Gathering String (27 page)

Dodson laughed. “Talk about kicking someone when they’re down. What have you got from Erickson himself?”

“Only the official statement he handed everyone. ‘It is with regret that we announce Patrick Donnelly, yadda, yadda, yadda.’ I couldn’t get through to Erickson to comment on what Donnelly told me,” Sam said, and then watched as Dodson silently mulled the situation.

“Well,” Dodson sighed at last, “I think there’s more here than we’ve found out.” He looked Sam over again, as he added, “Be sure you keep your eyes peeled when you’re working on the profile. Try to get something more from the governor himself on this.”

Sam’s eyes were bright. “The more I see of this guy, the more things don’t seem quite right. If he’s trying to control every word that comes out about himself, there’s something he doesn’t want people to know.”

It was nearly eight when Judith Sampson put her briefcase down in the entryway of her Alexandria townhouse and immediately kicked off her pewter Prada heels. Bending, she picked them up and started toward the bedroom to change, glad to be home.

But at the foot of the stairs she stopped when she heard a noise from the kitchen. Hurrying down the hall with a smile, she called, “Hey, I didn’t think you’d be here already.” Coming around the corner, she caught her breath and dropped her shoes when she saw the man standing at the sink. “Sam!” Her face went red. "I thought you were still out of town.”

“Change of plans.” He spoke around a lump of peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich in his mouth, surprised at the enthusiasm of her greeting. “I got in this afternoon. I need to line up some interviews by phone, and then leave for Iowa as soon as I can.” He looked at her quizzically, wondering at the flush that had come to her face, and asked, “Did you know you didn’t arm the door alarm?”

She shrugged. “I must have forgotten. I went to the office quite early. There’s a lot to clear up before I leave.”

He swallowed, and one side of his mouth went up as he said, “Did you see your new job made Friedman’s blog? I sure hope they told that poor bastard Keller he was out before he read it online.” She shrugged again, looking nervous, and Sam knew she was uneasy with what was coming next. “Funny thing about that, Friedman told Dodson you were taking the spot a few days before you and I ever talked about it.” She seemed to fidget under his direct gaze, and he knew it was true. She’d accepted the job before their talk over dinner. He sighed. “Why did you even bother? Why didn’t you just tell me you’d taken it, instead of making a pretense of discussing it with me? Christ, couldn’t you …”

“Sam,” she came on into the room, “I hadn’t resigned from the firm when you and I talked. It’s true, I’d told Morton I'd take it, but I asked him not to say anything until …”

“So you see my point? Keeping things quiet on Capitol Hill is a tall order. Somebody talked to Friedman, and Morton confirmed it before you even gave notice. Or informed your husband. What I don't get is why. You could have called me in Iowa to tell me what you’d done. It would have spared me an awkward situation. Dodson and Johnson wanted to know why I hadn’t …”

“I’m sorry.” She grasped his hand. “Look, let’s go out. Let’s go over to Las Tapas, and have some sangria and I’ll explain.”

“I don’t want a drink, and there’s nothing to explain. I understand what happened. You wanted me to believe we had talked it over before you took a new job, even though you’d already accepted. What I don’t get is why.”

Her face was tense. “I know, I know. It was stupid. Please let me explain. Let’s go over to Five Guys. You love their burgers, and I’ll fill you in.”

He looked confused. She never wanted to eat their food, let alone be seen there. “I just had a sandwich. I don’t need to eat again. I just want …” They both heard the key in the front door lock, and Judith’s face went from drawn to panic. “What the hell …” Sam took a step to go and see when they heard a man’s voice call, “Hey, Beautiful. I left early, but traffic was hell. I’ve had a hard-on all day just thinking about tonight.” The voice rose. “Judith, are you here?”

Sam’s jaw dropped as Judith, her face now scarlet, called back, “Wait right there! Please, just stay there.”

For a stunned heartbeat, they only looked at each other, then Sam muttered, “Shit,” and took two more quick, furious steps toward the door.

“Stop,” she whispered, backing with him, refusing to give way, her fingers closing over his shirtfront. “Please Sam, don’t. Just let me ... Please, I’ll be right back. Don’t do this.” Her voice shook, and her eyes were wide.

He looked over her head at the door as the voice called out again. “Hurry up, baby, or do you want me to come looking for you? I …”

“Get rid of him,” Sam’s gruff voice raised, and the call from the other room cut off abruptly at the sound of it.

She nodded, and went for the door, her arm still extended back toward Sam, as if to stop him if he suddenly tried to follow. Slumping against the sink, he could hear her quick, soft murmur and a deep-voiced reply. Then the front door closed. Her footsteps seemed slow as she walked back to him, and when she came around the corner he saw the color had drained from her face, leaving it quite pale.

“Well, I thought my moment with Steve Johnson was awkward. But this beats that to hell and gone.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Sam stood looking at her, his eyes glittering green. His voice dropped. “Who is he?”

For a moment she only returned his stare, and then said, “Don’t even try it, Sam. You have no room for outrage here. After all your women …”

“True,” his reply was unflinching. “There have been some women. But none of them ever unlocked our front door and made themselves at home.”

She shook her head. “My front door. This is my house, remember?”

“So it is. I do tend to forget that. But what about the bed? Shouldn’t I at least know who’s sharing the bed with us?” His face was harsh, the lines sharp.

“Did I ever ask you?”

She had not. Even when she knew there was someone else. Even when Sam had been so enthralled with Tess he’d been seen all over town with her, and at least half their friends and acquaintances knew of that affair if not others, Judith had never asked for a name. And Sam had no reply. He sighed, rubbing his eyes, asking instead, “How long?”

“A few weeks.” Her face was solemn.

His eyebrows went up. “I guess that explains why you didn’t want me in the bedroom the other night. Not able to do it?” She looked her question, and he added bitterly, “Bed two of us in the same day?”

Her brown eyes were sad, but her voice was razor sharp. “No. I haven’t developed your flexibility.”

His frown deepened and he turned, reaching up to the cupboard above the sink for the bottle of Glenfiddich. “Now I want that drink. You?” She nodded and sat down at the table. For a few minutes they were silent while he got ice and poured two healthy drinks, adding a splash of water to hers. Sitting across from her, he took a large swallow, wincing slightly and then saying, “Well …” He watched her, and for the life of him couldn’t think of a thing to say. Finally he muttered, “Now what?”

She had been looking down, and when her eyes came up to meet his, her beauty struck him as it always did. And suddenly he felt painfully stupid because it had never even occurred to him that
she
might be the wife in other men’s beds.

“Isn’t it strange,” she asked, “after all your balling around, it’s only when I’m the one caught that we finally sit down and have this chat?”

He searched her face. “Judith, it’s been a long time since there was anyone else.”

She nodded. “I know. But Sam, it wasn’t for my sake, was it?” He looked down into his drink and didn’t answer. “Every now and then, I’d catch a stray comment from someone – it felt more like a stray bullet – some kind of innuendo about you and that little blond named Benedict. As if I hadn’t already caught on.”

He looked up quickly, and as she sipped her drink amusement crossed her face. “What?” she asked. “You surely didn’t think I couldn’t figure it out? It was so obvious. She was the one with you on that plane that went down. There were all those work trips you took, the photo credits were almost always hers. She was different, wasn’t she? All those months you went around with a secret smile on your face, you didn’t think I realized none of the others managed to make you look like that? Including me.”

He drew a breath to say something, making a slight gesture with his hand, but she waved him off. “I expected you to leave. When you went to that summit in Paris, I was sure we were finally over. Sam, that’s where we spent our honeymoon. And we’d had such a wonderful time.” Her laugh was bitter. “Maybe that was the last thing we got right in this marriage. But when you left on that trip, you didn’t even mention our time there together. It was like you didn’t even remember it.”

“Of course I remember, Judith,” he said quietly, his face a curious mix of embarrassment and anger.

“But it didn’t occur to you that I could have gone with you. That maybe we could have stayed on a few days, and at least tried to find what we used to have,” she said. “I felt like such a fool for even thinking of it. I knew then that I wasn’t the woman you wanted, in Paris or anywhere else. I was certain that when you got back you’d leave for good. I even started to look forward to it, to the relief. Emotionally you’d been gone for so long anyway.

“But you didn’t go. It was about the time we found out Mother had cancer, wasn’t it? Suddenly you were sick and sad, but you didn’t leave. I figured that out too. She dumped you.” He dropped her gaze, feeling the heat rise in his face. She made a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “It still amazes me, that you of all people managed to get your heart broken. And all I could think was that you could never feel that kind of grief over me.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.

She shrugged. “It didn’t matter. You just seemed to lurk in the background, nursing your hurt, and there didn’t seem to be any sense in rocking the boat while I had so much to deal with. At least I could give Mother my undivided attention.”

“You could have asked for my help.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want it.”

For a few moments they were quiet, sipping their drinks, not looking at each other, until he finally asked, “What … what do you want now, Judith?”

Across the table, their eyes met again, her head cocked a little to the side, as she took in every line of his face. Her voice was barely a whisper when she said, “Something better.”

The late November morning was crisp and clear, the sunrise just beginning to spread a deep glow over the first deep snow cover of the winter. It had fallen on Thanksgiving night. Cozy under a thick quilt, snug between flannel sheets, Tess slept soundly curled against her husband in the four-poster bed. A window, opened a small crack, allowed in just enough fresh, cold air to make the warmth of their bed that much more luxurious. But the ringing of the telephone shattered the sweetness.

She moaned as Jack pulled away, and she rolled into the warm spot where he had been. Jack could only pull open one eye as he groped for the receiver, muttering, “Hello?”

“Don’t tell me you were still sleeping. Who do you think you are? A gentleman farmer?”

“What?” Jack frowned, too groggy to match the energetic voice on the other end. “I’m not a farmer …”

“Shame on you, Jack,” it was a laugh. “You must be getting soft. Or wearing yourself out with that good-looking wife of yours. I can remember when you were up by 5:30 every morning.”

“Well, it’s Saturday, and sometimes I like to let the sun get up before me.” Jack ran his hand through his messy hair and drew a deep breath, banishing the cobwebs. “Is this a long-distance wake-up call, or are you back in town, Swede?”

“I’m back. I can only stay the night, and thought maybe you’d come over to the house for some breakfast, since you’re awake anyway.” Erickson’s deep voice chuckled over the line.

“Yeah, thanks for that. How about if I get back into bed with my good-looking wife and come over for lunch instead?”

“Ah, come on. Mama is here, and she’s making that hash you love. She’s already got a good pot of Swedish coffee perking. What’s Tess got to compare to that?”

“Mind your own business,” Jack muttered. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked back over his shoulder at his wife, who appeared to be asleep. “Go ahead without me, and I’ll catch you this afternoon.”

“Jackie, I need to talk to you, and this morning is the only time I’ve got. And you know you can’t get a better breakfast than Mama’s.”

That was true. Jack hesitated, but knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep now. “What the hell. Give me a half hour, and I’ll be along.” He hung up the phone and was surprised to feel Tess’s arm go around his waist.

“You’re crazy,” she spoke with her eyes shut. “For the love of God, it’s Saturday.”

“True.” He sank back down into the warm bed. “And I can think of better things to do right here.” He drew her nearly on top of him, enjoying the feel of her long, smooth legs.

She nuzzled his neck, half asleep, murmuring, “Later. Just a little later …”

He sighed, running his hand up under her T-shirt. “I’m awake now. Hell, I’d better go. Something must be up. Swede wasn’t supposed to be home for at least a month.” He rolled slightly, letting her slip back down onto the pillows. “I’ll go on over to the house. Augusta does make a hell of a breakfast. You sure you don’t want to come?” She didn’t answer, and after a few seconds his kiss landed somewhere near her ear, and he padded off to the shower. She snuggled her face into his pillow. As much as Tess loved Augusta, it was just too damn early.

The breakfast was huge, and Swede’s mother bustled about, pleased to have three grown men to cook for, a job she’d been doing since she was a little girl on the farm. Sitting at the table with Pete, Jack worked his way steadily through an enormous plate of hash with bits of potato, sausage, scrambled eggs and red onions. There was warm, light Swedish rye bread on the side, dripping with real butter. Swede had been called to the phone just after Jack came in, and his conversation seemed to be dragging on.