31, so nine years.” As they ate, he told her about growing up in Boston with his father. His grandmother helped out when she could. It wasn’t an idyllic childhood, but it was largely happy. His grandmother had been his biggest fan and had bored Sam’s aunts and uncles silly with her bragging when he won a scholarship to Columbia. His father always had at least one woman in his life, but never brought any of them home. Whatever his relationships, he kept them separated from his son.

He sipped his coffee, looking at her determined face, all the anxiety rushing back. “What can I say? I told you, she’s in Europe with her mother. She’ll be back in D.C. in a week, dying to get back to work. I’ve checked my voice mail at home and at work every day since I got here just in case she called. She hasn’t, not once. She sent me an email from Geneva, to say that she’d be back in touch when they get to Rome for their return flight. I emailed back saying fine. That’s been it. She’s not very concerned about how I am, and she’s sure as hell not worried about what I’m doing.”

Tess frowned, looking down at her plate. Sam offered her the last pancake. She waved it off, and he took it himself. She said, “I don’t get it.” He raised his eyebrows, chewing silently. “You make her sound so cold, and your tone is so indifferent, like you two are only acquaintances. Like you don't know each other well."

“No, no, we know each other
too
well.” He sighed, obviously disliking the trail of the conversation. “We just kind of stumble along. Other things are more important to both of us to either make it better or to end it.” His mouth curled up on one side, as he spoke. “We don’t interest each other much.”

“Didn’t you ever?” He shrugged again. “Then why … ?”

“The marriage?” She nodded. “Timing, I suppose. We’d been seeing each other. I liked her ambition. She liked that I didn’t interfere with her work. And we got along …” His voice faded, and Tess could fill in the blank: they had enjoyed each other in bed. “She’d suggested we try living together. About that time, my dad got his bad diagnosis. I knew he wouldn’t last long. Bubbie was getting frail, and I knew she always wanted to see me settled. I figured what the hell. She was everything they always wanted for me: educated, Jewish, beautiful, had her own money.” Tess winced, and he said, “I guess she was my proof that they did alright by me.”

“So what happened?” He just stared at her, and she pressed, “There had to have been at least some passion once. What happened?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We did OK for awhile. But then Dad died. A year later Bubbie went ...” She waited expectantly and he rubbed his eyes, feeling the difference in their ages for the first time. She still thought everything had an explanation. “Look, one day it hit me that whatever the situation, I knew exactly what she’d think, and the words she’d use to tell me. And then too, I suppose she caught on to who I really am.” His mouth was a humorless smile. “I disappoint her. Constantly. And in more ways than just …” He gave a vague shake of his head.

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “It is more and you know it. My god, Tess, I woke up sobbing in your arms.” He looked down at her hand, loosening his grip to gently stroke it, and when his glittering green eyes came up, her throat closed. “Every time I touch you, I heal a little bit.” He leaned forward, and his lips brushed the fading bruise under her eye. “If I tell you there’s nothing for you to feel guilty about, isn’t that enough?”

She pulled away, her voice shaking, “You’re kidding, right? She’ll be back, we’ll be back, all of us in the same city. This can’t go on.”

“Come on, Tess …”

She stood up and moved away from the table, putting the kitchen counter between them. “This has been …” she stopped and turned away for a second. He got up, would have gone to her, but she turned back, putting up her hand with a strangled, “No.” She took a ragged breath, and set her jaw. “We are both still all tangled up in what happened in South Dakota. Sam, you are married.” He shook his head, looking as if he was in pain, but she repeated, “You are married. And I’ve thought about how it will be, what it will turn into, when we get back to D.C. I can’t let that happen.”

The apprehension became a certainty, his eyes going wide. “Oh my God, you’re kicking me.” His voice was soft, his mouth pulled down at the corners.

Tears ran down her face. “We shouldn’t have let this start.” He would have protested, but she shook her head. “But now that we have, we have to share the cost. The only way to save the treasure is to bury it and keep it a memory – a precious memory.”

He looked down at the table, his sharp features lined and grim. “I don’t have any say?”

“No.”

“We’ll see each other at work, you know. Sometimes we’ll even be on the same story. What do we do? Pretend we didn’t spend almost two weeks living together?” She nodded. “I can’t.” He reached to her. “My god, Tess, every time I look at you across the newsroom …” His voice went deeper, and he dropped his hand. “I can’t lose you.”

She just stood there, shaking her head. He gambled for time. “At least let me drive back with you to Seattle. There’s no reason for you to make that trip alone. I’d enjoy the drive through the mountains. And it will give us another couple days.” She still didn’t say anything, only stood there, wet eyed. “Please? I sure as hell don’t want to fly in that little plane again.”

“Sorry, my friend.” She dashed her hand over her face and straightened her shoulders. “You go back the way you came. It’ll look better if I get back a day or two after you anyway.” She dug in her pocket, pulling out a thin chain. “But look what I found for you in town. Think of it as a little flight insurance.” She finally came closer, and took his hand, dropping a shiny silver disk into his palm.

He looked down at the St. Francis de Sales medal nearly identical to the one she wore and smiled sadly. “After all our time together, did you fail to notice I’m a non-practicing Jew?”

Her smile was equally sad. “And I’m a lapsed Catholic.” She folded his hand over the medallion. “I know you can’t wear it. But keep it close over those mountains. After the way we started, I want him to watch over you, too.”

When Tess returned to the newsroom, two days after Sam, she found a white box tied up with a blue ribbon in the bottom of her locker. Inside were four Lalique starfish; one ruby red, one sky blue, one deep purple and one shimmering green. There was no note. With a sad twist to her mouth, the phrase "Lovely Parting Gift," came to mind.

Clean shaven again, he seemed right back in the grove, as absorbed with work as he'd always been. He didn’t stop back in photography to talk with her as he used to. But when she was assigned to cover the President’s speech to the United Nations late in the week, she didn’t know Sam had asked Steve Johnson to put him on the story.

“Why?” was all Johnson could think to ask, stunned by the request. It was a dull assignment, the kind that usually provoked a foul-mouthed tantrum from Sam if he drew it by chance. Sam didn’t answer. A look of dawning came to Johnson’s eyes, but he only shrugged and said, “Sure, knock yourself out.”

Sam didn’t pay any undue attention to Tess while they were working in New York, but that evening, he turned up with two tickets to the Yankees/Red Sox game. Lots of other journalists in the pack were going, he told her, and she figured there was safety in numbers. But when they got to the ballpark, she found their seats were in the lower deck, well away from the rest of their colleagues. They bet a shot of Glenfiddich to an expensive glass of chardonnay on the outcome, and Tess’s Yankees lost 17-1. Talking trash, drinking lots of beer and watching Sam’s delight, she forgot how uneasy she felt at first.

The subway was packed on the way back, and they had to stand. When the train came to a jolting halt, Tess stumbled a bit, and Sam’s arm came around her waist to steady her. She looked up and he dug into his pocket, drawing out a tiny wrapped package. Under the tissue, she found another starfish, smaller than the rest and sapphire blue. He leaned close, and his breath against her ear made her shiver. “I kept him with me while I missed you. He’s the color of your eyes.”

When they came through the hotel revolving door, there was no thought of heading to the bar to pay off their bet. Sam went toward the bank of elevators. When she hesitated, he stopped and turned, the green of his eyes vivid with emotion. He held out his hand.

It was the timeless, wordless gesture of appeal from a man to a woman, an instant of hope and vulnerability. Every ounce of her common sense screamed at her not to take it. But Tess already knew the feel of that hand, the warmth of it. The moment their fingers met, he took control.

Sam had won, and they both knew it.

There was concern about the new Iowa governor’s
gravitas
, but the Republican National Committee still chose Swede Erickson to make keynote address at the convention late that summer. Just four short months earlier, his state endured the most devastating flooding in its history. The inexperienced governor’s creative leadership guided a recovery effort that produced impressive results, as well as cover stories on both
Time
and
Newsweek
. The infant news site, Politifix was all over the popular newcomer, and the foundering party latched onto his success like a lifesaver. The speech was a brilliant move. Erickson brought the house down with a message of conviction, innovation and plain-spoken common sense. He stood with a deprecating smile through a six-minute ovation, and completely eclipsed the actual candidate in every news story for the rest of the week.