The Broken Road (The Broken Series) (11 page)

“Do
you want me to take you to the grocery store before we go to your apartment?”
Habib asked as he merged onto the King Street exit.

I
shook my head. “No, thank you. I should be able to get by with what I’ve packed
until my jeep and other items arrive. Besides, I can walk to the convenience
store near the apartment complex if I need anything.”

Habib
pulled into the parking lot in front of the lease office. He parked the car,
then reached for a receipt. “Do you need a ride to work in the morning?”

I
smiled gratefully as I handed him the cab fare. “Yes, please. I’m going to have
to take a cab to and from work until my jeep arrives. If you’re available, I’d
much prefer to ride with you.”

Cade
whimpered softly.

I
grabbed the dog carrier from the back seat while Habib pulled my luggage from
the trunk.

I
stopped inside the lease office to pick up my keys. Then Habib and I dragged my
suitcases to the apartment. I unlocked the door and looked around in surprise.
I had forgotten how tiny the apartment was.

Habib
pulled the luggage inside, then lingered in the doorway. “When do you need to
be at work in the morning?”

I
set the dog carrier on the living room floor, released Cade, and scooped him
into my arms. “I need to be at work by nine o’clock.”

“I’ll
pick you up at seven, just to be safe. I don’t live far from here, so please
call if you need anything.”

I
smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Habib.”

I
locked the door behind Habib before setting Cade on the floor. I laughed as he began
sniffing every square inch of the apartment. I unzipped both suitcases, unpacked
his food, and filled his water dish. He lapped up the water while I pulled granola
bars, coffee, crackers, tuna fish, apples, a small jar of chunky peanut butter,
and a bag of Ghirardelli chocolates from my suitcase. I studied the food as I
set it on the counter. Something was missing, but I couldn’t quite put my
finger on what it was.  

I
pulled paper plates, a bag of plastic utensils, a can opener, and a roll of
paper towels out of the suitcase and carted them off to the kitchen. Cade
trailed after me. I put the washrags, towels, and toilet paper in the bathroom.
Then I tugged the blankets and pillow from the bottom of the suitcase and made
a makeshift bed on the floor of the bedroom.

I
grabbed the iron and plugged it in so I could iron the wrinkles out of my work
clothes. I ironed my clothes over the top of my pillow, since the movers had my
ironing board. I eyed my handiwork and thought about how my Girl Scout years
had really paid off. Then I dialed a Chinese takeout place Mickey had
recommended.

Cade
and I explored the garden trails that wove around the apartment complex while
we waited for the food to arrive. We ate out of the little white boxes while
sitting in my makeshift bed. Then I called everyone back home to let them know
we had arrived safely.

Sirens
ripped us from sleep a few hours later. Red lights pulsed through my blinds as
two massive fire trucks responded to a call in the apartment building across
the street. They eventually turned the sirens off, but my bedroom floor
vibrated from the idling engines for over an hour. I buried my head under the
pillow to block out the flashing lights. Then I pulled Cade against my chest
and whispered, “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Montana anymore.”

*
* * * * *

I
suffered a minor meltdown when I realized I had forgotten to pack my French Press.
I couldn’t make coffee without it. I am
not
a morning person. Coffee
smooths my rough edges, and I was near hysterics when I realized I couldn’t brew
any.

Cade
wasn’t quite sure what to do with me, so he hid under the pile of blankets I
had left on the bedroom floor.

I
was completely wrecked by the time Habib picked me up, so he took me straight
to Starbucks. I sent up a silent prayer asking God to bless Howard Schultz and
Habib Khan Ahmadzai.

Rush
hour traffic was horrid. I was thankful Habib was driving. Still, I carefully
observed the route so I would know where to go when my jeep arrived. Thanks in
large part to the coffee, I was in a much better frame of mind by the time
Habib dropped me off next to the Senate Hart Building.

The
first half of my day was consumed with a new employee orientation, getting my
official Senate ID, and sorting through my benefits options. I reported back to
Senator Rockefeller’s office shortly before lunch.

The
legislative director escorted me to a desk that was tucked into a small cubby.
I eyed my new office with a bit of disappointment. The cubicle was framed on
three sides by thin fabric-lined walls that ran about five feet high. The space
was just large enough to hold a desk, bookshelf, and chair. I was really going
to miss having an office with a door.

My
eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why do I have a TV on my desk?” I hadn’t noticed
the TVs when I toured the office during my interview.

“The
TV enables you to monitor hearings on the Senate intranet, activity on the
House and Senate floors, as well as the news,” Ellen explained. “Things change
on a dime around here, so we need to ensure our information is as current as
possible.”

The
news junkie in me nodded enthusiastically. My gaze shifted to a rather ominous
looking pile of paperwork, which sat at least six inches high next to the
television. I was afraid to ask, so I looked at Ellen and raised an eyebrow.

She
laughed. “In between monitoring developments on the television, answering
calls, attending meetings, writing speeches, and drafting legislation, you need
to review a pile of paperwork, at least this big, every day. This paperwork
generally includes news articles, policy briefings, U.S. Supreme Court
decisions, and every piece of proposed legislation in your policy area. This
will help you brief the senator on the developments and recommend a course of
action. The briefings will be included in the senator’s book.”

“His
book?” I asked uncertainly.

“The
senator’s book is second only to the Bible. If the Senator has a speech the
next day, relevant to your policy area, you will be responsible for writing the
talking points. If he has a vote, you have to make sure he has the material he
needs to make an informed vote. You also have to advise him about what other
senators and congressmen are doing, the bills they’re sponsoring, the funding
streams, you name it. Jamie compiles all the briefs and supporting documents
into a large binder, which we fondly refer to as ‘the book.’ Jamie gives the
book to the senator each day at four-thirty, so your work has to be submitted
to her no later than four o’clock. Senator Rockefeller takes the binder home
and reviews the materials in the evening, in preparation for the next day. You
should be aware that if he feels anything is missing, he will call and ask us
to come into the office to gather additional research, which then has to be
delivered to his house. The senator never sleeps, so he has been known to make
these phone calls as late as three in the morning.” Ellen’s message was clear:
be on time and be thorough.

“Wow.”
The responsibility was a tad bit overwhelming, and I wasn’t one who shied away
from a challenge. I eyed the pile again. I had no clue how I was going to get
through those six inches of paperwork in time to write my briefs for today’s
four o’clock deadline.

Ellen
offered an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you grab a quick bite to eat before
you get started?”

Patrick
peeked over Ellen’s shoulder, which wasn’t difficult given how tall he was.
Patrick had escorted me to the new employee orientation when I first reported
to the office. My cubicle was located directly across from his. “I’m heading
out to pick up the senator’s lunch. Do you want to tag along so you can grab
something to eat?”

“Sure,”
I responded gratefully. Two more office mates, Jonathan and Jamie, joined us as
we walked out of the office. Like Patrick, Jonathan worked primarily on health
policy. Jamie was Senator Rockefeller’s personal assistant. They all appeared
to be in their early twenties.

I
was the youngest person working in my office in Montana, so I found the fact
that they were so much younger than me a bit unnerving. Besides, there was an
energy rolling off Patrick, Jonathan, and Jamie, that I wasn’t quite sure I
could duplicate. I felt tired just looking at them.

The
four of us chatted amicably as we walked down the street. We turned the corner
after a couple of blocks, then fell in line outside a tiny restaurant. I
glanced at the sign. “Yamato? What kind of food does this place serve?”

“Sushi,”
Jonathan responded.

I
couldn’t hide my shock. “
Sushi?
You mean like raw fish? We’re eating raw
fish for lunch?” A sushi restaurant had just opened in Missoula, Montana a few
months ago, but I didn’t know a single soul who’d been brave enough to eat the
stuff.

Patrick
smiled broadly as he rocked back on his heels. “The senator has a standing
order here. He eats sushi every chance he gets. He lived in Japan for a period
of time. He loves Japanese culture and cuisine.”

“Well,
that certainly explains the Japanese artwork in his office,” I murmured
thoughtfully. The artwork in Senator Rockefeller’s office was extremely
eclectic, with handmade quilts from West Virginia displayed on some walls and
Japanese paintings adorning others. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of art
he had hanging in his house. I reached for a take-out menu as we entered the
restaurant. “I’ve never eaten sushi, so you guys are going to have to help me
out here.”

Jamie
pointed to an item on the menu I was holding. “Number six is a pretty
safe
bet. It’s a sampler set of salmon rolls, spicy tuna rolls, and California
rolls.”

The
woman standing behind the cash register looked at me expectantly. I handed her
a ten dollar bill. “Number six, please.”

“Me
too,” Jamie piped up. She handed the cashier her debit card.

Patrick
ordered next. “I’ll take two orders of the nigirizushi set, an order of the
hotate sushi, and a bowl of miso soup.”

“This
is for Senator Rockefeller?” the cashier asked.

“Yes.
Well, one of the nigirizushi sets is for me,” Patrick explained as he handed
her a wad of cash.

Jamie
pointed to an autographed picture of Senator Rockefeller. The photograph was
prominently displayed on the wall next to the counter where the sushi chef was
working.

“I’d
like an order of rainbow rolls and an order of spider rolls,” Jonathan said
with a huge grin on his face.

“Seriously?”
Patrick asked.

Jonathan
handed his debit card to the cashier. “What? I’m hungry, and I couldn’t decide
which one I wanted more.”

I
couldn’t help but admire the artistry involved with the food preparation as we
watched the sushi chef make the rolls. He nodded and smiled as the waitress
packed our food into white paper bags. My new coworkers continued to educate me
about sushi and other Japanese food as we walked back to the office.

Patrick
and I parted ways with Jamie and Jonathan as we walked to our desks. I nearly
dropped my food when I discovered a deep blue vase holding a dozen long stemmed
yellow roses and an impressive spray of baby’s breath. I set my food down and reached
for the envelope. My breath caught when I saw who the flowers were from. “
Justin?
”

Patrick
peered over my shoulder. “Is that your boyfriend back home?”

I
glanced at Patrick. “Uh… no.” My eyes flitted back to the card. I angled the
card away from Patrick as I silently read the message.

Thinking
of you and hoping you have a wonderful first day at your new job! Love, Justin.

I
groaned audibly. I threw the card in the trash, marched the flowers to the
front office, and plopped the vase in front of two people I didn’t know.
“Enjoy,” I mumbled before turning around and walking back to my desk.

Patrick
shot me a curious look as I collapsed into my chair.

“Don’t
ask,” I muttered. I rolled my chair closer to the desk and eyed the sushi.

Patrick
chuckled softly as he approached my desk. “So, these are chopsticks.”

I
gave him a dirty look. “I’m not a complete hick. I
have
eaten Chinese
food before.”

He
laughed loudly this time. “Okay. Then all you need to do is pour the packet of
soy sauce into this container of wasabi and stir it up. Pick your sushi roll up
with the chop sticks, dip it in the sauce, and pop it into your mouth.”

I
shook my head. “I don’t do soy sauce. Can I just spread the wasabi on top of
the sushi?”

A
mischievous look passed over Patrick’s face. “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

I
eyed him skeptically as I dipped my finger into the green paste. “It’s spicy,”
I noted, pleasantly surprised.

Patrick
watched, clearly amused, while I spread the wasabi over the top of all six of
my sushi rolls. I popped a spicy tuna roll into my mouth. My eyes watered, and
my nose ran, but I loved the spicy taste. “It’s good,” I mumbled around the
sushi. “Really good.”