Gathering String (37 page)

“That’s the plan,” she said. “It’ll be a clusterfuck,” Sam’s mouth turned up slightly at her use of the word, “but Jack wants a taste of campaign. Will you be there?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Johnson says they’ll put Bundy on Erickson out there.” She wondered why, but didn't ask. They were quiet again.

Finally, she drew a deep breath and said, “Sam, when I email these shots in, I’m going to ask them not to use a credit line.” She pulled over in front of the Marriott and killed the engine. He was silent. “It’s too much, after all those other stories we did together, you know?”

“Fine.” She waited, but Sam didn’t say anything more.

“It'd get the whole
Tribune
newsroom talking again, not to mention the ex-Triblets all over the country. Bundy would have a field day, another Waterman story with Benedict pictures. I don't want …”

“Look, Tess,” he broke in. “Do whatever you want. I really don’t give a damn. I wasn’t kidding before. The subject of our past is starting to bore me shitless.”

“Oh,” she was flustered by his bluntness and embarrassed that she’d pressed him with an explanation. “I just thought I should mention it, in case someone asks you for the credit.”

“I’ll remember. No credit line.” He popped the door open. “Be careful driving home.” He started to get out, and then leaned back, just for a second, his hand closing over hers on the gearshift, and gave it a squeeze.

She watched him go into the lobby, and then pulled away.

It was dark, almost eight, when she got into the Jeep, but her Christmas shopping was nearly done. Leaving a downtown store called Sticks, she’d just spent two hours picking the color scheme and design for a custom-made storage unit for Jack. She was particularly pleased with the words, “Seize the Day, Relish the Night, Follow Your Heart,” that would be carved across the top. Dreading the long drive back, she flipped the ignition, and reached down to plug in her iPhone, noticing for the first time that something was jammed beside the console. With a frown, she picked up Sam’s razor. Tempted to chuck it into the trash, she just stared at it. And she remembered how many times she'd watched him shave his heavy beard on the fly.

She grabbed her phone, found the number for the Marriott and rang his room. The line was busy. For a long moment, she just looked out the windshield, realizing she’d thought about him on and off the while she shopped, picturing the slump of his shoulders as he walked away. She remembered he’d said his room number was 412, and she put the truck in gear.

In his hotel room, Sam sat comfortably at the desk, his shirt untucked, his sleeves rolled up, and the hotel phone tucked under his chin, listening as Steve Johnson discussed the draft of the profile he’d sent in an hour before.

“I don’t know, Sam. This stuff about Westphal and those speeding tickets, well, there’s some question of conflict, considering that you were, well, that you had a … a connection with her.”

Sam had been nodding the whole time Johnson was struggling to delicately spit out his concern. “Yeah, I know. But with the source from the Highway Patrol, it’s nailed down pretty solid. If I didn’t put it in, wouldn’t it look like I was cutting Westphal a break because of her?”

“Maybe,” Johnson sighed. “I probably should have pulled you off the profile as soon as you mentioned Westphal’s her husband." Sam didn't bother responding, knowing it was too late for them to pull him now. "Does she know you’re onto this?”

“No problem.” And then Sam asked, “So, am I set for New Hampshire? I’d prefer to stay on Erickson. He looks like the frontrunner.”

“I told you last night it was a go. Dodson signed off on the plan this morning, and he mentioned specifically that he wanted to keep you on Erickson. There’s no reason to think Westphal’s going to be a factor there, right?”

“Right.”

There was a knock on the door, and Sam frowned, thinking someone had the wrong room. He got up and went to open it while Johnson asked, “How much reporting do you have left?”

“I want to get to some sources on the Hill; a few lobbyists and Harkin, of course …” He swung the door open, and his eyebrows shot up. Tess was on the other side. For a moment he just stared at her, then pushed the door wider, covering the receiver and saying with a grin, “Just like old times.”

“What?” Johnson asked.

Tess hesitated, the razor in her hand, and Sam grabbed her arm and pulled her in, saying into the phone, “Look Steve, I think that covers it. I’d better get off this hotel line. You know how expensive it is,” Sam was talking fast, anxious to get off before Tess headed back out the door.

“What?” Johnson asked again. “Wait a minute. I still …”

“OK, then,” Sam hung up. Tess silently held out the razor. “Ah, damn it, I’m sorry.” He took it with a wince. “It was good of you to come all the way back with it. I suppose it would have been awkward to explain to Stretch if he’d come across it, huh?” She just raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been forgetting shit everywhere these days. I still haven’t bought a new charger for my phone. Johnson says I have to pay for it.” He put the razor and the phone back on the desk.

She shrugged, “After a couple dozen, it’s probably getting hard on his budget.”

Sam laughed. “Too bad you had to come all the way up here. I suppose you tried to call?” She nodded. “I’ve been on the line for awhile. But you could have left it at the front desk.”

She gave no explanation, moving to the desk and pointing to two empty, small bottles of Johnny Walker, apparently from the mini bar. “Think this kind of thing might have something to do with that memory problem you mentioned?”

He shrugged. “I finished writing for the night, and figured what the hell.” She frowned, holding up an open pack of cigarettes that rested near the bottles. “Hey, it’s been a shitty few weeks, OK?”

“You really are a mess, Sam. I’m concerned. I wouldn’t have thought splitting with your wife would throw you like this. You two were always on the brink.”

She was silent, seeming to judge his sincerity, and then abruptly said, “You were right this afternoon. It’s been talked to tatters, and I need to get home." She turned to put his cigarettes down. In the pile of change he’d emptied from his pocket, she saw the scratched and battered St. Francis de Sales medal she’d given him so long ago. Picking it up, she turned to find that he was coming toward her quickly, with the deliberate movement she remembered so well.

“Sam …” It was a warning, as he took her by her shoulders.

“I know, I know,” he sighed the words, cupping her face in his hands, holding firm enough to keep her from pulling away without a struggle. “I get it. Waterman’s out, Westphal’s in.” His thumb ran over the high arch of her cheek. “But do you realize this really might be it? I won’t be in New Hampshire. And if Erickson doesn’t win, nothing will bring me back out here. If you’re determined to stick it out with this guy …” His voice trailed off, and then he leaned close, whispering, “This time, let me say goodbye.”

With the most tenderness she’d ever had from him, he lowered his face slowly, touching his lips to hers, the pressure of his mouth ever so slowly increasing. It was a long, gentle kiss, flavored faintly with whiskey and smoke. And she gave herself up to it, at first because she had to acknowledge that she had hurt him deeply, but then because it was, as it had always been, just so good between them. In a stumbling second, lost in the familiar warmth of his arms and the smell of his skin, she realized his snide remark of that morning was no very great exaggeration. When he pulled back, he pressed his mouth to her forehead. “That was probably the most sentimental pass you’ve ever made, Waterman.” She laughed softly, hoping to cover the shaking in her voice.

She spoke into his shoulder, and felt the soft vibration of his chuckle under her cheek before he said, “I’ve always been a sucker for sentiment. Don’t you remember, Surfer Girl?” His hands slid to her back, and she felt him try to gently draw her even closer.

She shook her head, pushing him back with the tips of her fingers. “This is as far as sentiment takes you,” she whispered, and then her voice hardened to an amused accusation. “You’re jacking with me again, aren’t you?”

“An interesting choice of words, but no, no, I’m not.” He dropped his hands.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you’re capable of. You left that thing in the Jeep on purpose, didn’t you? Just to get me up here.”

He held up his hands, like he was under arrest. “That’s right. I hid my razor in your car. Oh, and I also kept Steve Johnson on the line for hours, just so you’d get a busy signal whenever you tried to call. Simple stuff for a master manipulator like me. In fact, tomorrow I’m going to arrange for my flight to be diverted to Las Vegas where I’ll win a half million and a string of keno girls.”

She couldn’t help laughing. He was such a piece of work. He looked down at her, his eyes shining. “At least you’re walking out with both of us laughing. Isn’t that an improvement?” She rolled her eyes with a shrug. “OK then, let’s not fuck it up.” He walked her to the door. With her head down, she stopped for just a second to press the religious medal into his hand. At the elevator, she glanced back, but the door was just clicking shut.

The elevator whooshed open, and she stepped in, totally unaware it was going up instead of down, and ignoring the woman and little girl in swimming suits, dripping on the carpet.

She wasn’t over Sam. All these years, and it was still there between them. No, she’d never really get over Sam. She touched her index finger to her own lips. And she knew what she had to do next would be the hardest thing she'd ever done.

Sam had seen her start to turn back, but let the door swing shut anyway. Sitting back down at the desk, he knew he’d better call Johnson back pretty damn fast. But first, he flipped the medal in the air with a satisfied smile, catching it as it came down and mentally blessing the old gossip in Westphal’s office for telling him about the first time Tess had come to Lindsborg. It had been hard as hell, walking off that afternoon and letting her drive away. And it had been pure impulse, stashing his razor. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d just thrown the damn thing away rather than bring it back to him. But she hadn’t been able to resist, once he was the one who turned away. Now he would bide his time. It might take awhile. But he was going to New Hampshire, and he’d see her there. And he’d always been good at manufacturing ways to be alone with her.

From grocery store to statehouse, ‘ornery’ Swede Erickson showed skeptics

By Samuel J. Waterman

@SamPolitifix

Lindsborg, Iowa – Folks in this Iowa town used to think Swede Erickson was getting too big for his britches.

They were sure their corner grocery didn’t need a salad bar or a deli or flavored coffees. With each innovation his store introduced, the people of Lindsborg issued the kind of challenge Swan August “Swede” Erickson loves:

“
It’ll never work.”

Then they started paying Swede extra to chop their lettuce or slice their meat or brew their coffee. “I think the women of Lindsborg have forgotten how to make salads,” said Andrew Johnson, an initial skeptic. “They just pick up something to go at Swede’s store, along with a four-dollar latté.”

The Corner Grocery Store here, and 52 others across the Midwest, provided a unique training ground for a possible president. But in the narrow aisles of his father’s grocery story, Erickson learned the lessons that generated an economic revival in this Midwestern state. Erickson, and his devoted following here, say the innovation, courage and persuasion that changed the shopping habits of this Scandinavian town will leave an indelible mark on the country when (people here don’t say “if”) Erickson is elected president.

“
You know that ornery look a toddler gets on his face when you tell him he can’t do something?” asks Augusta Erickson, the governor’s mother. “Swan never lost that. He loves to prove you’re wrong.”

Roland Wright recalls that look when Erickson proposed consolidating Iowa’s 350 school districts into 200. “I thought he was a goner,” recalls Wright, a fellow Republican and Iowa’s Senate majority leader. Erickson shocked the state with his proposal less than a month after taking office.

“
I really liked the guy, but I was sure he was dooming himself to one ugly term,” Wright said. “There was no more explosive issue in Iowa than taking away small-town schools.”

Erickson won on the rural vote, Wright noted. “He was turning around and punching his supporters in the gut. And they were ready to kick him right back, but a little lower than that.”

The small-town governor knew, though, that schools were key to reviving Iowa’s stagnant economy.

“
This state needed to draw young families with children here,” Erickson says. “If we’d listened to the old guys in the main street barber shop, whom I know personally and love dearly, we would have believed that consolidating schools would kill off the small towns. But those guys’ kids had grown up and moved away, and small towns were dying right around the schools they built in the ‘60s and ‘70s.”